«Previous | Table of Contents | Next»

Day Five: Afternoon

 

The cemetery was full of men moving about. Some had already finished a brief meal of cornbread, cold roast, and boiled cabbage; others had brought some along straight from the serving-line, using slabs of bread as plates, while yet others finished a bit of business with someone else. They all, however, had several things in common. None were under Kosta Savić's age, while most were ten years beyond; leaders, if not patriarchs, of zadrugi that ran to as many as forty relatives under one big roof -- starešini, elders. All their faces bore evidence, sometimes scars, of survival in a closed world of hardscrabble farming, clan warfare, hunger, disease, drought, fear, and ignorance. None had any prospect for their lives other than more years of getting through these same things as they had up 'til now.

None knew any other life.

And all -- as Stadelmeier had noted -- were armed.

"Shall we begin?" asked Kosta Savić, looking around. "Where is Smaila Osmanović?"

"He'll be here in two minutes, gospodar," said someone.

"He went to take a shit," added another voice, and a moment of contemplative silence ensued.

"We will be thirteen," pointed out Ilija Vuletić, "with Dragan Vuković."

"Not if my kum will honour us with his participation," replied the nobleman. "We could certainly do with a cool head among so many young bucks -- " at this a few smiles -- "neighbour Dragan, if you please?"

As Dragan Vuković helped Jovan Ilić to a seat, the other man arrived, and all eyes were on Kosta Savić.

"We have one, possibly two matters of business at hand," he began. "The first -- we all know. The second, if you wish, is what to do about the Schwabes. Other matters you may want to leave for a few days, in the interest of having us all home by dark."

There was general agreement to this, and a few men began to fill pipes with the astringent local tobacco often called 'Turkish' in Western shops.

"Before we elect a new knez," said Dragan Vuković, standing, "let us have some talk about the previous one, my cousin of blessed memory. We all know that he and his whole family were killed, and that by savages who spared not even the littlest child. I have found no one who carried a blood-grudge against my cousin. Do any of you know of such a one? If so, stand and say."

A glance ran around. No one stood, but Miloš Leskanić said: "That is why we elected him, neighbour Vuković. Being not really from here, but more of a Foča man, I take it you've found no answer there or in Vikoč either?"

"None. The motive, then, must have been something else. But, as luck would have it, we don't need to depend on guesswork. I have heard, as perhaps some of you have heard, that we have a surviving witness of the deed."

At this a murmur arose; some had, clearly, not heard.

"Gospodar," called Dragan Vuković. "Cousin Savić, stand up."

Kosta Savić, using Veljko Leskanić's shoulder momentarily to help, stood up. "Yes, I was there," he said grimly. "I took three bullets, two of which I'm still carrying."

"They left you for dead, then," said Velimir Ivancić, a gaunt, hollow-eyed man wearing the old uniform of the Serbian Army in which he had served.

"Who was it?" cried out Marko Vuletić. "Surely you saw?"

"It happened by night," said Kosta Savić. "No one had a chance. The house was set ablaze, and everyone was simply gunned down as they came out."

"No windows," said Jovan Ilić in a shaking voice. "I remember telling him the place was a trap when he boarded up the windows. Easier to heat and keep clean, he told me."

"No windows, godfather," repeated the nobleman. "Very simple."

"Were they, at least, many?" asked Alija. "Or few?"

"Neighbours, we all know that this is a very serious matter," said Kosta Savić. "No one, I think, can accuse me of ever being a waster either of words or time. Knez Dabisav and my father were pobrati. He was an uncle, and more than an uncle to me. I would like nothing better than to stand and tell you straight like a man and a Serb who it was and let us proceed to justice. But -- " his voice rose as other voices began to mutter, "before we make a srpska posla, think you of our guests down at the han. They would love nothing better than to divide and subjugate us. They have ears as good as anybody's. Blood justice carried out now, under their noses, would give them a heaven-sent opportunity to 'pacify' and 'civilise' us -- with a row of nooses in the square, I warrant. What better excuse for them to give us the Bijelnica treatment?" Some of his listeners got quiet again at the memory of that nine-year-old atrocity, which had been provoked under similar circumstances.

"Jovan Ilić, my beloved kum, my second father who raised me to manhood," he called out. "Let me put the question to you. Dare we risk this now? Or do we let Knez Dabisav's blood wait for a few more days until the Schwabes are back in their garrison before we settle this? Speak to us."

Slowly the old man arose, his green eyes moist. "The gospodar speaks wisely. My stepson's blood cries out to me from the ground. It grieves me to say so, but a stepson's blood -- even a son's -- must yield while foreigners are among us. However much a man loves his fallen son, he can get another to love. But our land . . . " He shook his head, overcome, and sat down.

Kosta Savić said: "Thank you, godfather." There were some words of approbation at this, and Veljko Leskanić for one declared himself acceptable of the old sahibija’s word. Then Dragan Vuković stood up again. "Say at least this," he said. "Yes or no -- on your honour as gospodar, man, and Serb -- do you know who it was? Say."

"Yes," came the reply. "Yes, I do."

"And do you give your word that you will reveal this straightaway after the Schwabes have gone?"

"Yes, on my word as gospodar—-as soon as they are well away," said Kosta Savić. “Meaning, beyond Vikoč. When I have that news, I shall tell you.”

"I am satisfied -- for the moment," said Dragan Vuković. "If my cousin's blood must wait a few days -- well, some have waited much longer."

Then tiny, wizened Radovan Ismetbegović spoke up. "What if, God forbid, gospodar, something should happen to you before then?"

"Then," said the nobleman, "one person I have entrusted with the secret shall tell. Is this sufficient?"

"Who?" came several voices. "Demjan? The gospodja?"

"The person," repeated Kosta Savić with a menacing glance all around, "shall tell."

"It is acceptable," said Dragan. "Schwabes out first. I am done until then. Does anyone else wish to add to this?"

No one did.

"Good. Proceed, gospodar, please," said Dragan, and sat down.

"Speaking of that," said Ilija Vuletić, "reminds me of my neighbour and friend Ivo Kopitar. Is it true that the Schwabes have arrested him?"

"Yes, they have," answered Kosta Savić.

"On what charge?"

"When?" demanded Ivancić.

"Please, neighbours," said the nobleman, "I learnt of this myself only last night. I know no more of the arrest than anyone else. He borrowed my horse to bring down here, and he was very worried about the Schwabes calling at his house -- as they did at most of our houses two nights ago." Here there were rumblings of agreement and discontent. "I think that he was afraid, because of his fame as a political windbag, that he'd be arrested as a comitadji."

"Ivo the bandit?" scoffed Marko Vuletić. "In his dreams!"

"More like, Ivo the cook-pot-dodger," added Nikifor Djurić.

"Ivo the donkey," said another.

"However it fell out," said Kosta Savić, "in trying to avoid trouble, he blundered straight into it. It can't be a charge worse than getting drunk and acting up a bit. Talking to them and getting Ivo out is my next job after this."

"I heard you talking to them this morning, gospodar," said Dragan Vuković. "I don't think it will improve your chances with that Oberst that you threatened to kill that Hungarian officer."

"And so I will, if I catch him without a superior," growled the nobleman. "As I said, so I meant. But since that man was just confined in the han, I think my objective of keeping him safely to himself has been accomplished."

"And what was that business about the Turk?"

"Simple self-defence," replied Kosta Savić. "He broke into my house and attacked us. Any other time I'd have killed him. As it was, how I served him will be apparent the next time he pokes his head out Rezać's door. It was then also I caught them digging up my brother's grave."

"I'd wondered about that," said Alija to several ‘ayes.’ "The soil has obviously been disturbed."

"Yes. Rezać and the Hungarian dug up Andrija."

"Why?" “Joj!” came several shocked voices.

Kosta Savić shrugged. "After the pennies on his eyes, perhaps? I don't know. But telling him what I did about the Hungarian was also my way of telling the Oberst that grave-robbing is off-limits to them. He knows, that one. He is one of us, you know, not a Serb but a Slav, a wily old fox like Ban Štrahinija in the stories, and matching wits with him does not come highly recommended. He knows there's nothing but trouble around here, and I'm sure he's going to get them out of here very soon -- maybe tomorrow -- if we can all just keep a lid on ourselves. And I include myself in that. Do we have any other matters before we take up the question of whom to elect as knez?"

Hajji Osmanović the imam stood up. "It all seems settled to me for now, if you and neighbour Vuković say so. But I have one more question about the Schwabes. Is this just another occasional patrol on its way through from nowhere to nowhere? Or is there some reason, some bigger picture? My cousin in Popov Most told me that Austrian troops are flooding the town from southward."

Kosta Savić looked at Jovan Ilić. "Godfather, you live less out of the way in Foča. Have you heard anything?"

"They are up and doing in Mostar and Višegrad. I have heard this."

"And I have heard a few things myself," said the nobleman. "If I were asked, I'd say Austria is getting ready to end our old Turkish rule and swallow our land alive."

Instantly men were up on their feet shouting, some discharging a shot or two, and only be shouting himself could Kosta Savić command some calm. "It makes sense," he said loudly over a few insistent voices. "Turkish rule has been empty in Bosnia and the Sanžak for thirty years, with Schwabe troops occupying. It is obvious. The Schwabes pull out of the Sanžak altogether -- in exchange for real power in Bosnia. You claim," he barked, stabbing toward a man with one finger, "that Turkey is selling us down the river. In fact, they did that thirty years ago. You -- " another finger shot out -- "you say you will fight? Do you not know we are outgunned four to one? They have semi-automatic repeaters, even machine guns given a day's notice. Do you think we are all a company of brave Bosnian heroes like in the old songs? I tell you we will be a pretty batch of dead Bosnian fools if anyone starts shooting. Now, did we meet to start a revolution? Or to elect a knez?"

The Commissioner folded the paper he had been reading and stuck it in an inside pocket. "How's the prisoner?" he asked Captain Vathely.

"More of a burden every hour," complained the hussar. "Can't we just turn him out and have done with him?"

"And break our appointment with your good friend Savitch?" inquired Stadelmeier acerbically. "I don't think so. I want to talk with that man one time, and their new knez if possible. Then we're going to make like some horse crap and hit the trail."

"By night, sir?"

Stadelmeier looked over at Colonel Slavin.

"They won't be expecting it. And although -- if they plan trouble -- it would be easier to set an ambush, it would be much harder to shoot from ambush,” said the lancer. “It will be cloudy tonight, and our superior firepower advantage increases all the more because their muzzle-loaders and bolt-action rifles are that much harder to reload in darkness. We can hole up in Vikoč very late, and be in Foča by just after noon tomorrow. It's harder, and slower, but in the event of trouble -- which I judge to be a fifty-fifty chance right now -- casualties will be much lower."

"What d'you think, Captain?" asked the politician. "Feel free to speak up."

"It's a good plan," said Vathely. "Either way, if trouble happens, it happens."

Something suddenly struck Stana in the middle of the conversation. "Slavica, Sarai," she blurted out. "Have you seen Slavica in the past hour?"

"No, I haven't."

"Nor have I. Excuse me," she begged and turned to go.

"But gospodja -- little Anton here -- "

"You've looked after him often enough while Alija and Kosta were out," said Stana, taking a few steps backwards. "I'll collect him soon." And with that off she went, calling.

Kosta Savić threw up his hands in disgust. "I've got better things to do," he said loudly. "I'll abide by your decision, whenever you get around to making it. Cousin Vuković?"

"Yes, gospodar?" responded Dragan Vuković.

"I can't vote and I can't be elected anyway, and neither can you since you are not a Celebiči man. I'm going down to the han to have a little chat with that Schwabe Kommissar. Will you come along to keep an eye on things?"

Evidently torn between nervousness at going into the Austrian camp, and desire to be in at what bode to be an eventful parley, Dragan seemed to experience some difficulty getting his tongue unstuck. "I will, gospodar," he said thickly.

"Good. And you, majstorv?" he asked Veljko Leskanić. "We all know who your vote is for, anyway. And I think it would be good to have witnesses to vouch that everything is honourably done."

The smith stood up, giving his trousers a hitch. "You only live once, I say." They he looked round. "On your honour as men and Serbs -- if you all agree on one man, and that man is other than the one I've been arguing for -- well, I won't hold up the show. But you must all agree. Understood?"

There were a few mutters in reply, for the odbor was deadlocked between electing Veljko, and Velimir Ivancić, who as an old Serbian soldier was seen as an anti-Austrian gesture. Veljko himself could have resolved the matter by agreeing to vote for Ivancić, but he had stubbornly stood by his idea of electing Nikifor Djurić -- who had loudly and repeatedly declined the honour.

"Excellent," said the nobleman in a voice grown hoarse with unaccustomed speaking. "Let's go, then."

"Let us skip the pious remonstrances," said Slavica levelly, "and get straight to business, Father. I know what you want. You know what I want. What's so difficult about going ahead?"

"What I want," said the priest, sitting back, "is peace."

The girl jumped up. "Peace?" she blazed. "Your Turk attacked us, killed our dog, nearly killed my stepfather, and raped me. I may very well be pregnant with your illegitimate grandchild by that pig. My stepfather and brother would cut your head off and have your nuts for dice! The only reason you're alive right now is because I lied to protect your hide -- and you repay me by talking blandly of peace?" She threw her head back and then spat on him; trembling, he held his seat, fishing out a handkerchief.

"Well?!" she demanded.

"You say you lied to save me," he said, dabbing at the side of his face. "Why?"

"Because I want you alive for some repayment. Because you owe me for your life, not once but twice over. You're trying to make sure you're with the Schwabes when they pull out -- I assume that's why you went to see that Hungarian today?"

"And if I am?" he allowed.

"You'll take me with you. You know you're dead if you stay. No one will so much as find your body. I'm telling you that if you try going without me, you'll die, too. I'll tell my stepfather, and he'd hunt you to the ends of the earth. Like it or not, Father, you're going, and me with you."

Father Ante Rezać slowly arose and turned to his desk, looking for a paper. "Well, let's see . . ." he said.

She approached, curious.

His bony hands shot out, seizing her by her arms, and with a practiced motion he twisted her around over his knee, sitting down, and he spanked her a half-dozen times.

Then he propelled her, yelling, to the door of his study and out, and the big door banged shut behind her as she sprawled out on the stone floor.

She screamed and beat the woodwork for a few moments; then, stepping back, panting, she looked one way and then the other.

Then she ran down the hall into the darkness of the ancient building.

Across the market square, Colonel Fedor Slavin watched the three men approach, passing between several groups of gathering people, then looked over at Commissioner Stadelmeier with a weary smile.

"Time to do some Imperial Commissioner magic, Herr Kommissar," he remarked, flicking some ash on the stone lintel. "You shall have my services as translator, of course."

The official asked: "Can you tell which is the new knez?"

Slavin put his cigarette to his lips and drew heavily on it. Exhaling smoke with his words, he said: "The gospodar, you know, is on the left. The one in the middle is a big local headman -- might be him. The third is Ilić's nephew from Foča . . . very interesting, that."

"Why?"

Slavin drew a last time on his cigarette, then threw away the butt and stood up, straightening his uniform. "Because he's the blood avenger for Uglesić's murders. After you, sir?"

"Get on with you," snapped the politician, motioning brusquely; and as Slavin's form descended ahead of him, he looked once around and muttered: "Damn," before going down himself.

Kosta Savić’s voice crackled like falling icicles. "What? Again, please."

The runner Svoboda, taken aback, stammered in Serbian: "Your -- your weapons, sir. I cannot -- "

His gaze shifting over the man's shoulder and that of the sentry next to him, the nobleman raised his voice slightly. "Tell your Colonel that if my neighbours must disarm, we expect that you, too, will disarm. I don't believe we've been arrested for anything -- yet."

"That's alright, gospodar," came Slavin's voice in Serbian. "Svoboda and Weiss here were simply following orders. How many are you, gospodar?"

"Three, Colonel."

Slavin, now at the sentry's side, said briefly in German: "You may admit these three as they are, men. They are guests of honour. Well done. Carry on."

"Thank you," said Kosta Savić as the sentry stood aside. "You do not mind speaking in Serbian for the benefit of my neighbours here?"

"I have told the Commissioner that I would be happy to perform translation. I know we have talked once already, but you understand that he is the highest authority on our end." Kosta Savić inclined his head, then turned to a tap on his shoulder.

"What did you talk about before?" whispered Dragan Vuković.

Kosta Savić turned his head slightly. "In the past week or two, five or six Schwabes have been killed in the neighbourhood altogether, haven't they?"

"I've heard something," said Dragan.

"Nobody's hanged for it yet, have they?"

"No."

"Ako, ako," breathed the nobleman back. Then to Slavin he said: "Excuse me. We are at your disposal, Colonel."

"Kommissar Claudius von Stadelmeier," introduced the lancer. "The gospodar Kosta Savić; Dragan Vuković; majstor Veljko Leskanić."

"I'll be damned," muttered the latter to Dragan. "You notice he knew our names already."

"Commissioner Stadelmeier," said Slavin, "has instructed me to greet you in the name of His Majesty Franca Iosif, whose international responsibility it is to maintain peace and order in this area on behalf of your suzerain the Sultan. He wants to assure you that he has no interest in interfering with your local affairs except to prevent bloodshed and political violence, and that he is prepared to work with you toward these ends to the limit of his authority."

"Very neatly put, Colonel," said Kosta Savić stonily, "but that anything and everything -- especially around here -- may be conveniently politicized when necessary. The Turks politicized our religion five centuries ago. Our clothing rapidly followed. Our language was politicized about sixty years ago by Vuk Karadzić, and thirty years ago the very stones of our houses were politicized by the failure of the signatories of the Treaty of Berlin to adequately define the border with Montenegro. Your claim, therefore -- modest as it sounds -- amounts to a claim of total authority over almost every aspect of our lives. That is why we must reject any Austrian -- or any Great Power -- claims of a political nature. For our part, we extend our greetings, and our offer of any assistance you might need to see you on your way speedily."

When Slavin had translated all this to Stadelmeier, the politician exclaimed: "Ha! a diplomat -- ask him, Fedor, if he regards Hird's death, or the knez' murder, or this affair of the priest's Turk, to be political affairs."

Slavin obligingly translated: "We need to hear your story, gospodar, about Yusef, and what you would do about the two attacked soldiers of the other night. Neither of these matters is necessarily political."

Kosta Savić permitted himself a faint almost-smile. "I understand you, Colonel.” Then he added suavely: “Please stop me if I speak too fast, you understand?"

Slavin nodded.

"The matter of the priest's Turk is an easy one to settle. I was at work yesterday when he broke into my house, killed my dog, and attacked me. I'm not as strong as him, but I can use a knife, and I got the advantage of him and put him out with a warning as to what I'd do to him if I caught him in my house again. I didn't know that he hadn't gone far. He waited until my wife and children were back from market and then attacked them. At that, we overcame him, and then I carried out my warning. It is only out of consideration for your situation that I did not kill him then and there. And be sure to say, Colonel, that had your man Vathely not confiscated my gun -- " he indicated Veljko and Dragan's pistols in their belts -- "I might have been able to deter him in such a way as to avert the more unfortunate consequences that did occur."

Slavin translated: "About the priest's Turk, Yusef, sir -- barring details -- he says it was simple self-defence, and that he has witnesses to back him up. Also he says that if Vathely hadn't taken his gun, he could have used it to scare away the Turk and avoid the knife-work."

At about the time his name was mentioned, Vathely had appeared in the doorway and gestured to Stadelmeier, who held up a hand. "Very fair points," conceded the politician, "but we will return to that. Ask him about the Hird and Vonhof business."

Slavin did so as Stadelmeier and the hussar conferred sotto voce.

"That cannot be tied to human agency, so far as I know," answered Kosta Savić. "That area is not known as Vučedol -- Wolf Valley -- for nothing. I might add that without the extraordinary efforts of my stepson Demjan, who carried the man alone for a kilometre, and of my wife, who saw to his wounds, and of my tenant Alija, who tended him, you would certainly have had two fatalities instead of one. It would be strange murderers who went to such heroic lengths to save the sole incriminating witness in such a way."

"Again, fair points," said Stadelmeier, hearing the translation, "notwithstanding Vonhof's story. We can't go anywhere with that anyway. But now, what about the knez' murder? What has he to say about that -- being a witness? Make it clear we know that, and also that it is a crime -- under Turkish or any other law he pleases to invoke -- to withhold information about a murder."

Slavin scratched his chin, the translated: "Pertaining to previous communication between us -- I assume you have been informed as to our knowledge of this -- we need you to make a statement of what you know about Knez Dabisav Uglesić’s murder."

Kosta Savić was conscious, as Slavin had been, of whispering going on behind his back. He said, tight-lipped: "I have one or two matters of my own to question you about -- pertaining, as you say, to previous communication between us. You still have my gun, and my man Ivo, who we have agreed all along was arrested and detained on charges that don't amount to a fig. I expect both to be given over forthwith. For another -- " here he pointed at Vathely, who was conferring with Stadelmeier again -- "nothing of what we have to settle has anything to do with him. I want him out of here. When these things have been addressed, I will say what I have to say immediately."

Slavin translated this, and the three Austrians spoke softly and urgently for a few moments. Then Vathely, with a brief, direct glance at the nobleman, was gone.

"We've agreed to your requests," Slavin told him. "Of course, gospodar, you will stand by your word like a man and a Serb."

"Have I done otherwise up 'til now?" growled Kosta Savić.

"Indeed not," replied the lancer, and there matters stood for a few moments until Vathely and a soldier returned with Ivo and the rifle.

Ivo issued a sickly grin which did nothing to improve his already unkempt appearance. His clothes were filthy, his hair matted, and several days' growth of beard failed to cover some nasty welts and bruises.

"Hullo, gospodar," he said. "I knew you'd be in."

Veljko Leskanić had risen from his seat. "Joj, Ivo, you look like you've been dead a week!"

Kosta Savić, too, had slowly risen, and his eyes swivelled, snake-like, from Ivo to Slavin to Stadelmeier. "So much for the civilising mission of Imperial Austria to us heathen Slavs," he observed dryly, and held out his arms. Vathely tossed him the rifle and the nobleman performed a deft function check, slamming the bolt back and forth while manipulating the trigger. Then he shook some hair out of his face and said to Ivo: "What are you waiting for? Christmas?"

Ivo moved toward the door and the nobleman held the rifle out to him. "Careful, it's heavy. Get out of here and go up to the odbor at the graveyard and give this to Demjan. Now off with you."

Ivo stood awkwardly with the sixty-five-inch weapon cradled in his arms. "Gospodar, I -- "

"Be gone!" rapped out Kosta Savić, and the raion vanished as if yanked out by a rope.

"Gospodar -- " began Slavin, also rising.

"When I hold a man prisoner, as I have done," said Kosta Savić glacially, "he eats at my table, next to me, and sleeps in my own bed. Such barbaric Eastern customs must be out of style now."

"I apologise, gospodar," said Slavin. "But we have lived up to our end of the bargain. And now, if you can help us with information on the Uglesić case?"

Kosta Savić pointed wordlessly at Vathely, who pulled himself out of sight.

"Having been forthcoming, to say the least, on the other matters, I must reserve this one, at least at this stage, for us to settle according to our law," Kosta Savić said. "Justice will be done, on my honour as gospodar. You see that the man appointed under our law is here present. The Commissioner wishes to avoid an incident, I understand? The only -- I say, the only way for him to avoid one is to leave it to us. One could conceivably arise anyway. But it is certain that one will arise if he does not."

"That is your reply?" asked Slavin.

"It is."

Slavin translated: "He says that he has accommodated you on previous matters, but that this case of the *knez* will be handled by them at this stage, by the blond man there. He says if you insist on involving us now, his back is to the wall."

The Commissioner began to flush. "Is that all?" he asked.

"His actual words were that you may avoid an incident by letting them handle it, but that you will certainly precipitate one if you do not."

For an answer, Stadelmeier reached slowly inside his tunic and brought out a folded sheet of yellow paper. This he handed to Slavin with the quiet words: "This is the dispatch I received this afternoon. Read it to them, Herr Oberst."

Slavin took the document and scanned it. It was his turn, as the politician had done the previous day, to fidget.

Kosta Savić said: "Well?"

"It is a communiqué from Sarajevo, signed by Baron Burian," said Slavin slowly in Serbian, his eyes still on the paper. "Skipping the formalities, it says that as of midnight tonight, Bosnia and Herzegovina are Imperial provinces of Austria-Hungary."

The nobleman turned deathly pale as Stadelmeier motioned and said: "Kindly inform the gospodar that he is under arrest for suspicion of murder."

Slavin leaped, a gun roared, metal clattered on the floor, Vathely from the door raised a smoking pistol from a crossed arm.

Hoarse shouts erupted, and another gunshot went off as men fought on the floor; in a moment the room was flooded with blue uniforms.

"Achtung! Beachten Sie!" bellowed the politician, now on his feet. He looked at Veljko Leskanić, struggling but restrained by four Austrian soldiers. Then he looked at Dragan Vuković, held by two others. Lastly, he watched four other men pull Colonel Slavin and Kosta Savić apart. Two of them brought the nobleman to his feet, shaking and pale, both him and Slavin -- now up -- spattered with blood droplets from a wound on the former's shoulder.

Slavin rounded on Vathely and Stadelmeier. "You'd better know something I don't," he said fiercely, "because that is the filthiest trick I have ever seen!" He levelled a finger at Vathely. "You were going to shoot him for resisting arrest, I suppose."

"Orders, Herr Oberst," said the hussar.

"Orders!" gasped Kosta Savić. "You are all dead men! Sie sind alles toten!"

"You'd better listen to him!" bellowed Veljko Leskanić.

The Commissioner stepped forward, addressing Kosta Savić with his gaze. "Him and him," he said, pointing, "we don't need, except to spread the news that we Schwabes don't screw around. You," he jabbed at the nobleman, "we can hang eleven or twelve murder counts on. But I don't want a dead hero. Not just yet. I want a live criminal for a while. Bring irons," he ordered. Then he turned to Slavin. "Translate for those two. If you're hoping to ambush us, think twice," he said, turning to face Veljko Leskanić. "We're moving, not tomorrow, not tonight, but * now. Herr Rittmeister*, how long?"

"An hour, at most," said Vathely. "I have given the orders already, as you arranged."

"And get a medic," added the politician, and Vathely turned and went out, shouting. "And I do not recommend an improvised attack," he resumed, now facing Dragan Vuković. "We have you badly outgunned. And within three days there will be a battalion at Fotcha. And if so much as a fist-fight breaks out up here," he finished, "a body will dangle for every blow struck. Do I make myself crystal clear?"

Slavin relayed the words, and there was some muttering, during which a soldier stuck his head in and said: "Sir, we have no irons."

"Then rope," the official returned, "and plenty of it. I want both arms and both legs tied behind his back." Then he turned again, to Kosta Savić. "What," he taunted, "so little fight from such a renowned warrior?"

"Stop it, sir, it's disgusting," said Slavin. "Must you hog-tie him?"

"I must and will," said Stadelmeier, "put the pair of you to pushing pencils until or unless you're transferred. You'll have that office next to mine you've dreamt about, in fact, you’ll never leave it; you ought to thank me. I'm sure Captain Vathely won't. I feel kind of sorry for the poor slobs coming down from Sarajevo, though. Bosnia . . . " he said slowly, to no one in particular, "I say shit on it."

He paused for a moment.

"Herr Unteroffizier, see these men out -- after you have them disarmed. As for the prisoner -- I want two men on him at all times, and I mean all times."

"Jawohl," returned Sergeant Deutscher.

"Any questions?" asked the Commissioner, turning to go.

"You will hear me!" ripped from Kosta Savić’s throat and seemed to shake the building.

Stadelmeier halted, as did everyone else, even the soldiers disarming Veljko and Dragan.

"You Austrians," he addressed them in a harsh, metallic voice, "you are babies, pink-cheeked babies with your toy soldiers and cakes and cuckoo clocks. You know only today, not yesterday or tomorrow. My forefathers made emperors in Rome and Byzantium. We fought Huns, Avars, Mongols, Turks -- the old savage Turks who ate your knights alive at Mohács and Varna -- and other enemies that you have never seen or even suspected-all while you waxed fat and soft in your walled towns. Listen to the voice of a dead man!" His hair seemed to take on a white sheen against the sinking sun, throwing his face half into shadow.

"We are the guardians of the West," he grated. "Put us down, and millions of your children, born and yet unborn, will curse you as they die, calling Europe the house of blood and dead men's bones. Death will fall from the skies like rain, will rise from the earth like dew, it will lurk in your food and your beds far from the killing fields. You are young, hardly born yet, while we are old, far older and far stronger than you can conceive. You sentence our men and women to the noose -- I, even I, gospodar, Guardian, and Watcher, say to all of you -- your Austria, your Germany, your faithless Russia and Turkey -- this day I pass sentence on Europe's emperors and generals, bankers and judges, and the millions who serve them, and the sentence is death!" And he cried out mightily in a language that none among that polyglot group drawn from a dozen nationalities had ever heard.

Then he sagged into the soldiers' arms.

Sergeant Deutscher's pistol shook a moment but stayed put. "No tricks," he breathed.

The medic Oehring was the first to move. He put fingers to one of the nobleman's eyelids and then the other, and saw only whites -- the pupils had rolled back into his head.

"He's in deep shock," said the medic rapidly. "You can put your pistol away, Sergeant. Get water and blankets. You -- Raus Schnell! Go! Herr Oberst," he continued, cutting away at Kosta Savić’s clothing with a pair of shears, "there will be no tying up this man if you want him to live the night -- Groß Gott!"

"What?" asked the officer, coming closer.

"Only that anyone who wanted him dead will probably sleep easy tonight," said Oehring, his hands moving quickly. "There's massive trauma under here. Sir. I need to strip him and do an all-over. And no moving him so much as a metre until I've got a full status." He raised a flap of vest. "Christ, the man must be made of solid granite."

"He is also," said Stadelmeier, "a cold-blooded killer who has sent more souls to hell than probably even he can remember. Don't be fooled, any of you, by all this big talk into thinking he's some kind of a hero. He's a slavering wolf who will wind up where he belongs -- on the end of a rope -- even if I have to hang him after he dies."

Slavin drew his pistol. "If that's so, why not finish him off now and save us all a lot of bother? Eh?"

Oehring turned and held up his bloodstained hands. "Well, do I or don't I?" he asked sarcastically.

"We're all agreed that we want him alive for now," said the politician. "No go. Tell those two, Herr Oberst -- " he pointed at Veljko and Dragan -- "I want them to remember everything they've seen and heard here today."

Hearing the translation, Veljko Leskanić spat on the floor and said: "Aye, we will do that."

"Good. Sergeant? Colonel, come with me. The rest of you, carry on."

No one had paid any attention to the ragged figure that had moved off at an odd gangling crouch from under the window, with a long rifle banging at its back.

"He's taken! He's taken!" Ivo had shouted across the square and down the alley as he ran to the graveyard, there people were already rising and looking.

"What? Who's taken?" A chorus of voices swelled as Ivo stumbled to where he saw the men of the odbor.

Marko Vuletić stopped Ivo and took him by the shoulders. "Stop it, man! What is it?"

"The gospodar's arrested but Dragan and Veljko are coming," Ivo panted. "They tried to shoot him -- there was a fight -- "

"Take it easy!" Marko shouted, shaking him. "Bring the man a drink! Sit down, for God's sake, and catch your breath."

"That's our rifle!" cried Demjan as someone handed Ivo a leathern flask, from which he drank greedily.

"He's right," said Miloš Leskanić. "Step back and give the man a second to breathe."

Ivo gasped in some air, then steadied. "It was Veljko and Dragan and the gospodar. They must've talked for a while, and then that Hungarian came and let me loose and the gospodar got his rifle and gave it to me, and they told me to go. But I hunkered down outside to listen, see?"

"Go on,” said Demjan.

"The Schwabes asked him about Knez Dabisav's murder, and he stood up to them, see? Told 'em it wasn't any of their damned business. Then they told him about some proclamation -- said Bosnia and Hercegovina are part of Austria as of midnight tonight."

Angry voices broke out at this, some being shushed only with difficulty, as Ivo relaxed a bit more, conscious that here at last he had a tale to tell worthy of his steel.

"Then," he said, "it was then they tried to arrest him. There was shooting, and a bit of a fight, but Schwabes were all over them. Then the Schwabe Kommissar said he'd have a battalion of troops up here in three days, and said he'd hang anyone who so much as started a fistfight. Called the gospodar a common criminal and a murdering dog, see? Then," Ivo went on over the murmur," the gospodar shouted out in a voice fit to shake Heaven and Hell -- "

"We heard something," said Velimir Ivancić.

" -- that he was sentencing all of them to death, all their empires and everything, it was in German, but it was like I could understand it anyway somehow, and then something in some weird language like Greek or whatever. Made my flesh crawl to hear it. Then he passed out, I think, and the talk was all in German after that -- but it sounds like he's in a bad way."

"Here they come," someone yelled as Dragan Vuković and Veljko Leskanić appeared from the alley.

Within a few minutes, the politicking had been put aside. Several people had been dispatched on various errands, and the quickly elected knez was Velimir Ivancić -- the man in the uniform.

It was Janek Vuković who caught Stana coming into the square. "Gospodja, come quickly,"

he begged.

"You've found Slavica?" she asked.  "The priest -- "

“Your husband’s been arrested by the Schwabes,” said Janek.  “You see over there?” he asked, pointing to the han.

"Something's going on," she said.

"They're pulling out -- with him. They say he's going on a stretcher."

Her eyes flashed. "Did they hurt him?"

"They say shots were fired -- but who or whom, nobody knows."

"Come on," she said, and started walking rapidly. He fell in beside her. "Has no one seen Slavica -- or the priest Rezać?"

"Not that I know. D'you suspect dirty work?"

"The rectory gates are locked," said Stana tightly. "I rang and rattled them for a long, long time."

"You don't think -- "

"I am making no assumptions," replied the noblewoman.

They arrived at the han door. "Where is the Colonel, please? It's about my husband -- he's here," she said in German.

"No one is seeing anyone, good woman."

"Let us in!" We will only take a moment of his time."

"I told you -- "

Stana threw back her head and screamed, an ear-splitting, feral shriek that sent a flock of birds flying up from the church roof, and turned heads up in the cemetery. Janek shoved the sentry as he flinched, and in they went.

Kosta Savić lay on the floor, half his clothes cut away and bloodied with wounds old and new. The medic looked up at her, and other soldiers were moving. She took a quick step and knelt down by the medic.

"Where's the Colonel?" she called in German above the shouting as three Austrians pinned Janek to the wall.

"Schnell, der Oberst, schnell!" commanded the medic. "You're his wife?."

"And his nurse," she said, looking down and pointing. "That's my work."

"Very good work, too," he commented, returning to his task. "You've been trained?"

"Just staying alive is training around here," she shot back.

Slavin entered. "Gospodja -- your husband -- "

She looked up from cradling Kosta Savić’s head in her arms, and her eyes were wet with tears. "My husband -- have you got my daughter, too?"

"Gospodja, no," he said in Serbian.

"My daughter is missing -- and the priest Rezać. The rectory's locked. Where are they?"

"I don't know, gospodja."

"What treachery is this? Was it not enough to kill my husband? What are you going to do with him?"

"He'd have been shot dead 'resisting arrest' if I hadn't got him out of the way," said Slavin heatedly. "Gospodja, you must leave."

"Never!" she cried out.

"I've saved his life once already today," he replied rapidly. "Do not endanger him again and all of you. Leave. You shall visit him in Foča if he lives or have his body if he dies. The birds shall never pick his flesh. I swear it as a man and a Slav."

"I'm not going," she repeated, locking her husband's hair in her fists.

Slavin barked in German, and two soldiers took her by the shoulders as Janek was shoved out. She screamed, clutching his hair, but Oehring reached out with a scalpel and cut the hair away at the roots.

She fought like a lioness, biting and kicking, but could not stand against the blue uniforms' pressure, and was ejected from the door, still clenching the hair between her knuckles. Outside, she faced three pistol barrels.

Crouching, she snarled, "Go on, you pigs, shoot a woman."

"I warned you, gospodja," said Slavin, who was holding one of the pistols. "Remember my words. All of them."

She straightened up with a look on her face out-blazing the lowering sun above her. Then she turned and ran. Already, horses were being brought up on line.

Inside, Colonel Slavin called: "Captain? How long?"

"Ten minutes, sir," replied Vathely, ducking his head in the inner door and then vanishing.

"Who speaks Serbian here?" asked Slavin, looking round. "Kevar, you do. You're on tail, then, last out, with Barfeld there. If anyone comes within ten meters, give them one warning. Then shoot."

"Jawohl!"

"What about the cooks, Sergeant von Essen?"

"Almost loaded. We're just waiting on them, sir. As he said, we'll be moving in ten minutes. They're starting to form up now."

"Vikoč two hours after dark, then, if the weather doesn't break." said the lancer. "Christ, what a mess! What a royal screw-up! Oehring?"

"Fast as I can, sir. Vonhof's riding sitting braced up in the Commissioner's carriage, right?"

"Yes."

"We'll have to sling up this one between Vonhof's and Hird's horses, then."

"Not in the cooks' wagon?"

"It doesn't matter a hell of a lot," said the medic brusquely. "My next pay envelope against anything you like says he's dead by Vikotch anyway."

"Has he come to?"

"He's stirring a bit. I shot him up with the second-last dose of morphine, why, I don't know."

Slavin said: "Good show, Oehring. Fine." Then he stood a moment, surveying things, and muttered: "Srpska posla."

"What, sir?"

"Nothing," said Slavin, going out.

Out back, Sergeant Schaab, the chief cook, was finishing up the loading of the mess and supply wagon.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to a large crate lying in the corner of the yard.

"Empty, Sergeant," said the driver.

"Let's see." The sergeant took one of the rope handles at one end and lifted it experimentally. "It's not, you know. Let's go."

"Could a sworn it was empty," complained the driver.

"Ja, ja. We’ll sort it out later. Come on," said the mess chief. The driver and a cook picked up each end.

"Ooof! Christ, feels like it's got a dead body in."

"The only dead body around here will be yours if the Old Man comes around and catches you screwing off," scolded Sergeant Schaab. "We're finally getting out, that's all I care about."

"Damn right." With a few grunts the three of them wrestled the crate onto the wagon.

"Now lash that in at the end and let's bring it up," directed the noncom. "Finally."

The sergeant-major came to the door. "Sergeant Schaab, what's the problem?" he called.

"No problem, Herr Hauptfeldwebel. We're moving up," replied the chief cook, climbing up on the wagon box.

"Let's go, then," said the sergeant-major; with unusual self-betrayal, he added: "The sooner the better."

With some vocal agreement to that from all, the driver climbed up on the box, cracked the whip smartly, and the wagon moved off, leaving the han courtyard empty.

In the graveyard, Stana's attention wandered a moment and she looked up from amid the ring of men in which she was standing, up to the sky past the westering sun.

Clouds were rolling in from the southwest, big black ones, coming fast on a noticeable breeze.

"Can't you smell rain?" she asked Velimir Ivancić, standing by her. "I said it would rain tonight. Many men will have a cold, wet, sleepless night."

"They came by the Vikoč road, and they are methodical, these Schwabes. They will return the same way," said Velimir.

Smaila Osmanović said: "They'd not dare take the road up the mountain with their wheeled vehicles on a night like this."

"Thanks to those we will just have time. You, Janek," said the new knez, "you meet with the riflemen we've picked, at the church, ten minutes. Go up the creek bed to the rock saddle above Milorad's farm, and then cut them off at that bad curve above the river. They'll be by that way sooner or later. They've no choice with the vehicles. If you can roll some big boulders down off the rockfall, do it. If you can box in their wagons before and behind that way, even better. But remember, don't actually hit the vehicles. We still want the gospodar alive -- " at this, Joro Djurić and Marko Vuletić traded looks -- "you're in charge. Go."

"What about me, cousin?" demanded Štojan Ivancić, as other voices were raised.

"Hold on!" bellowed Veljko Leskanić. "You'll all get your chance at glory. Just pipe down and listen to the knez -- you'll all be able to take home a head or two this night." Not, the smith thought, that most of them even knew how to properly sever a head nowadays -- but they all liked talking about it.

"You, Joro," the chieftain was saying, "you'll go with Ilija and the rest of the riflemen. Meet at the church in half an hour, after Janek's lot are through. Take the road up the mountain and bear left past the gospodar's house and Kopitar's and out the high valley. Stop out there at the crossroads and have a surprise ready for them for whenever they leave Vikoč."

"What about the village itself?"

"I'm positive they're planning to stop there. I have friends there who will surely make them unwelcome. The first runners I sent off were to warn them. See, Joro, you'll be in good shape to catch them coming from either direction, whether they double back along the old road or whether they go straight through."

"It is a good plan," pronounced Radovan Ismetbegović, and many voices were raised in agreement.

"Veljko, you and Marko are more useful to me here. For one thing, the contingency plans you made in the event that you didn't return will serve us well. For another, we need men to set up defences in the village. They will be needed sooner or later."

"What about the other villages?" Stana cut in. "They need to be warned that fighting is starting."

"Excellent advice," said Velimir. "You, Radovan, your people will be responsible for taking the news in the direction of Tjentište; yours, Smaila, out toward Šuplja Stijena, and yours, Nikifor, to Foča." More men left, shouting, and even old Jovan Ilić had risen to his feet.

"I'll stay in the village tonight with Nikifor Djurić -- unless you require him, Knez Velimir," said the old man.

"No. This is not war yet," replied the veteran. "This is skirmishing, wearing them down. A full battle is out of the question until we can get some professional help from Belgrade and get some more firepower put together."

"Where will your headquarters be?" asked Radovan Ismetbegović.

"Good question. I understand we have an upcoming vacancy," replied Velimir, nodding in the direction of the han with a grin. "The rest of you, we will gather down there. Let a man from each zadruga fetch food and drink, and we will get the han bunkered up. We'll need it soon -- perhaps sooner than we think. Now, each man to his task."

As the group broke up, Marko called: "Joro, Ilija -- a word with you, please."

«Previous | Table of Contents | Next»