Fall of Giants

“For God’s sake!” said Walter. “Are you sure?”

“It will be discussed by ministers in Vienna tomorrow morning, but I’m afraid the result is a foregone conclusion. We can’t halt at Belgrade without reassurances from Russia.”

“Reassurances?” Walter said indignantly. “You have to stop fighting and then talk about the problems. You can’t demand assurances first!”

“I’m afraid we don’t see it that way,” Robert said stiffly.

“But we are your allies. How can you reject our peace plan?”

“Easily. Think about it. What can you do? If Russia mobilizes, you’re threatened, so you have to mobilize too.”

Walter was about to protest, but he saw that Robert was right. The Russian army, when mobilized, was too big a threat.

Robert went on remorselessly. “You have to fight on our side, whether you want to or not.” He made an apologetic face. “Forgive me if I sound arrogant. I’m just stating the reality.”

“Hell,” said Walter. He felt like crying. He had been holding on to hope, but Robert’s grim words had shattered him. “This is going the wrong way, isn’t it?” he said. “Those who want peace are going to lose the contest.”

Robert’s voice changed, and suddenly he looked sad. “I’ve known that from the start,” he said. “Austria must attack.”

Until now Robert had been sounding eager, not sad. Why the change? Probing, Walter said: “You may have to leave London.”

“You, too.”

Walter nodded. If Britain joined in the war, all Austrian and German embassy staff would have to go home at short notice. He lowered his voice. “Is there… someone you will especially miss?”

Robert nodded, and there were tears in his eyes.

Walter hazarded a guess. “Lord Remarc?”

Robert laughed mirthlessly. “Is it so obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows you.”

“Johnny and I thought we were being so discreet.” Robert shook his head miserably. “At least you can marry Maud.”

“I wish I could.”

“Why not?”

“A marriage between a German and an Englishwoman, when the two nations are at war? She would be shunned by everyone she knows. So would I. For myself I would hardly care, but I could never impose such a fate on her.”

“Do it secretly.”

“In London?”

“Get married in Chelsea. No one would know you there.”

“Don’t you have to be a resident?”

“You have to produce an envelope with your name and a local address. I live in Chelsea-I can give you a letter addressed to Mr. von Ulrich.” He rummaged in a drawer of his desk. “Here you are. A bill from my tailor, addressed to Von Ulrich, Esquire. They think Von is my first name.”

“There may not be time.”

“You can get a special license.”

“Oh, my God,” Walter said. He felt stunned. “You’re right, of course. I can.”

“You have to go to the town hall.”

“Yes.”

“Shall I show you the way?”

Walter thought for a long moment, then said: “Yes, please.”

{VII}

“The generals won,” said Anton, standing in front of the tomb of Edward the Confessor in Westminster Abbey on Friday, July 31. “The tsar gave in yesterday afternoon. The Russians are mobilizing.”

It was a death sentence. Walter felt a cold chill around his heart.

“It is the beginning of the end,” Anton went on, and Walter saw in his eyes the glitter of revenge. “The Russians think they are strong, because their army is the largest in the world. But they have weak leadership. It will be Armageddon.”

It was the second time this week that Walter had heard that word. But this time he knew it was justified. In a few weeks’ time the Russian army of six million men-six million-would be massed on the borders of Germany and Hungary. No leader in Europe could ignore such a threat. Germany would have to mobilize: the kaiser no longer had any choice.

There was nothing more Walter could do. In Berlin the General Staff were pressing for German mobilization and the chancellor, Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg, had promised a decision by noon today. This news meant there was only one decision he could possibly make.

Walter had to inform Berlin immediately. He took an abrupt leave of Anton and went out of the great church. He walked as fast as he could through the little street called Storey’s Gate, jogged along the eastern edge of St. James’s Park, and ran up the steps by the Duke of York’s memorial and into the German embassy.

The ambassador’s door was open. Prince Lichnowsky sat at his desk, and Otto stood beside him. Gottfried von Kessel was using the telephone. There were a dozen other people in the room, with clerks hurrying in and out.

Walter was breathing hard. Panting, he spoke to his father. “What’s happening?”

“Berlin has received a cable from our embassy in St. Petersburg that just says: ‘First day of mobilization 31 July.’ Berlin is trying to confirm the report.”

“What is von Kessel doing?”

“Keeping the phone line to Berlin open so that we hear instantly.”

Walter took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Your Highness,” he said to Prince Lichnowsky.

“Yes?”

“I can confirm the Russian mobilization. My source told me less than an hour ago.”

“Right.” Lichnowsky reached for the phone and von Kessel gave it to him.