by Nina Clare
Isle of Swans
Herr Weimann arrived in state and splendour in the second-best royal carriage. It flew along with a team of four white horses, four outriders and two postilions, announcing to all between München and the village of Swanstein that there was someone of great importance coming.
A footman ran to unfold the steps at the carriage door, for Herr Weimann’s short legs required them.
‘Your Majesty!’ cried the great architect, upon alighting. He removed his tall hat to make an ornate bow. ‘At last I am released from the oppression of walls without sunlight, without sweetness of fragrance. For what life has there been for me in the city once His Majesty withdrew his presence?’
He and the king strolled to the castle entrance, Herr Weimann’s raptures booming across the courtyard, while his apprentice was left to follow behind, bearing so many scrolls and folders that Elisabeth was sure he would drop them all. Every footman was laden with trunks, and Paul was busy giving orders regarding the horses, so Elisabeth took it upon herself to assist Herr Haller.
He gave a muffled greeting from behind the piled-up papers. The topmost scrolls wobbled.
‘Stand still,’ she said, taking four of his burdens from the top of the pile.
She could see his face now. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But you shouldn’t trouble yourself.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
‘You look well,’ he said with a friendly smile.
‘You look tired.’
‘I’ve been working.’
‘Watch your step,’ she counselled, for he was too busy looking at her to notice the steps before them.
‘Ouch!’ His foot stubbed the bottom step, and he stumbled.
‘Do not drop those scrolls, Haller!’ came the deep voice of Herr Weimann from the top of the steps. ‘I’ll rub your face in the dirt if you foul His Majesty’s plans!’
‘What a charming master you have,’ Elisabeth said as Herr Haller righted himself.
They deposited the papers in the study room and she led Herr Haller to the hall where refreshments were laid out for Herr Weimann’s arrival.
The king and his architect stood side by side before one of the arched windows. They made an incongruous-looking couple: the king taller than any man she had yet seen, slim and broad shouldered, his black hair perfectly arranged in smooth waves around his face. Even in heeled shoes Herr Weimann only reached the king’s shoulder, his head large and sitting slightly askance on his thick neck. His legs were short, his body squat and dense, his greying hair smoothed down with oil, but still grizzly looking. And yet both exuded an energy that filled the large space of the hall.
‘There, my friend,’ the king announced, pointing at the view they stood before.
‘I see only mountains, Your Majesty.’
‘You see the mountain where Tannhäuser once sang in the castle halls. You see the ruins of the castle built by Gundelfinger himself.’
‘The magician?’
‘So they called him. The Guardian of the Mountain. He who kept the land free of her enemies, who caused the earth to be fruitful, until he transgressed against the Fair, and brought trouble to the land.’
‘Ah, the old legends,’ rumbled Herr Weimann. ‘How I should like to see the place where once the heroes were said to walk.’
‘And so you shall,’ said the king, his eyes gleaming. ‘You shall indeed follow where the great Faerie knight and the magic-wielding guardian once walked. You shall stand amidst the very place where the stones of Gundelfinger’s castle stood. You shall feel for yourself the thrum of magic that remains. It echoes around the valley below, it sings to the great firs above, it swirls about the rocks—you too shall feel its poetry. We shall climb there this very afternoon. We shall leave at once, why should there be any delay?’
‘Climb?’ Herr Weimann’s strong voice faltered. ‘The Beloved Friend of the king, whose spirit is without weakness, whose heart is that of a sure and solid rock, but whose body—his poor body is but a prison of limitations.’
The king looked down at Herr Weimann, dismay clouding his face.
‘This is not to be borne. I have seen you standing beside me in that very place where our new castle shall rise out of the ruins. There, upon that very plateau, hearing the rush of the waterfall that shines with elven light when the moon waxes full. You must see for yourself where your inspired designs shall awaken the power of Gundelfinger once again!’
Herr Weimann stared out at the mountain peak opposite and made a kind of groan. ‘I would lay down my life to please His Majesty. But this body is wearied from long hours on the road, it must recoup. It must refill. It must rest.’
‘Very well,’ said the king. His disappointment was evident. ‘We leave at first light instead. You will refresh yourself before dinner while I ride out. I am too restless with anticipation to stay within walls.’
The king strode out of the hall. Prince Paul, who had just come in from overseeing the stabling arrangements, turned around again and followed his master out.
‘Climb up there!’ Herr Weimann murmured to no one in particular. ‘If the Muse gave me her wings perhaps it could be done. Haller,’ he bellowed, ‘see to my rooms. Ensure they have all that I require. The foul dust of the road clings to me. Tell the servants to draw a bath. And do not forget the Persian Otto.’
While Herr Weimann rested, Herr Haller was finding his way around the castle. Elisabeth found him in the servants’ wing after dinner, chatting with Schnorr, the king’s hairdresser, about his life in the cities he had travelled through with Herr Weimann. Gretel, the housekeeper’s niece was tossing her fair plaits and trying to get Herr Haller’s attention; Elisabeth was sure she saw her wink at him. The prince came in, and Herr Haller seemed to fade into the wainscoting, as did everyone in the presence of Prince Paul.
‘Herr Haller, Fräulein Schwan, please join the king’s party at the pier in an hour.’ He smiled, looking very different from the anxious man she had seen the previous day after Lady von Pless’s visit.
The sun was setting as they reached the lake pier. The water rippled in golden flecks, reflecting the sky; the mountains were silhouetted against the horizon. Two of the king’s gondolas were moored at the water’s edge, lit up with hanging oil lamps. The king was dressed in a long cape of blue and silver. By the light of the sunset and lamps, with his tall, graceful frame, and his glittering, flowing cape, he looked like the elf-king from one of Herr Haller’s mural designs.
Herr Weimann joined the king; Paul assisted Elisabeth into the second boat, and Herr Haller followed.
Elisabeth leaned back in her gilded seat, enjoying the movement of the boat and the rhythmic sound of the water swishing away as they slipped through it. Out of the dusk appeared dark shapes, passing close by the boat’s edge. At least a dozen black swans glided past. They moved to surround the king’s gondolier, as if to make a royal escort.
She was so busy watching the swans that she did not notice they were heading for the little island in the middle of the lake, but the soft scrunch of gravel against the prow of the boat told her they had reached the island’s shore.
‘What are we doing here?’ she asked Paul, as he assisted her from the boat.
‘One of the king’s favourite pastimes,’ he replied. ‘You will see.’
On the Isle of Swans stood a royal lodge. It was small and plain on the outside, but inside every inch of wall and ceiling was covered in gilding. Countless candles glimmered from chandeliers and wall sconces; it was like stepping into a magical world.
‘Ah, champagne,’ Herr Weimann said approvingly as a liveried server appeared with a tray of crystal flutes. Paul pressed a cool glass into Elisabeth’s hand; the party lingered some time, long enough for her to drink down her champagne and have a second glass placed into her hand, and at some point, a second became a third.
‘Is all made ready?’ the king asked as a second servant appeared. The king seemed excited, almost childlike with glee. How quickly he seemed to have pushed awa
y all disagreeable memories of the emperor’s feast.
‘All is ready, Your Majesty,’ the second servant replied.
‘Then begin!’
The party followed the king into a large courtyard. The sun had set, and all was dark. Shadowy trees whispered above. There was an expectation in the air, as the king seemed to be waiting for something.
Elisabeth was feeling a little light-headed, and concluded that she was not used to drinking down almost three glasses of champagne in quick succession, and probably should not have attempted it; a sudden bang made her jump, spilling some wine. She giggled at herself, then cried out as a great fountain of golden stars exploded in the sky above. More bangs sounded, like rapid cannon fire, more bursts of coloured lights erupted, impossibly bright, hordes of shooting stars falling in trails of light and smoke.
‘Do you like fireworks, Fräulein Schwan?’ asked a voice very close to her ear. She could smell Prince Paul’s cologne, lemon and bergamot, bright and warm.
‘I love them! I’ve never seen anything like it. At least, I don’t remember it if I did.’
‘You are shivering. You ought to have brought a cloak.’
‘I am fine. I’m not cold.’
‘I will stand very close to you and share my warmth,’ he said, pressing close.
She could not suppress another shiver. An inner voice was telling her that this was not proper behaviour at all, but the scent and feel of him drowned out that voice. The magical lights continued to soar and fall and crash above them. The effects of the champagne took their toll, for all felt warm and fuzzy and pleasant and she leaned back against the strong body of the prince, smiling as he whispered foolish things into her ear. Somehow her head turned to meet his and warm lips were on her own, soft and tasting of champagne, now firmer and insistent. She was in his arms, pressed against him, until a crack at her feet jolted her out of his embrace.
‘Are you all right?’ called Herr Haller, rushing over. ‘A fire cracker shot out at you.’
‘Perfectly fine,’ said the prince. ‘Fräulein Schwan will come to no harm while I am near.’
Herr Haller looked between them. Elisabeth was glad it was too dark for him to really see her, for her face would betray everything she felt at that moment. And what did she feel, she wondered? Was she happy? Happy was not quite the word. Confused, excited, stirred up by feelings she did not know existed. Was this love?
The firework display came to a finale. The lanterns on the courtyard were lit. More champagne was served, but she refused any more.
Chapter 23
Gundelfinger
‘What changes did you observe in the king, Fräulein Opel?’
‘Changes?’
‘It is well attested that the king began a descent into unconventional behaviour as first displayed at the emperor’s feast. Can you give particulars of these changes, for you were frequently in his presence?’
‘I suppose he did withdraw from people more after the emperor’s feast. He found comfort and satisfaction in the building of New Swanstein.’
‘His new castle. The fabrication of which has almost bankrupted the kingdom.’
‘I understand he used only his personal fortune, sir. He bankrupted no one.’
‘You say he withdrew from people, is that the reasonable action of a king, a leader, a public figure? He even withdrew from his own mother. Forbade her access to his presence.’
‘Perhaps he wanted to avoid criticism.’
‘How could he hope to avoid criticism when he squandered thousands of gulden on that wastrel Herr Weimann and buried himself in his mountain retreat while his kingdom floundered in war?’
There were murmurings of ‘Hear, Hear,’ from the audience.
‘There were other forces at work.’
‘And what forces do you speak of?’
‘Magic.’
‘Could you repeat that, Fräulein? You speak in a whisper.’
‘Magic!’
‘Ah, and now we come to it. All the nonsensical talk of magic that surrounds the king like a sentimental cloud. The peasant folklore. There was no magic, Fräulein Opel, surely even you, young as you are, and with a feminine mind, are too sensible to believe such a thing. There was madness. There was irresponsibility. Negation of duty. Profligacy. Scandal and shame upon the house of his virtuous father and his long-suffering mother.’
‘Why do you ask me my opinion then, if you have already drawn your conclusions?’
‘There’s no need for such a tone, Fräulein.’
‘There are always other forces at work,’ she said, her voice dropping its anger, ‘hidden facts and motives. We ought not to be so quick to judge.’
Elisabeth groaned the next morning when woken at dawn.
‘Orders are to be ready in an hour, Fräulein Schwan,’ the maid announced. She had opened the curtains at the window to let the pale light in. It was so early, and the light so dim that the maid was still a shadow moving about the room as she filled up the bowl on the washstand and laid out unfamiliar clothes for Elisabeth.
‘New boots,’ said the maid. ‘To get up the mountain.’
Elisabeth groaned again. Hiking up a mountain after a very late night and little sleep did not seem like an agreeable idea. She sat up, forcing her legs to swing over the side of the bed. She was not going to drink champagne again. Ever.
Her new clothes cheered her a little, for they were lighter in fabric and looser in fit than ordinary daywear. Her outfit was completed with a wide-brimmed straw hat.
Her thoughts were of the prince as she waited outside for the party to assemble. Her stomach fluttered disagreeably every time she thought of him and last night’s kiss. Was she a fool, taken in by his charm? Did he really care for her? She would know when she saw him, she told herself. But it was Herr Haller who appeared first. She smiled to see him in his lederhosen. Suddenly it felt as though they were on a holiday. Ugly nightmares, sinister assailants, threats of war—all seemed impossible in that moment, in the early morning sunshine.
‘Nice hat,’ he said, grinning back.
‘Same to you,’ she replied, looking at his Tyrolean hiking hat, complete with small feather.
‘I hope you slept well, Fräulein Schwan.’
‘Do I look tired?’
He gave a little shrug. ‘It was a late night. I would have liked more sleep myself.’
‘The king seems to have boundless energy,’ she noted. ‘He stays up late most nights and is still out riding and hiking half the day. I don’t know how he does it.’
‘I agree. This mere mortal could do with learning his secret.’
They caught each other yawning and laughed.
Prince Paul appeared, striding down the steps, looking fresh and golden and like a young god of the mountains in his hiking clothes.
‘Good morning,’ he beamed. A servant followed him bearing an armful of walking sticks. ‘Let me equip you with these,’ said Paul. Elisabeth looked up at him as he handed her a pair of sticks, hoping for an affectionate look in return, but he did not meet her eyes. The fluttering in her stomach turned heavy. But there was no time to wallow in disappointment, Herr Weimann and the king now appeared. The king marched down the steps, brandishing his carved walking sticks and striding on with a clear expectation that everyone would soon follow on his swift moving heels.
It was almost midday when they reached the plateau where the ruins of the ancient castle stood, and the king’s new castle was to be. It had been a gruelling climb, for the closer they got to the site the more the king’s energy increased. While Elisabeth grew tired and in need of rest and water, the king marched on at a furious pace, as though new power coursed through him. Herr Weimann had turned back some time ago, claiming he would gladly lie down and die on His Majesty’s beloved mountain should the king command it, but die he surely would if he was pressed to continue any farther. Paul negotiated Herr Weimann’s release from the expedition, and a groom was tasked with assisting the perspiring architect
back to the castle.
Eventually the king disappeared from view as even the athletically-built prince could no longer keep pace with his master. Elisabeth would have been left alone, with the king and the prince far ahead, but Herr Haller stayed close, offering a hand when they reached a steep part, sharing his water flask and his large supply of sun-dried fruit which he had purloined from the castle kitchen.
They had been hiking through dense fir trees, which provided welcome shade while obscuring the view, but at the site of the castle ruins they were above the trees, in a vast clearing where only the odd fir grew between the stones. Now the view was unhindered.
The blue mountains were all the grander for being a little closer. Far below, the lake they had rowed across last night looked like a sparkling blue pond, and Swanstein castle, its pale-yellow walls and red-tiled roofs and turrets was as a toy fort below.
The king stood amid the ruins with his arms spread wide, his face turned to the sky as though in some kind of trance.
‘What is he doing?’ Elisabeth said to Herr Haller. ‘Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or does he seem even taller than usual?’ She rubbed her eyes and blinked.
‘He does look peculiar,’ Herr Haller answered. He pulled out a sketchbook and pencil from the knapsack on his back and began swiftly sketching a picture.
She peered over his shoulder. ‘How well you’ve caught him,’ she said. The drawing was of a picture of a king from the old legends when magic surged through the land and dragons still roamed.
‘This is a strange place,’ she said, turning round. ‘It makes me feel odd. It’s beautiful, but there’s something…’ she searched for the right word.
‘Mysterious?’ Herr Haller offered. He blew graphite from his paper. It floated away in a little cloud.
‘Yes. But that’s not the word. It’s as though the air holds a different charge.’
‘Mountain air is different from the air in the valley,’ said Herr Haller.