The Secret Crown

by Chris Kuzneski

  Payne recognized the name. ‘You mentioned Ludwig earlier.’

  Ulster nodded. ‘Known as the Swan King, Ludwig is best remembered for the elaborate stone castles that he built throughout Bavaria – including the legendary Neuschwanstein. The castle is so scenic and grand, it inspired Walt Disney’s design of Sleeping Beauty’s castle at Disneyland. If you haven’t seen Neuschwanstein, you should arrange a tour before you return to the States. It truly is remarkable.’

  Familiar with Ulster’s habit of getting off track, Payne steered the conversation back to Ludwig. ‘How did he get the nickname?’

  ‘Due to his obsession with Lohengrin, a famous character from German folklore who was known as the Swan Knight. If you are familiar with Arthurian legend, you might recognize the name. Lohengrin was the son of Percival, one of the Knights of the Round Table who pursued the Holy Grail. Over the centuries, Lohengrin’s tale has taken many forms and has been translated into many languages. Still, the basic details remain the same. Lohengrin is sent to rescue a maiden in a far-off land, a journey he makes in a cockleshell boat pulled by a magical swan.’

  Jones frowned. ‘Did you say a cockleshell boat pulled by a magic swan? Pardon me for saying so, but that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard. And that includes Jon’s ringtone.’

  Payne rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

  Meanwhile, Ulster used the off-colour remark as a teaching moment. ‘I realize you meant it as a joke, but history tells us that Ludwig was one of the most flamboyant rulers of all time. In fact, Ludwig often dressed up in a Swan Knight costume and pranced around the halls of his castle while listening to opera.’

  Jones, who was a smartass, not anti-gay, tried to bite his tongue but simply couldn’t. ‘Sorry, fellas, I just changed my mind. That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘Regardless,’ Ulster said, ‘the costume helps explain why he was called the Swan King. Strangely, the majestic creatures had fascinated him even before he had heard of the Swan Knight. As a small child, he used to draw pictures of swans in his notebooks and on his schoolwork. Later in life, when he ruled Bavaria, he sealed his correspondence with a swan and a cross, a reference to Lohengrin and the Holy Grail. Even his personal crest had a swan on it. I’m telling you, it was an obsession.’

  Payne pointed to the symbol on the lid. ‘Is this his personal crest?’

  Ulster shook his head and lowered his voice. ‘No, the symbol that you’re holding is known as the black swan, and its history is far more mysterious. Unlike his personal crest, which is celebrated in history books and museums across Germany, the black swan is kept in the shadows, a dark reminder of Ludwig’s final days as king. If you believe the rumours – and most historians do – the symbol in your hands is the reason for Ludwig’s murder.’

  18

  Born in 1845, Ludwig the Second was the eldest son of King Maximilian the Second of Bavaria and Princess Marie of Prussia. His parents had wanted to name him Otto, but Ludwig I, the deposed king of Bavaria, who was known for his eccentric behaviour, insisted his grandson be named after him since they shared a birthday. In time, Ludwig the Second would be renowned for his own eccentricities.

  As a small child, Ludwig despised ugliness. If approached by an unattractive servant, he would cry and refuse to look at the employee. His father tried to change his ways, assigning several ugly servants to wait on the petulant boy, but when his behaviour became a phobia, Ludwig’s staff was made up of the most attractive servants they could find.

  Embarrassed by his son’s unusual ways, King Maximilian had little interest in him, except in regards to his training and schooling. For that, he hired private tutors. Realizing that Ludwig would someday be king, Maximilian subjected the crown prince to a demanding regimen of education and exercise, which some experts believe amplified the odd behaviour that had already taken root. Still, as bad as his relationship was with his father, Ludwig was even further detached from his mother, who he coldly referred to as ‘my predecessor’s consort’.

  Not surprisingly, it is a term rarely seen on Mother’s Day cards.

  Despite his abhorrent behaviour behind the scenes, the Bavarian public fell in love with Ludwig at his father’s funeral which was his first public appearance as king. As a handsome, well-spoken eighteen-year-old, he performed so admirably at the memorial service that word of his composure spread across Europe. Before long, Ludwig was more than a monarch; he was an icon whose public appearances and passion for the arts were even more celebrated than his politics.

  One of his first acts as king was to summon composer Richard Wagner to the Royal Palace. Three years earlier, Ludwig had been deeply moved while watching Lohengrin – Wagner’s opera about the Swan Knight, the Holy Grail and a mysterious castle – and had become obsessed with the production. Now that Ludwig was finally in charge of the kingdom, he had the opportunity to reward the composer for all the joy he had brought into his life. Wagner, who was on the run from various creditors, happily accepted the invitation to Munich. The two of them got along so well that Ludwig offered to settle Wagner’s considerable debts and agreed to finance several of his operas with money from the royal coffers.

  For a young king barely into his reign, it was a careless mistake.

  A mistake he would repeat again and again until he was marked for death.

  Payne stared at the black swan symbol on the back of the lid and wondered how it had led to the king’s death. ‘Ludwig was murdered?’

  Ulster answered. ‘Officially, no. But logically, yes.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means there was a cover-up of the grandest proportion.’

  Payne glanced at his watch. He sensed a long story coming on. ‘Explain.’

  Ulster beamed. He loved sharing his knowledge. ‘Ludwig was killed in Berg, less than a hundred miles from here. Though I don’t remember an exact date, I’m fairly certain the year was 1886. Obviously, back then, forensic science was far from sophisticated. Still, the conclusions that the police reached on that night were downright laughable.’

  ‘In what way?’ Jones asked.

  ‘Allow me to paint the scene. Ludwig, who wasn’t officially the king at the time of his death since he had been deposed a few days before, decided to take a stroll with his psychiatrist along the shore of Lake Starnberg. When they didn’t return for supper, palace guards conducted a search and found them dead, floating in the nearby shallows. Now, as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t take a trained criminologist to examine these facts and presume the possibility of foul play. Nevertheless, the authorities ruled otherwise. With nothing but a cursory investigation, conducted under a cloak of darkness, Ludwig’s death was officially ruled as suicide. Furthermore, the doctor’s death was labelled an accidental drowning. They claimed the doctor went into the lake to save Ludwig and lost his life in the process.’

  ‘How deep was the water?’ Payne asked.

  ‘Roughly knee high.’

  Jones laughed. ‘Were they hobbits? If not, how do you drown in two feet of water?’

  ‘Good question. Which is why the coroner decided to perform an autopsy – even though the new regime had no intention of changing their official ruling.’

  ‘And what did he find?’ Jones asked.

  ‘There was no water in Ludwig’s lungs, so the odds are pretty good he didn’t drown. Meanwhile, the doctor – I believe his name was Gudden – wasn’t so lucky. He had a fractured skull and several scratches on his face, possibly the result of a struggle. But unlike Ludwig, the doctor’s lungs were filled with water. That means he probably did drown.’

  Payne scratched his head. ‘If Ludwig didn’t drown, how did he die?’

  Ulster shrugged. ‘Poison is a possibility since no injuries were found, but no one knows for sure because the proper tests weren’t allowed. The new regime wanted to distance itself from Ludwig, and the quickest way to accomplish that would be a convenient suicide.’

&
nbsp; ‘So they killed the king?’ Jones asked.

  ‘As I mentioned, Ludwig wasn’t officially the king at the time of his death. A few days prior, the Bavarian government had organized a medical commission to declare Ludwig insane. This gave them the authority to remove him from power. Amazingly, the doctor who had the final say in the matter had never met Ludwig before his ruling. Instead, he based his decision on conjecture and hearsay, not a personal examination.’

  ‘I’m not positive,’ Jones cracked, ‘but I think that goes against the Hippocratic oath.’

  ‘Don’t worry, David. The doctor ultimately got punished for his sins.’

  ‘How? Did they revoke his license?’

  ‘Actually, they revoked his life. He was murdered next to Ludwig.’

  Jones smirked. ‘Really? It was the same doctor?’

  Kaiser laughed at the irony. ‘Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?’

  ‘More importantly,’ Ulster concluded, ‘it was the perfect way for the new regime to tie up loose ends. What’s that expression: killing two birds with one stone. Not only did they kill the rightful king, but they murdered the man who had effectively ended his reign.’

  Payne rubbed his neck in thought, trying to remember how they had got onto this topic to begin with. That was the trouble with Petr Ulster. He knew so much and his stories were filled with so many details that it was tough to separate the wheat from the chaff. Thankfully, on this occasion, Ulster’s ‘bird’ metaphor helped to jumpstart Payne’s memory.

  ‘Speaking of birds, what does the black swan have to do with this?’

  Ulster grinned, as if he suddenly remembered the point he had been trying to make. ‘During the course of his twenty-two-year reign, Ludwig quickly went through his family’s fortune. Whether donating large sums of money to the arts or giving lavish gifts to peasants he had met during his travels, Ludwig lived an extravagant life, one filled with luxury and indulgence. After a while, his spending was so out of control – particularly in the realm of architecture – that his advisors begged him to stop. They feared personal bankruptcy. But the eccentric king lived in a dream world, one in which his wishes were granted. As I mentioned earlier, Neuschwanstein is Ludwig’s most famous castle, a Romanesque fortress that looks like it was pulled off the pages of a fairytale, yet it was far from his most ambitious project. During a ten-year span, Ludwig built or planned over a dozen castles, including a few that would have made Neuschwanstein look like a cottage.’

  ‘Go on,’ Payne said, still waiting for his answer.

  ‘Towards the end of his reign, Ludwig started borrowing money from royal families across Europe. Not to pay back the fourteen million marks that he already owed, but to continue moving forward with his personal projects. Dreading the reaction of his finance ministers, Ludwig considered firing his entire cabinet and replacing them with yes-men. Ultimately he decided a mass firing would be attacked by the media, and the last thing he wanted to do was to lose the adulation of his citizens. So he opted to go in a different direction. Desperately broke but unwilling to stop his spending, he hatched a plan to find money from other sources. And let me assure you, it was crazier than Ludwig himself.’

  Payne arched an eyebrow. ‘What was the plan?’

  Ulster grinned. ‘He created the black swan.’

  19

  To this day, Ludwig is beloved throughout Bavaria. They still refer to him as unser kini, which means ‘our king’ in the Bavarian dialect. Ironically, Ludwig wasn’t a people person. He was a borderline recluse who spent most of his time in seclusion, whether at his home in the Alps or at one of his many palaces.

  By most accounts, Ludwig was a strange man whose odd behaviour slowly worsened over time. Whether he was insane or eccentric at the time of his death depended on who was asked. Early in his reign, his conduct was considered peculiar but relatively harmless. For instance, his hair had to be curled every morning, or he wouldn’t eat his food – even if his favourite meal was served. A lover of animals, Ludwig once invited his favourite grey mare to dinner and insisted her food be served in the dining hall on the palace’s finest crockery. Not surprisingly, the horse ate the meal, then proceeded to smash everything to bits.

  As early as 1868 – less than five years into his reign – Ludwig had become nocturnal. This wouldn’t have been an issue if he had worked the late shift at a factory, but it was problematic as king. On most days, he woke up at 7 p.m., had lunch at midnight, and enjoyed dinner around daybreak. When he was in Munich – a city he despised because he hated politics and felt as though he was under a microscope at all time – he spent many nights riding in circles at the court riding school. He picked a random city where he would rather be (for example, Berlin), then he calculated how many laps he had to ride in order to cover the equivalent distance. While imagining the journey, he would often stop at the halfway point to enjoy a picnic. Then he would pack everything up and continue riding until he reached his imaginary destination.

  As a well-known pacifist, Ludwig was considered one of the worst military leaders in history. He referred to his officers as ‘clipped hedgehog heads’, and when he saw a tired-looking sentry outside his residence, he would order a sofa brought out to him. Despite his aversion to war, Ludwig thought he looked exceptionally handsome in his military uniform, so he wore it often. When he did, he liked having imaginary conversations with famous generals.

  Unfortunately, this type of behaviour became more common towards the end. A strong believer in reincarnation, Ludwig once signed a letter ‘Louis’ and added ‘of our fifth reign’, possibly believing he used to be the king of France. Sometimes his servants would enter the dining hall and hear him having imaginary conversations with members of the French court. His admiration of Marie Antoinette was so extreme he had a statue of her placed on one of his terraces. Anytime he passed it, he would take off his hat and gently stroke her cheek. On occasion, he also liked to dress up as Louis XIV, who was known for his exaggerated walking style. In an attempt to imitate him, Ludwig would throw his leg out as far as he could reach, and then he would slam his foot down as if squashing a bug. He would repeat this process again and again, his footsteps echoing in the palace as he moved across the floor like a spastic giraffe.

  Nevertheless, in spite of his antics, his enemies wouldn’t have acted so decisively if Ludwig’s biggest sin had been his eccentricities. As peculiar as he was, his behaviour probably would have been overlooked since it had never threatened the future of Bavaria.

  But everything changed when he created the black swan.

  Ulster explained. ‘One of the reasons Ludwig was such a popular ruler was because he never used government funds to build any of his castles. Instead, he drained his family fortune, spending hundreds of millions of marks on his projects. Ironically, even though it wasn’t his intent, Ludwig’s indulgence actually stimulated the Bavarian economy. Not only did he create thousands of jobs for labourers, but his money slowly trickled throughout the region, one peasant at a time. For many years, the only group that had a valid complaint about Ludwig’s spending habits was his family. After all, he was wasting their inheritance. But as luck would have it, he had only one sibling – his younger brother, Otto – and he was even crazier than Ludwig.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jones joked, ‘how lucky can one guy get?’

  Ulster instantly regretted his choice of words. ‘Obviously I didn’t mean he was blessed to have a crazy sibling. I meant lucky in terms of the hereditary monarchy. If Otto, his next of kin and potential successor, had been the least bit ambitious, he would have fought for Ludwig’s crown much earlier. And if he had won it, he would have controlled the purse strings. However, since Otto had been declared insane in 1875 – well before Ludwig had gone into debt and started borrowing large piles of money from outside sources – there was no one willing to challenge his authority. Not until he went too far.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Payne said. ‘You’re talking about the black swan.’

  Ulster nod
ded. ‘When the royal coffers began to run dry, Ludwig tried to raise funds for his projects through legal means. He asked the Bavarian finance minister to arrange a loan of seven and a half million marks from a consortium of German banks, which temporarily kept him afloat. But Ludwig realized the money wouldn’t last long, especially at the rate he was spending it. With that in mind, he went to the drawing board – literally went to the drawing board with a quill and ink – and designed the black swan. As you can see, Ludwig was a talented artist. He figured if he was going to start an organization, he might as well have some fun with it.’

  Payne glanced at the symbol on the lid. Admittedly, it did have a certain flair. ‘What type of organization are you talking about?’

  ‘The secret kind.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning he didn’t want people to know about it.’

  Payne growled softly. ‘Believe it or not, I know what secret means. I meant, what was the function of the organization?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Ulster said, blushing. He was so excited about the discovery, he was rambling more than usual. ‘Ludwig’s goal was to acquire funds through illicit means.’

  Kaiser laughed. ‘He became a thief? That’s awesome!’

  Jones was tempted to tease Kaiser, then thought better of it.

  Ulster shook his head. ‘Not a thief, per se. More like the head of a new syndicate. Ludwig hatched a series of crazy schemes, then recruited his most loyal followers to carry them out. Unfortunately, most of his men realized that Ludwig was bonkers, so they only pretended to follow his orders – often with comic results.’

  ‘Such as?’ Jones asked.