Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (72 page)

“In that case,
Excellency, I feel more strongly than ever that von Prittwitz should be
by-passed in favour of direct negotiations with von Moltke. Could you not
propose a bargain on the lines that, if he will order von Prittwitz to deploy
half his forces southward into Poland, you will strike northward to meet him.
But, failing that, you must adopt a more cautious policy and strike east?”

Von Hötzendorf considered
for a moment, then he said: “In any case, I do not wish to postpone the
launching of the offensive after the 22nd, but I shall keep its direction open
until the last possible moment. To-day is the 18th. By the 20th von Prittwitz
may have dealt with the Russian threat to his northern flank, and be in a
position to wheel south. Therefore, it would be best to confer with him first.
But I agree that, should he still refuse us his assistance, it would be worth
attempting to get von Moltke to order him to do so.”

“Then your Excellency
desires that, after Colonel Baron Ungash-Wallersee and I have conferred with
General von Prittwitz, we should, if necessary, proceed to German Main
Headquarters at Aix-la-Chapelle?”

The General’s eyes
narrowed. “No. I am committed only to sending the Baron to von Prittwitz. The
old fool is quite incapable of dealing with those hard-headed Germans on the
Kaiser’s staff, and will only make a mess of things. If you can get no
satisfaction from von Prittwitz, let the Baron return and report to me. Proceed
on your own to German Main Headquarters and do the best you can. I’ll give you
a separate letter for von Moltke. But this is between ourselves. Not a word of
this must reach the Archduke, or he will insist on his old crony accompanying
you on the second stage of your journey.”

“Jawohl, Excellence!”
In
a high good humour, De Richleau clicked his heels and saluted. Such an
arrangement could not have suited him better, had he devised it himself.
Moreover, if he played his cards carefully, it looked as if he stood a very
good chance of so manipulating matters that von Hötzendorf could be induced to
adhere to his original plan of attacking in a northerly direction, in which
case the Austro-Hungarian armies would court a much greater risk of sustaining
a major defeat. In any case, he felt entitled to congratulate himself on the
success of the clever little intrigue, which would result in his being able to
leave in safety and comfort, instead of having to take the long road home
through Russia.

But he was soon to learn
that the shortest road is not necessarily the safest.

An hour later, while the
bright light of the summer evening still lingered, the Duke was on his way out
of Przemysl. He knew that he could not consider himself really safe until he
had left the German headquarters in East Prussia as, if the K.S. learned that
he had joined von Hötzendorf’s staff, a telegram ordering his arrest could
still catch him there. But as he had spent only a bare two days in Przemysl he
felt that the number of people who knew that he had been in the city must still
be comparatively small. One or two of them might yet mention his presence when
writing to Vienna, but such a piece of social gossip was of no particular
interest now that he had left, so the odds seemed against it getting as far as
Major Ronge. With heart-felt thankfulness at being able to depart in easy
circumstances and with such good prospects of getting safely to Holland, he
decided that he must make the best of the companion fate had forced on him. And
he soon found that he might have fared worse.

Colonel Baron Lanzelin
Ungash-Wallersee was a final product of the once sound, but long since outworn,
feudal system that was now so near dissolution. In return for certain services
and rents in kind, his remote ancestors had given the people on their lands a
rough justice, led them on cattle raids, defended their homes and fed them in
time of famine. The present holder of the title still owned the lands, but
neither he nor his predecessors in the past several hundred years had done
anything very much for anybody. He was, nevertheless, a very kind and charming
person. His many estates in various parts of the Empire totalled in area that
of an English county. They had been accumulated through many generations by a
long series of suitable matrimonial alliances, and safeguarded by a succession
of entails that precluded any heir from succeeding should he be so misguided as
to insist on marrying a lady whose coat of arms embodied less than sixteen
quarterings. It was this principle which had resulted in nearly all the higher
nobility of Central Europe being related to one another, and the Baron’s veins,
therefore, metaphorically contained blood of an unadulterated blue.

He was, almost needless
to remark, immensely rich. He owned three castles, a palace in Vienna, another
in Budapest, a villa in the south of France, a two thousand ton yacht in the
Adriatic, and several hunting lodges. He also paid the rent of a number of
flats for young ladies, who spent fifty weeks out of most years entertaining
more sprightly, if less blue-blooded, gentlemen.

As a young subaltern in a
crack cavalry regiment, he had often given parties that had gone on for several
days and nights in succession, climbed the tower of the
Michaelerkirche
, and ridden his favourite charger
up three flights of stairs to his mistress’ bedroom. Up to the age of thirty,
he had managed to keep fairly even in the number of stags he had shot and the
number of young women who had succumbed to his advances. After that, the stags
took a permanent lead, but he still rolled a bucolic eye whenever he saw a
good-looking girl. He had not the faintest interest in either art or politics,
and knew less than most corporals about warfare. He had never served his
country as diplomat, jurist or statesman. On the other hand, he had drunk more
champagne than would have filled the giant tun at Heidelberg, had eaten more
caviare than would have served to stuff a whale, and had all his clothes made
in London. In short, from his youth onward he had, within his extremely limited
mental horizons, enjoyed all the fun he might have had if he had been a lesser
monarch-cum-millionaire, without the necessity of devoting a single hour to
business or suffering the tedious duties and anxieties inseparable from
royalty.

At the present time he
was just over sixty, with a square-shouldered stalwart body that he had kept in
passably good shape. His skin was slightly mottled, but he was handsome in his
way and, at first sight, his striking head belied its emptiness. The blue eyes
had for so long had the habit of command that they gave the impression that he
was not to be trifled with, and his sensual mouth was hidden by an impressive
grey moustache and beard. The former curled gracefully upward, the latter was
square-cut and parted in the centre, to match the parting of the hair on his
head which ran right down to the nape of his neck— an eccentricity impossible
to any man who lacked a valet to brush his hair every morning.

The Baron’s valet was, of
course, travelling with them, although temporarily disguised as a soldier, and
now also filling the role of servant to the Duke for the duration of their
mission. So was the Baron’s private No. 1 chauffeur, and they were in the most
recently purchased of his fifteen cars, which he had ordered up from Vienna. As
he sat there, obviously thinking of nothing in particular, except possibly that
it was rather a bore to have been sent to see some upstart German General, he
looked and was as clean as a new pin. He smelt faintly of eau-de-Cologne mingled
with the aroma of fine Havana cigars. Like most of the great Austro-Hungarian
nobles, he was known by the diminutive of his first christian name—his friends
called him Lanzi.

The roads to the west
were still packed with columns of olive-grey troops, guns, ammunition wagons
and fodder carts, all moving up towards the front; so the powerful,
smooth-running car could be let out only on short infrequent stretches. In
consequence, it took them six hours to cover the eighty odd miles to Tarnow,
and there the Colonel Baron decreed that they should sup and sleep. As a
well-stocked picnic basket had provided them with dinner, they were in no real
need of food; so, using the urgency of their mission as an excuse, the Duke
suggested that he should relieve the chauffeur at the wheel and that they
should push on. But Lanzi Ungash-Wallersee would not hear of it.

He took occasion to point
out that their mission was of no vital importance, as the Germans would make mincemeat
of both the French and the Russians anyway. That, he seemed to think, was the
only purpose for which an all-wise Providence had created Germany. He added
that he had had it from a fellow in the
Kriegsministerum
in Vienna that the war would be
over in three months, and indicated that he would have cause to feel
considerable annoyance should it last longer, as he had already selected the
colours and stuffs with which he planned to have some of the principal rooms in
his villa at Nice re-decorated for the coming winter season.

Although it was after
midnight, he had most of the staff at the best hotel roused to attend him, and
after one glance they willingly ran to supply his requirements. He said little,
but what he did say was quietly and pleasantly spoken. His name, and one look
at his slightly protruding blue eyes above the beautifully barbered moustaches
and beard, were sufficient. Lesser beings were turned out of the best rooms at
a moment’s notice, the chef stoked up his kitchen fires, the wine-waiter
produced his best Hock, and the prettiest chambermaid was chucked under the
chin, then told to get into the great man’s bed and warm it.

To De Richleau he could
not have been more charming. He would have behaved with easy friendliness to an
ex-ranker had such an officer been sent with him, but he was obviously pleased
to have a companion whom he regarded as one of his own kind. The De Richleaus
were, of course, mere parvenu compared with his own House and its eight hundred
years of ancestry. But he had a vague idea that they had made their mark on
French history, and he recalled having once participated in a very jolly
drinking bout with the Duke’s father. The cigars he produced after their late
supper were enormous torpedo-shaped affairs which had been specially
manufactured for him in Havana and, connoisseur as De Richleau was, he had
rarely smoked anything better.

They did not get to bed
till two o’clock, Lanzi remarking, as they went upstairs, that he thought about
half past nine would be quite early enough to start in the morning. The Duke
made no protest. He understood well enough now why von Hötzendorf had no
confidence in the Colonel Baron Ungash-Wallersee as an emissary, and pitied any
C. in C.
who had the services of
such a man forced upon him by an idiot Prince representing an effete Imperial
House. But the last thing he intended was any endeavour to persuade von
Prittwitz to aid the Austro-Hungarian offensive, and the longer they delayed in
getting to his headquarters the less likely it was that their mission would
prove effective. So he considered any small additional risk that he might be
running himself, owing to dilatoriness on the journey, amply justified.

Next morning, therefore,
he did not suggest, as he would have done had his heart been in the matter,
that, as all Russian troops were said to have been withdrawn from the Polish
salient, they should chance a dash across it. And it did not seem to have
entered Lanzi’s well-groomed head that he was in any way called on to risk his
life or liberty in an attempt to expedite the service of his country. Instead,
they continued their leisurely, semi-royal progress for the next two days round
the vast arc, by way of Cracow, Ratibor, Breslau, Posen and Thorn to von
Prittwitz’s headquarters at Wartenburg.

The headquarters was
situated in an old manor house some way outside the town. With the usual German
speed and efficiency, a number of hutments had already been erected near it, to
accommodate the less important members of the staff, and a railway line laid up
to within a few hundred yards of the building, so that the Army Commander could
come and go in his special train with a minimum of inconvenience.

The Baron and the Duke
arrived in the evening on Thursday the 20th. just in time for dinner. They were
received with due deference by the Austro-Hungarian liaison officer, Captain
Fleischmann. and, after a quick wash and brush up, were taken to the
drawing-room of the house, which was now being used as a mess ante-room. There,
they were duly presented to the fat, monocled Commander of the German 8th Army
and several of his principal staff officers.

There was a great deal of
clicking of heels, bowing sharply from the waist, and rapping out of surnames.
Then they went in to dine. Von Prittwitz placed his distinguished guests on his
left and right, but he seemed extremely ill at ease, made no effort at
conversation, and ate almost nothing. Only about half the places at the lone
table were occupied, and most of the officers present ate rapidly in silence.
After a bare, uncomfortable quarter of an hour, the General stood up. asked his
guests to excuse him from discussing the situation with them that night, and
said he would see them in the morning. Within another five minutes all his
staff had followed him, leaving Fleischmann to look after the visitors.