by Alan Bardos
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was going to buy you a meal,’ Pusara said and signalled to a waitress.
‘I see you’re reading, “The History of the French Revolution”,’ Princip commented approvingly.
‘Yes, I’m just getting to grips with it all,’ Jovo replied, looking at the book. He’d forgotten that he had it with him. ‘There is much I need to learn.’
‘There is much we could teach you,’ Gavrilo said.
‘I’m eager to learn. All I could really read when I was away was Lenin and Marx,’ Jovo said, picking up the book. ‘Now hopefully, I can broaden my knowledge and find the true meaning of freedom. Revolution is more than a slogan; it is a change in the way you behave and feel.’
‘It seems you have made a good start on your studies,’ Ilic said. He was about to question the youth more on the true nature of revolution, but Gavrilo interrupted him.
‘So you got those bruises in a police cell?’ Gavrilo asked. He seemed to be testing the stranger to see if he was someone he could mould, as Ilic knew he’d been doing with Trifko Grabez.
‘Jovo certainly did. I saw it myself,’ Pusara said proudly, turning back from the waitress. ‘The flunky who beat Jovo up told me that that is what happens to those who insult the Governor!’
‘It was worth it to take on the Governor; I don’t think I’ve met anyone quite so pompous,’ Jovo said, gleefully.
Ilic wondered if this stranger might be someone who could be used as a decoy and water carrier. He seemed essentially a harmless boaster, like Nedjo, but his heart appeared to be in the right place and if it wasn’t, Ilic would give him enough rope too hang himself.
*
Johnny followed Gavrilo and Ilic as they walked down Appel Quay. They’d been talking to him all day, taking it upon themselves to explain their world view. Johnny was doing his best to play along, repeating what the attractive woman in the park had told him. Their idea of social progress and his were very different; they wanted everyone to live in mud huts with little in the way of comfort other than the idea that they were living in equality.
'I am a peasant's son and know how life is in the villages. The peasantry must be made aware of their social inequalities,' Gavrilo said. ‘There must be sweeping change through revolution.’
'Do you really believe we could achieve such a revolution? Marx said that revolution is not possible with a peasant population.' That was about the only thing Johnny could remember from his time as a schoolboy revolutionary.
'If the Austro-Hungarian Empire was thrown into turmoil, such a revolution would be possible,' Ilic said. 'Their Empire is like a broken pot held together by string. One good kick and it will fall apart.'
'Once that is achieved we can create a society held together by a free and natural bond of fraternity, as Kropotkin suggests,' Gavrilo said.
'But could we accomplish something like that?' Johnny asked eagerly. He was actually interested. He'd read these things, but being with people who believed them was a whole new experience for him.
They entered a cafe garden further down Appel Quay and a tall, suave man wearing a peaked sports cap watched them as they walked through. He was laughing and joking with a group of girls and Johnny thought enviously that he was enjoying the attention.
Gavrilo and Ilic greeted him but there seemed to be some tension between them. Ilic introduced him. 'Jovo, this is Nedjo Cabrinovic.' Johnny nodded, recognising the name from Breitner’s briefing.
'He serves our cause by promenading his girlfriends along the embankment,' Gavrilo said, cutting Cabrinovic to the quick.
'Are you too serious for such things, Gavro?' Nedjo asked, in a slightly mocking tone, which made the girls laugh.
Gavrilo didn't look pleased by the comment and pushed his way into the cafe and ordered coffee. They didn’t seem to have much else to do apart from hanging around in down-at-heel cafes. Johnny knew this one.
It had an intimidating aura. He recognised the murals of the bloody medieval battles between armoured knights and elaborately dressed Turks. He’d been here before but this time no one stared at him and Johnny started to relax. He was being accepted and he hoped that all he had to do now was keep his mouth shut and pick up enough scraps of information to pacify Breitner, and then this whole sorry affair would be over.
Ilic gave Johnny a stern look, almost sensing his thoughts. Johnny tried to look as sullen as he could in response, which seemed to be their way. 'You ask how a revolution would be possible, Jovo? It is possible by following Zerajic's example.'
‘Zerajic, the man who shot at the former Governor on the Emperor’s Bridge?’ Johnny asked.
'He is our role model,' Gavrilo replied.
‘Now he is mine,’ Johnny said. He got the feeling that they wanted to guide him and he knew enough to let them. He was enjoying the sensation of being part of something bigger than himself again.
'When Gavro was a schoolboy he lodged with my mother and me,' Ilic continued. 'We'd sneak out and listen to our great leader, Vladimir Gacinovic speak - he'd been at school with Zerajic in Mostar.'
'Gacinovic instigated a revolution in our souls, with more than just words - he had a plan of action,' Gavrilo said. 'We were to follow Zerajic’s act of courage and take revenge ourselves, as individuals, against those who would oppress our people.'
‘In this way will a revolution be born, through our sacrifice.’ Ilic said. ‘As Zerajic’s sacrifice inspired us, so will our actions inspire those of our people to rise up. Although that may not be possible until we have laid the foundations for revolution.’
Gavrilo glared at Ilic. ‘The Governor actually got out of his carriage and kicked Zerajic as he lay bleeding to death in the mud.’ Gavrilo said, fighting to control his rage. ‘And you talk of “laying foundations”. We must act, there is no time for words.’
'I've seen his skull,' Johnny said, to quieten them. The last thing he wanted was for them to start squabbling. 'I've seen Zerajic’s skull. The Chief of Detectives has it as an ink pot on his desk.'
‘He will be revenged.’ Gavrilo's eyes flared, but before his outrage could fully consume him, Nedjo sat down at their table. He took off his hat and brushed back his wavy hair excitedly. ‘I’ve been surveying the Hotel Bosnia. I think... ‘
‘I told you to keep a low profile! I don’t want you involved,’ Gavrilo growled, interrupting him.
Nedjo looked taken aback and glared at Johnny. 'Are you planning to replace me with this angry fellow?'
Johnny squared up, wondering if he would have to fight Nedjo to become part of the group. Then he saw that Nedjo's aggression wasn't directed at him; the revolutionaries weren't completely united.
'What if we are? He shows far more conviction than you do in your endless boasts and bragging,’ Gavrilo said.
Nedjo looked at Johnny, 'Have we met? Do I know you from somewhere?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Johnny answered, looking round the cafe, which seemed very inhospitable again.
‘We don't know him, Gavrilo. He could be a spy,' Nedjo said, trying to stifle a cough.
'How do we know you're not a spy, Nedjo, like your father?' Gavrilo asked scornfully. Nedjo looked crestfallen and began to cough.
Johnny saw his chance to win everyone’s trust and look magnanimous at the same time. 'Was not our great hero, Milos Obilic, accused before Vidovdan of being a traitor?'
All three looked at him approvingly, but unfortunately he'd brought himself back to the attention of the group. 'When were you in the Chief of Detectives' office?' Ilic asked suspiciously. Johnny got the impression that he didn’t like him very much.
'As you know, I had a slight altercation in the Hotel Bosnia,' Johnny said, pointing at his bruises.
'Yes, we know you had some trouble with the police,' Ilic said, ‘but we only have the word of the flunky who told Pusara that you insulted the Governor. The Governor rarely leaves his mansion.’
Nedjo managed to control his coughing sufficiently to be able to speak. 'I rem
ember now, I do know him. He called General Potiorek a buffoon and got a kick in the face. I was there, in the hotel, conducting reconnaissance. If he hadn’t been pulled away before he could act, I’m sure he would have taught old Potiorek a bloody lesson.’
‘Another boast Nedjo?’ Ilic said and turned back to Johnny. 'Where exactly are you from? You didn’t go to school in Sarajevo.'
‘I’m from a small village, across the Drina from Koviljaca. It’s a spa town on the Serbian border.’ Libby had wondered about staying there and Johnny thought it was sufficiently far from Sarajevo for them to be as unfamiliar with it as he was. ‘It’s the oldest...’
‘I know it,’ Gavrilo said, interrupting him. ‘Do you not feel the responsibility of history, coming from such a place?’
Johnny shifted uncomfortably - he’d forgotten that they’d only just arrived from Belgrade. It looked as if he was going to be caught out on his first lie. He decided to follow Breitner’s advice and switched to the truth. 'I do not consider myself to be from any one place, not since I was expelled from school for organising a student strike,' he answered, although officially the headmaster had called it a mutiny. 'So, as I told you, I went to Paris to continue my education.'
'How could you afford that?' Gavrilo asked.
'I had a scholarship,’ Johnny replied. Johnny's stepfather had seen both his potential and his natural self destructive tendencies, and had fought to ensure that Johnny won a scholarship to attend a minor public school, so that those respective qualities could be best developed and suppressed.
'A scholarship wouldn't cover your expenses to study in Paris,' Gavrilo said. He'd evidently been a scholarship boy himself.
'I knew a patriot who helped me get a job in the Civil Service. My intention was to work and save to study. Once I’d managed to pass my exams I hoped to go to the Sorbonne.'
Gavrilo looked away, brooding, and Ilic continued the interrogation. 'What brought you to Sarajevo?' Ilic asked.
'I fell for the wrong woman,' Johnny replied. He remembered the way that Libby had stood demurely in the casino, before he lost everything. He wondered briefly where she was now.
Nedjo grinned, 'The expensive kind.' Gavrilo looked at him disapprovingly.
Johnny shrugged. 'She was also the boss's wife. I was forced to gamble to accommodate her. I lost everything. I couldn’t go home, so in my shame I came here to escape corruption.'
'And what did you find when you got here? The Austrians undermining the morals of our national spirit, with gambling dens and brothels!' Gavrilo said, identifying with his despair.
Johnny made his eyes blaze with the same indignation he saw in Gavrilo's. 'When I saw General Potiorek, the living embodiment of the people who have corrupted our country, I had to act'.
'We might have need of someone like you.' It had been Ilic who spoke but all three added their agreement.
Chapter 20
Franz Ferdinand admired the gardens of Konopiste, his Bohemian castle, where the roses were at their zenith, a blaze of colour in honour of his Royal visitor, Wilhelm II. The Kaiser was so impressed by the display that Franz Ferdinand had enthusiastically guided him to the room that gave the best view, a water closet next to his private apartments.
The roses were a source of immense pride to Franz Ferdinand; he'd created the gardens from scratch, commissioning an army of gardeners, who'd worked for twenty years to transform the five hundred acres around his fairy tale castle.
As pristine as the bathroom was, the Archduke was starting to appreciate that their current location may impinge on the dignity of his honoured guest and so he suggested that they retire to the castle library. There were a number of pressing matters he wished to discuss.
The Kaiser concurred and Franz Ferdinand led him through whitewashed corridors lined with hundreds of antlers, hunting photographs and stuffed animals. He directed the Kaiser into a lift and invited him to sit on one of the chintz covered sofas. Along with the bathrooms, the lift was one of the many modern innovations Franz Ferdinand had installed in the castle. He had turned it into a haven from the pressures of his position, filling it with hunting trophies, paintings and the curios he loved to collect. Far from Vienna, it was somewhere the Archduke could relax with his family, without the intrigues or petty rules and slights of court life. He hoped this would make it a conducive environment in which to build on his previous discussions with the Kaiser.
The lift stopped and Franz Ferdinand guided the Kaiser into his library of gold-bound books and offered him a cigar. Although the visit was largely social, they'd allowed an hour to review the alliances their respective empires had entered into with Italy and Romania. The key issue for Franz Ferdinand was Hungarian nationalism and the destabilising effect it was having on the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and on these alliances.
'My main hope is that the Hungarians be made to adopt more lenient policies towards the Romanians living in Transylvania. This would strengthen our position with Romania, keeping them sympathetic to our cause and prevent Russia from luring them into an alliance.'
The Kaiser glanced over a memorandum before answering. He'd scrawled notes inside the margins, in the same way that his hero, Fredrick the Great did. 'I understand that we need allies in the Balkans, to help buttress your position against a Serbian and Russian league, but does this really need to be done at the expense of the Hungarians?'
Franz Ferdinand was aware that Germany was developing a stronger relationship with the Magyars, as a potential ally against the Slavic hordes, but he thought the Kaiser really needed to be dispelled of the opinion that the Hungarians were largely blameless.
'There has been very little political or social advancement for non-Hungarians living in the Hungarian half of the Monarchy. Nearly all the seats in the Hungarian Parliament are held by Magyar aristocrats, even though they are in the minority. This conflicts with the Austrian half of the Monarchy, where we have extended the franchise. This deviation in policy is forcing us apart,' explained Franz Ferdinand.
The Kaiser scowled, and irritated, flicked his cigar into Franz Ferdinand's favourite ashtray - the foot of an elephant he'd bagged on his grand tour. This evidently wasn't what the Kaiser wanted to hear and he attempted to deflect Franz Ferdinand with a joke. ‘I will command my ambassador in Budapest to remind the Hungarian Prime Minister about the Rumanians whenever he sees him!'
Franz Ferdinand was compelled to press the point. 'The really worrying aspect of this business is the idea that Hungarian nationalism can transcend loyalty to the Monarchy and the Emperor.' The Archduke felt his temper rising and glanced at a portrait of Sophie, to calm himself. 'There is a cadre of Magyars that are constantly conspiring against the Monarchy, to gain advantage for their country to the detriment of Austria.'
'I'm sure that isn't the case, Franzi. The Hungarian Prime Minister, Count Tisa, is an excellent fellow. He strikes me as an unusually gifted statesman - you should make more use of him to solve these domestic issues of yours.'
The Archduke would liked to have told the Kaiser exactly what he thought of the treacherous Count Tisa, but his guest stretched his legs out onto a tiger's skin rug, one of Franz Ferdinand's most prized trophies, and abruptly switched topic.
'Now as to your other little difficulty - don't you think it's about time you resolved the situation with Serbia and stabilised the Balkans? I understand there have been calls for a pre-emptive attack to be made before the situation deteriorates any further. I believe it is a strategy you should consider.'
The Archduke was familiar with this view; it was one that Conrad Von Hotzendorf, Chief of the Austrian Staff, regularly pressed, and one that the Archduke was vehemently against.
'Could we count on Germany's support if we were to take such a course of action?' Franz Ferdinand asked. He knew any military intervention against Serbia would provoke the Russians and as such would be disastrous without German backing.
The Kaiser avoided the question with his usual eccentricity. 'The only possi
ble relationship Serbia should have with Austro-Hungary is that of dependency, like a planet to its sun. I believe the best course of action Austro-Hungary could take is to bring Serbia back into the fold, offer them military aid… finance. If she declines, then force should be applied.' Franz Ferdinand fought to remain patient; the Kaiser had a reputation for making varying arguments.
'Once I have established good order in the Monarchy, I will turn my attention to our petulant neighbour, if the need arises,' Franz Ferdinand replied.
He didn't want to tell his ally just how unprepared the Austro-Hungarian Army was for any form of military action, even though it would have furthered his case against the Hungarian Parliament, which had blocked every step to modernise the army, seeing it as an opportunity to wrest more control of their country from Vienna.
'The current political sanctions against Serbia haven't stopped their influence from spreading in the Balkans. If you do not take decisive action your position will only get worse and you will appear weak,' the Kaiser said.
The Archduke clenched his fists and fell back on his usual line of defence against the hawks at court. 'What would we get out of war with Serbia? We'd lose the lives of our young men and we'd spend money better used elsewhere. And what would we gain, for heaven's sake? A few plum trees, some pastures full of goat droppings, and a bunch of rebellious killers.'
Chapter 21
Gavrilo guided Johnny past the shuttered stalls and shops of the old town and onto Appel Quay. Reluctantly, Johnny followed him into the night, unsure why Gavrilo had asked him along.
They walked past the Emperor's Bridge, then a few hundred yards down, they crossed over to the other side of the city, onto the narrow, cobbled Lateiner Bridge and stopped at a wine shop. According to the Cyrillic above the door it was called ‘Semiz's’. It was a very grimy looking place of ancient Turkish design, but a wine shop, nonetheless. Johnny was overjoyed. He could hear rowdy singing coming from inside, reminding him of the rugby games his stepfather used to take him to.
