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Day Four: Afternoon

 

For nearly an hour, Stana had perched on the box while Slavica sold the produce, replying to '*Merhabas*' and 'Good-days' with a faint saturnine smile; and her thoughts dwelt upon the girl.

Slavica had many of Andrija's traits. There was in her his brooding, explosive temper and his tendency to brutal, even cruel frankness. There was also the ability to use guile and subtlety, and use them well, and there was the powerful will which eventually dominated by either means, or by both; and it was this which Stana felt increasingly being turned against her.

Yet these things could be, and probably were, learnt from Andrija. There was too much in her of Ante that was natural. She did not resemble him--she resembled Stana more, and would probably become very beautiful in a few years. Her build, tall and supple, though not yet mature, had more of Ante's loose-jointed grace than Stana's smooth precision. Her eyes often had Ante's faraway look, and they narrowed in the same peculiar way when her attention focused on something.

Stana found it incredible that Andrija had never suspected.

Yet if he had, it would be even more incredible that he betrayed no sign of it, let alone exacting vengeance for his slurred honour.

That brought another smile; mirthless, small.

Andrija had seemed easy to understand while he was alive. But his death had raised questions that bespoke tortuous complexities and inner contradictions in his seemingly simple personality, questions that multiplied with the years.

And what on earth had prompted her to tell Slavica the truth in such a way, at such a time?

A fit of temper?

Jealousy?

The more she turned it over in her head, the more it seemed to fit. But why should she be jealous of Slavica?

She knew, suddenly and with brilliant clarity, that is didn't matter why. Perhaps there was no reason at all. But it was there and it was a trap that she would have to skirt carefully, at least until the girl was married.

And only then it hit her.

The girl had believed her.

Somehow, Slavica must have suspected the truth. Something, at least, had broken her from Andrija. That made it a point of honour both for her and for the family; but better, she suspected, not to air the matter. Not yet, anyway.

Much more pressing was that Slavica now knew, and that knowledge was a weapon the girl had against her with Kosta. But only with Kosta, for the shame of illegitimacy would ruin her chances for a advantageous match, and the stigma would remain, even as Kosta would be forced to take some action. Stana doubted he would kill her; a beating or two might result. Certainly the animus would poison the family circle, and she hesitated to believe that Slavica would scruple to keep quiet given sufficient provocation.

Only one more reason, then, to step carefully.

And she would step carefully, for Kosta's sake, and the sooner the girl was married off the better.

Stana slipped down from the wagon box, smoothing her skirt, and put a hand to her hair.

"Where are you going?" asked Slavica.

"Just to have a chat with someone," said Stana. "I'll be right back."

And with that she walked off toward the han, leaving Slavica wondering.

"A lady to see you, sir."

Stadelmeier's feet came off the desk and hit the floor with a thump. "A lady?"

"Yes, sir," said Barfeld judiciously. "Says you're expecting her."

"Damn," muttered Stadelmeier with a grin.

"Perhaps--"

"You keep your ass right there, Janos. And don't open your mouth whatever she says."

"If she--"

"I don't care if she calls your mother a whore, you keep a lid on it. As long as you're on the outs with her we may be able to put that to some use, you see what I'm saying? She doesn’t speak German, does she?"

“I don’t think so.”

"Have you a man that speaks Croatian, then?”

The officer put his head out the door. “Send Svoboda, or Kevar. We need a translator.”

"Er--shall I introduce you, sir? The proprieties, you know."

"Do that. But not another peep out of you unless you're spoken to. Send her in, Barfeld," he told the runner, standing up, and Vathely did likewise.

Stana walked lightly in, ducking the stone lintel with a bright smile. As their eyes met Vathely noticed something flicker across her face, but it was gone before he could put a name to it. The soldier Kevar followed her in and saluted, then spoke to her briefly in Serbian. To the men he said: “The gospodja Stana Malević.” Then to her: “This is Herr Claudius von Stadelmeier, Commissioner, Foča Administrative District."

"I'm honoured, Herr Kommissar," she said in German as Stadelmeier gave a little bow. "Any small service--"

"Nonsense. The honour to be of service is mine, Frau Gräfin. Please, be seated," said the bureaucrat, trading meaningful looks with Vathely and Kevar, who shrugged. “You may go,” he told the soldier.

"Thank you." She sat on a bench, gracefully erect, and then the officers sat down. “But I’m not a Countess, merely the gospodar’s wife.”

"I have heard quite a lot about your husband and yourself," said Stadelmeier, “though not nearly enough,” he added with another glance at the hussar. "I feel almost as though we've already met."

"So many Austrians say that, I shouldn't feel surprised to hear His Highness the Archduke claim my poor acquaintance."

"Which, I am sure, he would find delightful," returned Stadelmeier gallantly. "And now, what may his servant do for you?"

"You're very kind, Herr Kommissar, but I believe the question is rather what I may do for you."

"Whatever you see fit, gospodja However, I hope you can enlighten me on one point; I understand the funerals of the knez and his family are to be held tomorrow?"

"With the choosing of the new knez by the odbor, yes."

"We also have a casualty or two, gospodja. Would it be . . . fitting for our man to be buried as well?"

"Quite so. I think it's an excellent idea. Roman rite?"

"Catholic, yes. Good. I have already sounded out the priest, Father Ante, on the matter. And the honours--won't upset anything?"

"It is well to be cautious. I shouldn't turn out every man if I were you, Commissioner. Perhaps six or seven men as an honour guard. And of course no one could object to a private service in here, if you wanted to take that route."

"Excellent. Eight men, Captain. See to it."

"Yes, sir."

"And I may assume that we will have the honour of your presence, Herr Kommissar, at our observance?"

"Is it--?"

"True, you are not Orthodox. No, I thought not. But this will be a public affair, so the traditions are relaxed on that score."

"Circumstances permitting, of course."

"Of course, Commissioner. Now, how else may I help you?"

"Natürlich, gospodja. I'd welcome any information that would assist in our enquiries."

"Your enquiries, yes. Has Ivo been of any help?"

"Ivo?"

"The man you arrested. Has he been able to provide any information?"

"It is our belief," said Stadelmeier carefully, "that he possesses knowledge the full significance of which he is not aware. We are in the process of checking what we do have."

"I see. In other words, no."

"Hardly--"

"Oh, I quite appreciate the polite way in which you said so. And now, having demonstrated our wit and courtesy to each other, let us also be frank. Tell me, Commissioner, why exactly did your men arrest him?"

"I will level with you, gospodja. He was causing a rumpus here in town. He had been drinking. We took him in for his own protection as much as anything else. He is known as a quite hostile talker, in addition, and there was some idea of making an example of him--which I quashed as soon as I learned of it."

"A talker, that's all he is, I assure you. He's no bandit--why, his wife Jelena would give him what for."

"Nevertheless, we would like a day or so to see."

"Understandable. May I see him?"

Stadelmeier and Vathely traded looks yet again. "Ja," said the Commissioner. "Tell them, Herr Rittmeister."

"Jawohl." Vathely rose and went over into the hall.

"He's not exactly fit," said Stadelmeier. "But as long as we are being frank I will not hide the fact that my subordinates handled him roughly."

"Yes . . . I understand that Alija, our other tenant, is also assisting you."

"Indeed. He and Colonel Slavin should be back shortly."

"And what, if I may ask, is to be Alija's--status?"

"We shall simply have a written statement done up, that's all. He will go home tonight. Let me make it clear, gospodja, I intend to have no one else arrested at this point. The men who arrested your tenant Ivo exceeded their authority, and I would be happy to have that undone--but I must ask you to consider my situation. Several of my men have been killed. Two were attacked yesterday at Juglesitch's farm, and one of them is dead. I have some discretionary powers in the matter of the knez; my writ from the Government is vague on the rights of Bosnians. I can invoke, or not invoke, certain regulations. But I must account for every one of my soldiers to higher authority, and I cannot allow them to be preyed upon with impunity. The situation is very delicate, gospodja. You understand, then, why I need your cooperation, and that of your husband, as well as that of all people who don't wish this region given over to brigandage."

"Sir," said Vathely, looking in, "the prisoner is ready." Stadelmeier held up a chunky forefinger.

"I understand your position very well, Herr Kommissar," said Stana, looking past him. "Speaking for my husband, as well as for myself, we too feel a measure of responsibility for our people. It does not reflect well on us, on our honour, when people are arrested on the street and held captive for indefinite periods, or most particularly when homes are broken into by night and whole families terrorized. Naturally, our people want something done about it, and they look to us. Wouldn't you agree, Herr Rittmeister?"

"What you're saying, gospodja--" began Vathely.

"I'm afraid he wouldn't agree," said Stana, turning to Stadelmeier. "Perhaps that is why he finds life dull and unsportsmanlike on our little mountain."

"Gospodja, you are quick," said Stadelmeier, "but Captain Vathely has already been reprimanded for his actions the other night, and he will not lead any more patrols for the duration of this affair. Furthermore, there will be no more arrests except on my personal order. And I intend to personally see things through to the end."

"In that case, Commissioner, I am prepared to state that both my husband the gospodar and I support your search for the bandits and comitadji, and we will cooperate to the extent of our responsibilities."

"What exactly does that last mean, gospodja?” asked Stadelmeier, sitting up.

"Naturally, we are not prepared to jeopardize our community. But it is in our interest to see lawlessness stamped out, and your investigation will receive no hindrance from the people if we can help it. No one here wants anyone to get away with acts of terror."

"Very good, gospodja. Thank you, I believe we now understand one another."

A touch of the saturnine smile returned to her lips. "I sincerely hope so. There remains, firstly, our horse Ratko, which should still be in your custody."

"We'll turn it over to you now if you wish."

"You may return it to Alija on his arrival."

"Very well. See it's done, Captain."

"Secondly, there is our rifle."

"Yes, gospodja. It will be duly returned when we no longer need it in evidence."

"Evidence? Of what?"

"In the matter of the knez's murder. A rifle was used, and we need to see if any of our suspects recognize it."

"Suspects?" drawled the noblewoman. "Don't you mean, witnesses?"

"We have no witnesses," said Stadelmeier, nettled. "You know that."

"No witnesses . . ." Stana murmured. "Then you're expecting a killer to identify it? Or you wish simply to certify it as the murder weapon and then grab anyone who steps up?"

"There is--"

"Any number of people could identify that rifle. This is gun country. Everyone knows everyone's weapons. But what on earth does any of this have to do with the killing?"

For an answer Stadelmeier took a small object out of his pocket and placed it on the desk between them. "Know what that is?"

Stana picked it up. "Yes. It's an eleven-millimetre Mauser slug."

"Could have come from your rifle, couldn't it?"

"Ours, among many others."

Stadelmeier leaned forward. "That was pulled out of one of the victims. And your husband, too, was wounded that night. You don't happen to have extracted any slugs from him for comparison?"

"My husband, Herr Kommissar, is lucky to be alive," she said, putting the slug down. "He was there."

The politician took a deep, slow breath. "There--at the knez's, at the time of the killing? He was a witness?"

"I don't know what he saw, but he was there."

He clasped his hands together. "You know what you are saying, gospodja? If he knows who did it and doesn't tell us, that makes him an accessory after the fact to eight counts of murder."

"He said he didn't know, sir," interjected Vathely.

Stana examined a thumbnail. "About what, Herr Rittmeister?"

"About the . . . " Vathely stopped and began to turn red.

"Yes?" Stana asked, running the nail along a finger.

Vathely caught a lethal glance from Stadelmeier and stammered: " . . . Never mind. Nothing."

Stana let exactly two seconds elapse and then looked up at Stadelmeier. "I'm sorry--where were we?"

The politician cleared his throat. "If your husband knows who killed the knez, gospodja, it is a crime for him not to tell us."

"Oh, yes. Well, that is for him to discuss with you, Herr Kommissar, when we all meet tomorrow."

Stadelmeier saw the opening, and used it. "Good. When he and I talk, and the matter is settled, I shall be happy to turn the weapon over to him."

"Or to me?"

"Or to you."

"Excellent," she said. "I can see I was not mistaken, Commissioner, in hoping you could talk sense."

Stadelmeier spread his hands. "I save it up for sensible people."

"Better that," she replied, "than wasting it on your junior subalterns. And now, if I may see Ivo, please?"

The Commissioner stood up. "After you, gospodja,” he said, and as she turned his eyes met Vathely's, and the hussar could not read anything in them, anything at all.

Kosta Savić raised himself on one elbow; shooting pains ran from the shoulder down his right side.

He flopped over, letting himself fall onto his back, and then rolled over onto his other side.

He did not feel like getting up.

"Merhaba, gospodja," said Ivo, starting to get up.

"Sit down, Ivo, sit down," said Stana, taking two steps forward into the cell, leaving Stadelmeier and Vathely in the doorway.

She looked him quickly up and down; both eyes were blacked, his lip swollen; his clothes torn, filthy.

"How are they treating you?" she asked.

"I dare say the accommodations have improved slightly since Dobrica Nastasjević used to run the place," he joked. Then, nodding toward the doorway, he asked, "They speak the language?"

"No."

"Pity. I can't tell them to their faces what cream puffs they are."

"They don't seem to have done too badly with you."

"Ah, well, gospodja, they took me from behind, you see," explained Ivo. "Now, if it'd been front to front, fair and square, I bet my old woman could lick a battalion of them with her frying pan."

"I bet," said Stana, remembering Jelena's shrewish reputation. "Look, Ivo, what do they want to know?"

"How should I know?" Ivo shrugged. "Nobody's said a word in Serbian since that colonel put me away."

She knelt down. "Ivo, I'm doing what I can to get you free. The Schwabes are looking for comitadji, and I guess they're going to try to keep you at least until they get someone else."

"I'll be in here 'til doomsday, then, I reckon. You know, gospodja, there aren't any comitadji around here. Not this side of Gradac. There just aren't any pickings for them around here for these thirty years."

"Gospodja—“ said Stadelmeier from the doorway.

"One moment, please, Herr Kommissar, I beg of you." Then she resumed in Serbian, "You know that and I know that. But somebody did attack a couple of Austrians the other night, and if they can't find any comitadji, they will begin to hang raia."

Ivo flushed. "Aye, like the Turks took my grandfather Milovan, so the Schwabes take me."

"Cool off, Ivo. Think carefully. They won't hang you if I have anything to do with it, and won't beat you anymore either. I'll have you free as soon as I can."

"Thank you, gospodja. But who on earth would have attacked the Schwabes? No one I know."

"I will listen, and find out more. Keep your wits about you and I will come back soon. All right, Ivo?"

"Your word is good with me, gospodja. Thank you."

"Very well." Stana stood up and turned; in German, she said softly, "For his own protection . . .? Well, let's go, Herr Kommissar."

Around and around his brain went thoughts, distant and black and insubstantial as so many autumn storm clouds.

Why had the idiot told such a tale as being ordered to throw a scare into him by the priest?

The priest would have expected Stana and Slavica to be at home. Not him.

The likelihood of Yusef being able to scare Stana was nil.

And even if he could, there was no reason for Rezać to antagonize her. True, he himself had been cold to the priest when they'd last met, but it was well known that Stana wasn't his puppet.

If anything it was in the priest's interest to split them.

Unless he wanted her dead.

But if he killed one of them, he must know that his own death was certain to follow.

Had the Turk, then acted on his own?

No matter which way he cut it, it made no sense.

And there had been Andrija's face.

Kosta Savić shuddered. That picture would never leave him, as long as he lived.

He rolled over again and with a single burst of effort propelled himself onto his feet.

With three steps he was at his chair, tumbling into it sideways so that it rocked back onto its rear legs.

He closed his eyes and tried to make the world go away.

As they emerged into the han's central room, Stadelmeier kept his gaze on the floor. They stood for a few seconds and she knew that the official was waiting for her to make a move.

She decided to wait him out.

No one said anything for a full minute.

At last Stadelmeier said, "I trust, gospodja, all is reasonably well with your man."

The noblewoman smiled blandly. "He just asked me to look after a few things, not knowing how long he would be held, and offered a comment or two upon the inadvisability of getting oneself arrested. Thank you, Herr Kommissar; I must be going."

"And our--understanding?"

"Oh, yes, our understanding," she said. "Yes, indeed. By the way, Commissioner," she continued, her gaze fastening upon Vathely, "are you at all familiar with our local custom law?"

"Well, I--"

"Among other things," she said nonchalantly, "it provides that the owner of a mad dog is liable in blood kind for whomever the dog may bite." Her glance shifted to Stadelmeier. "Good day, Commissioner."

And out she went.

Vathely exploded, "By God, I'll have her--!"

"Shut up!" barked Stadelmeier savagely.

The officer shut his mouth, trembling with rage.

Stadelmeier was beginning to say something else when from just outside there came a burst of gay, tinkling laughter.

"Der Teufel!" gasped Vathely.

Stadelmeier looked at the hussar, breaking into a smile himself.

"Or, at least," he said, "his wife."

Stana let her laugh carry out with it all her thoughts about Stadelmeier and the Austrians.

She had expected that the Commissioner would be smarter than he looked, and he had not disappointed her. She had also expected him to try to conceal it behind bluster, as he undoubtedly did with his troops. For him to speak so very fair meant he had not underestimated her one whit. But if he had hoped to get her to plead for Ivo's freedom she had not given him satisfaction.

And Vathely's role in the talk clearly argued a split among the Austrians, as did Stadelmeier's very presence. Rezać was likely to know as much, and without a doubt he would try to use it. True, the hussar now knew she spoke German, but the unexpected opportunity to humiliate him with that in front of his superior had been just too delicious to miss.

But exhuming Andrija? That one was still a puzzle.

Slavica was leaning against one of the wagon's drop sides.

"Good business, Mother," she said, standing up. "I sold everything. Fifteen eggs, half a kilo of bacon, a basket of coffee . . . and twenty silver pfennig. "

“Joj!” said Stana, visibly impressed. “Did some Schwabes come and clean you out?”

“Yes, two of them with a wheelbarrow. And they took the first price I offered—didn’t try to bargain me down at all.”

"Excellent You may keep five pfennig, take it and enjoy yourself for a while, but mind your hope chest and don't spend it all. And be sure to come back straightaway when you see the Austrians returning with Alija."

"Yes, mother, thank you," said Slavica. Stana fixed the girl's kerchief and watched her walk primly off into the square.

"She's a fine girl, gospodja," said a voice at Stana's elbow.

She turned her head and recognized the sturdy, weather-beaten woman as Jana Vuletić, wife of the starešina Marko.

"Yes, Jana, thank you. I try my best with her, but you know how they get to be at that age." Jana nodded and she continued, "How have you and Marko been keeping down by the river?"

"Well enough, thank you, gospodja, although I'm afraid Marko's uncle Vuk has been suffering lately."

"Oh, no. Not the goitre again, surely?"

"Yes. He's been in agonies. You know what that means."

Stana looked down at the ground, and neither said anything for a while.

"I saw you visit the Schwabes, gospodja."

"Yes?"

"Well, what are they like?"

"They are men like any other. They have no tails, and it is quite possibly a lie that they eat children."

"Of course, gospodja. I mean, what are they like? Are they here to stay? What do they intend to do? And how are they treating Ivo?"

"Naturally, Ivo's no lily, and they aren't treating him like one. As to their plans, they did not confide in me. I simply heard that they wanted to see me, so I dropped by and answered a few questions, and asked a few of my own. They're pretty smart men, and you can bet they know what they're doing."

"But you could not convince them to free Ivo?"

It was a cunningly barbed question, and Stana knew it. "I had quite a little talk with Ivo, as well as with the Austrian Kommissar. It appears the Schwabes who arrested Ivo exceeded their authority, and they want to keep Ivo around for a day or so as a witness to that while they look into it among themselves. Not to mention that he's safely out of Jelena's reach for awhile, and you know how good her aim is with that frying pan."

"I've heard." Jana smiled.

"He'll be free soon enough. These Schwabes seem to prefer talking to shooting, although they do have some face to save of their own, so they talk tough. But even tough talk is cheap, while bullets cost good money, so I don't see any reason why we shouldn't talk with them for awhile. There's one captain, a Hungarian with moustaches, who's no better than a Turk--"

"I've heard that, too."

"Aye. I made it clear to his superiors, the Colonel and the Kommissar, that we wouldn't tolerate any more of that stuff, and they promised to keep him in line."

"I hope so. But I'd just as soon not see any Schwabes at all around, and for our part we're prepared to take to the woods if we have to."

"Take to the woods? At this time of year--and with what, muzzle-loaders and pitchforks? These Schwabes all have repeaters and automatic pistols. You wouldn't be fighting Turks this time."

Jana smiled again. "As if a bullet from a muzzle-loader doesn't kill just as well as a bullet from a carbine! And if a man took to the woods he might be better armed than some would suspect. I dare say your husband the gospodar knows a thing or two about that. How is he, by the way?"

"Recovering very well, thank you. In fact, he's ploughing today, breaking up some fallow ground."

"I'm glad to hear it. We're all waiting, you know, to see what he does about the affair of Knez Dabisav."

"Terrible, wasn't it? Of course, I'm behind him, whatever he sees fit to do."

Jana looked around. "Quite right, gospodja. I'm sure he'll do the right thing. He always does. But . . . brrr! it must be like living with an ice cube sometimes!"

"Oh," said Stana knowingly, "he heats up once in a while, believe me."

"Ha! I'll take your word on that, gospodja. Just between us, does he know who killed Knez Dabisav?"

"He hasn't said much," said Stana truthfully.

"Aye, I'd expect him to keep such a thing close to his chest. Like he keeps everything else, not that that's bad, mind you. Not at all. But surely if he was there, he knows?"

The noblewoman spread her hands. "There you have me."

"He was there, wasn't he?"

"Yes. But he was gone for a few days, you know."

"No, I didn't. Personally, I'm tempted to think he has some secret enemy who attacked them and tried to make it look like that dreadful Bicanić business . . ."

"I don't doubt it," said Stana. "I wouldn't put the whole thing past certain of the Austrians. They're acquainted with the Bicanić affair, and they're certainly smart enough to put us to work doing their business of disuniting us. The knez's death is something of a convenience for them. But time will see things out."

"That it will. Sooner or later the truth of the matter will out and justice will be done."

"Indeed. I’m sorry I’ve nothing left to sell you--"

"That’s fine, gospodja. We're still eating off the cartload Marko bought from Kosta Savić last month. And it's slow, dede Vuk complains that potatoes are new-fangled and wants to feed them all to the pigs, and that after Marko paid silver money for the lot."

"Two or three ducats, I recall."

"Three," said Jana tartly. "It's a lot harder to scrape a ducat together than to make a few cheeses to trade off, but can I teach Marko that? No, he's got to show off by paying good silver money for everything. What am I to do with him?"

"Turn him into a banker," Stana suggested.

"Joj, and have him spending everyone else's money?"

"Better than spending yours."

Jana laughed. "Very true. Well, I must be getting on, gospodja."

"Good-day, then, Jana. My best wishes for Uncle Vuk."

"Aye, at the least maybe baba Milica can make him think he feels better, with her bits of string and horseradish."

"It can do no harm," observed Stana.

"She's getting on, too. Maybe I can guess who the next vračara may be after she's gone."

"Pitaj Boga," said Stana.

"Thank you, gospodja. Good day."

Yet again Slavica tugged at the bell-pull, and yet again a faint muffled tone died away somewhere within the rectory.

She waited.

Perhaps she had missed him in the market-place.

She had turned to go and look again there when the ancient latch made a scraping noise.

She whirled around and saw the priest in his plain black cassock.

"Why, Slavica, my child--this is a surprise."

She smiled a little.

"Merhaba, Father. Do you have a few minutes to spare?"

"Of course. What--?"

"My mother doesn't know I'm here," she said. "May I come in?"

"Very well." He conducted her in, closing the door, and they went down the hall and he motioned her to a seat in the study.

They both sat down. She could see nothing but amiable concern upon his countenance.

"Now, Slavica, what is the matter?" he asked her.

"I haven't much time, so we will talk business. I couldn't quite make out your conversation with Mother this morning, until I heard that you are going to disinter the body of Andrija Savić tonight."

"My child--"

"Tell me, Father. What exactly have been your relations with my mother?"

"Why do you ask me this?"

"Because I want to know. I need to know."

"I realize life has not been easy for you, Slavica. You have been growing, maturing, confronting many painful truths about the world. And it is easy to become confused when you are young and not too experienced. Everyone has doubts, especially at your age. I certainly did, and your father Andrija Savić did, and so did your mother. It's part of growing up. I assure you that for the past five years I have been your mother's spiritual advisor, nothing more."

"And that is all?"

"If there'd been anything else, someone would have suspected, and believe me, your father Andrija Savić was a most proud and jealous man. He kept a very close eye on everything."

"Ah, but he didn't know about you and Mother, did he? Because now and then he went away, and once he went away for quite a while. And my mother came to you secretly. Didn't she? Father?"

"Think about what you're saying, girl--"

"Oh, I have been, Father. Ever since Mother told me all about it."

The priest was silent, perhaps thinking of a wager he had been offered.

"To be fair, she said it was no great thing, only for a little while, and she said she thought you didn't know. But I think you did suspect it, and she's sure you really are my father."

"If she said so, I can't think what prompted her to tell you such a tale. But if she did, and if it were so, what difference could it possibly make? The gospodar Andrija Savić is dead. Kosta Savić is still your stepfather, one way or the other. Why rake up the past?"

The girl said quietly, venomously, "Isn't that exactly what you're doing tonight, Father? In the graveyard? It seems to me that you are the one who's raking up the past with a vengeance."

"The idea is quite fantastic. I'm planning to do nothing in the graveyard tonight, and if I were it would certainly be by day, with the proper ceremonies."

"Strange, Father. Suddenly everyone's trying to smear you--telling lies about you when the truth 'makes no difference?' No. No, no. That isn't the way things happen. You digging up Andrija Savić, my mother's husband, that is the way things happen. I can see you wanting to be sure he's dead to be sure--in case your conscience is bothering you. But what I am wondering is why now? You don't intend staging a vulkodlak outbreak for the Schwabes' benefit?"

Rising, the priest said, "You are talking madness, girl. I am afraid you are not well. I'll see you back to your mother. And your step-father will also have to know."

She threw back her head and laughed.

"He'd kill you, Father. Don't even try that one on me."

Rezać picked up his coat. "He'd do no such thing. You're obviously suffering from an attack of hysteria. It is . . ."

His voice trailed off as her hands moved languidly to her blouse and undid a button, and then another, and her eyes smiled up at him with deadly wisdom.

"What--?"

Her lips silently but clearly formed the word rape.

"Never!" he cried passionately.

"No?" she asked softly. "And what about that young stallion of a Turk you employ?"

"He's nowhere around--" Too late, he cut himself off.

"Nowhere around?" Her voice grew even quieter. "You're quite sure of that, Father?"

"No."

"More lying, Father?" She undid a third button. "You will be up all night saying Paternosters at this rate."

He turned fully about, his back to her. "I swear to you, Slavica, I don't know where he is."

"Somehow I have trouble believing you, Father. But, you know, we don't have to be against each other, you and I. I'm buttoned back up, Father, you can turn around now."

He stayed still. "What do you mean?"

"If we work together, Father, you can dress up the truth any way you like for all I care. I don't want to ruin you unless I have to."

"What do you want?"

"This midnight escapade of yours in the graveyard--it has nothing to do with my stepfather, or with Andrija Savić. It is my mother you are after. Why, I don't really care. But if I were against her, too, together we could bring her down."

"Nonsense." He turned around, visibly paler, and saw that she was indeed buttoned up again; but the wisdom yet lurked in her blue-eyed gaze. "I don't want to bring her down."

"Don't you? Wasn't she the first and only woman you ever made love to? Wasn't it a sweet and secret and passionate thing? And didn't she suddenly break it off and go back to her husband, never to meet you by night again save in your forbidden fantasies?"

He sat down. "I loved her."

"I don't believe it would take a girl to tell such a wise man as yourself, Father, that love and hate are not such different things as fools would have you believe."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want an education, like my mother had. I want to move about in the world, and when I marry I want to marry well, and I don't mean to some gazda with dirt behind his ears."

"Have you spoken to your mother and stepfather about this?"

"It wouldn't do any good. Even if they wanted to they couldn't afford to let me go. But I will do it."

"How?"

"The Church has schools. You can sponsor me, and I will get there somehow. I would certainly be able to help you in return, one way or another."

"I'm sorry, Slavica, but the scheme wouldn't work. Even if you were accepted--and you are not even a Catholic--it's nothing more than running away from home. Don't you see? You'd be foolish to throw away all your advantages. You come of an ancient and respected family, and you could marry the best in the country. Such respect is hard-won, girl. Here you are someone, and someone important. But if you were to go to Agram, or Venice, or Rome--why, those are great cities. There you'd be nothing. No one would know your family, your heritage, and if they did it's little enough they'd care for the daughter of a mountain chieftain. Like as not you'd end up scrubbing floors, and to me you're too good for such a thing. Believe me, I have been to such places, and I know what I'm talking about."

There was a moment of silence.

"Very good," said the girl. "Quite convincing--I liked the bit about scrubbing floors. But you miss the point entirely, Father. It is upon my own merits that I intend to make it, and make it I shall whether you help me or no. I thought we could co-operate, but it seems we cannot." She arose, and put a hand to her kerchief. "I shan't keep you any longer, Father. I believe I know my way out."

"Slavica! Wait a moment--"

"Good day, Father," she said, and walked rapidly through the doorway.

He followed her into the hall. "I warn you, girl. You leave me no choice!"

But Slavica had gone.

Demjan let a rock tumble from his shoulders; it fell with a thump on the ground, and he sat down on the pile and mopped the sweat off his brow.

So much had happened today; a nightmare had touched his life, and against its chill he had felt nothing.

No one, no one he really understood, could really talk to, was near. Alija and Sarai were sympathetic--or tried to be--but they could not truly know. Mara tried to love him, but she could not truly comprehend.

And there was his mother. Something had happened to her, too. But it was as far from him as he was from Alija--or Mara.

Could the distance, the chill, be overcome?

He looked up.

Mara was coming, with a leathern water-pouch.

"This is a surprise," he called out. "Thank you."

"You looked parched," she said pleasantly. "I brought you some water."

He drank, deeply, the water slopping on his bare breast, and she sat down beside him.

"My parents told me about the Schwabes picking up that wounded man."

"Yes?"

"What did they say?"

He corked the water-pouch. "Very little, really. I don't think they think we had anything to do with it."

"Will they be back, do you think?"

He looked at her for a while, her frank blue eyes, her young, slender body in its peasant dress; her kerchief, with a strand of ash-blonde hair falling out of one side, and he reached out and twined the hair around one finger.

"Something," she said, "is weighing on you. Suffocating you. If you talked to Father he hasn't shown it. But ever since this morning you have walked around possessed."

"Have I?"

"Tell me what it is. Maybe you can't talk to your family, and you can't talk to Father. But you can talk to me."

He let the hair fall.

"You wouldn't understand, Mara. It goes back years and years. Why, I don't really understand it myself."

"Try me."

"It's not that simple--"

"Demjan, I didn't say I could solve your problem. I can't, after all. Nobody could, but only you. So what if I don't understand? You think I'd be hurt? Don't you want to let this thing off your chest?"

The boy looked at her for another long moment.

Then he began to talk.

Kosta Savić's head sagged until it touched the table.

Where had it all gone wrong?

He no longer hoped to find an answer. There was now his duty, and his affirmation.

Yes, his affirmation.

But what was his duty? And, after all, what meaning did his affirmation have? What good would his personal salvation--or whatever fate awaited him--do for Stana and the children?

He could not call his act a crime, but it had caught them in its toils as well as him.

Was there nothing he could do to free them, he who had enslaved them?

Such a thought was monstrous.

If he could not, how could he have involved them in the first place? It made no sense.

If x, then y. Not: if x, then . . . nothing.

A solipsistic trap.

Things did not work that way.

If he had done it . . .

But if he had not?

Yet how could he not have done it? He remembered taking up gun and knife, remembered the dark trek, the flames, the dancing silhouettes . . .

Stana . . . Stana was right. Everything pointed to the fact that he could not have done it.

Except that he had.

Logic versus reality.

Reality?

Who was to say that reality is what one sees, or touches . . . or does?

Was there, then, some reality locked away in his brain that he knew nothing of? a reality that touched his friends and family, against which any act of his had no more effect than . . . fantasy?

And if so, was it in him only, or in Andrija, too?

And Stana?

Why?

His fist crashed down upon the table.

If it did not matter why he had done the thing, then it did matter à propos of this reality. Not reality in general, but this reality.

But where to begin?

Demjan was silent.

"I . . . I don't know what to say, really," said Mara at last. "But there is one thing I know."

"Yes?"

"You must go back, Demjan."

"Must I?" he said evenly.

"You have to think of your sister, your baby brother. What about them? Once and for all, it has got to be dealt with."

"My sister, as you call her, is beyond hope. And what could I do with a baby? No, I'll go away by myself. Tonight, and never come back."

"That's what your stepfather wanted to do!" she cried. "But he came back--something brought him back. And then he married--her."

"You make my mother sound like some snake."

"What does it matter what I think?" she asked bitterly. "When have you ever wondered about my wishes, my thoughts? And have I ever asked for anything from you, ever voiced my side to you? No. It's always what she wants, isn't it?"

"You want me to go back, so does she."

"But I want you to go back for me. For both of us. Not for her. We are about to be engaged, Demjan. If you run away from here, think of the shame, the dishonour--on me! It would kill my father, you know that. Who do you suppose would want another man's cast-off?"

"Mara--"

"'Demjan Savić went away and left her,' they'll say. 'He took a horse, but not her.' What d'you think that'd do to me?"

"I'll take you with me. You and Anton."

"And have us rear your brother like a son?! That would be a monstrosity!"

"We both know he's not our son."

"It's not that at all. It would not be right, and you know it."

Demjan sighed. "Maybe not, Mara . . . But I don't like it, though. That house is like a tomb."

"Oh, nonsense. Kosta Savić and Stana are people just like anyone else. What you must do is face up to them. Demand your competency. They can't do a thing to you that you haven't already done to yourself."

"Mara!" came a distant call.

She stood up. "I have to go--"

"You have my word, Mara," said Demjan, looking at the ground.

She hesitated for one moment, then ran off.

Stana walked through the market square slowly, moodily, still smiling, and stopped when she came before blind Fedun Dapko, the guslar.

Fedun's whiskered face turned toward her.

She said nothing.

"Who is there?" he asked.

"Surely, Fedun Dapko," she said, "it hasn't been that long."

"Gospodja . . . I'm honoured."

"Thank you, Fedun. You're wondering, perhaps, what you should sing for Knez Dabisav?"

He ran the bow once across the tiny lap-fiddle. "I do not sing for the dead, gospodja. I sing for the living, that the dead be not forgotten."

"But they can hear you, Fedun. The dead can hear you, believe it."

A few raia stopped nearby.

"It has been some time, gospodja. Forgive me. And the gospodar, I trust--?"

"Is well enough. But he could not come to market today."

"That he is well I am glad to hear."

"Do you remember the last song you sang for me, Fedun?"

"No."

"I think you do." She began to hum gently, a lilting, melancholy cadence.

"I don't remember, I'm afraid, gospodja."

"Not remember How Count Dabisav Betrayed Samobor to the Turks?"

The group near them was increasing by ones and twos.

Slowly, very slowly, she came to her knees in front of him. "Please sing it, Fedun. It's not popular, but it is very short, and it is one of my favourites. Won't you please sing it?"

"Yes! Do!" came a few voices.

"The gospodar Kosta Savić wouldn't like it," said the guslar. "It is not a lucky song. Do not women prefer the sevdalinki, the love songs?”

Her voice took on a steely undertone. "He is not here. It is I, I who ask you to sing this once for me. Please, Fedun."

Other voices joined in, and the old man finally, grudgingly almost, tucked the gusle into his abdomen and began to dance the bow across the string in a thin, wailing phrase.

*Herceg Stjepan hranjase sokola trojemitara,

Onu lijepu pticu.

Drzeci ga jedan dan na gosposkoj desnoj ruci,

Poce ti mi ovako sokolu besjedovati,

Zemaljski gospodar:

‘Poletni mi, sokole, do grada do Samobora,

I ovako ti reci slavnu kralju Dabisavu,

Gradskom gospodaru:

“Ne daj, *knez*e Dabisave, Turkom grada Samobora!

Ako ti je ponestalo lijepijeh mladijeh vitezova,

Kneze moj nebore,

Ja mi ti cu ubrzo vitezovah dobaviti;

Ako li ti je ponestalo nebrojene drobne spendze,

Kneze Dabisave, 

Ja cu tebi drobne spendze za dovolje dobaviti.’”

Odletio siv sokole vrh grada od Samobora,

Soko, siva ptica,

Taj se bjese soko ptica cudna cuda nagledao;

Gdje *knez* s Turci setase po placi od Samobora,

Vjera ga ubila!

A brat njegov, Ivanac, s delijami vino pije.

Kad mi bjese ono cudo soko ptica ugledao,

Soko, siva ptica,

Letom bjese odletio hercegu na bijele dvore,

Bjese mu so posadio no njegovu desnu ruku,

Hercegu Stjepanu,

Pristao je cvijeliti ljuce drjeva i kamena,

Cvileci je hercegu svu istinu kazovao,

Svomu gospodaru,

K'o *knez* s Turci setase po placi od Samobora,

A bratac mu, Ivanac, s delijami vino pije,

Vjera ga ubila!

Kad mi bjese ove rijeci herceg Stjepan razumio,

Ovako je prist'o sokolu besjediti,

Svojoj vjernoj ptici:

“Da bih znao, sokole, da je sve toj zaistinu,

Pero bi ti po pero od krioca ulamao,

Moja vjerna ptice,

Da mi vece nikada huda glasa ne doneses!“*

Duke Stjepan fed his falcon thrice-moulted,

That bird so fine.

One day as he held him on his arm,

To the falcon he did say these words,

The lord of the land:

“Fly off to the town of Samobor

You'll say to glorious King Dabisav,

The lord of the town:

'Don't let the Turks have Samobor!

If you've run our of fine young knights,

My wretched Count,

I'll soon obtain some more for you;

If you've run out of your countless coins,

Count Dabisav,

All that you need I will obtain.’”

The falcon flew off to Samobor,

The falcon grey,

And long looked he at a sight so strange:

In Samobor square the count strolled with Turks,

The true faith slay him!

And his brother, Ivanac, drank with Turks.

When that strange sight the falcon saw,

The falcon grey,

He flew away to the Duke's white court,

And on his arm he did alight,

On Duke Stjepan's arm,

And wailed more bitter than the wind,

And wailing, told the duke the truth,

His lord,

How in Samobor square the count strolled with Turks,

And his brother, Ivanac, drank with Turks,

The true faith slay him!

When Stjepan the duke had heard these words,

To his falcon he did say these words,

To his bird so true:

“If all you said I knew was true,

I'd break each feather of your wing,

My bird so true,

So never more you'd bring bad news!”

So intent in the music was Stana, singing quietly along, that she did not hear the horses until they entered the square. She looked, briefly, and then took a coin and placed it quietly in the fiddler's basket. She felt the urge to go at once and see Alija; but for respect to the singer she stayed out the song.

As she had said, the story was not a long one, and the guslar consented to do one or two more. During another lay, Alija made his appearance, leading a horse by a rope halter. He, too, listened and waited until the short silence and the saying of thanks. Some had a coin for the guslar, others a few boiled eggs or a vegetable, and all were placed gently in the basket so that he should not know who had given what.

"Well, Alija," said Stana, rejoining him at last, "How did everything work out? Did the Schwabes behave themselves?"

"Very properly, gospodja. We were not troubled--Is something the matter?"

"Look." She pointed to one of the animal's hooves. "Her thrown shoe--I'll have to have Veljko the smith to see to it. I told Slavica to keep an eye out for you. Have you seen her?"

The starešina pointed. "There she is. Slavica!" He waved, and the girl picked her way toward them. To Stana he continued: "I must say, on the whole they behaved very reasonably. After all, they could have arrested all of us."

"They could have, but of course they already have Ivo."

"Lord, yes! Jelena must be going through agonies wondering where he is."

"And, if she thinks it's a spree, doubtless preparing agonies for him when he gets back. One day I expect she'll visit Ilija Vuletić's place with an axe."

"Mother, Alija," said Slavica, coming up to them.

"You bought nothing?" Stana asked her.

"No, Mother."

"The gossip must have been captivating if you didn't even get a ribbon from Hasanović. Come along, we have only Ivo's wire to get. Have you any other business, Alija?"

"Well . . ." He looked at the horse, whose halter he still held in one hand.

"I'll take old Jorki from you, if you get the wire from Hasanović. A full bale, remember. He'll have one." She accepted the rope, dug into her purse, and with a twinkle she told him, "Here are five ducats. If you can't make that good a deal you may pay the difference yourself."

He grinned. "I'm a good enough Muslim, gospodja, but before I've finished he'll swear I'm a Hebrew Jew."

"I'm sure you'll have him weeping, Alija. We'll be at the smithy."

As the freedman walked off, Stana said, "Well, what did Katja and young Marica have to say?"

"Not much. You know, the usual, like it's a lean month."

"Yes. I'm surprised you didn't buy anything. I should have had Alija get you a surprise from Hasanović."

"Oh, Mother, I've got everything I could want. Besides, you did tell me to remember my hope chest."

"Yes . . . speaking of that, do you have any--inclinations in that way? You've never said a word, and you are getting older all the time."

"I know. But that's really up to you and Papa."

"True. But neither he nor I would want to choose a boy you might detest. You could marry any of them, you know."

The girl smiled. "Well, for no particular reason I've always imagined you'd have me marry Janek Vuković, Dragan's son."

Stana came to a halt by a stone enclosure and was quiet for a moment. "Katja’s brother? Do you like him?"

"No more, no less than the others."

"Does he like you?"

The girl gave her such a look that Stana had a reproach on her tongue, and said, "He is close to being prijatelji, since his mother Marek is a relation of Jovan Ilić. But she isn't a blood-relation, so it would be all right, wouldn't it?"

"That would be up to Jovan and Dragan to decide," said Stana. "But her maiden name was Bicanić, not Ilić, so it sounds good to me. We'll see. Good afternoon, majstor Veljko," she said to the smith.

Veljko Leskanić's return greeting, if any, was drowned out in a great hissing and steaming as he plunged an implement into a trough of water. He held the tongs steady for a few moments, withdrew the thing--an axe head--and set it on the rock hearth. Then he put down the tongs, flexed his knotty hands, giving his knuckles a prodigious cracking, and finally took up a greasy colourless rag and began to wipe his brow, coming out. "Merhaba, gospodja," he said. "Did baba Jorki throw another shoe?"

"Yes, Veljko. Do you think you can fix her up today?"

The smith began to wipe down his massive blackened arms. Stana couldn't help her eyes running over his body, stripped to the waist save for his dirty leather apron. He was not tall, and only the forge soot kept his chest hair from showing grey, but his frame was broad and hard as the limestone mountains; he often wielded his four-kilogram hammer, one-handed, all day and into the night.

"I'm sorry, gospodja," he was saying, "but I have no new horseshoes. I don't get much call for them--you are one of only about four horse-owners from here to Brod. I could have some by next market-day, but I know that won't help you now. Do you have the old one?"

"I'm afraid I don't, Veljko."

"Well, there's one other thing I could do . . . I could put on one I have here."

"Isn't that bad luck?" asked the girl.

"It'd be worse luck to let her go lame for want of a shoe," said Stana tartly. "Will it be the right size?"

The smith got up and rummaged in a box. "Might even have one of her own old ones in here--I think . . ." He brought out a worn shoe. "Hold up one of her hooves, let's see--that's right."

Stana bent one of the mare's legs up and Veljko held the shoe to it. "Very close. I could hammer it out a little. Would that be all right?"

"Very good. Thank you, Veljko."

"Right," said the man, straightening. "Take me about half an hour. Sava! Get that bellows going or I'll have your hide for parchment!"

Kosta Savić stood up. He wasn't too dizzy, and the pain in his side was dulling again.

But he wouldn't be doing any more ploughing today.

He looked out. The plough was where he had left it, the horse waiting patiently.

No better time than now to bring it in. It would be dark in two more hours anyway.

He threw his coat about himself, stooped with difficulty to retrieve his knife, and unbolted the door.

If the Turk was half a man he'd be waiting outside to finish the job, but there was no one around.

Unsteadily, leaning on the house side, Kosta Savić made his way down the steps.

"Sit down, Fedor," said Stadelmeier. "You, too, Oehring."

"Thank you, sir."

"So," said the Commissioner, sitting up. "You got back all right, and Vonhof's still alive. But not talking?"

"I had to dope him up with morphia, sir," said the medic. "He was in too much pain."

"Well, let him come out of it. I need to see what he can say. He'll pull through, will he?"

"I'm sure he will, sir. It isn't a really dangerous wound."

"Good. Now, you saw him, fixed him up. What kind of attack was it?"

There was a moment of silence; Slavin looked at the medic.

"It was an animal, sir," said Oehring. "His wounds are from teeth and claws, not weapons."

"You wouldn't say a person attacked him?"

"It would have to be a person who was completely insane. They were armed, remember, sir. Their weapons were there and loaded. Only someone crazy would attack two armed men with his bare hands."

"That's true," said the politician.

"I think we can rule out bandits or hajduks in this case," said the lancer. "No bandit would leave two brand-new repeaters laying right on the ground."

"If it were a human, they would have shot him dead, right?"

"Right," said Slavin. "But there were no bodies. If you ask me, they both dozed off and wolves surprised them."

"You think that's what happened?"

"For God's sake, sir," broke in the medic. "You saw Hird's body yourself--what else would have done that?!"

No one said anything to that.

"All right," said Stadelmeier. "We'll say it was wolves. But I still want to hear what Vonhof has to say."

"Of course, sir."

"No matter when he starts talking, or if he feels like it, you come and get me. If I'm sleeping, wake me up. Let the sergeant of the guard know."

"I will that, sir," said the officer.

"Good. Oehring, you can go. And keep me posted, will you?"

"Right, sir," said the medic, standing up, and he went out.

The Commissioner sat back a bit. "Very warm today, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. To think we had snow falling a week ago! You'd never believe it," said Slavin.

"Yes. Anyway, something happened down here you might be interested in. The gospodar Savitch's wife stopped by for a chat."

Slavin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That is something. Quite unusual."

"Oh?"

"The gospodar must have had something in mind. Nothing else would explain his wife coming here."

"Well, we had quite a talk--in German, no less--and then she had some words with your prisoner."

"My p--"

"The gist of it was that she promised their help--or, more accurately, their benevolent non-interference--in return for me clipping Vathely's wings."

"I'll bet Janos felt flattered."

Stadelmeier snorted.

"Did she say anything about the Vonhof business?"

"No, we didn't talk about it. I let her steer the conversation. I gathered that our arresting their people is as much a headache for them as their harassing ours is for us. Kind of a gentlemen's agreement."

Slavin said nothing.

"By God, Fedor, she's a cool one. I showed her that slug Oehring dug out of the old man and she just sat back and told me there were a lot of those Mausers around. And admitted her husband was there."

"Did she? That is interesting."

"What do you think? She doing a double bluff?"

"Well, that makes him an accessory at the least if he refuses to talk."

"I told her so. She said we'd meet him tomorrow, and he'd say his piece then."

"H'm. What'd you think of her German?"

"Amazing."

"You just kind of slipped into assuming she was German, didn't you?"

"You're right, Fedor. It came so natural I never gave it a second thought. If she's not German you couldn't prove it by me."

"And yet she's not. I find that, too, very interesting."

"What d'you think the connection is?"

"So the gospodar was there. He was wounded. Well, that doesn't mean he did it. He could have been an intended victim. He could be covering up the killers for his own reasons. After all, their tradition would demand that he avenge the crime with his own hands."

"Could he be covering up for one of his own men?"

"Possible. Maybe one of his people is working against him and he's trying to run it down on his own. It'd reflect badly on him if he had a man out of line. He'd lose big face."

"You think that's the setup?"

"If he knows, and only if he knows, he's legally an accessory after the fact. But I wouldn't try chopping points of law with him. Remember, up 'til now there hasn't been any law around here. The Imperial Code doesn't mean any more to him than the discourses of Epictetus, and he's been the man on the spot. Together with the odbor--the village assembly--and the knez, he has been the law. I've talked with him at some length, and I don't doubt for a second that he does everything very honourably, according to the local usages and traditions. They're not savages, after all. They have a saying you'll hear, 'Pet stotina godina pod Turcima,' 'Five centuries under the Turks,' that explains a lot."

"Yes, well," said Stadelmeier, "we'll see. And we'll get to the bottom of this if I have to haul him in and question him personally. You say he's a man of honour? You'd put yourself on the line with that?"

"Yes, sir, I would. He may be--almost certainly is--withholding information. But I am sure he wouldn't lie to us, nor she either."

You'd better be, thought Stadelmeier. Because he's not the only one with face to lose.

Stana examined the horse's hoof. "That's a good job, Veljko. It might have been made for her."

The majstor put down his hammer. "Thank you, gospodja."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Well, seeing as the last one I put on her came off so soon, I'll let you off easy. Three groschen, or six silver pfennig. That all right?"

"Fine," she said, and counted out the coins.

"Gospodja, it's not too often we meet, and I'd like to talk to you if you have a few minutes."

"Of course, Veljko."

He took off his leather apron, and picked up his shirt and embroidered jacket. "Not here. May we take a turn around the square? Very well." He buttoned his jacket, threw his red scarf about his neck, and she fell in beside him as he walked.

"Aah, that's good, to stretch the legs out after standing over that forge all day breathing soot and smoke."

She waited.

"As you know, gospodja, a new knez will be elected tomorrow. All the men of the odbor will be thinking about it tonight, and naturally they are also thinking of Knez Dabisav and the affair of his death. The matter is vital only to Dragan Vuković, but nonetheless it touches us all. Now, I am a friend of your house, gospodja, of the gospodar Kosta Savić, as I was of Andrija before him, and of Nikola Savić before him. Is this not so?"

"You are my very good friend, Veljko. You may count on us. You know that."

"Thank you, gospodja. I have no idea whom the new knez will be. It might very well be me. Whether or not that is so, I have some questions relating to your husband, the gospodar Kosta Savić. These are questions that are not mine alone; I heard them asked many times today. I would like to put these questions before you, with the utmost respect, gospodja, and you have my word as a starešina that whatever you choose to say will never pass my lips. However, the knowledge may enable me to help tomorrow's decision. You apprehend me, gospodja?"

"Perfectly, Veljko. There is no bad blood between our houses, and never has been."

"Exactly. You are a wise woman, gospodja, and I, too, have been a seeker, in a modest way. That is why I am putting these questions before you."

"Very well, Veljko."

The smith was silent as they skirted the han and headed toward the ravine.

"Question number one. Is the gospodar Kosta Savić involved in any way--regardless of guilt--in the murder of Knez Dabisav and his family?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Yes, he is."

" . . . I will avoid the question of his guilt. That is for neither of us to judge upon. But to your knowledge, has he any idea of where the guilt is attached?"

"I'm not sure that he does. I think so, from certain things he has said. But if I read him correctly his idea is wrong."

"You, then, have an idea yourself?"

"I am turning one over."

"Would it be accurate, then, to say that these murders are not the result of . . . any normal or intelligible motivation?"

"Fairly accurate, yes."

"Could it be said, in that case, that someone was involved who . . . was not responsible for his actions?"

By now they had halted on the stream-bed's hither edge, and above them Stana could see the burial-ground, with Andrija's tombstone among the rest.

"You put it very delicately, Veljko. The answer is yes. But that is my answer and not his."

"I understand. Now, could the same in any sense have been said of the death of the gospodar Andrija Savić?"

She looked very steadily at the blacksmith. "I cannot answer that, Veljko. To say Yes would be wrong; but neither would it be right to say No."

"That also I understand."

I wonder if you do, she thought.

"Now, permit me to ask you this, gospodja. The gospodar Kosta Savić is badly hurt, by all reports, and in any case life in these parts is very uncertain. What would happen if he were to . . . to cease to exert an influence in local affairs?"

"An unusual way to put it, Veljko. But there is Demjan. He is respected, though young."

"Do you feel in your heart that he would make a worthy gospodar?"

She considered.

"If the Schwabes carry out all their promises, the title would become a dead thing."

"The Schwabes made you promises?"

"We talked; there was a promise implicit in what they said."

"And that is--?"

"These particular Schwabes may soon go; but others will be around, and they say they will establish their law and civilisation here permanently."

"I see. I think I see," said the smith slowly.

"Might we walk back now?"

"Oh, yes, gospodja. Forgive me."

They began to walk again.

"Are those all your questions?" she asked.

"Nearly all. The last is this: If something were to befall the gospodar Kosta Savić, would you marry again?"

She shot a glance at him, and was quite surprised to see him flinch visibly, and grow a little pale.

"I'm--I am sorry, gospodja," he stammered out. "Please disregard that question. I should not have asked it."

"It's all right, Veljko. It's just that I'm not . . . that is, who would there be that I could marry? if I wanted to?"

"That's the question. That's just it," he said quickly.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No, no. I--all of a sudden realized I might be offending you, gospodja. That's all."

She gave him a pleasant little smile. "I assure you, Veljko, if you were offending me I should have said so. And I know you would never dream of breaking a confidence. So why should I take offence?"

He said nothing for a minute as they walked back into the square.

"Will Kosta Savić be here tomorrow?" he asked at last.

"Yes. Demjan, too."

"Good. Thank you, gospodja. I see Alija and Slavica are ready to go. I won't detain you."

"'Til tomorrow, Veljko."

"God go with you, gospodja." The smith looked as though he wanted to say something else, but he turned abruptly and walked away.

"We got the horse from the Schwabes," said Slavica as Stana came toward the wagon. "What was that all about?"

"He was interested in what the Schwabes had to say," said Stana, climbing up on to the seat. "And the conversation rambled on a bit, you know."

"I'll be glad to ramble on home," commented Alija. "Joj, what a day it's been! Sarai must be out of her mind!"

"What a day!" repeated the girl. "And it's not over yet, either."

She looked at her mother, who stood up and cracked the whip; and she followed behind, leading Kosta’s bay.

In the priest Rezać's study the slanting afternoon sunlight, subdued by gathering clouds, fell through tiny diamond-paned windows and across his desk, across a sealed envelope marked: To be opened in the event of my death.

Father Ante picked up the envelope. It was long and stiff, yellowish. He tapped it against his left hand several times, as if checking--despite the seal--to make sure of the contents.

Then he picked up a paper-knife and slit it open.

The first several sheets, neatly written on thick linen-paper.

Last will and testament . . . Being of sound mind, I bequeath, etc . . . All very well, not that any of it mattered much once he was dead.

Then the last sheet.

*If my death is by violence, I wish it to be known that my killer will have been the gospodar Andrija Savić, or his kindred. The gospodar may suspect improper relations between myself and his wife Stana Malević. I have nothing to say in this regard; it is for her to relate the truth, if such becomes necessary.

As I have no blood relatives to avenge my murder, if murdered I be, I can only leave the gospodar Andrija Savić with my written curse: By the threefold power of God Almighty, by the shifting of the winds and the cycle of the seasons, by the stars in their courses; the soul of the slayer shall know no rest, nor the soul of the slain peace, neither in their coming nor in their going; neither in their rising up, nor in their setting down; neither by the light of the sun, nor by the light of the moon, even unto the third and fourth generation, as it is written: For I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me. Even as son slew father, so will it be again; and whether this will be the end of the matter, or whether retribution will yet endure for a space, God Himself knoweth. But so far it is ordained. The testament of the unworthy servant of Our Lord, Ante Rezać.*

He read over the words hardly believing he had written them; they seemed as scratchings on some forgotten monument.

Casting his mind back, he tried to remember writing that sheet. What frenzy, what inspiration had possessed him?

He remembered nothing.

Yet there were the words, in his own sloping, graceful hand, finished with his indisputable signature.

And then he remembered the girl.

He picked up the sheet, meaning to tear it up, and then held.

Tearing up the paper would not unwrite the words. Neither would adding or scratching out.

The forty cryptic lines stared up at him, a testimony to vengeance and hatred beyond life and time--a vengeance, seemingly, that Andrija Savić had escaped, and that now waited patiently, hungrily, in ambush; not to be cheated again.

"Thank you Alija, but I'm afraid we can't stay," said Stana pleasantly, tucking in the baby's wrappings. "How did he behave, Sarai?"

"Like an angel all day," said the freedwoman. "The Schwabes never suspected he was here. He enchanted Mara absolutely. No sign of his illness, either."

"Good. This has meant very much to me; thank you, Sarai. And thank Mara for me as well. Demjan?"

"Yes?"

"We will see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, mother." He glanced downward, then began to straighten his shirt, unrolling his sleeves. "I'm pretty much finished here. I'll walk to the village with Alija in the morning, and then go back with you."

"Sarai tells me," said Alija, "he's been working like a mule, and from what I've seen I believe it. When the time comes, gospodja, he'll do alright."

"If--when--you become gospodar in your turn," Stana told Demjan, "a mistake won't just get you a clip on the ear. It'll probably get you a bullet behind it. You know?"

"I know."

"Pay attention to your stepfather. He has always done everything right. And if he's still alive in a week, it'll be thanks to no one."

"Not even to you?"

She did not reply for a moment, but looked away, to one side.

"Once," she said a little sadly, "I thought I had some wifely influence over him; to counsel, to criticise, to persuade. Maybe I did. But I do not think so anymore."

"And if--if he does something wrong?"

Stana turned and handed the baby up to Slavica who tucked it securely into the front; then the woman put one foot on the edge of the bed, and turned again to face him.

"I don't know," she said, managing a weary smile before mounting the box.

"Be careful," called Demjan. "It looks like rain soon."

The wagon rattled off among good-byes, Slavica vaulting up onto the bay with her skirt spread, following, and as they went up to the house Mara hung back, looking Demjan in the eye.

"More than ever," she said quietly. "You must do it."

Demjan looked at the ground, and a hint of his mother's weary smile appeared on his face.

Coda: Twilight

It was close to nightfall by the time the wagon finally came down out of the pine scrub and into the farmyard, and the smell of rain was in the air.

Stana knew at once something had gone wrong as she saw a dark mass on the stair stand up; it was Kosta Savić, swathed in his great woollen riding-cloak.

At the same time the girl cried out and pointing to the stiff form of the dog below him.

She pulled on the reins, halting the vehicle, and as she set the brake and stood up she felt a familiar quiescence descend upon her, an exaltation raised of crisis that enabled her mind to work quickly and clearly.

"Did you--?" demanded the girl shrilly, jumping down from her mount.

"Let's get the wagon unloaded first," he said, attempting to keep his voice steady. "It's about to rain. Explanations can wait another ten minutes."

While Slavica ran to the dog he reached up to help Stana down; and even though she leaned on his arm as lightly as possible, a wince shot across his face.

With one hand she whisked open his cloak and saw a small new stain upon his shirt, and a tear. And he was pale again, almost greyish under his week's growth of stubble.

"Say who," she whispered.

"Later."

She looked at him searchingly for a moment, then turned away.

"Slavica! Lend a hand, if you please."

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