Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07

by The Second Seal

  “Ah! That would be very different. Austria-Hungary is one of the great powers, and if once she became involved in a war there is no saying what the others might do.”

  “There’s no love lost between her and Russia,” put in Sir Pellinore. “What’s more, Russia regards herself as the natural protector of the smaller Slav States. Odds are, she’d go to Serbia’s assistance. The Germans wouldn’t stand for that. If you’re right, we might all find ourselves landed in a pretty kettle of fish.”

  “And that is exactly what I fear is going to happen,” said the Duke. Then he added after a moment: “Tell me. Have either of you ever heard of an organization called the Black Hand?”

  CHAPTER III - THE BLACK HAND

  Sir Pellinore’s bright blue eyes narrowed a fraction, but he shook his head. “No. What is it? Sounds like some sort of Sicilian secret society.”

  “It is a secret society, but it has no connection with the Camorra. It is purely Serbian, and originated through the murder of King Alexander and Queen Draga at Belgrade in 1903. You will, of course, recall the circumstances of that particularly atrocious crime?”

  The First Lord nodded. “King Alexander had behaved outrageously towards his people, and there is every reason to suppose that his wife was his evil genius; but the whole world was shocked by the exceptional brutality which accompanied their assassination. As I recollect, the officers who had plotted it broke into their bedroom with drawn swords, pulled them naked from their bed, and literally hacked them both to pieces.”

  “It was those officers, sir, who founded the Black Hand. They did so for their mutual protection. Many of them were highly connected, and as a united body they proved powerful enough to escape the consequences of their abominable act. Even though the great nations pressed for justice to be done, King Alexander’s successor did not feel himself strong enough to punish them, or even force them into permanent retirement.”

  “Then, if these blackguards have long since secured the immunity which was the cause of their banding together, what object do you suggest that they have in continuing their association?”

  “Patriotism—if one may fairly apply that word to a fanatical urge, driving men on to plan any violence which might raise the status of their country, regardless of the cost. All these officers are most fervent nationalists, and in 1911 they reformed their brotherhood, giving it the name of Ujedinjenje ili Smrt, which means ‘Union or Death’ and refers to their ambition to unite all the Yugoslavs under one flag. They will stick at nothing in their attempts to make Serbia a great kingdom. Recently she has proved the victor in two wars, and emerged from them the most powerful nation in the Balkans—yet not as powerful as they had hoped. Those conflicts gained her a great increase of territory in the south, but she was robbed of the spoils that she considered rightfully hers in the west, by the decision of the London conference.”

  “You mean the decision of the Great Powers to support Austria’s suggestion that the ex-Turkish province of Albania should be turned into an independent kingdom?”

  “I do! Serbia’s dearest ambition was to have free access to the Adriatic. She fought a costly campaign to that end, and with the capture of Scutari won a good port for the direct shipment of Serbian products overseas. But she was not allowed to keep it, or the great hinterland that thousands of her soldiers had died to free from Turkish rule.”

  Mr. Marlborough’s heavy brows drew together in a frown. “No doubt you know that Prince William of Wied was selected by the powers as the ruler of this new state. He landed in Albania only last month, and I gather that he is already meeting with great difficulty in imposing his authority on its turbulent inhabitants. Is it your view that the Serbs resent having been deprived of this territory so strongly that they might seize upon its troubled state as an excuse to take up arms again and reoccupy it?”

  “Hot-headed as they are, I hardly think they are likely to prove as rash as that,” De Richleau replied cautiously. “For to do so would be to defy an award which has been agreed upon by all the great nations. But the fact remains that they consider that award flagrantly unjust and, since it was inspired by Austria, it will have added fuel to their already burning hatred for that country. No! I regard it as much more probable that they will instigate fresh trouble in Bosnia. As you remarked earlier, when referring to its annexation in 1908, a high percentage of the inhabitants of that province are of Serbian blood, and the arbitrary manner in which Austria acquired it aroused great resentment among the other powers. So, should Serbia at any time re-open the question of its status, she could count on a certain amount of backing. The sort of thing I had in mind was that she might secretly ferment a demand in the province for Home Rule, and, on the Austrian government refusing it, make that a cause for war.”

  At the words ‘Home Rule’ the First Lord smiled a little ruefully. In recent months the Irish question had dominated all others in the Cabinet, and given its members worse headaches than any they had had in the whole of their careers.

  When, after years of bitter wrangling, it had at last become apparent that no legal measure could longer prevent the Home Rule Bill becoming law, the people of Northern Ireland had begun preparations to resist its application by force of arms. The Irish Nationalists in the House of Commons dared make no concession from fear of being repudiated by their own people, and as the third largest parliamentary party they held the balance of power between the Liberals and Conservatives, so could, if driven to it, have deprived the Liberal Government of its working majority. Yet, despite this threat, the Cabinet had decided that some provision must be made that would protect Ulster from actual coercion. Barely three weeks before, the First Lord had made his own position plain by a speech at Bradford, in which he declared that, while he would do all that was necessary to prevent Ulster from stopping the rest of Ireland having the Parliament they desired, he would never be a party to measures to force her to come under a Dublin Parliament. But how this compromise could be put into practice, still remained a matter of fierce disagreement. A week later, at the Curragh, a number of senior Army officers stationed in Ireland had openly declared it their intention to refuse to obey orders should they be called on to lead their troops against the Ulstermen; and, aroused to indignation by what appeared to be a betrayal of their ideals, the bulk of the British people were now angrily demanding that the government should either guarantee the independence of Northern Ireland, or resign. On all sides tempers had risen to boiling point. In the House, hardly a sitting now passed without some exchange of acrimonious violence; and in Ireland itself it was feared that any day civil war, coupled with mutiny in the Army, might break out.

  It was, therefore, no wonder that the statesman having had his mind jerked back to the urgent problem with which he and his colleagues were wrestling as in a nightmare, should momentarily look a little glum. But Sir Pellinore ignored the train of thought that the Duke had unwittingly provoked, and boomed at him:

  “These Balkan states are a pack of trouble-makers. Always were. All of ’em. But for Serbia to attack Austria would be suicidal. Habsburg Empire may be pretty rotten internally, but it’s still got sufficient kick in it to settle the hash of a little country like Serbia.”

  “Oh, Serbia alone, yes!”

  The First Lord gave a quick nod. “We are already agreed that, if any great power became involved in war, that might swiftly precipitate a general European conflagration. But Serbia must have been greatly weakened by the losses she has sustained in her two recent wars. Should she fight again as soon as you suggest, she would run a big risk of being overwhelmed before help could reach her from Russia, France, or Britain.”

  “There, I agree.” De Richleau spread out his slim hands in a slightly foreign gesture. “But, as I have already pointed out, these men of the Black Hand are not ordinary people. They are both ruthless and rash; and I believe that they would take pretty well any gamble that offered a fair chance of lifting Serbia to the status of a great power. Everything you hav
e said, sir, has reinforced my own conviction—that in the event of a war between the Triple Entente and the Central Powers, the Entente would eventually emerge victorious. No doubt these Serbian plotters are of the same opinion. If we are right, it follows that in such a war Serbia would have backed the right horse. She would be entitled to claim a seat among the victors at the Peace Table, and there demand her share in the division of the spoils. Even had she been defeated, over-run, occupied, and pillaged in the meantime, unscrupulous and ambitious minds might still consider that not too great a price to pay for the ultimate gaining of such a prize. And that is what I fear. That Serbia will challenge Austria in the near future with the deliberate intention of bringing about a world war as the most likely means of gaining her own ends.”

  Sir Pellinore grunted. “No holes in your reasonin’. But are your premises right? This gang of bloodstained ruffians may have had enough pull to escape a shooting party, or the rope; but it doesn’t follow that they’ve enough influence to push their country into a war.”

  “In the past ten years many of them have risen to comparatively high rank in the army. They have also recruited some of the best brains among the politicians and professional classes of their country. All are pledged under the most frightful penalties to observe the strictest secrecy and to obey without question all orders from their chief. The selflessness, determination and subtlety with which the movement works can be compared only with the machinations of the Jesuits at the height of their power. That may sound an exaggeration, but I assure you that it is not. You must remember that mentally the Balkan peoples are at least a century behind those of Western Europe. In those countries of dark forests and desolate gorges, witchcraft is still practised openly. Even the upper classes carry charms to protect them from the evil-eye. They live with a violence, fearlessness and poetry that we have forgotten. They talk of their national heroes as though these ancient paladins had died only yesterday. For centuries they conspired against their Turkish overlords; so mystery, plotting, and a willingness to risk death for secret causes are in their blood. That spirit still animates rich and poor alike, and it explains how the society of the Black Hand has succeeded in getting a firm grip on the direction of Serbian affairs. I have good reason to believe that both the Crown Prince Alexander and Mr. Pashitch, the Prime Minister, have sworn allegiance to the Black Hand, and that its chief actually holds a position which would enable him, at any time he chose, to provoke an incident designed to lead to war.”

  “That is a grave charge to make against distinguished persons, Duke,” remarked Mr. Marlborough somewhat coldly. “Have you any evidence by which you can support it?”

  “None, with regard to the Crown Prince or the Premier; but I repeat only what I have heard on good authority—how good you can judge if you know who I mean by Colonel Dragutin Dimitriyevitch.”

  As the other two shook their heads, De Richleau continued with a reminiscent smile: “I met him in somewhat unusual circumstances. His ankles were lashed firmly to the low branch of a big tree. He was hanging there upside down; and some Kurdish tribesmen were about to slit his throat, so that he would have bled to death in the same manner as a pig.”

  With a loud guffaw, Sir Pellinore slapped his great thigh. “Go on, young feller; this sounds good.”

  The Duke smiled back. “Perhaps I should have led up to this episode by giving you some idea how it came about. You will recall that in her attempt to resist the Balkan League, Turkey had to fight three widely separated campaigns: one in Thrace against the Bulgarians attacking from the north; one in the region of Salonika against the Greeks attacking from the south; and one in central Macedonia, against the Serbians and Montenegrins attacking from both the north and west. The Turkish armies of Salonika and Macedonia were doomed to defeat from the beginning, owing to the vast area they were called on to defend with forces far inferior to those of their enemies. Moreover, it was clear that if the enemy struck to the east of them, their strategic position would be rendered hopeless, as there would be no means at all by which they could be reinforced and maintained from the bases in Turkey proper. Both armies soon suffered initial defeats, and the bulk of both fell back towards Monastir, where they met, rallied, and reformed as one strategic unit. At this juncture the Turkish High Command decided to send them such help as could be spared while there was still time, and I was placed in command of a mixed force, with orders to march to their assistance.”

  “The railway from Constantinople to Ferejik was still open, so we were able to make use of it for some six hundred miles, as far as Demir Hisar, and it was there I assembled my so-called corps. It consisted of half a dozen battalions of regulars, eight of reservists, three brigades of fairly good artillery, and a further five thousand auxiliaries of all kinds— Syrian, Georgian and Armenian levies with Arab and Kurdish cavalry.”

  “As you can imagine, the country through which we had to advance was pretty hideous. The roads were no better than tracks, and the tracks led through endless valleys dominated by rocky heights on either side. I did what I could to protect my column by throwing out a strong advance guard and large numbers of vedettes on either flank, but from the beginning we were subjected to sniping all day and raids each night. We had the Greeks to the south of us, the Bulgarians to the north, and the whole country was infested with Macedonian irregulars who appeared ready to die happily if only they could first shoot a Turk.”

  “Johnny Turk is a brave and determined fighter; but the pace of the force had to be that of its slowest vehicles, and often guns and wagons had to be dragged one by one up steep inclines, or across boulder-strewn gullies. And the nerves of the finest troops in the world will become frayed in such circumstances, if meanwhile they are under harassing fire from a constant succession of ambushes. After a few days they began to ignore my orders about taking prisoners, and promptly butchered any of the enemy who fell into their hands. Those were the circumstances in which I made the acquaintance of Colonel Dimitriyevitch.”

  “I had ridden far forward one day, with a small staff, to see the lie of the land. Apparently he had done the same, having been sent on a reconnaissance by the commander of a Serbian division. His party had had a brush with a troop of my Kurdish cavalry, and had got the worst of it. His companions were dead and he was within an ace of death himself; but my opportune arrival saved him, and I made him my personal prisoner.”

  “Naturally, although he expressed his gratitude, he at first refused to talk on any subject connected with the war. But he was obviously a man of culture and considerable intelligence, so I had him treated well, invited him now and then to eat at my own table, and went out of my way to win his confidence.”

  “In view of the anxieties of my situation, and the extraordinary heavy demands made on me as the commander of a force slowly moving forward, but attacked by enemies on all sides, why I should have devoted so much time to my solitary prisoner I cannot pretend to explain. It may be that I sensed instinctively the black, evil heart that he concealed beneath an urbane manner, and realized subconsciously that it held secrets that I had been given a unique opportunity to learn. In any case, by the time my force joined the main army in the neighbourhood of Monastir, he had come to regard me as a friend.”

  “A few days later a general battle took place. After four days of severe fighting the Turkish army of the west was heavily defeated. I had taken the precaution to form a small reserve of about fifteen hundred picked men. To have flung them into the battle in its final stages could not possibly have influenced its outcome; so when the break-up of the army ensued I still had intact this well-disciplined body of reliable troops. All means of communication with my superior officers had been cut off, so I decided to retire through the mountains to the south-west, in the hope of finding some town having a Turkish garrison which I might reinforce: or, failing that, eventually reaching the Turkish stronghold of Yannina in the Epirus.”

  “By a forced march of twenty-four hours, I extricated my troops from
any risk of being surrounded and captured during the aftermath of the battle. But it was now late November, so the cold and hardships that we suffered, as we continued our progress across the bleak uplands, were intense. In addition, the peasantry were bitterly hostile, which meant that to secure food enough to keep life in the bodies of my men I had to turn a blind eye to the methods they employed in forcing the wretched country people to disclose where they had hidden their cattle and secret stores of grain. It was a nightmare journey, which I would that I could forget, except for one thing—I still had my prisoner with me.”

  “From the day I rescued him he realized that, guarded as he was by semi-barbarous troops who hated all he represented, if he were caught attempting to escape his life would not be worth a moment’s purchase. And later, when my men became desperate from privation, he knew his life to be really safe only as long as he remained within call of me: so day and night he kept in my immediate vicinity and made himself as useful to me in small ways as he could. In fact, he became my constant companion; and after the Turkish army had been so completely defeated at Monastir, there was no reason why he should longer refrain from discussing military matters with me.”

  “None of the Turkish officers on my small staff had more than a smattering of any language other than their own, but Dimitriyevitch spoke French fluently. During those long, dark, winter nights we often talked for hours, as we sat, a bottle of ouzo between us, huddled in our greatcoats in the corner of one of the burnt-out farm-houses that I used as a temporary headquarters.”

  “Gradually I got to know about him: partly because there was a streak of conceit in his evil nature, and at times when the ouzo had warmed him up the desire to boast got the better of his discretion; partly because he admired the way in which I handled difficult situations, and, seeing that the Turkish goose was as good as cooked, he hoped to induce me to enter the service of Serbia.”