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  “We don’t know she wasn’t coerced, or certainly tricked. She is my wife. I have a duty towards her.”

  “I hope you’ll remind her that she has a duty towards you,” John Townsend said.

  “But are you really well enough to travel?” Alicia asked.

  “The voyage to Greece will take several days. Cheam says it will be good for me.”

  “But then you have to go into the mountains, don’t you?”

  “By train,” Berkeley reminded her. “I shall travel in complete comfort.”

  *

  Déjà vu, he thought, as the train rumbled into Belgrade Central. However, the atmosphere was more tense than when he had first come here the previous year; now it had even spread into Greece which was openly mobilising. He and Lockwood had visited Pathenikos, who at the very sight of them had begun to tremble; no doubt the story of the incident of the Wanderer had reached Athens. He had declined to accompany them into Serbia. “There will be a war up there at any moment,” he said.

  And on this occasion, of course, he could expect no assistance from the Embassy, at least regarding his personal affairs.

  The Turks in Macedonia had also been in a highly agitated state, and spent even more time inspecting papers than they had on his last visit. Serbia was a ferment of troop movements and new defences, only now they had to take account of the Austrians in Bosnia-Herzegovina as well, which gave them a very long frontier to defend.

  There were, however, some things that never changed.

  “Mr Jones,” Colonel Savos said. “Is it Mr Jones today?”

  “Jones will do, Colonel.”

  “Welcome to Belgrade. I had not really expected you to return.”

  “My wife is in Sabac.”

  Savos nodded. “This I know. You intend to go there?”

  “That is my intention. Unless you propose to stop me.”

  Savos shrugged. “If you mean, do I have an Austrian warrant for your arrest, I believe there are several lying about the place. But at this moment we are not serving Austrian warrants of arrest.”

  “I had hoped that might be the case.”

  “On the other hand, I doubt that the Austrians are any longer your chief enemy. I would have supposed that going to Sabac would be, for you, a highly dangerous business.”

  “Which is why I am reporting to you, first, Colonel.”

  Savos raised his eyebrows.

  “I just wish you to know where I am, and I wish the people of Sabac to know that you know.”

  Savos stroked his moustache. “I’m afraid that will offer you very little protection, should you, ah . . . disappear.”

  “It is still a measure of protection.” They shook hands. “I will see you when next I am in Belgrade.”

  “I shall look forward to that. Tell me, Mr Jones, when the shooting starts, will you be on our side?”

  “I should think so. You tell me, Colonel, when will the shooting start?”

  “Some time quite soon, I would say. We are in the mood to fight.”

  “Austria? With or without Russian help?”

  Savos gave a quick smile. “Somebody. As I said, we are in the mood to fight.”

  The colonel, Berkeley reflected, knows something that I don’t. And he didn’t think the War Office knew, either.

  They took the train to Sabac. Again, déjà vu. The little town had hardly changed in the few months he had been away; the river port was as busy as ever, the fruit sellers lined the wharfs. And there was the usual crowd of little boys, some of whom remembered him and shouted his name; but they called him Mr Slovitza.

  He was also very aware of being watched, as he and Lockwood made their way towards the big house. He could not help but feel certain that one of the people watching him was very probably the man who had tried to kill him.

  He rapped on the barred door, and it opened immediately; they had seen him from an upstairs window.

  “You are . . . Marie,” he said, remembering.

  She gave a little curtsey, her face crimson as she looked past him at Lockwood.

  “Aren’t you going to let us in?” Berkeley asked.

  She moved backwards so quickly she almost fell over.

  “Is your mistress at home?” he asked.

  “I am here,” Caterina said from the top of the stairs.

  “Am I welcome?”

  “As long as you have not come to take me away.”

  He climbed the stairs towards her. She was even more beautiful than his memory of her.

  “I will not take you away. But there was no reason for you to sneak off like a thief in the night. Had you waited, I would have come with you.”

  “I do not believe you,” she said.

  He reached her and stood against her, put his arms round her, held her close, kissed her forehead and her hair and her mouth. She did not resist him, but her body remained stiff.

  “I adore you.”

  “You adore my body,” she said.

  “May I tell Lockwood to settle in?”

  “Of course.” She looked past him. “Welcome back, Harry.”

  “Good to be here, madame.”

  “Give Mr Lockwood food and wine, Marie,” Caterina commanded, and led Berkeley up the next flight of stairs and into the drawing room. She went to the sideboard, poured two glasses of wine and gave him one. “So, if you did not come here to take me away, why did you come here?”

  “To be your husband.”

  She gave him one of those appraising stares he remembered so well. “How is your wound?”

  “It twinges every so often. I still need a few weeks’ recuperation.”

  “And your career?”

  “It is over.”

  Another long stare. “That is what you told Mama last year. And it was a lie.”

  “This time it is the truth. I will show you my discharge papers. They do not think I will ever recover sufficiently from my wounds to be a soldier again.”

  “Is that true?”

  He shrugged. “According to the requirements of the British army, I suppose it is.”

  “I am sorry you got shot.”

  “I’m very glad to hear you say that. I assume you know the man who did it?”

  “It is better for you not to know who it is.”

  “Which means that you do.”

  “I have said, it is not a matter we should discuss.”

  Nineteen years old, and she was treating him like a child. And he had to accept it.

  “I would like you to know,” he said, “that everything I did was for your mother and yourself.”

  “I do not believe you,” she said, and looked at the door.

  Which opened to admit several men, led by Karlovy. All were armed, and Lockwood and their guns were far away.

  “I could not believe my ears,” Karlovy said.

  Berkeley looked at Caterina, who did not seem the least surprised by the intrusion.

  “You sent for them?”

  “There are matters to be discussed,” Caterina said.

  “Matters?” Karlovy enquired. He jerked his head and his men filed into the room, spreading out along the walls. The last closed the door.

  “There is really no need to be quite so cautious,” Berkeley said. “I am unarmed.”

  Karlovy pointed. “You are a traitor to the cause. You deserted us. You abducted Caterina. You have brought calamity upon us. You have been condemned to death by the supreme council.”

  Berkeley refused to be alarmed by the rhetoric. “And I assume the sentence was carried out, in England. Ineptly.”

  “You had a lucky escape.”

  “I agree with you. But I did escape and it is an axiom of the law that a man cannot be executed twice for the same crime.”

  Karlovy looked at Caterina in bewilderment.

  She actually smiled, for the first time since his return. “My husband is very skilful with words and ideas, and has much knowledge,” she said.

  “No matter,” Karlovy said. “W
e will try him again, on another charge, and condemn him again, and this time the execution will not be botched.”

  “Nothing will be done to him,” Caterina said. “You will send for Gregory.”

  “Why wait for him?” Karlovy sneered. “It was Gregory who signed the death sentence.”

  “Exactly,” Caterina said. “Therefore it is Gregory who must now rescind it.”

  “Rescind it?” Karlovy demanded.

  “My husband will not be executed,” Caterina said.

  “He is a traitor to our cause,” Karlovy shouted.

  “He is the father of my child,” Caterina said quietly.

  Karlovy and his men left, faced with a situation they did not know how to handle.

  Berkeley wasn’t sure he knew how to handle it either.

  “My dearest girl,” he said. “When did you know?”

  “I knew in England,” she said. “But it is possible to miss one period and not be pregnant. Then when I missed a second, on my way back here, it could have been all the things that had happened. But now I have missed a third, and I have been examined by a doctor in Belgrade. He says there is no doubt of it.”

  “I am so pleased for you. For us.” He frowned at her. “Are you not pleased?”

  “I hope to be,” she said. “If you will live here with me and be my husband.”

  “Believe me, that is all I wish to do.”

  “We have no money. I have no money. We may have to sell this house.”

  “I have money,” he assured her.

  “But you say you have been dismissed from the army?”

  He nodded. “My parents have agreed to pay me an allowance. The money will be sent to Belgrade every month.”

  When would he be able to stop lying?

  But at least he could make her happy. “So, you see, we can keep the house.”

  “I am glad,” she said. “I was born in this house. I would like my child also to be born here.”

  *

  He needed time to think, to evaluate the position. Suddenly the immediate future had taken on an altogether different aspect. He could actually look forward to it.

  On a very basic level there was the delight any man would feel at becoming a father, and by a woman like Caterina. He hastily wrote to his parents to let them know they would soon be having a grandchild; he gave them the impression that he would be returning soon to England with his little family.

  But on what might be called the political level things had turned out even more satisfactorily. Caterina was very definitely out of action for at least a year, as he did not doubt she intended to feed the babe herself. As a desperately loving husband, he could not be expected, and he certainly was entitled to refuse, to leave her side for any madcap adventures which might end with his being killed and she left a widowed mother. And by the end of the year he would have her pregnant again.

  This last would obviously take some careful preparation, as for the time being she refused to allow him into her bed. She explained this very simply by saying her mother had always told her not to have sex while pregnant. Trying to convince her that it could not possibly harm the baby had no effect; when she had made up her mind that was that.

  But he also had a nagging suspicion she was still not convinced that she could trust him. Restoring that mutual trust was essential.

  But he had time, he reckoned. Gregory Masanovich needed to be dealt with first.

  Gregory arrived a week after Berkeley’s return. He looked as professorial as ever, and not in the least agitated.

  “What do you say in English?” he asked. “The bad penny?”

  “Very appropriate,” Berkeley agreed, offering him wine. They were alone in the drawing room.

  “I am amazed at your temerity.”

  “I came looking for my wife. I am amazed at your gall, Gregory, sending someone to kill me.”

  Gregory spread his hands. “It was a committee decision. You had broken our laws and abducted my godchild.”

  “Is Caterina your godchild? She never told me that. But you know it is not possible for a man to abduct his own wife.”

  “What is possible and what is not, is for me to decide.”

  “Not your committee?” Berkeley asked, innocently.

  Gregory glared at him, then lit a cigar. He did not offer Berkeley one. “Why have you come back?”

  “To be with my wife.”

  “To kidnap her again, perhaps.”

  “I shall not do that, Gregory. For one thing I have given her my word, and for another she is carrying my child.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, I congratulate you. What are your plans?”

  “To be a good husband and father.”

  “You have money?”

  “I have a private income. Now tell me, Gregory, what are your plans?”

  Gregory snorted. “We can make no plans, while this crisis continues.”

  “I am glad to hear that,” Berkeley said, with genuine relief. “Do you have any idea what is going to happen?”

  “Yes,” Gregory said disconsolately. “Serbia is going to accept the terms imposed by the powers.”

  “You know this?”

  Gregory nodded. “I have friends in high places. It is a bitter pill and nobody is happy with it, but we cannot fight Austria by ourselves.”

  “And Russia will not help?”

  “Russia is close to revolution, and there is a famine. In the Ukraine, the breadbasket of Europe! People are dying like flies. They say they can undertake no foreign adventures.”

  “Well, as I understand the terms of the proposed treaty, they should bring considerable financial advantages to Serbia.”

  “You are speaking of a layer of icing on the top of a poisoned cake,” Gregory said. “We have the Hungarian border lying to our north. Now we have the borders of Bosnia and Herzegovina lying to our west. All Austrian. To our south and east is Turkey. So the Austrians will increase their trade with us, and perhaps even invest in Serbia. They will not be risking anything, even their money. When the time is ripe, they will simply take us over as they took over Bosnia-Herzegovina. They mean to own all the Balkans.”

  “And you don’t think that will stir up the Russians? Or even the Turks?”

  “The Turks did nothing about Bosnia-Herzegovina, my friend. They are in no condition to do anything about anything. And Russia, I have told you, Russia is in a state of collapse. It is my opinion that the ripe time I have spoken of, as evaluated by the Austrians, will be when Russia dissolves into revolution.”

  “You envisage a disintegrating world,” Berkeley suggested.

  “From our point of view, certainly.”

  “So . . .” He drew a deep breath. “You are disbanding the movement?”

  Gregory sighed. “The movement is disbanding itself, Berkeley. Anna’s death was a heavy blow. I had hoped, Karlovy had hoped, that you would step in and lead us with her enthusiasm, her talent, her skill . . .” He raised his head to look at Berkeley.

  “I told you once: anarchy is not my profession,” Berkeley said.

  Another sigh. “People are leaving the movement in droves. Financial support is drying up. Even Savos has got into the act and warned us against any overt activities. Perhaps, if you were to come back to lead us after all . . .”

  “Forget it. I told you, I came back to be a good husband and father to Caterina. And to keep her out of trouble.”

  “I am sorry,” Gregory said. “Truly sorry. I saw in you a man of looming greatness.”

  “I am sorry too,” Berkeley said. “What will you do?”

  “About the organisation? There is nothing I can do. Save wait, and hope.”

  “I meant, what will you do for a living? Do you have a profession?”

  “Of course I have a profession. I am a schoolmaster.”

  “Good heavens! I would never have thought it.”

  “So, I will go back to schoolmastering.”
He stubbed out his cigar, finished his wine and stood up. “Give my regards to your wife.”

  *

  “I can’t pretend I’m sorry,” Berkeley told Caterina. “My only regret is that this did not happen before your mother got killed.”

  “It could not happen were Mama still alive,” she said fiercely.

  “You could be right.”

  “And now I suppose you expect me to forget all about her, and about Papa, and about all those others who died, about my own mistreatment and the rape of my country.”

  “No, Caterina, I do not expect you to forget any of those things. They are not things one forgets. But there comes a time when one must accept facts. The Austrians hold all the high cards. If they are too powerful for Serbia to fight, they are certainly too powerful for any single man or woman to do so.”

  “I shall always hate them,” she said. “And one day . . .”

  “One day,” he agreed. “Until then, for God’s sake try to smile, and be happy.”

  He wrote to Gorman, acquainting him with developments, and feeling able to assure him that there would be no further activity from the Black Hand for the foreseeable future. Then he settled down to enjoy the life of a Serbian country gentleman. Living was very cheap and he still had a fair amount of Anna’s capital left, while his salary arrived regularly from England. There were horses belonging to Anna’s stable, and game such as wild boar to be hunted in the hills and forests. There was little social life, but as her stomach became swollen, Caterina did not wish to go out and see people in any event. Karlovy and his henchmen had entirely disappeared.

  “I have to say, sir, that this is the life,” Lockwood confided, as they cantered over the open country south of the town. Here they were quite close to the border of Herzegovina, but there was little sign of any activity there.

  “I won’t argue with that,” Berkeley said.

  It could be his life for the rest of his life. Would that be such a bad thing? He corresponded regularly with his parents, and they seemed to have accepted that there was no way he could return until after Caterina’s delivery. They were contemplating visiting Serbia, but he advised against it until the political situation settled down. As Gregory had prophesied, the Serbs had finally accepted the proposals made by the powers, but resentment was still running high.

  “I was wondering, sir, if you would have any objection if I tied the knot?” Lockwood asked. “Seeing as how we seem to be settling here.”