Austria thought of a mere British soldier? She had an eye for men, and it was common talk that Franz-Josef had warned her off various gallants with whom her relations had probably been innocent enough, but I hadn’t been among ’em. I dare say I could have added her scalp to my belt, but I’d never tried, for good reason: everyone knew that Franz-Josef, whose ambition seemed to be to bag every chamois and woman in Austria, had given her cupid’s measles, and while the poultice-wallopers had doubtless put her in order again, you can’t be too careful. And while she looked like Pallas Athene, I suspected she was half-cracked—flung herself about in gymnasiums and went on starvation diets and wrote poetry and asked for a lunatic asylum as a birthday present, so I’d been told. She and Franz-Josef hadn’t dealt too well since he’d poxed her, and she’d taken to wandering Europe while he pleaded with her to forgive and forget. Royal marriages are the very devil.
I tell you this because it’s pertinent to the catechism which Willem resumed as soon as we’d pulled out of Munich. He began by asking what I knew of the Austrian Empire. I retorted that they seemed to be good at losing wars and territory, having been licked lately by France, Prussia, and Italy, for heaven’s sake, and that the whole concern was pretty ramshackle. Beyond that I knew nothing and cared less.
He nodded. 'Aye, ramshackle enough. Fifty million folk of a dozen different nations bound together in a discontented mass under a stiff-necked autocrat who don’t know how to manage ’em. He’s a dull dog, Franz-Josef, whose blunders have cost him the popularity he enjoyed as the handsome boy-emperor of thirty-five years ago. But his empire’s the heart and guts of Europe, and if it were to suffer any great convulsion … well, it better not. Know anythin' about Hungary?'
I understood it was the biggest state in the empire bar Austria itself, and that the natives were an ornery lot, but fine horsemen. He grinned.
'Proper little professor of international politics, you are! Well, I’m quarter Hungarian myself, through Mama; rest o' me’s Prussian. And you’re right, they’re an ornery lot, and don’t care above half for Austrian rule. They’ve declared independence in the past, risin' in revolt, and Franz-Josef made the mistake of gettin' the Tsar to put ’em down with Russian troops—they’ll never forgive him that. He’s been at his wit’s end to keep ’em quiet, makin' concessions, havin' himself and Sissi crowned King and Queen of Hungary, but there are still plenty of Magyar nationalists who’d like to cut with Austria altogether. People like Lajos Kossuth, regular firebrand who led the uprisin', now in his eighties and exiled in Italy but still hatin' the Hapsburgs like poison and dreamin' of Free Hungary. Believe it or not, he and his nationalist pals have the sympathy of Empress Sissi and the Emperor’s son and heir, Crown Prince Rudolf, who favour constitutional reform.[14] And there are others, extremists who’d like to take a shorter way.'
He paused to light a cigarette, blowing out the match and watching its smoke. 'Terrorists like the Holnup, which is Hungarian for `tomorrow', ’nuff said. They skulk in secret, plottin' bloody revolution, but most Hungarians regard ’em as a squalid gang of fanatics not to be taken seriously.' He threw aside the spent match. 'So did we … until about a month ago, when Bismarck got word, through his private intelligence service, that the Holnup were about to take the warpath in earnest. Here, let me give you another brandy.'
He poured out a stiff tot, and a cloud must have passed over the sun just then, for the brightness faded from the pretty autumn colours speeding past the window, and to my nervous imagination it seemed that the shadow penetrated into the compartment, robbing the trickling brandy of its sparkle, and that even the rumble of the wheels had taken on a menacing, insistent note.
'The Holnup intend to assassinate Franz-Josef,' says Willem, filling a second glass for himself. 'If they succeed, there’ll be civil war. Oh, pottin' royalty’s nothing new, and usually there’s no great harm done—various lunatics have tried for Franz-Josef before, there have been two attempts on the German Emperor, and the Tsar was blown up a couple of years ago … but this would be different.[15] What, Hungarians killin' the Austrian monarch, at a time when Hungary’s boilin' with unrest, when it’s known that Sissi supports its independence, and surrounds herself with worshippin' Magyars, and corresponds with Kossuth, and there’s even been rumour of a conspiracy to bestow the crown of Hungary on Prince Rudolf, who hates Papa and is as pro-Hungarian as his beautiful idiot of a mother?' He gave a mirthless bark of laughter. 'Think what use the nationalists could make of those two half-wits, willin' or not! Casus belli, if you like! Civil war in Austria-Hungary—and how long before France and Germany and Russia, aye, and perhaps even England, were drawn in? And that is what will happen if Franz-Josef stops a Hungarian bullet.'
Somewhere or other that downy bird Kipling observes that the lesson of the island race is to put away all emotion and entrap the alien at the proper time.[16] I learned it in my cradle, long before he wrote it, and have practised it all my life with some success, and only this difference, that for 'entrap' I prefer to substitute 'escape'. The putting-away-emotion business ain’t always easy, but I like to think I managed it pretty well in the face of Starnberg’s disgusting proposal, concealing my shocked bewilderment before that grinning young devil and his steely-eyed accomplice as they watched to see how I would respond to their bombshell.
There was no point in protest or roaring refusal. As you know, I’d been press-ganged aboard the good ship Disaster before, by legions of experts from Palmerston to Lincoln, with the likes of Colin Campbell and Alick Gardner and U. S. Grant and Broadfoot and J. B. Hickok and Raglan and God knew who else along the way, all urging hapless Flashy into the soup by blackmail and brute force, and nothing to be done about it. Ah, but this time there was, you see, with the Austrian border drawing nearer by the minute, so I must bide my time and delude the aliens as seemed best, listening to their lunatic notions as though I might be persuadable, and waiting my chance to cut and run. My strong card was that despite Willem’s menaces, they’d made it plain that they wanted me as a willing ally; I must play on that, but not too hard. The question was, which role to adopt (ain’t it always?), balancing righteous outrage at the way I’d been treated against the chivalrous impulses which they’d expect from an officer and gentleman. So now I let out a soft 'Ha!' and gave Willem my most sardonic stare.
'Are we , indeed? Just the two of us, eh? Well, setting aside your optimism and impudence, perhaps you’ll tell me how, precisely?' 'You mean you’re game?' cries he eagerly. 'You’re with us?' 'Suppose you tell me why I should be.'
'How can you not?' Kralta couldn’t believe her ears, like a queen with a farting courtier. 'With the peace of Europe in the balance, and the lives of thousands, perhaps millions, at stake?'
'Ah, but are they? Forgive me if after being hoodwinked, lied to, held against my will, and threatened with prison and pistols, I: can’t help wondering if this great tale of a plot is true.'
'Of course it’s true!' cries Willem. 'Heavens, man, why should we invent it?' I gave this the shrug it deserved, and he cursed softly. 'Look here, if you’re in a bait ’cos you’ve been bobbled and made a muffin of—' he sounded like a third-form fag '—well, I don’t wonder, but can’t you see we had no choice? Bismarck was sure we’d have to force your hand, and that this was the only way. Havin' seen you, I ain’t so sure he’s right.' He ran a hand through his hair, and leaned forward, looking keen. 'You ask me how you and I can stop the Holnup, and I’ll tell you the ins and outs presently, but in principle, now—ain’t it a stunt after your own heart? As I told you, nothin' smoky, but a dam' good deed, and a rare adventure! Why, the old guv’nor would have jumped at it—and you’d ha' been the first he’d have wished to have alongside!'
'And if you cannot forgive the deceits we have practised,' put in Kralta, 'think of the cause we serve. You have done brave deeds for your Queen and country, but nothing nobler than this.' She hadn’t the style or figurehead to look pleading, but she absolutely laid a hand on mine, and her glance had more promise than appeal in it. 'For my part, if I can make any amends …' She ventured a toothy smile, pressing my fin. 'Please … say you will not fail us. All depends on you.'
All of which confirmed my conclusion that they were under the misapprehension which has sustained me for a lifetime—they truly believed my heroic reputation, and thought I was the kind of derring-do idiot who’d answer the call of duty and danger like a good ’un, itching to fight the good fight. Bismarck knew better, which was why I’d been threatened with violence and the law, but now blessed if they weren’t appealing to my better nature. Remarkable … but you have to play the ball as it comes off the wicket, so …
'All very fine,' says I. 'But before I hear the ins and outs, let me tell you that so far you’ve made no sense. You say these Hungarian rascals are going to put paid to Franz-Josef, and you know where and when. Very well— round ’em up and string ’em up, why don’t you—'
'Because it ain’t that simple!' insists Willem. 'Bismarck’s spy in the Holnup knows their plan, but not the names of the assassins, or where they are this minute. All we’re sure of is that they’ll have assembled somewhere near Ischl three days from now, and will strike before the Emperor returns to Vienna on Sunday next. That means the attempt will be made this Friday or Saturday—'
'Then let him go back to Vienna tomorrow, for God’s sake! Or if he’s fool enough to stay, surround his place
