by Nina Clare
Let him now enter
The king now returns to his throne
‘Elsa,’ Paul’s voice came out of the shadows; I turned to face him in the oak-panelled hall. ‘I waited for you. I wanted to be gone at dawn.’
‘You waited in vain, Paul. I’m not going with you.’
‘Elsa, please.’
For one awful moment I wondered if he would carry me off, as the count had told him to. He came towards me, his face taut and without light—no candles were lit in the passageway, the window at the end of the hall was too far away to shed much wintry light, and Paul’s inner light had dissipated.
Suddenly a surge of terror gripped my breath, as a rush of forgotten memories rose up and flooded me—I was in a room of rough wooden walls, instead of panelled oak; in the shadows were the forms of men—strangers, rough, ill-smelling—a scream rose up as Paul’s face blurred into that of a man with bared, yellow teeth.
‘Elsa!’ called another voice, and I whirled round and ran into the arms of Herr Haller, who stood at the other end of the hall.
‘Get away from her!’ I heard him say in a voice so fierce it startled me. ‘You’ve done enough harm.’
When the feeling of terror subsided, and I was no longer in a dark, shadowy lodge, I could look up; Paul was gone.
‘Are you alright?’ Herr Haller said, smoothing the hair from my face.
I nodded. Unable to speak. The memory had been so real. So awful.
‘You know we can’t stay,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking of it all night. We need to leave before he gets here.’
‘Where will we go?’ I whispered.
‘I don’t know. We must speak to the king. I won’t leave without telling him.’
The footman in attendance on the king’s chambers was authorised to let us in. The king was at his desk, the twenty-four candles in the chandelier above him were lit, and the pair of oil lamps at either end of the table glowed bright. The golden fireplace smouldered with orange flames. The figures in the murals on the walls seemed to live and dance in the moving light: kings signalled orders, knights held aloft their banners, fair maidens bent to give favours, and dragons threatened to devour them all.
But what caught and refracted light most of all was the collection of jewels and gold objects heaped carelessly upon the king’s great desk like the hoard of a dragon.
‘The treasure from the cave,’ Herr Haller said, as we surveyed the glittering spread. We had tried to find out what was in the chest, but had not seen it until now.
‘I’ve never seen gemstones so big,’ I said in quiet awe. And I had not. The jewellery was of an unfamiliar fashion; crudely shaped, rather than carefully faceted. There were great lengths of smaller gems, strung into necklaces, and brooches with stones the size of songbird’s eggs.
‘The hidden treasure of the wizard,’ said the king. In his hand he held the green cup carved out of emerald.
‘That is what you have been searching for,’ I said, my eyes mesmerised by the light of the goblet. It pulsed with power; while the gemstones on the king’s desk might have come from the earth, the emerald chalice in the king’s hand had not. It was certainly from another realm.
‘It must be returned from whence it came,’ said the king, lifting it up so rays of green light flashed in the lamplight. ‘It does not belong in this world. Even that which is good becomes a curse when it has been stolen. And these,’ he gestured to the largest jewels, ‘I leave behind. I send them to the queen mother with instructions. They shall recoup the cost of rebuilding this castle. I leave behind no debt. The mountain is healed from its treachery. The people of the mountain shall dwell in peace now. No darklings shall roam or pillage. Their crops shall fail no more. The misdeed is undone. The cup is recovered. I leave behind only blessing, and I go and tell them so this very day. The smaller gems I shall distribute among them as a farewell gift, for they have worked with one mind for me, and they alone of the people of this land have shown me love.’
‘Leave behind?’ Herr Haller repeated. ‘Are you leaving?’
‘We all must leave. Each to his own destiny,’ was the king’s reply. ‘Wait with me this one final night.’
The snow made everything still and quiet. The castle waited patiently. The workmen ceased their toil, but the songs continued, resounding through the singer’s hall where they laboured.
‘It seems fitting,’ Herr Haller said, as we stood inside the great hall, watching the workmen passing round a flagon of beer as they sat or stood upon boxes of tools or piles of lumber singing heartily of dragons slain and battles won and lost. ‘Fitting that they should fill this hall with song.’
Herr Haller’s drawn-up plans had included balconies from which to view the hall below, candelabras twelve feet tall and great chandeliers, each bearing a hundred candles. The carvings of winged messengers and swans with outstretched wings were in place, but they were not yet gilded. The musicians’ dais had four pillars supporting its three great arches, but the murals were not yet begun, and the walls were bare plaster. There would be no musicians taking their place with violin and cello and horn; no regal guests would sit in the balconies, basking in the mellow notes that soared to meet their ears. There were only crude oil lanterns to light the space, not that they were much needed, for the windows stretched the full length of the great hall, letting in that peculiar still light of snowy skies.
I agreed with Herr Haller. The bare plaster walls and unadorned wood was more fitting for the mountain folk, sitting as their descendants would have done in ancient times, among the walls of underground stone with tree roots as their seats, and tree trunks as their pillars. There they would have sung the very same songs in the same deep, full voices. Raising their flagons in a toast to the King of the Mountain, calling upon the power that brought snow and sun and flowers and storms to be at peace with them as they sought to live at peace with all things unseen.
But that peace could not last. For men of a different spirit were coming.
Chapter 34
Three Wishes
‘Baron von Fleischmann and Dr Guttenberg, you are respectively the Master of the Horse, and assistant psychiatrist to Dr Mensdorff. You were both members of the government deputation sent out the night the king was last seen.’
‘That is correct,’ replied the tall, broad-chested baron. The thin, slight doctor nodded.
‘Please describe to the Committee the events of that night, Baron von Fleischmann.’
The baron cleared his throat and began.
‘The deputation was represented by ten persons: the Minister of the King’s Household, the Grand Master of the Household, the new Cabinet Secretary, four doctors of psychiatry, including Dr Guttenberg here, two handlers experienced in the use of the straitjacket and chloroform, and, of course, myself, as Master of the Horse. We made our way to Swanstein Castle by the royal train, leaving at precisely eight o’clock in the morning, and reaching our destination of Swanstein at fourteen minutes past seven o’clock in the evening, where we were supposed to be met by Lieutenant Prince von Thorne, now Lieutenant-Colonel Thorne.’
‘Supposed to be met?’
‘He was not there. Had left that morning. Inexplicably. Miscommunication, one can only conclude.’
‘That was a long journey, sir.’
‘Snow hampered our progress at eight different points of the tracks. On each occasion the snow had to be removed before we could proceed. Lieutenant-Colonel Thorne had informed us in advance that the king was not at Swanstein but was residing in the partially completed castle on the mountain above.’
‘Did you go directly to the castle where the king resided?’
‘We did not. The king’s sleigh was absent from the stables, and we were informed that His Majesty had been seen visiting the peasants in the villages to distribute gifts of jewels, and give any person or animal who was sick a drink from a green cup. We concluded it would be best to wait until he had returned to the new castle. Then we would know his exa
ct whereabouts.’
‘Visiting the peasants? Giving sick animals a drink from a green cup? Distributing valuable gifts? What did you make of such actions, Dr Guttenberg?’
‘It was the opinion of Dr Mensdorff that this was further indication of the king’s diseased faculties. Kings of sound mind do not distribute caskets of jewels and valuable items of luxury to peasants. What would they do with them?’
‘Quite so,’ agreed the baron. ‘Unpardonable waste. There’ll be peasants with diamond pins on their braces, wearing gold watches and using pearl handled paper knives to spear their sausage. Disgraceful.’
‘No gold watches,’ said the doctor. ‘The king was most particular about not having watches or clocks about him at the new castle. Claimed that time was a symbol of mortal decay, which he wanted no part in. Dr Mensdorff said it was another symptom of his delusional condition.’
‘How did you proceed, Baron Fleischmann? Did you advance to the mountain castle once the king’s sleigh had returned?’
‘Not immediately. I wished to proceed, but some of the gentlemen were complaining of the effects of the journey. It was decided that we should dine first and “thaw out”, as some members of the party put it.’
‘It was an exceedingly cold journey,’ said the doctor, giving a little shiver. ‘There was no heating on the train.’
‘If you and your fellow doctors had gotten out to help clear the snow with the rest of us, you would have warmed up admirably,’ said the baron.
‘I had not adequate footwear,’ said the doctor.
‘So you dined at Swanstein? With the queen mother?’
‘No indeed,’ said the baron. ‘We had no wish for Her Highness to know of our arrival. She would have sent warning to the king. We dined at the inn in Swanstein village. Not bad strudel. Excellent goats’ cheese. Passable cutlets. Shame about the wine. We claimed to be a party of travellers on our way to Osterlee.’
‘That was Dr Mensdorff’s idea,’ the doctor said.
‘At what hour did you leave the inn and make your way up to the king’s mountain castle, sir?’
‘Reached the castle at precisely two minutes to midnight.’
‘Did you gain entry easily?’
‘Easily! Hah! We were met at the gates by a great mob!’
‘A mob?’
‘A mutinous, vicious mob!’
‘With pokers and hammers and all manner of dreadful weapons,’ added the doctor. ‘It was terrible. It was like the streets of Revolutionary Paris.’
‘How many people were there, sir?’
‘Hundreds. Rough, ignorant peasants, all of them.’
‘So they knew you were coming?’
‘Someone had informed them,’ replied the baron.
‘Likely it was the two old ladies,’ said the doctor. ‘They came into the stables while we awaited the return of the sleigh. In nightdresses and caps they were, beneath their cloaks, one in black and one all in white, they shrieked out that we were traitors and murderers. They were soon taken away, but I think they roused the castle household and someone ran up the mountain path to give warning.’
‘Could they have been the king’s great-aunts, who are likewise among the victims of this tragic mystery?’ asked the committee chairman.
‘Almost certainly,’ replied the baron.
It was almost midnight when the noise began.
A castle guard hurried through the candlelit halls, up the staircase to the king’s chambers. A young lad accompanied him, red-cheeked, and panting hard, as though he had just run a good distance.
No one had retired to bed yet; we were all too apprehensive. I heard the stamp of the guard’s boots on the wooden floors and joined the servants in following the guard to see what was happening.
The king was in his throne room, standing at the windows, looking out at the snowy mountains, beneath the full moon. He remained as serene as the view outside. I had often noticed that when moonlight fell upon him, he grew so fair and beautiful that it was almost painful to look at him.
‘Your Majesty,’ cried the guard, keeping his head bowed as though he too found the brightness of the king too much to look upon. ‘The coachman’s boy has run up from the stables, says there’s a group of men come for you.’
‘What men?’ asked the king calmly. ‘Did you hear their names, young man?’
The guard tapped the boy on the head to tell him to speak.
‘I didn’t hear no names, Your Majesty,’ stammered the boy. ‘They was in big long fur coats and hats and smelled like cigars. Some of them was called doctor, and some was called milord. They told Pa he had to give them two carriages or they’d have him thrown in jail on orders of the new king, ‘cause you weren’t the king no more, but I don’t believe it. Pa said to tell you he’d get the carriages ready as slow as possible. I run up the hill as fast as I could, I used the deer track. My brothers got sent to the villages to tell everyone.’
‘You have served your king well,’ the king told him.
The boy beamed with pleasure, but then recalled why he was there. ‘We won’t let ‘em in, will we?’ he turned to the guard.
‘The Castle Guard has closed and manned every entry point, Your Majesty. No one is getting in.’
The king continued gazing out at the moon. ‘I wish to go to the lake. Unseen by the city interlopers.’
‘Sir?’ the guard looked perplexed. ‘His Majesty wishes to escape by boat?’
The king made no answer.
‘I suppose we could escort you out through the east gate and through the forest, if the enemy could be distracted. But Your Majesty would have to go on foot.’
‘Confine the men in the guardhouse when they come. I shall leave by the carriages they have unlawfully taken from the royal stables.’
‘Very good, Your Majesty. It shall be done.’
The noise of the crowd that gathered outside the castle gates carried clearly through the stillness of the air. Every villager who could run or ride had made their way up the mountain path, each bearing a stout herding stick, or tool with which to defend their king. The musical songs of the workmen now became a battle cry as they called out against the strangers that dared to trespass on their mountain. They would defend their beloved king with their lives, they cried, and no one who heard the passion in their voices could doubt them.
‘What if they’ve brought guns, or swords?’ I asked Herr Haller, as we joined the servants, watching the gatehouse from the castle courtyard.
‘They would have brought soldiers with them if they were expecting violence,’ Herr Haller said. ‘I think the arrogant mules thought they could just walk in, put the king in a carriage and drive away, without any fuss.’
‘Can you feel the magic leaving?’ I said, looking about the walls where flowers had grown in profusion the past months. ‘Why is it going now when the king needs protection?’
‘Perhaps it goes before the king,’ said Herr Haller. ‘He seemed to know it was time to leave.’
I felt such a rush of pain at Herr Haller’s words. ‘I’m cold,’ I murmured, and ran back into the castle.
I paced up and down the gallery on the third floor, trying to calm myself. I sneezed and sniffed, my throat tickled and my head throbbed. I did not know what to do, where to go next. This life, hidden away in the castle, was ending, and I had to leave before anyone from the outside world recognised me.
‘Swan Maiden,’ said a voice like the notes of a violin. I turned and followed the call. The king was in his study chamber. He looked different. The royal hairdresser had fled the castle yesterday, along with some of the servants that were not native to the mountain. Word had reached them, no doubt through Prince Paul’s valet or groom, that things were about to go badly for the king. Without the usual arrangement of waves on the king’s thick, black hair, it fell straight and smooth to his chin. His ears could now be seen, and they were pointed as an eagle-owl’s.
The king’s eyes blazed like lanterns of deep green glass. His
pale skin was luminous as pearl. Whatever the king was, he was no ordinary man. He raised up the beautiful emerald cup. He tilted it, and silvery liquid poured out forming the shape of a small silver goblet. I stared in fascination and watched as he poured a second goblet from the emerald cup.
‘You and one other have alone remained steadfast to the king, from among those who are not of the mountain,’ he said. ‘Make your request, Swan Maiden. The king shall grant three wishes.’ He held out one of the silver goblets to me. I reached out to take it, my hand trembling.
The little cup held what looked like red wine. I held it with both hands while my mind tried to formulate the words to reply with.
‘I wish, Your Majesty,’ I said faintly, ‘to remember who I am. To be reconciled to my brother, and be delivered from those who wish to do me harm.’
‘What is your second request?’
‘I thought I had made three.’
‘Your memory shall return without my assistance. And what is in the heart of your enemies shall bring its own judgement upon them.’
‘Can you heal one who has been ill a long time? The carpenter told me my brother is very weak in health.’
I thought he might pour out a vial or bottle from his emerald chalice and give it to me for my brother. But he did not. He only regarded me closely, as though he were searching my very soul. I could not speak while his gaze held me.
‘Do not be afraid, Swan Maiden. Even in mortal death there is a deeper life.’
I did not understand him, but I could not speak to say so while he continued looking deep into my soul. It was unsettling to hear him speak of death when I had asked for the very opposite.
‘What is your third wish?’
What else was there to wish for? I felt no assurance that he had granted me the first two. ‘I suppose you cannot bring someone back from the dead?’ I said sadly, thinking of my father, who the carpenter had told me had only recently died. I knew even as I asked that it was not possible. But what else was there to wish for except that I could be restored to my family, in memory and in person?