by Nina Clare
‘And we know the way,’ added Princess Sibylle. We know the way but we cannot find it. You can take us.’
‘Take you where?’ Elisabeth asked.
‘Home!’ wailed Princess Sibylle.
‘This is your home. And people will be looking for you. Shall I help you down the stairs?’
She received a sharp poke on her knee from Princess Sibylle’s stick at this suggestion.
The sound of another voice resolved the dilemma, it called loudly through the foliage, ‘Halloo! Your Highnesses! Are you there!’
‘No!’ squeaked Princess Sibylle. ‘Not here! Not there!’
‘Let us fly away,’ Princess Marie said solemnly. ‘They will never catch us.’
‘Yes, let’s!’
They closed their eyes tightly, and for one odd moment Elisabeth half expected them to turn into butterflies or hummingbirds and flit away, but they stayed as they were, and the steps of the servants sent to search for them grew closer.
‘Found them!’ called out a liveried young man. ‘By the fountain!’
She watched with sadness as they were led away, Princess Sibylle poking at the footman with her stick lest he touch her, despite his protests that his gloves were clean on that hour.
‘The Government Committee of Enquiry now calls Lieutenant Gustaaf von Varrentrapps to give testimony.
‘Lieutenant von Varrentrapps, were you present in the king’s presence chamber on the day he signed the agreement to join the United Empire?’
‘Yes, I was, sir.’
‘The chief psychiatrists are puzzled by testimonies from several ministers and military officers of the king regarding that meeting. The king was said to darken the room and transform himself into a terrible being. Dr Mensdorff believes such a phenomenon of communal false memory could be accounted for by the collective anxiety on that day as the kingdom feared for its defence. Can you affirm or comment on this occurrence?’
‘I cannot, sir.’
‘But you said you were in the audience chamber that day, Lieutenant.’
‘I was, sir. But I was urged by my commanding officer to go quickly and alert the queen mother. So, I left the room. The incident you speak of happened while I was absent, sir.’
‘But your military colleagues spoke of the incident to you?’
‘A few words were said, sir. No one could say for certain what happened. It was not clear in their minds, sir, and no one cared to talk of it. It was considered… inexplicable.’
‘So, the accounts remain… unaccountable.’
There was the sound of uproar in the king’s audience chamber when Elisabeth returned downstairs.
‘There you are,’ said Paul, accosting her the moment she stepped through the hidden door. ‘You ought not to be wandering about in public.’ Paul looked uneasy above the collar of his blue military coat. He glanced around over her head. ‘He might be here.’
‘Who?’ But she knew who he meant. A chill stole over her, and she likewise glanced around, half expecting a spectral figure with snarling yellow teeth to appear and snatch her.
‘Have you learnt anything?’ she asked, as he steered her across the room to an antechamber. ‘You said you would speak to Herr Weimann?’
‘There’s no time to talk of it now,’ said Paul, looking over his shoulder before opening the antechamber door. ‘I have only suspicions at present. Wait here,’ he said. ‘I am only in the next room. I’ll come for you as soon as the meeting is over.’
Paul left by a different door, a private one, set into the panelling. She heard the sound of raised voices from beyond. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she cracked open the door to peek through it.
The king sat upon a gilt chair on a dais, beneath a tasselled canopy. He sat tall and straight, his hands gripping the armrests. Two great bowls of white lilies flanked him on a pair of tables.
A crowd of men in either black morning suits or military uniform stood as near to the dais as they could get; from every man radiated anger or anxiety, their voices raised as they called out above one another. Their anger cloyed the room like a sharp, unpleasant smell. For the first time Elisabeth understood the king’s need for scented lilies, it was to drown out the smell of men’s darkness, how was it she had not noticed before that every emotion had a scent? What was happening to her? All her senses seemed heightened by the air at New Swanstein: smell, sight and sound, overlapping together, as though all things were connected in a way she had never noticed before. In the mountains it was perfectly natural, but now she was in the city she felt unsettled, disorientated and out of place. She did not belong. Neither did the king. His eyes were dark and his mouth was grim.
Prince Paul looked less golden than she used to think him. He looked strained as though he were being pulled in different directions, and he did not know which to choose.
Herr Weimann was dressed in yellow and also looked as though he did not belong, standing among the dark suits of the ministers and officers. She looked for Herr Haller, who stood behind his master. He too looked out of place; he had already knocked into a picture frame and a chair while she watched. Suddenly she yearned for reconciliation with him as the only one who understood how she felt. He turned his head towards the doorway, as though he sensed her eyes on him, but he could not see her.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the deep voice of General Hogenstaller. ‘We cannot rely on aid from the emperor, he has proved inconstant, and his defeat is imminent. We must ally with the chancellor. We must join the new empire.’
‘Ally with that warmonger,’ replied the king. His voice rang out over the murmur and grumble of the assembly. ‘That trickster. That dragon-tongue.’
‘We do not argue with Your Majesty’s opinion of the chancellor,’ said Prime Minister Schamberger, bowing his head in a nod, then shaking it from side to side as though he were indecisive. ‘But without the emperor’s support we have not the men nor arms to withstand the advance of the enemy.’
‘Either we retreat and lose our borders,’ said the general, his large hands clenched into fists to punch the air as he spoke, ‘or we join the empire and save them!’
‘I fear we must join.’ The prime minister shook then nodded his head.
The ministers and officers murmured their agreement.
‘Or, by Frost’s breath, the king could wash his hands of you all!’ roared the king. There was a shocked silence at his outburst. One of the men closest to the door slipped out.
‘Why should the king not rid himself of the burden of these double-minded, faint-hearted, lily-livered worms! Why must he stay here to suffer these black and bloodthirsty panhandlers? Where is the heart of these people? Why do they cower and wither under the words of despots and curs! Oh, for a kingdom of true and noble hearts!’ The king was on his feet now, standing tall above every man. As his voice grew louder and his words more impassioned a strange thing happened: the room seemed to darken while the king grew brighter. Elisabeth threw a glance at the window behind her, thinking that something had darkened the early autumnal light, but all looked normal outside. It was only the air in the room beyond that grew shadowy.
The men about the dais drew back. The prime minister shielded his eyes as sparks of light shot out from the king with every movement. It happened so quickly, like a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder—for just one moment the room turned black—despite the gilt and mirrors on every wall—and then the moment of thunder was gone, and everyone blinked and rubbed their eyes.
The men looked at one another with bewildered expressions, then shook their heads and looked about them as though to reassure themselves that the world was as it should be.
The king resumed his seat, and there was a new bustle at the door.
‘Your Majesty!’ cried a woman’s voice, and the queen mother came hurrying in, the black silk ribbons on her cap fluttering behind her. ‘I beg you not to abandon us—sign the agreement, do!’
Herr Weimann pushed through the ministers and flung out
his arms, hitting the prime minister and the general’s adjunct with his yellow sleeves. He dropped to one knee in a dramatic gesture of appeal to the king.
‘The divinely appointed bearer of the name and honour of Wittelsbach shall never fail his people,’ the queen mother declared in a pained voice.
‘The beloved of the Muse shall not abandon her to the fate of defeat, for he is the highest patronage of art and beauty!’ insisted Herr Weimann.
The prime minister looked dazed. The general clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘Only give the word, Your Majesty, and we shall crush all enemies under the combined might of the empire!’ he promised.
‘Do as you must,’ acceded the king in a deep, slow voice. ‘But I’ll not stay a moment longer. This audience is at an end.’ The men bowed and walked backwards three paces before dispersing from the chamber in a rumble of murmuring.
‘My son, how could you say such things?’ the queen mother implored, when the audience had left. ‘These are your people. How can you insult them so?’
‘It does not feel as though they are my people,’ he replied. ‘I do not belong here. It would be better for all if I were to leave. It would be the honourable thing to do, when I cannot bear to be around them.’
‘Oh, Ludwig, I thought you had grown out of such foolish thoughts!’ cried the queen mother. ‘Always, as a child, you were so…odd. Your father tried so hard to instil a kingly discipline into you, to drive all those peculiar thoughts of yours away. Oh, we have failed!’
The king’s voice softened. He reached out and placed a hand upon the queen mother’s shoulder.
‘There was nothing more you could do. I have a different destiny from that which you desire from me. I cannot change it, and neither can you. In the meantime, I shall do my duty. I shall sign their treaty.’
‘What destiny?’ wailed the queen mother.
‘That is what I must discover.’
He rose from his throne, bent to kiss his mother’s hand. ‘Farewell, Your Highness,’ he said softly, and left the chamber.
‘Where are you going, Ludwig?’ the queen mother called after him.
‘To the mountains. Paul, make ready! I leave while the ink is fresh—I will sign their blood-stained treaty, they can have their war—they can have their fill!’
Chapter 27
Temptation
‘The Government Enquiry Committee now calls Herr Hartwig Schnorr to the testimony stand.
‘Herr Schnorr, tell us your profession and your connection to the king.’
‘I was the king’s personal hairdresser, sir.’
‘For how long?’
‘Since he was old enough to have a personal hairdresser, sir.’
‘And what age was that?’
‘The age he was too old to have a nursemaid arrange his hair, sir.’
‘Herr Schnorr, in which precise year did you become the king’s personal hairdresser?’
‘In the year the king turned eleven, sir.’
‘Thank you. So, you were in daily attendance upon the king for eight years?’
‘I was, sir. Until the day before he…was lost.’
‘Tell us, Herr Schnorr, how would you describe him?’
‘He had hair like silk, sir. Black as shoe polish and shiny as a mirror. And it always grew so quickly and needed a trim every five or six days, but at the—’
‘No, Herr Schnorr, I meant describe his disposition. His general behaviour. What was he like as a person? We are trying to ascertain the king’s state of mind at the time of his disappearance. We are trying to establish whether he is of sound mind or not, that we may know what action to take when he is found.’
‘Well, he was like…a king.’
‘A good king?’
‘A kingly king.’
‘Would you describe him as a rational man? A rational king?’
‘What do you mean by rational, sir?’
‘Was he lucid, logical, reasonable?’
‘As long as his hair was waved just as he liked it, he was perfectly reasonable, sir.’
‘And if his hair was not as he liked it, what then?’
‘Then he’d say, “That bit isn’t even, Schnorr.” And I’d wave it again.’
‘Did he ever fly into a rage?’
‘Not at me, sir.’
‘At whom?’
‘At no one in particular, sir. Just at general things sometimes.’
‘What kind of general things?’
‘Things he didn’t like.’
‘Such as…?’
‘War. He hated war.’
‘Did you ever experience anything peculiar about the king during the last months of his life, Herr Schnorr? Anything that could be called fantastical or extraordinary.’
‘Do you mean magical, sir?’
‘If that is the word you choose to use. Did you experience anything you would describe as “magical”?’
‘Everything about the king was magical. He was always special and different from anyone else. He was the king.’
‘I require specifics, Herr Schnorr. Specific events, occurrences. Unusual patterns of behaviour.’
‘Well… there was his ears… though I was told never to mention them.’
‘His ears?’
‘The shape of them. That’s why his hair had to be left long and waved and curled just so about his head. To hide his ears. The queen mother did not care for them.’
‘The only unusual thing you have to say about the king was that he had unattractive ears.’
‘They grew more pointed when he moved to the new castle.’
‘Pointed?’
‘And his hair grew so fast when he was at the new castle. I had to trim it every day. And his eyes…’
‘What of his eyes?’
‘Oh, they were quite something, sir. Not that I looked him in the eye, sir, I was always mindful of my manners, and he was particular about manners, but sometimes I would catch them in the mirror as I worked, and they were quite something. Bright blue, except when he was angry about war, and then they were almost black. But at the end they changed.’
‘Changed?’
‘To green.’
‘I see. That will be all Herr Schnorr unless you have anything relevant to say on the matter of the king’s sanity in the last months of his life? The council is not much interested in eye colour or the shape of a man’s ears.’
‘I have nothing to say except how I wish I had saved a lock to remember him by!’
‘You may step down now, Herr Schnorr.’
‘I shall move into New Swanstein immediately!’
‘But, Your Majesty, the work continues every hour of the day.’ Prince Paul stood with an opened letter in his hand.
‘Are the king’s apartments complete?’
‘Very nearly, sir. But not finished.’
‘Then they shall be finished this week. Send the order. I take possession by Friday evening.’
‘Shall not the noise of the building work be an annoyance, sir?’
‘Why should it? It is a glorious sound. The strike of the chisel, the song of the king’s devoted servants; the very ground and air rejoices to see the ruins rebuilt, and the splendour restored. The spirit of Gundelfinger awakes! The spirit of Tannhäuser and Lohengrin lives!’ The king’s humour was restored from the blow the letter in Prince Paul’s hand had caused a few minutes earlier.
Paul made no further protest. ‘Shall His Majesty inform Her Royal Highness of his plans ahead of her arrival?’ he held up the letter with the queen mother’s crest and seal.
‘You may send word,’ replied the king. He left the study room.
Paul turned back towards the desk where Elisabeth was looking through Herr Haller’s new designs. She had hoped to find him at work that morning; she missed him, and hoped to restore their friendship, but he had already left for the new castle.
‘I have hardly seen you for weeks,’ said Paul, drawing near.
‘That’s because you choose to
be at München most of the time,’ she replied.
‘I find it oppressive here. And someone has to liaise between the king and the cabinet. I cannot do it easily from here.’
‘I thought you liked riding and hiking in the mountains.’
‘I used to. I still do like riding and hiking. But that new castle has such an odd feel to it.’ He gave the smallest of shivers. ‘Don’t you feel it?’
She shrugged. ‘Yes. But I rather like it. It makes me feel alive. It’s as though the mountain and the land about has been woken up.’ She shrugged again, feeling that she was talking nonsensically. But she meant what she said.
‘You look different,’ he said. His eyes travelled over her face inch by inch until she blushed and felt annoyed for blushing. ‘Your eyes look brighter. I always thought they were lovely, but now they are beautiful.’
She turned her head so he could not examine her eyes. But it was rather nice to hear them called beautiful.
‘And your skin has a glow about it.’
‘Mountain air,’ she said. ‘And fresh goat’s milk, I daresay. All the mountain girls have lovely skin, haven’t you noticed?’
‘Not like yours. And your hair has glints of copper and bronze that were not there before.’
‘Too many walks in the sun this past summer. I really ought to carry a sunshade, like a real lady.’
‘He had moved closer while he spoke, seating himself on the corner of the desk. He was close enough for her to smell lemon and bergamot. He took up a loose tendril of hair that had escaped from her pinned up plaits, and wound it about his finger, his hand grazing her cheek. ‘Would you come away with me, Elsa,’ he said softly. ‘If I accepted a new commission I have been offered?’
‘You are leaving?’ she made the mistake of turning her head towards him. He was far too close.
‘Can you see us on our adventures? We could travel the continent. See all the kingdoms.’
‘How can you leave? The king relies on you. Has he sent you away?’
‘He does not know. Don’t speak of it to anyone. Nothing is to be made public yet, but come with me.’