Karlovy nodded to his people, and they filed from the room. Lockwood hesitated, but Berkeley nodded and he followed the Serbs.
“Do you wish to be alone?” Berkeley asked.
“With you.”
Berkeley closed the door and went to stand beside her.
“Karlovy told me what happened,” she said. “He told me you were very brave, and very gallant. I am grateful for this.”
There was nothing he could say.
“And you brought the money?” she asked.
“It is downstairs.”
“Gregory will be pleased,” she said.
“Gregory?”
“He is our master. He will mourn Mother, but he will be pleased to have got the money.”
Berkeley found it difficult to envisage Anna having had a master.
“And you? Us?”
Her face twisted. “Now we have two parents to avenge.”
*
They buried Anna the following day, almost the entire town turning out to watch the coffin being conveyed to the little cemetery and lowered into the earth. Caterina stood at Berkeley’s side, Lockwood and the other servants behind. Karlovy and his people, now a dozen strong, stood on the other side, while the black-robed priest stood at the head of the grave and intoned his prayers. The townspeople were gathered around the inner group. Berkeley tried to study them, but there was no way of telling if any of them were officials of the Black Hand.
“Was Gregory there?” he asked Caterina, when they returned to the house.
“There was no time. He will come tomorrow.”
“There are things we need to discuss.”
“We will discuss them with Gregory,” she said.
That was not what he had in mind at all, but he knew he had to be patient. Caterina had taken her mother’s death with a massive calm; too much so, he felt. He suspected there might be an explosion lurking in there and he was in no hurry to provoke it.
Besides, Gregory might be a sensible man, and accept that Caterina could not possibly be expected to take on her mother’s mantle at the age of eighteen.
*
Gregory arrived in time for lunch the following day; he had apparently taken the train from Belgrade. He was escorted to the house by Karlovy and his men who were clearly in awe of him, but to Berkeley’s surprise he did not in any way suggest an anarchist. Short and stout with a little beard, he was well dressed, carried a silver-hilted cane and wore spats and a Homburg hat.
He exuded confident well-being.
“My child!” He held Caterina’s hands and kissed them. “Every time I see you, you grow more beautiful. Even in grief.”
Caterina bowed her head.
“And you are the famous Englishman,” Gregory said, taking Berkeley’s hands in turn, “who brought us the money.”
“The money is there,” Berkeley agreed.
“But at what a cost, eh? What a terrible cost.” He waited, but as Berkeley made no comment, continued. “Anna was motivated. And now you will be motivated.”
Berkeley frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean. I rode with Anna because she was my mother-in-law, and she wished it. When she was wounded, it was my duty to bring her back here. Now . . .”
“Now you must take her place,” Gregory said. “And lead us in the field.”
Berkeley gulped. “I know nothing of anarchism, of Balkan politics, of your cause.”
“Of politics and our cause, you will learn,” Gregory assured him. “In the field, you have every prerequisite: courage, boldness, decisiveness, an understanding of what needs to be done and the determination to do it. Karlovy has told me of you. He will willingly follow you.”
“Why can Karlovy not replace Anna?”
“He does not have . . . what is the word? The charisma.”
Berkeley looked at Caterina. Her eyes were gleaming.
As Gregory could see. “I am sure this is what your wife would have you do.”
“It is something I need to consider,” Berkeley said. “Something my wife and I need to discuss.”
“Of course,” Gregory said smoothly. “I shall return tomorrow.”
“Will you not stay here?” Caterina asked.
“No, no. I have lodgings arranged in the town. I would not interfere in your discussion.” He kissed her hands again, shook Berkeley’s hands again, and left.
“So he is the great panjandrum,” Berkeley said, pouring them each a glass of wine.
“I do not know this word, panjandrum,” Caterina said.
“What the Americans would call the boss; who never goes into the field himself.”
She sipped. “He organises.”
“Quite. In absolute safety. He does not even provide his own funding.”
“You did not like him.”
“I would regard him, at least indirectly, as the cause of your mother’s death. Perhaps your father’s, as well.”
“The Austrians killed Father and Mother,” she said. “We are fighting a war. People get killed in a war.”
“Like your mother, you really have no idea what a war is like,” he said. “She discovered when it was too late.” He took the glass from her hand, placed it on the table beside his own, led her to the settee and sat beside her.
He had to choose his words with great care, remembering his cover story for why he had come here in the first place. “Caterina, my dearest girl, do you not see that this is a war we cannot win? Austria-Hungary is one of the five great nations of Europe. Serbia cannot ever fight her. You think the Russians will support you in a war? I do not think they will be able to do that. Nor do I think their support will be of any value. Your parents devoted their entire lives to fighting Austria, and they both died in that cause. Are you going to do the same?”
“Yes,” she said fiercely. “Yes.”
“You are my wife,” he said. “I cannot permit it.”
“You are my husband,” she retorted. “You swore an oath.”
“I took marriage vows,” he said. “I swore to honour and respect you. Neither of those can be reconciled with having you become an outlaw. Listen. I would like to take you to England.”
“You said you had had to flee England.”
“I did not. I said I had been dismissed from the army. I would like to take you there and introduce you to my parents. I will obtain a job, and you will live a normal, happy life. We will have children, and in time you will forget all the horrors with which you have been surrounded all of your life.”
“And the Austrians who killed Mother and Father? Who raped me?”
“You do not even know who they are any more. And you cannot kill the entire Austrian nation.”
She pulled her hands free. “I thought you were a man of courage.”
“I believe I am. I have the courage to know when something is possible, and when it is not.”
“Then leave me. If you wish no part in my future, then I wish none in yours.”
“If you stay here, you will not have a future,” he almost wailed.
“I will kill Austrians,” she said. “Before I die.”
*
She locked herself in her bedroom after dinner, and Berkeley retired to the rooms he had originally occupied where he was joined by Lockwood.
“Here’s a pretty . . .”
“Just don’t say it,” Berkeley recommended.
“It’s just that I really thought we were going to get away with it.”
“We are,” Berkeley said.
He took out the marriage papers; he had been given a copy of the certificate. He couldn’t read all the printed words, but his own as groom and Caterina’s as bride, with her mother as a witness and Karlovy as the other, were clearly written, as were the signatures. And the whole was signed and attested by Father Michael. It might have been a Greek Orthodox ceremony, but he did not doubt it would be legally binding anywhere in the world. He was Caterina Slovitza’s husband.
More importantly, for his purposes, Caterina Slovitza
was his wife.
So, at the end of the day, he would after all be betraying her, as she would see it; but he would be saving her life.
“How do you reckon we are going to do that, sir?” Lockwood asked.
“Listen very carefully.”
*
The house was sleeping, as apparently was Caterina. Silently, Berkeley entered Anna’s bedroom, which was as she had left it for the last time. Candle in hand he hunted around. She had spoken of her strongbox, and there it was, in the bottom of her wardrobe. He lifted it out, placed it on the bed. It was secured with a padlock but he did not suppose that was going to prove difficult.
He took the box to his own room, where Lockwood waited, and between them they sawed through the hasp easily enough. Inside there was, as Anna had claimed, a considerable sum of money: dinars, zlotys, pfennigs, marks, even some English sovereigns. Most important of all, there was a large wad of drachma.
“We’ll take it all,” Berkeley said. “After all, it belongs to my wife, and by Serb law what’s hers is mine.”
For the furtherance of his plan even more important were the several certificates, which included Anna’s own marriage certificate and Caterina’s birth certificate. These he stowed in his wallet as well.
They replaced the padlock, and restored the now almost empty box to the wardrobe.
“What’s a strongbox?” Lockwood asked. “After an army payroll.”
*
“My friend,” Gregory said, embracing Berkeley. “My own true friend. I knew you would wish to work with us. Are you not proud of him, Caterina?”
“I am proud of him,” Caterina said, uncertainly. His volte-face had taken her by surprise.
“I did not wish to, in the first instance,” Berkeley confessed. “I felt it my duty to protect my wife and save her from the dangers of this life. But when I realised how determined she was to avenge her mother, I knew I could do nothing else.”
“Admirably put, and it is a brave man who can tell the truth about such matters. Now, be happy while you can. I must return to Belgrade. I will be in touch as soon as our next venture is arranged.”
“Will it be soon?” Berkeley asked.
“It will not be for a few weeks. We must lie low for a while. All southern Hungary is in a ferment. Budapest is in a ferment. Vienna is in a ferment. There are representations being made. There is even talk of the Serbian government being forced to act against us. They will not, of course. But we cannot afford to embarrass them too much until this furore dies down.”
“Do they know that Madame Slovitza is dead?”
“There are only rumours at the moment. But they will find out soon enough.” He squeezed Caterina’s hand. “When they are sure of it they may relax their pressure somewhat.”
“Do they know about me?” Berkeley asked.
“They know that Anna was assisted by an Englishman as well as her own people. He is identified as a Mr Jones. But Mr Jones does not exist, does he?”
He does in Whitehall, Berkeley thought grimly. But he didn’t doubt he could talk himself out of that situation as well.
“I need a week,” he said. “To visit Athens.”
Gregory raised his eyebrows. “Athens?”
“As I did not know how things here were going to work out,” Berkeley explained, “before leaving England I arranged for some funds owed to me to be sent to a bank in Athens. The money should be there by now, and I would like to pick it up. A week will do it.”
“Very well. But make the journey as rapidly as possible. Will Mrs Townsend be going with you?”
“Of course,” Berkeley said.
“Why must I go to Athens?” Caterina asked. “I would rather stay here.”
“That is one reason why you must come with me. You have spent too much of your life here. When last did you leave?”
“I have not left Sabac since I returned here after Father was executed. Mother would not let me.”
“Exactly. My dearest girl, that was six years ago. You must get out and see something of the world, meet other people. Besides, you will love Athens. It is one of the great historical cities.”
“A week,” she said. “And then we will return here.”
“Of course.”
Once he had told himself he could never contemplate marriage, if it involved lying to his wife!
*
But she was content, and allowed him into her bed that night. They left next morning; Berkeley intended to be out of the country, and indeed out of the Balkans while Anna’s death was still only a rumour. However, it was necessary to spend the night in Belgrade while awaiting the train south. Not entirely to Berkeley’s surprise there was a knock on the door within an hour of their moving in to a hotel; he had never doubted that the Serbian police kept the Slovitza family under constant surveillance.
Two men stood in the corridor.
“My God,” Caterina muttered as Lockwood opened the door. “The police!”
“I expected them,” Berkeley said.
“Mr Jones?” One of the men asked Lockwood.
“I am Jones,” Berkeley said.
“Would you come with us, please?” He spoke German.
“No,” Caterina said. “You must not go.”
“I don’t think I am in a position to refuse, my dear. I won’t be long.” He put on his coat and went to the door. “I assume you are from Colonel Savos?”
“That is correct,” the man said, and glanced at him. “You know Colonel Savos?”
“We’re old friends,” Berkeley assured him.
*
“Sit down, Mr Jones. Have a cigar.” Savos pushed the box across the table. “From Havana. The best.”
Berkeley took one, and Savos waited while he lit it. Then he remarked, “It is not quite three weeks since last you sat in that chair, Mr Jones. A great deal has happened in that time.”
“I’m afraid it has.”
“Is it true that Anna Slovitza is dead?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You can prove this?”
“There is a death certificate.”
“Presumably signed by her doctor in Sabac. One of her close associates.”
“There is also a body. I assume you would have no difficulty in obtaining an exhumation order.”
“I think I may well do that. The Austrians would like to be assured that there is no risk of a mistake. And now you have taken up with the daughter, I understand.”
“The daughter, as you put it, Colonel, happens to be my wife.”
Savos raised his eyebrows. “And of course you have a certificate to prove it.”
“I do. Plus a few hundred witnesses to the event.”
“All in three weeks.” Savos shook his head. “You come, you see, you marry, you watch your mother-in-law die . . . and of course, you took time out of your honeymoon to rob an Austrian payroll wagon and kill several people. Tell me, Mr Jones, did you also find the time to inform Madame Slovitza of her ‘inheritance’?”
“Am I under arrest?” Berkeley countered.
“At this moment, no. But the Austrians I believe are applying for your extradition. As the charge is murder and you are not a Serbian citizen, Mr Jones, I believe their request may well be granted. They are very angry about what happened.”
“I’m sure they are. But you can only arrest me if I am in the country, right?”
Again Savos raised his eyebrows. “You are leaving Serbia? With your child-bride?”
“I would hardly describe her as a child, Colonel. Yes, we are leaving Serbia.”
“I think that is a very sensible decision. May I ask where you are going?”
“In the first instance, Athens.”
“You understand that the Austrians will also be able to extradite you from Greece.”
“Supposing I am still in Greece.”
Savos nodded. “I have an idea they will hunt you down, Mr Jones. Even as far as England itself.” He smiled. “But then, I do not suppose your na
me is really Jones. I will wish you good fortune, Mr Jones. With your beautiful bride. But let me give you a word of advice. I do not recommend that you ever return to Serbia again. Or indeed, anywhere in the Balkans.”
*
“Was it very bad?” Caterina asked at dinner.
“Not in the least. As I told his people, the Colonel and I are old friends.”
“But what did he want?”
“To tell me that the Austrians are after me. But they’re looking for Walter Jones, not Berkeley Townsend.”
“Will they not trace you to Sabac?”
“Perhaps they will. But surely in Sabac, I, like your mother, will be safe.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “We would never let anything happen to you.”
“Well, then.” He raised his wine-glass to her. “Here’s to Athens.”
*
As he had hoped and anticipated, Caterina was quickly bound up in the excitement of the journey. She had never been on a long train trip before, and she had never seen the mountains of southern Serbia and northern Greece. When, three days later, they rolled into Athens, tired and dirty, she was on a high of expectation as to what might come next. Berkeley checked them into a hotel, and they bathed and changed while Lockwood, as instructed, set off immediately for Piraeus.
“What does he do there?” Caterina asked.
“We have some unfinished business,” Berkeley told her, and carried her off to look at the Acropolis. This occupied the rest of the morning as she was quite awestruck, and by the time they returned to the hotel for lunch, Lockwood had also returned.
“All done?” Berkeley asked.
“All done, sir.”
“Well, this afternoon I must go to the bank and see what they have for me. How would you like to go shopping, my dear? Lockwood will escort you.”
“Oh, may I? But do we have any money?”
“Enough.” He gave her some of her mother’s drachma.
*
“Hm,” remarked the Embassy secretary. “Hm.” He studied the various papers Berkeley had placed before him. “These all seem to be in order, Captain Townsend. I should think we will be able to issue your wife with a British passport. It will take about a week.”
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