Kingdoms Fall - The Laxenburg Message (26 page)

“Playing, sir?” Wilkins
asked.

“A king may be very
powerful indeed, but he only maintains that power if those who serve him are
willing to obey. These days, no king in Serbia has much real authority over
those he rules.”

“But you, sir, you
still have authority over those people who respect your judgment,” said Wilkins
diplomatically. “You may pass your power on to whomever you chose, but the Serbian
people still view you as their ruler.”

“No, no, you are very
kind to say so, but this country is governed, as it should be, by our Premier,
Nikola Pashitch. For that I am truly grateful, as Pashitch is a great man, a
very great man. I am merely a king. In fact, Pashitch is the one who brought my
family back from exile to rule Serbia – he himself made me a king. However, I
must now admit that even as king, I was never more than a well-dressed soldier.
I don’t know whether you have had the pleasure to meet with Victor Emanuel, the
King of Italy. He is a fragile little man, but he told me a very amusing story
about his father Umberto. It seems Umberto once and only only gave his son
advice about how to be a king. He told his son: ‘To be a king, all you need to
know is how to sign your name, read a newspaper, and mount a horse.’ That, my
friends, is about what it means to be king in Serbia as well, and that is why I
am now with Major Tankosich, doing what I can to protect our people and our
lands, like all good Serbians are doing throughout this country.”

“Yet you are still the King, your majesty, and
it would shake the very foundations of Serbia if you were to be captured,
killed, or forced to abdicate. I have no doubt that what you are doing is
admirable, Sir,” said Wilkins, “and men like
Major
Tankosich
and his company should stay in Serbia to aid those who will
not flee. But in the meantime your army is on the verge of collapse and your
government is on the verge of capture. Marshal Putnik’s efforts to bar the
Austrians from Belgrade were heroic, but Bulgaria has flanked him. Belgrade has
fallen, and when Nish and Pristina and Kosovo are taken, there will no longer
be any safe refuge in Serbia. It is of great concern to your allies what
happens to you, your son, and your government. And if your army surrenders,
they will be disarmed and unable to fight again. These dangers must be avoided
at all costs.”

“I know this only too well, but we cannot
ignore the violence, the terrible massacres, being perpetrated against my
people, Captain Wilkins. The whole of Serbia is at war. We shall never forget
what is being done here. But I must ask you:  Where are our allies now?”

 “Regrettably, Great Britain and France
have arrived too late, sir; there can be no argument about that. However, both
governments vow to see Serbia returned to your people, and more. You will need
your army, so we must shelter your arms today and fight when you and your
allies are able to prevail. That is what we have come to propose. Greece will provide
that shelter on the island of Corfu. That will give your army and your allies
the time they need to equip and organize your men and prepare them for a
counter-offensive. It will also give Venizelos time to consolidate his position
in Greece, for without Greece on our side, you have no hope of regaining your
country. This may not be the plan we all would have chosen a year ago, but
today it is the very best offer you will have.”

The king sighed and was
silent a while, taking rather large sips of his brandy and staring up at the
large gold crucifix. Suddenly he seemed a small and tired old man. “Major
Tankosich has shared his own plan with me. Yes, he has a plan to win the war,
did he tell you? No? He is plotting to assassinate the Austrian Emperor Franz
Joseph, in Vienna. What do you say to that? We have many secret agents in
Austria under the Major’s control. Shall they undertake that mission? Will that
save Serbia?”

“Killing the Emperor
will not end the war,” said Gresham. “There will only be another to take his
place.”

The King laughed
gently. “Yes, I must agree with you there, Captain,” he said. “I have learned
from experience. You see, I have recently been informed myself that Tankosich’s
men were behind the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Yes,
Tankosich is one of the leaders of the
Black Hand
. You have heard of
them, I expect?”

“Indeed, sir,” said
Wilkins grimly. In fact, he was shocked to learn that the Major, their host,
was involved in the very plot that ignited the war.

“It appears Tankosich
met the boy Princip before the war when the poor young man tried to join the
Black
Hand.
” The King continued. “Tankosich turned him away, but the boy was so
desperate to show his value that Tankosich finally agreed to supply the
explosives and pistols used in Sarajevo. Well, they succeeded in killing the
Archduke to everyone’s surprise, and now we can see the result. My country is
serving penance.”

“Serbia did not start
this war, sir,” insisted Wilkins.

“Do you know,” said the
King, “I received a private letter from Rome, from Pope Benedict, telling me
that this Austrian invasion is Serbia’s punishment from God?”

“Another assassination
will not remedy the first,” said Gresham.

“Do not be overly
concerned,” the King continued.  “I will not allow Tankosich to kill the
Emperor. Franz Joseph is a very old man, even older than I am, and the new
heir, the Archduke Charles, they say he is a mild and compassionate man. Some
say he is weak, the sort easily manipulated by their army’s Chief of Staff,
Conrad – now that’s a man who should be assassinated. Conrad despises the Slavs
and would like to see us all exterminated. But killing any of them would solve
nothing.”

“I quite agree,”
Wilkins added quickly.

“Still, somehow, we
must rid Europe of the whole Hapsburg dynasty one of these days, and the
Hohenzollerns, and probably the Romanovs too.” The King laughed. “My democratic
idealism is perhaps too evident. As I said, I was educated in Paris.”

“Would you spare our
British monarchy then?” asked Wilkins with some sarcasm.

“I haven’t met your
King George,” said the King diplomatically, “so I shall reserve judgment.” He
paused in thought a moment. “But I deeply respect him for doing so little. To
be a king or an emperor, there is a great temptation to govern, but a wise king
lets the people rule themselves and a learned people understand their king is
little more than an emblem of their nation.”

“Some kings seem rather
to become emblems of despotism,” said Gresham.

“The despot may be
reviled by his people, young man, but still he rules with an iron fist. No, it
is the foolish king, the one who loses the respect of his people, who truly has
no power at all. Consider Louis the Sixteenth. It was not his despotism which
made France despise him. No, it was allowing himself to be carted off from
Versailles by a mob of angry washer-women. That is what truly killed him.”

“According to your son,
the people of Serbia deeply respect you, sir. So I must ask again: Will you come
to Petch and help us save your people?” asked Gresham

The King rose. “Yes, of
course we shall do whatever is required of us, gentlemen,” he said with a wink.

           
Later that evening, Gresham and Wilkins found Major Tankosich in his smaller
and much less comfortable tent making plans with several of his lieutenants for
their campaign in the coming days.

           
“James, please ask the Major if we may confer with him privately for a moment,”
said Gresham.

           
“There is no need to translate; I understand enough. What do you want,
Englishman?” Tankosich asked coldly.

           
“I see, then perhaps you should step out as well, James. I would like to speak
with the Major alone.”

           
Wilkins was somewhat surprised by the request. “Certainly, if you wish it. I
will be outside,” he said as he and the other Serbians left the tent.

           
Gresham was silent a moment and considered the Major before he continued. “King
Peter has told us that you are not merely a military commander, Major, but that
you are also a leader of the
Black Hand
. In light of this admission, I will
tell you confidentially that I am not merely a British officer. I am a member
of the British Secret Intelligence Service, and since we are both fighting the
same enemy, it seemed appropriate to me that we should know each other. There
are likely to be opportunities for us each to benefit from our association.”

           
“That is a reasonable conclusion, Captain.”

           
“I must tell you that I am opposed to any plan to assassinate the Emperor of
Austria-Hungary; I believe it will end no better than catching a feral cat by
the tail. However, I am certain there will be other, more effective means by
which we may accomplish our mutual objectives.”

           
“You need not concern yourself with the well-being of the Emperor. My men in
Vienna say that the old man is very ill and likely to die a natural death at
any time.”

           
“And the heir, Archduke Charles, have you designs upon his life?”

           
“They say Charles is more Catholic than the Pope himself,” said the Major with
derision. “The new Pope, I mean, Benedict, the reformer.”

           
“I must ask bluntly:  Before anything happens to the Archduke, will you
allow me to consider the matter and speak with my colleagues?”

           
“We have enough to do in Serbia for now, Captain Gresham.  You may do as
you like, and if my men or I may assist you in some fashion in the future, I
assure you we will be most cooperative.”

           
“Very well. You may count on the same cooperation on my part. Thank you,”
Gresham said and shook hands with the Major. Then he went out to continue
drinking with Wilkins by the fire.

           
The next morning, Major Tankosich departed north with his company to join the
Serbian army near Kraljevo, where the Austrians and Germans were advancing
rapidly. King Peter rode south with Gresham and Wilkins and the men of the
Fourteenth Regiment to Prishtina. As they reached the city that evening, news
arrived that the Bulgarians had finally captured the city of Nish to the east.
The Serbian defenders were fighting a rear-guard action as they retreated west,
but they were heavily outnumbered. Prishtina was already crowded with refugees
and many of the army’s support units. Premier Pashitch and members of his
government had recently been in the city but had already departed west for the
town of Petch.

           
King Peter stayed at a fine hotel that night; Gresham and Wilkins slept in the
kitchens, there being no other rooms available at any price. Before dawn the
next morning, they were all bundled into automobiles that, to their surprise,
headed east towards the fighting:  King Peter had decided during the night
to visit the front lines. The road was in terrible condition, however, and the
route was especially slow as the entire population of Nish was fleeing west. The
sides of the road were littered with dead men, dead livestock, abandoned sedans
that had been set ablaze, abandoned children, and the detritus of the army and
the fleeing civilians of Nish.

In a few hours, they reached the rear lines of
the retreating Serbian army, and Gresham and Wilkins continued on to the front
lines with King Peter in his sedan. Ahead, they could see the tremendous
pounding of the shells from the Bulgarian army’s heavy guns on the ridge
hammering the Serbian front lines. The Serbian army had been forced to abandon
most of its artillery during their retreat and could make no reply. As the
Serbian position quickly became untenable, lines of grey-coated infantry began
to wind their way back from the ridge into the woods, using ditches and an
abandoned farm house to cover their retreat. Bulgarian assault troops appeared
on the ridge, and a heavy skirmish erupted. Gresham and Wilkins, who had no
rifles, pulled King Peter into a hastily dug trench, but the King, to the great
pride of his Serbian soldiers, took a rifle from a young, wounded infantryman
and began shooting at the Bulgarians himself. Wilkins was too anxious to let
the King stay at the front for long, and very soon they were all packed back
into the sedan and headed west again towards Prishtina, this time with half the
Serbian army surrounding them and shrapnel shells falling about the road. 

           
By the end of the day, Prishtina had been overwhelmed by panicked refugees and
soldiers. The last trains south had passed through and the tracks to the north
had been blown with explosives. Civilians crowded the streets, many with all
their worldly possessions including herds of cattle and pigs. To make matters
worse, a cold blinding rain had begun to fall, and thousands of men and women
had to camp in the open with no cover at all and their miserable wagons filled
with such furniture and household goods as they had been able to save parked in
the thick mud. Masses of soldiers sat in dark doorways and crowded the public
buildings, many weeping with rage and frustration and hunger. Crowds clamored
at the bakeries for bread. Gresham and Wilkins followed the King to the army’s
headquarters, which were hastily installed in a village schoolhouse. Gresham
and Wilkins sat for dinner with King Peter at a table with non-commissioned
officers, their men acting as orderlies. Everyone ate the same fare – stale
biscuits and a thin, hurriedly-prepared stew – the only difference being that
at the officers’ table wine was also served.