The Furies (34 page)

It seemed to her as if all of Serbia had been uprooted and brought to this spot, and she knew at once that this was a disaster, and that many would die from lack of food and hygiene. She was stunned at the terrible, awful scale of it all, this vast ocean of people. How desperate, she thought, for them to be forced to flee the comfort and security of their homes and end up in this barren place.

Their lorry turned off the uneven track and the drivers negotiated a way into an area of free space on the edge of the encampment. They parked the vehicles in a tight circle and Elspeth stepped down from the cab, her boots squelching in the mud as she surveyed the scene around her. Then something cold and wet landed against her cheek, and looking up at the leaden sky she saw flakes of sleet spiralling down.

Her priority now was to find the Scottish women as quickly as possible. Babov told her that the guard at the checkpoint had said they should ask at the general staff headquarters, a cluster of tents easily identifiable by a flagpole, he said. Looking over the heads of the refugees, Elspeth saw the Serbian ensign fluttering only a few hundred yards away, and she and Babov immediately set off towards it.

The sleet was falling a little faster now as they weaved their way through the melee of people, Elspeth scanning the crowds, constantly on the lookout for grey and tartan uniforms. Carefully negotiating their way through the throng they arrived at the flagpole and found two large marquee tents guarded by a ring of infantry. Elspeth waited while Babov spoke to the officer in charge and then followed him inside one of the tents, emerging a few minutes later accompanied by an older man, who was introduced to Elspeth as Colonel Gencic, the head of the Serbian Army Medical Service.

‘My dear lady,' Gencic said to her in good English. ‘Captain Babov has told me you've become separated from the other Scottish ladies.'

‘Yes, Colonel. Captain Babov kindly brought me here,' Elspeth said, relieved to hear her language spoken. ‘I understand that the rest of my unit were evacuated from Krusevac and may be in this camp?'

‘That is correct, Dr Stewart,' Gencic said. Elspeth felt a wave of relief to know her friends were close by. ‘Dr Curcin is leading a small party of your compatriots who have decided to leave Krusevac. However, I need to tell you that many of your colleagues have chosen to stay behind and are now prisoners of the Germans.'

‘Oh.'

‘Yes, not all of your colleagues are here. But fifteen of them are nearby…' – He frowned as he looked over Elspeth's head for a moment – ‘it is easy to become lost in this place, so I will send a messenger to Curcin and he will come to collect you.'

She thanked the colonel and then turned to Babov. ‘Goodbye, and thank you for your help, Captain. I couldn't have made it without your assistance.'

Gencic translated her words for Babov, who smiled and saluted her. Then the two men turned away and walked back inside the tent.

She waited for a while, and then saw a young boy who looked about twelve years old dart out of the marquee and run through the line of guards, disappearing into the crowds. As she waited for him to return, Elspeth began to fidget with impatience. She was curious to know which women had decided to stay behind and which had chosen to escape: would Sylvia be here with them? She already knew that Dr Inglis would not – the departure from Kragujevac had almost been too much for her to bear, so she would surely have stayed with her patients in Krusevac.

‘Ellie!'

Elspeth turned at the cry, just in time to see a figure in Scots grey striding towards her.

‘Oh, Ellie, thank God you're alright.'

Vera – a light dusting of melting snowflakes in her close-cropped dark hair – flung her arms around Elspeth and pulled her into a hug before releasing her from her grip. ‘We were so worried about you, Ellie, what with missing the train.' She drew Elspeth forward into another embrace, Elspeth grinning at the passion of her hold. As they pulled apart again, Elspeth saw Curcin standing behind Vera.

‘Ah, Dr Stewart,' he said. ‘We are very pleased to see you. Dr Inglis was most distressed that you missed the train.'

‘I assume she has stayed in Krusevac.'

‘Yes. She felt very bad about leaving Kragujevac, so she refused to leave Krusevac as well.'

Elspeth turned to Vera. ‘Is Sylvie here?'

‘No, she chose to stay behind.'

Elspeth felt a pang of disappointment as Vera continued.

‘But Lydia is here, and Monica, and Aurelia and—'

‘Where is everyone?'

‘Come on,' Vera said with a smile as she took Elspeth's hand. ‘I'll take you to see them. Everyone'll be thrilled to see you.'

With Curcin walking alongside them, Vera led Elspeth into the crowd and between the makeshift tents until they arrived at the ambulance that Elspeth had last seen the evening of the evacuation from Kragujevac. Next to the ambulance were two uncovered ox wagons and a dozen of the Scottish nurses and VADs, who whooped with delight and ran across to greet Elspeth when they saw her.

As well as Vera and Dr Curcin, there were four nurses in the group – including Monica and Aurelia – and nine VADs, including Lydia. All of them crowded around Elspeth, their faces expectant as they pressed her for details of how she had escaped. Without mentioning Anya or her encounter with the German patrol, Elspeth told them only that she had made the first part of the journey from Kragujevac with a group of Chetniks, and the second part with Captain Babov.

‘And here I am,' Elspeth said, after finishing all that she was prepared to say for now. ‘But what happened after you left Kragujevac?' she asked Vera.

‘Well, Sylvia and I managed to get the ambulance to Krusevac, while everybody else made it on the last train…except for you of course. Poor Dr Inglis and Dr Chesney were distraught when they realised you'd been left behind, but Sylvia and I thought you'd find a way out.' She grinned at Elspeth. ‘Anyway, we arrived at the Czar Lazar Hospital, but after only one day were told that the German army was close to capturing the town. So Dr Curcin said we had two options: stay on at the hospital and become a prisoner, or try and escape to Greece.'

‘So you decided to leave?'

Vera nodded. ‘I wasn't happy leaving Sylvie, but it was decided we should take the ambulance, and as I'm the only driver I had to come. And now we've run out of petrol, we're going to have to leave her here anyway.' She looked sadly, almost affectionately, at the mud-spattered ambulance. ‘And we're not sure how much longer the oxen can keep going: all the good animals have already been taken and these were all we could find.'

Elspeth eyed the four skeletal, droopy-headed beasts yoked to the wagons. ‘And Sylvie?' she asked.

‘Well, you know what she's like,' Vera said. ‘She felt it was her professional duty to stay behind.'

Elspeth nodded, and felt the sickening wrench of knowing that Sylvia was now in enemy hands.

‘Dr Chesney and Dr Wakefield have also stayed behind,' Vera added.

‘And can you get to Greece?' Elspeth asked Curcin.

‘No,' he replied, the melting flakes of sleet in his hair making him look even greyer and more sombre than usual. ‘I just heard that the Bulgars have cut the road south to Salonika. We cannot get to Greece anymore.'

Elspeth thought for a moment. ‘Well, that means we're trapped between the Germans in the north and the Bulgarians in the south, doesn't it?' she said. Curcin nodded. ‘So we'll have to surrender, won't we?'

‘Not necessarily,' Curcin replied.

Elspeth felt her throat constrict. ‘Surely you don't mean us to stay and fight?' she said, suddenly recalling Anya's words about a last stand. She turned to look at the hundreds of civilians standing around her, and saw one woman with two small children playing in the mud at her feet. ‘We're vastly outnumbered…and all these people…it would be a slaughter…'

‘No, no,' Curcin said reassuringly. ‘We will not fight: we could not win against three armies. But we don't have to surrender. There is a third choice.' All the women leant closer to him as he spoke quietly. ‘Our people can leave Serbia.'

‘Leave Serbia?' Elspeth said, an incredulous look on her face. ‘You mean to flee the country?'

He nodded. ‘Our people are Serbia's greatest asset. There is a rumour circulating that our army, and all men of fighting age – including all boys aged twelve or older – will be ordered to leave. And most people here will follow them.'

‘But where to?' Vera asked. ‘If the Germans are in the north, and the Bulgarians are in the south and east—'

‘West,' Curcin said, ‘across the Montenegrin mountains into Albania.'

Elspeth turned to look towards Montenegro, where, just visible on the western horizon, a dark wall of rock lay below a high bank of cloud. She knew the fearsome reputation of those icy peaks: they had not been named the black mountains for nothing.

‘There is a pass through the mountains,' Curcin continued as Elspeth turned back to him. ‘It will not be easy, but it is possible,'

‘But it's already snowing,' Elspeth said, ‘and I thought the mountains were difficult to cross even in good weather?' She looked at the civilians around her. ‘To evacuate all these people – an entire nation – over those mountains, in winter – can it be done?'

Curcin shrugged his shoulders. ‘What else can we do?'

‘Many will die crossing those mountains—'

‘But if we stay here, even more will die. Our soldiers and the chetniks might hold the enemy for a while, but eventually they would be overcome…'

At the mention of chetniks, an image of Anya reappeared in Elspeth's head. She put an arm around Vera's shoulders and led her away from the wagons. Vera looked puzzled as Elspeth took her by the shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes. ‘Listen carefully, Vera: did Anya arrive in Krusevac?' she asked.

Vera blinked. ‘Anya? What are you talking about?'

‘Anya,' Elspeth repeated, shaking Vera's shoulders as if to wake her from a stupor. ‘Did she come to Krusevac?'

Vera blinked, her mouth slightly agape. ‘Have you gone mad, Ellie? Why are you asking about Anya?'

‘Because I met her, Vera; she's here in Serbia.'

‘Anya…' Vera said, a dazed expression on her face, ‘in Serbia—?'

A shrill sound startled them both, and, turning towards the noise, Elspeth saw a bugler, who appeared to be standing above the heads of the crowd, near the headquarter tents. She stretched herself up on her toes and saw that he was standing on top of a wooden crate inside the back of a wagon, and beside him were several officers, one of whom was holding a megaphone as the bugler played a military call, the brassy notes strident in the cold air. Suddenly Dr Curcin brushed past her as he hurried towards the bugler.

‘He plays an attention call,' Curcin shouted back to Elspeth. ‘Will be important announcement…'

Elspeth saw that Vera was still stunned at the news about Anya, and so she took her by the hand, pulling her after Curcin. ‘We'd better go with him, Vera, hear what's been decided. I'll tell you all about Anya afterwards…'

The sound of the bugle had already attracted a large crowd, which was pushing towards the source of the noise, and Elspeth followed Dr Curcin as he tried to squeeze through the throng. But the sheer number of people prevented him from going much further and Elspeth and the other women gathered around him as the bugler played his final notes, and then lowered the instrument from his lips. The crowd grew silent as Curcin turned around and whispered to Elspeth. ‘This will be important announcement.'

The officer lifted the megaphone to his mouth and began to speak. The metallic echo of the speaker trumpet distorted his words of Serbian as Dr Curcin, furrowing his brow with concentration, translated each phrase.

‘Soldiers and civilians of Serbia,' he began.

‘We cannot defeat the Austro-Hungarians, the Germans and the Bulgarians.

‘The Serbian General Staff have decided that the best hope for Serbia is for our soldiers to leave the country, then re-arm and return to fight another day.

‘All roads south to Greece have been cut off by the Bulgars. The only possible route out of Serbia is over the mountains of Montenegro into Albania.

‘The first part of the journey will be west, to the town of Pec at the base of the mountains.

‘From Pec, we will follow the Rugova canyon between the mountains into Albania.

‘In Albania, we will walk to Scutari and then to the Adriatic coast, where Allied ships will take us to Italy and Corfu.

‘But we will return to Serbia, next year or the year after that, and we will retake our country from the invaders…'

As Curcin continued to translate, Elspeth looked at the faces of the Scottish women and Serbian civilians around her and saw their daunted expressions; then she turned her gaze towards the Montenegrin mountains, the jagged snowy summits, briefly glimpsed through gaps in the heavy cloud, appeared like the black, broken-capped teeth of some terrifying leviathan. From here to the Adriatic, she knew, was a distance of almost two hundred miles, and everybody attempting to escape the enemy would have to walk up those fearsome-looking peaks and down again to the coast. As she looked at the rag-tag collection of people and animals, snowflakes gently settling on their heads, Elspeth wondered: was it really going to be possible?

The train slowed as it approached the West Morava River, and then clattered noisily over an old iron railway bridge that spanned the two banks of the waterway. Gabriel looked through the carriage window and saw that both riverbanks were still white with snow, the fir trees sagging with the weight of icicles, which hung like melted candle wax from their branches. On the far side of the span the train passed small farm holdings and cottages, and then tobacco warehouses and factories as it slid through the suburbs and into the centre of town, before finally coming to a halt at Krusevac central station.

Gabriel reached up to the luggage rack and pulled down his leather holdall. It had been a long journey down from Belgrade, so it was a relief to stand and stretch the stiffness out of his legs. He stepped onto the platform and joined the other passengers queuing at the exit barrier. The train had been mostly full of German soldiers returning from leave, and a trio of Feld Gendarmerie – the officious-looking German military police – were meticulously checking the travel permits of all new arrivals. Gabriel patiently waited his turn and then showed his papers to a sergeant at the barrier, who took a fastidiously long time to read the documents before handing them back.

‘Hm,' he said, looking Gabriel up and down dismissively. ‘Your orders are authorised from Vienna, not Berlin.' The steel gorget around his neck was so highly polished that Gabriel could see his own reflection. ‘You'll need to report to the garrison commander.'

‘Where can I find him?' Gabriel asked.

‘In garrison headquarters, inside the town hall,' the sergeant grunted, before grudgingly lifting the gate.

As he walked underneath the barrier, Gabriel contemplated the antagonism the sergeant had shown. It didn't really surprise Gabriel: the Germans, brought into the war in support of Austria, were in a bitter struggle against Russia in the east, and Britain and France in the west. And now they had to take on Serbia as well, in order to sort out what the Austrians had started but couldn't finish by themselves.

Outside the station Gabriel was surprised to see several taxi cabs waiting to pick up new arrivals. But after such a long journey down from Vienna he felt in need of some exercise, and so he asked for directions to the town hall from a passing German lieutenant, then hoisted the leather holdall onto his shoulders and began to walk through the streets.

The town looked unexpectedly well maintained, Gabriel thought, as he strolled along pavements that had been scraped clean of snow, which now lay heaped in slushy grey piles on the street corners. He had been told that Krusevac was captured without a fight and all of the buildings he passed appeared undamaged, almost as if the war had not reached here. But then he turned a corner and came upon a market square and saw the miserable items on sale: small potatoes, thin carrots, limp winter cabbages. A large number of peasant women wrapped in black shawls haggled over the price of this meagre fare, all clear evidence that the war had taken priority over the growing of food. He wondered if the Scottish women had been able to get enough food and firewood to cope with the harsh winter, and then he smiled as he thought of Elspeth and the fact that very soon he would be seeing her again.

When the medical board in Vienna had asked him to return to Serbia in order to escort the women to safety in Switzerland, it almost felt as if it was fate, as if it was predestined that he and Elspeth would meet again. Never before had he felt so certain of anything. He recalled the young reservist and his sweetheart in the café in Vienna just before he had departed for Sarajevo, and now he understood the feelings he had witnessed. On the train journey down from Belgrade he had thought long and hard and promised himself that he would not waste this opportunity: he would pledge himself to her. With her living in Britain and he in Austria he wasn't sure how it could be done, but somehow he was sure it would happen. He had felt excited and giddy at the prospect of trying, of having his life shaped by her presence.

Arriving at the town hall he showed his orders to a sentry guarding the entrance and was directed to the garrison commander's office. After being made to wait for almost an hour, he was finally ushered into the room, where he saw a whey-faced German colonel with a Prussian-style haircut and moustache sitting at his desk. Gabriel saluted, placed the papers on the desk and then stood to attention. The colonel glared at Gabriel for a moment, then picked the papers up and shook them once to unfold them. He carefully adjusted a pair of pince-nez spectacles on the end of his nose and began to read, occasionally glancing at Gabriel over the top of his glasses.

Although he had not been given the command to stand at ease, Gabriel spread his feet and removed his cap just as the colonel finished inspecting the documents. The black of his eyes, was offset against the pallor of his face like two pieces of charcoal in a snowman's face, and he studied Gabriel with obvious disdain.

‘So, you've been sent to relieve me of the Scottish women.'

‘Yes, Colonel.'

‘To escort them to Switzerland.'

‘Yes, Colonel.'

‘Hm.' The colonel clicked his tongue. ‘And do you know why have
you
been selected for this particular task?'

The colonel's resentment was almost palpable. Careful, Gabriel told himself.

‘Well, Colonel, I was captured and held prisoner in Kragujevac for most of last year. During the typhus epidemic several of the women fell ill and I helped at their hospital. So they know me, and I think they trust me—'

‘Trust you?' Sarcasm dripped from his voice. ‘You think the Austrian officer is more trustworthy than the German?'

Inwardly Gabriel groaned. He knew his arrival would be a sensitive issue, and had already been warned that where German and Austrian areas of control overlapped – as they did here – distrust and suspicion were common.

‘Colonel, I mean no offence to any party here. I know how determined these women can be. As I'm sure you know they can be very single-minded for the rights of their patients, whether they are Serbian, Austrian or German. I can see how difficult it must have been, to have had them under your jurisdiction—'

‘
Difficult
?' the colonel thundered as he leant over his desk. ‘You have no idea how difficult these blasted women are. Do you know,' he said, wagging a finger in front of Gabriel's face, ‘that they refuse to accept they are prisoners of war? They tried to lecture me' – he pointed the same finger at his chest – ‘on the rules of the Geneva Convention, and have demanded receipts for every item they claim to have lost, telling me they will be asking for reimbursement after the war. They refused to sign a document which testified to the good behaviour of the German forces, saying it might be used as propaganda,' he clenched both fists in fury, ‘and they even refused to look after a women's venereal disease hospital I opened, stating their priority was the wounded, and implying that the hospital had been built not for the benefit of women but to improve the health of my own soldiers.' He thumped the desk with one fist. ‘They have even threatened to report me…'

As if realising he had lost his temper, he spluttered to a silence and then sat back in his chair. Gabriel waited until he was certain the rant was finished before speaking. ‘I know they can be very demanding, Colonel.'

He shook his head. ‘They're more than demanding, Captain. Those harlots are an undermining and pernicious influence in this town.'

Gabriel flinched at the insult. He felt the first stirring of anger but managed to stay silent as the colonel continued.

‘To make things worse, when it was decided they were to be transferred to Switzerland, they insolently wrote directly to Vienna and insisted they be escorted by an Austrian, rather than a German officer. Well, Captain, I take it as a personal insult that they have gone over my head. Very regrettably, Viennese High Command has listened to their nonsense and forced Berlin to comply with this request. I find it impertinent that an Austrian officer is thought more suitable for this task.'

‘Actually, Colonel,' Gabriel said, having reached the end of his tolerance, ‘it was not Viennese High Command who sent me, but the Austrian Medical Board, who have taken responsibility for the women. And the women are correct: medical personnel
are
exempt from being taken prisoner and should be allowed to continue their work of tending the wounded unhindered. But the rest of what you have said is true – the women did send a request to Vienna that an Austrian should escort them to neutral territory. The reason the women gave for this request is they claim to have suffered verbal and physical intimidation by certain German officers.'

The colonel's eyebrows lifted with indignation, but Gabriel ignored him.

‘Whether that is true or not, Colonel, is now a moot point, because Berlin has agreed to transfer responsibility for the safe repatriation of the women, and in my orders there is a letter from Berlin that orders you, Colonel, as commander of the garrison, to supply your
full
co-operation with this task.'

The colonel's facial pallor had disappeared; his cheeks were scarlet as Gabriel continued.

‘Now, as for why I was selected: I suspect the women's request must have arrived at the Austrian Medical Board's offices at the same time I was undergoing a medical examination to assess my fitness after being a prisoner. The medical board passed me fit to return to my unit, which is currently fighting in Italy, but at the end of the examination they asked me whether I knew the Scottish women and whether I would agree to act as their escort to neutral territory. I have agreed, Colonel, because I believe these women have done good humanitarian work for all parties involved in the conflict. Once these women are safely in Switzerland, my assignment will be over and I will return to my unit in Italy. Sir.'

The stress on the last word only emphasising his insolence, Gabriel held the gaze of the Colonel, who sat back in his chair and scowled, the muscles above his moustache tight with anger. After a moment he shook his head again, and then spoke quietly.

‘You see, that's the trouble with you Austrians: too lax, too lenient. These women are not stupid. They know a soft touch when they see one.'

He roughly folded Gabriel's documents and tossed them across the desk towards him. ‘I'll need travel warrants for all of the women,' Gabriel said as he leant forward to pick them up.

‘My staff sergeant will give you what you need. Now get out of my office.'

Gabriel saluted, and with a smile he turned and left the room.

***

Gabriel obtained directions for the Czar Lazar Hospital from a clerk at the town hall, who told him that it was only a five-minute walk away. As he walked through the streets, Gabriel felt his anticipation build at the prospect of seeing Elspeth again. Even just thinking about her made everything feel more alive; the bricks of the buildings he passed seemed redder, the snow whiter, even the grey piles of icy slush on the street corners seemed somehow more defined. He turned a corner and the crimson brick and concrete edifice of the hospital came into view.

Vienna had told him that the Czar Lazar had originally been built as a military barracks and training academy before being converted into a four-hundred-bedded hospital. He also knew that the scale of casualties meant that even more beds were required, and so the Magazine – a concrete bunker in the grounds of the complex that had previously stored explosives and ammunition – had been turned into three hundred extra beds, which were now under the care of the Scottish women.

Two German sentries were on duty at the main entrance to the hospital and Gabriel showed them his papers and then asked for directions to the Magazine. He was pointed towards a low, rectangular concrete bunker a short distance away. Stepping through the protective steel doorway into the bunker, he saw that the ammunition shelves that ran the length of the Magazine were filled with men lying on straw mattresses. A number of VADs who Gabriel remembered from his time in Kragujevac were attending the men, and one of them – he could not recall her name – glanced up at him, frowned, and then hesitantly approached him.

‘It's…it's Captain Bayer isn't it?' she said.

Gabriel nodded and smiled as another VAD came and stood beside the first.

‘Are ye here tae escort us to Switzerland?' she asked.

‘Yes,' Gabriel confirmed, and both women grinned with delight as he continued. ‘Is Dr Inglis here?'

‘Och no, she's in our living quarters,' the first replied.

He looked around him but saw only the shelves lined with wounded men. ‘And where are your quarters?'

‘In the old office in the main hospital,' said the second woman, and as Gabriel gave a puzzled frown she smiled at him. ‘Everywhere is so crowded, that the only space they could put us in used to be the administrator's office in the main building. There are fifteen of us living in that room. You'll find Dr Inglis in there, writing up her surgical notes.'

He thanked them, then left the magazine and crossed back to the main hospital building, where the guards at the entrance gave him directions for the administrator's office.

As he was walking along the hospital corridor he suddenly recalled there had been thirty Scottish women in Kragujevac, yet the VAD had just told him that fifteen women were living in the room.

What had happened to the others?

Before he could give this mystery any further thought, he found himself standing outside the door the guards had directed him to. The door had a frosted window panel: he tapped lightly on the glass and a voice from within instructed him to enter.

It was freezing cold inside the office and even smaller than he had expected. Light reflected from snow lying outside a window shone onto a mound of mattresses and blankets piled to his left. To his right was a dining table with folding legs and a stack of chairs propped up on either side of an unlit fireplace. Sitting in front of a small card table in the middle of the room was Dr Inglis, wrapped in an old Serbian army greatcoat, a pen in hand and an open ledger in front of her. On seeing him, her face broke into a smile, and, quickly recapping her pen, she stood to greet him.