Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (23 page)

A quarter of an hour
later the Rolls had picked up Dimitriyevitch and was running smoothly out of
Belgrade. It took them some ten miles into the country, the last four of which
were through dense forest, and they pulled up in a clearing before a large
châlet. The outside of the building was in no way remarkable, but once inside
De Richleau soon saw plenty of further evidence that his host lived in a style
more suited to a Field Marshal than a Colonel.

The main room was over
forty feet long, and had something of the atmosphere of a royal shooting lodge.
But its walls were not decorated only with the trophies of the chase; between
the antlers and animal masks hung a score of fine paintings, many of which the
Duke knew at a glance must be by old masters. Across the couches were thrown,
not bearskins, but rugs of silver fox, ermine and sable. On the floor there
were a dozen Persian rugs woven from silk, with not less than three hundred
knots to the square inch, and in front of the great open hearth, on which a
wood fire smouldered, a small table was laid for two with gleaming crystal and
antique silver.

One servant in leather
breeches, high boots and a white, full-sleeved blouse belted at the waist had
taken their coats in the hall. Another, in similar costume, now appeared
carrying a tray with champagne cocktails. As De Richleau took one he thought
with an inward smile, that the superficial likeness between von Hötzendorf and
his host was certainly confined to their physical appearance and a fanatical
streak in the mentality of both.

Dimitriyevitch had
already asked him in the car if he had come direct from Constantinople, and De
Richleau, much too wily to risk a lie, had said that on leaving Turkey he had
gone to London; adding that he always had his clothes made there and had been
badly in need of some new ones. It was as well that he had taken that line for,
although the Serbian Intelligence Chief gave no indication of knowing about the
Duke’s visit, he showed himself remarkably well informed on affairs in England,
and now began to discuss the Irish question, which was still creating such
bitter feeling there. The British authorities had done their best to keep
secret all particulars of the mutiny at the Curragh, but Dimitriyevitch knew
the facts and discussed their implications with his guest while they drank
their cocktails.

When dinner was served he
turned the conversation to the months that he had spent as the Duke’s prisoner
two years earlier, then to a visit he had recently made to Paris; so it was
evident that he did not mean to talk about his own country until they were
alone. At length, the servant who was waiting on them put decanters of vintage
Port and Imperial Tokay on the table, made up the fire, and asked if his master
required anything else. The Colonel shook his head and dismissed him with an
abrupt good-night. Then, as the door closed behind the man, he said to his
guest:

“Now we can talk. I
conduct too much secret business here to take any chance of being spied upon by
my own people. The servants all sleep in another châlet, half a mile away, and
when dinner is over leave at once. They are forbidden even to approach this
place until it is time for them to come in and clear up in the morning.”

“A wise precaution,” commented
the Duke, “if you are still engaged on those matters of which we talked
together when we made that grim march through Macedonia.”

“Naturally, I am.” Dimitriyevitch
shrugged. “It is my life work, as I told you then. I have since eliminated all
but a few of those men of little vision, who would attempt to thwart me; and
through my measures Serbia is every day becoming better fitted to undertake the
new ordeals which will lead to her future greatness.”

“You consider, then, that
she has already recovered from the strain imposed upon her by the two Balkan
wars?”

“She has not only
recovered, but has benefited immensely from them. Our army is one of the few
that has had experience of modern war, and has learned many valuable lessons
from the fighting it has seen. Such losses in manpower as we sustained have
been more than made up for by the increase in our territories, which now
enables us to draw on new sources previously denied us. As to morale—well, Tankosić
tells me that you dined last night with the Kargujevatz Regiment, so you will
have had some opportunity to judge that for yourself.”

De Richleau nodded. “A
fine lot of fellows! No one could ask for better men to command in battle.”

“And from what I hear,
you were clever enough to give them the impression that you were just the sort
of man they would like to command them,” remarked Dimitriyevitch dryly. “We
Serbians suffered so long and so much at the hands of the Turks that it is
still second nature to us to hate anything even remotely connected with them.
The older men would realize, of course, that Turkey means nothing to you. and
that had Serbia made you a better offer before the 1912 war started you would
have been fighting for us; but the youngsters must have viewed you with very
mixed feelings. It was no small triumph to win them over as you did, and I was
very pleased to hear about it. I felt fairly confident that you would soon
succeed in becoming a popular figure here, but it is good to have had my
feelings confirmed so quickly. You see, while nobody could accuse me of being a
lax disciplinarian, in other respects I am not of the school of officers who
think that to have wide experience of military affairs and be a martinet is
enough. I believe that a commander should also be personally liked, if he is to
get the best out of his troops.”

“I agree. But does that
mean you are prepared to make me a definite offer?”

“Subject to discussing
the matter with our
C. in C.
,
the Voyvode Radomir Putnik, yes. And it is not often that he rejects my advice
in such matters.”

“What rank would you
offer me? And would it be a staff job or a command in the field?”

“You have a far wider
knowledge of international affairs than most of our senior officers, so I feel
that you would be very valuable to us at Headquarters, particularly as an
adviser where politico-strategical questions are concerned. And I take it you
would be content with the rank of Major General—at all events to start with?”

“I commanded an Army
Corps while with the Turks,” De Richleau protested, “so I do not see why I
should accept lesser rank than that of a Lieutenant-General. Moreover, I am not
fond of fighting wars from offices, and should much prefer a field command.”

Dimitriyevitch gave a
thin smile. “Having seen for myself your ability to handle troops in difficult
situations, I should be the last to question it. But you will forgive me if I
remind you that your Corps was very far from being at full establishment.”

“Nevertheless, I was
given the rank of a Corps commander.”

“True!” The Colonel’s
smile deepened. “But I think I could give a very good guess why. It was
probably at your own suggestion. Anyhow, the idea was to induce us to believe
that your force was very nearly twice the size that it was, in fact.”

It was De Richleau’s turn
to smile. “I won’t deny it. I did persuade the Turks to adopt that old
ruse-de-guerre,
when I learned how comparatively
few for their task were the units allotted to me. But that was two years ago.
May I suggest that you consider the matter on the grounds that I now regard
myself as due for promotion.”

“Very well, then. It
shall be as you wish, and we will give you the rank of Lieutenant-General.
However, your wish for a field command is one against which there are certain
objections. We have already nominated men in whom we have full confidence to
take command of all our first-line army corps on mobilization, and we should
not care to displace any of them. You would have to wait for one of the reserve
corps which will be formed much later, and that would mean our losing the best
value of your services for some months—or perhaps altogether, if the war proved
a short one.”

“Then I offer you a
compromise. I will serve at Headquarters, in accordance with your original
suggestion, to begin with; but on condition that should one of your corps
commanders become a casualty, or prove unsatisfactory, you will have me
appointed to fill the vacancy.”

“Right! I am agreeable to
that. Let us drink to your success in the service of Serbia.”

De Richleau had no
intention of taking service with Serbia permanently, if at all, and had haggled
over the opening to be afforded him only because he felt that, as a soldier of
fortune selling his brains and sword, it would not have seemed in character had
he failed to do so. Dimitriyevitch had refilled the glasses, but before picking
up his own he suddenly looked straight at the Duke, and said:

“Perhaps I should have
mentioned it to start with, but I am assuming that you would have no objection
to taking an oath of devotion to the cause of Serbia.”

“An oath of loyalty to
the head of the state one is about to serve is customary when entering any army.”

“Of course! But I had in
mind something rather more than that. You will remember my telling you about
the Brotherhood which secretly dictates the path that Serbia must follow, and
which alone gives me, as its chief, the power to arrange such matters as we
have been discussing. No senior officer can now hope for promotion, or to be
given any appointment of importance, unless he has sworn allegiance to the
Brotherhood of Union or Death; so naturally we should expect you to do so.”

De Richleau had been well
aware that almost inevitably he would be faced with this question. He meant to
avoid joining the Black Hand if he possibly could; but, even if he were
required to take their oath and had to break it afterwards, he felt that he
must not baulk at that if it was the only way to learn their secrets. The idea
of committing such a deliberate breach of faith had greatly troubled him at
first, as it was entirely contrary to his principles; but after due
consideration he had become fully convinced that no personal scruples must be
allowed to weigh against the possible saving of the lives and happiness of
millions. So he gazed back quite calmly into the Colonel’s brilliant eyes, and
said:

“As I am not a Serbian,
do you consider that in my case that is strictly necessary, or, seeing that
this Brotherhood is one so deeply bound up with politics, even desirable?”

“I do. I regard it as
imperative.”

“In that case, I am fully
prepared to do as you wish.”

“Good!” Dimitriyevitch
now raised his glass. “To your future victories, General. May you be among
those who will carry standards of Serbia to the Adriatic.”

“Thank you.” De Richleau
drank his wine straight off, and inquired as he set down his glass: “Is that,
then, to be our first objective?”

The little Colonel also
drained his glass, then put it down more slowly. “Perhaps. We shall have ample
time to go into all the possibilities later: but much will depend on the
disposition of our enemy when the storm actually breaks. And now that we have
disposed of Turkey, I need hardly tell you that Austria is next on our list.”

“The Dual Monarchy with
her sixty million people is a mighty foe for a small country like Serbia to
tackle single-handed,” hazarded the Duke.

“Nonsense!” exclaimed his
host. “The whole unwieldy structure is rotten to the core. The Austrian ruling
caste is effete, and their army has not won a major victory in generations. Its
officers are soft; the older ones caring only for their home comforts and
steady promotion, the younger ones only for music and women. The troops, left
almost to their own devices, are lethargic and ill-trained. In addition, a high
proportion of them are Czechs, Rumanians, Serbs, Croats and Italians, who feel
no loyalty towards Vienna, so lack all inducements to fight with any
stubbornness.”

“There is much in what
you say. Yet, however low you rate their fighting power, you cannot altogether
ignore their great numerical superiority. Austria-Hungary could put at least a
million and a half men in the field without seriously disturbing her economy,
and how many could Serbia muster? Three hundred thousand, or perhaps three
hundred and fifty thousand at a pinch.”

You are thinking of the
last war, my friend. Since then the levies from our new territories have more
than made up for our losses. Within three months we could put half a million
men into the field; and, let me tell you, they would be well equipped. We have
enough 7 mm. Mauser repeating rifles to arm them all, and with its quick-firing
guns from the Creusot works our field-artillery will more than equal anything
the Austrians now have to show.”

“No doubt; but you will
still be barely a third of their numbers.”

“Not at all. Austria dare
not leave undefended her long Russian frontier, or those with her other
potential enemies, Rumania and Italy. At least half her forces will be tied
down permanently in case of sudden trouble with them. I doubt if she will be
able to bring more than man for man against us; and if she does manage to rake
up a few extra divisions that will not save her. Our hardy, patriotic,
battle-tested troops will make mincemeat of old Franz Joseph’s overfed,
unreliable, parade ground soldiers.”