The Parsifal Pursuit

by Michael McMenamin

  CHURCHILL led Mattie into the dining room, Bourke and Harmony trailing behind. The room was light and airy, with floor to ceiling French doors on three sides, several of them open to the gentle breeze outside. A large round oak table was in the middle of the room around which were six arm chairs upholstered in a cheery pale yellow flowered fabric.

  If all went well, Churchill thought, the mosaic soon would be complete and the quest could begin. Geoffrey Campbell, who had arrived that morning, and Churchill‘s brother Jack rose from their chairs. “I believe you know everyone, Jack,” Churchill said as his brother greeted Mattie with a kiss, “and you‘ve met everyone, Prof, except this stunning young woman.”

  Churchill turned to Mattie. “Martha McGary, Professor Geoffrey Campbell.”

  “Geoffrey is on sabbatical from the University of Glasgow,” Churchill said, by way of introduction. “His specialty is ancient Christian archeology.”

  Mattie smiled and Churchill watched Campbell‘s eyes widen. A short man, Campbell was wearing a heavy Scottish tweed jacket, frayed at the sleeves, with patches on the elbows. The stem of a pipe peeked out from the breast pocket of his jacket. His well-worn flannel trousers were unpressed and unruly gray hair was in contrast to his neatly trimmed gray beard.

  “McGary? Are you any relation to James McGary?” Campbell asked.

  “He was my father.”

  “It‘s an honor to meet you, Miss McGary. Your father was a great teacher and an inspiration for my work. Winston told me a journalist would be joining us for lunch, but I had no idea it would be someone as important as James McGary‘s daughter.”

  “Thank you,” Mattie said, modestly ducking her head. “Please call me Mattie.”

  “Please, find a seat,” Churchill said to the group. “Mattie, you sit by me.” He briefly noticed Mattie frown as Harmony quickly moved into the open seat next to Cockran.

  While the soup course was served––vichyssoise––Churchill‘s monologue brought the three new guests up to the key point in Campbell‘s story, his belief the Hofburg Spear was fake.

  The entire table paused briefly while the main course of veal cutlets was served and claret was poured. Churchill was not surprised when Mattie spoke first.

  “Why do you say it‘s a fake? What proof do you have?”

  “Well, I suppose it is rather harsh to call it a fake,” Campbell conceded. “But it most assuredly is not the same spear that was on display before the Great War. It‘s all very detailed and rather dry, I‘m afraid, for anyone except an archeologist, but there can be no question. I‘ve made a meticulous examination of unauthorized photographs of the spear taken in 1912 by your father and compared them with similar surreptitious photographs taken by me only a year ago. The two spears in the photographs are quite similar. In some ways, identical. But they are not the same. I would stake my reputation on it. Indeed, with my monograph, I have.”

  “But you have further proof. Is that not correct?” Churchill asked.

  “Yes, I do. I mentioned it briefly it in my monograph. It‘s not terribly scientific, but I have an eyewitness. Someone who saw the Spear being removed from the Museum.”

  “Was the witness reliable?” Mattie asked.

  “Oh, quite reliable. He was one of the curators. In fact, he was the only curator who would even talk to me. None of the others would so much as give me the time of day once they heard my theory. They ignored my letters and refused to accept my telephone calls. Rather rude, actually. But not Herman Kluge, a proper Viennese gentlemen. White goatee, pince-nez, and an old Kaiser Bill mustache. He wouldn‘t meet me at the Museum. We met instead at a small coffee house in a seedier section of Vienna. The story he told me had the ring of truth.”

  Even though they were quite alone and safe from prying eyes, Campbell lowered his voice and leaned forward in his chair, as if dark secrets would soon be revealed. “The curator told me he had been working late at the museum on a snowy night in early 1914 when he heard noises coming from the first floor where there should only have been silence. He crept carefully downstairs and hid on a landing. He was astonished to see fully-armed Austrian Army troops standing guard outside the room where the Lance of Longinus was on display. Kluge was a military buff and recognized their unit insignia and their weapons. They were elite Austrian Alpine troops carrying Mannlicher assault rifles. The room where the Spear is displayed is two stories‘ high, with several small balconies along three of the room‘s four walls. The curator moved carefully back upstairs and quietly opened a door to one of the now darkened balconies. He peered down and swears he actually saw the Spear being removed from its display case and replaced with another. There were only two soldiers in the room, both officers, and while they talked in hushed voices so that Kluge couldn‘t hear everything, the one thing he caught clearly was something about the Alps, the border and a special military train.”

  “Go on, Prof, go on,” Churchill urged, as he lit a new cigar. “Don‘t keep us in suspense.”

  Campbell took a sip of claret and then continued. “The Austrian Alps mostly border Italy so Kluge assumed they were taking the Spear to a mountain stronghold. He told me there are a number of ancient castles there dating from the Crusades and the Middle Ages. They were built to protect trade routes and deter advancing enemies. He was quite angry that a fake was on display at the Hofburg and he had long wanted the deception to be exposed if his position wasn‘t jeopardized. I promised complete confidentiality if he would give me an opportunity to examine the Spear which is presently in the Hofburg. Kluge agreed. He was a true man of science.”

  “What did your examination of the Spear show?” Mattie asked in an eager tone.

  “Regrettably, I never had the opportunity. As I said, we were in a rough neighborhood and we each went our separate ways. I read about Kluge‘s death in a newspaper the very next morning. He was robbed and then killed in a particularly gruesome fashion. Severed his head from his body and propped him up against a wall in an alley near the coffee shop, his head placed in his lap. The newspapers suggested it was a ritual killing. The police dismissed that but the killers of Herman Kluge were never apprehended. I left Austria shortly after his death.”

  “And the true spear?” Mattie asked. “What about the true spear‘s location?”

  “I fear I don‘t know its precise location,” he replied, “but Winston seems to think he does. Or at least what he knows was enough to persuade your employer, Miss McGary, as well as your father, Miss Hampton, to each contribute £10,000 to finance a search for the Spear.”

  “Hold that thought, Prof,” Churchill said as he walked over to a table in the corner of the room. “I have always found that things are never quite as hopeless as they might seem.”

  A servant appeared, offering brandy to all. The time was right, Churchill thought as he paced the the room, cigar in his left hand, brandy snifter in his right, to play the trump card.

  “My part of this story begins when I was at the Admiralty. It was March, 1914. British Naval Intelligence in Vienna had been shown a confidential note sent from Helmuth von Moltke, the Chief of the German General Staff, through intermediaries to Austria‘s Emperor Franz Josef. The note warned the Emperor of a plot by the Kaiser to take possession of the Spear.”

  Churchill paused, took his cigar from his mouth and stared at it as if by a stern glance it would relight itself. The cigar stubbornly refused to do so and Churchill at last accepted the lit match proffered by his brother. “I knew German kings had thought the Spear to be a talisman of power. Bloody nonsense, of course, but when I saw that the Kaiser was seeking to possess it, I knew war was inevitable. I warned the Prime Minister, naturally, but there was nothing either of us could do. It was simply one more piece in a vast mosaic which ultimately meant war.”

  Churchill resumed pacing. “The past is past, however. We must turn our faces to the future. After the war ended, I was Secretary for War and Air and an intelligence report crossed my desk about an Austrian army officer‘s j
ournal found during a search of the Emperor Franz Josef‘s private quarters in his palace in Vienna. It was a summary translation only, but the journal spoke of how this officer and his men had hidden a sacred relic in the Austrian Alps before the war.

  Churchill looked towards Professor Campbell, who had placed his snifter of brandy down and gripped the armrests of his chair. “I immediately thought of von Moltke‘s letter to the Emperor, but I had far too many responsibilities to worry about the past. The Bolsheviks were keeping me up all night many times, not to mention the Greeks and the Turks.

  “When Professor Campbell kindly forwarded a copy of his monograph, I recalled that officer‘s journal. As you all know, I have been out of office nearly two years and now I am out of the shadow cabinet as well because I insist on speaking the unpopular truth about India. But I am not without influence among some of our more patriotic civil servants in Naval Intelligence who, like me, look back with fondness on our adventures together during the Great War.”

  Churchill walked back over to the corner table on which lay, in haphazard fashion, printer‘s proofs bleeding with Churchill‘s corrections made by a bold red pencil. He rummaged through the papers and emerged with a small battered leather notebook.

  “Ah, here it is. My friends were kind enough to provide an English translation.” He crossed the room and gave the notebook and translation to Campbell. “Have a look, Prof. The notebook belonged to a Major Josef Lanz.”

  “This is all very fascinating, Winston,” Cockran said. “Like an adventure story in The Strand magazine. But is there some other point to all this?”

  Churchill smiled. “Indeed, there is. Please, don‘t stand on ceremony. Help yourself to more brandy.” Churchill picked up his own brandy snifter. “From what I have read, the journal confirms the accuracy of Professor Campbell‘s monograph. But I also believe there are sufficient clues within the journal itself to actually help us locate this mysterious stronghold.”

  Campbell looked up from the notebook, his mouth slightly ajar. “Winston, this is magnificent. Kluge was correct. The Spear was taken to a mountain stronghold and, if this notebook is correct, there are only three possible locations.”

  Churchill felt Mattie‘s hand grip his arm tightly. Yes, all was going to be well, he thought. The bait had been carefully placed; the hook had been set; and now an après lunch stroll around the grounds of Chartwell would land the fish.

  “Mattie, why don‘t you and the Prof join me for a brief walk while we explore whether Mr. Hearst might possibly be interested in footing the entire cost of our little expedition.”

  BEFORE lunch, Mattie had learned that, while Sir Archibald Hampton had been the other backer of the expedition along with Hearst, Hampton‘s estate was now tied up in court and his funding could no longer be counted on. As they walked, Mattie had assured Winston that W.R. would pick up the entire cost. Churchill had been pleased but she soon learned that her father‘s old protégé was the problem, not Hearst. It seemed that Campbell had panicked upon learning of Hampton‘s death. He had gone off and, by a stroke of luck, had found new financial backers who were threatening to upset Churchill‘s carefully designed plan. She could see from the frown starting to form on Churchill‘s face that Campbell was in for a rough ride.

  “Please repeat that, Professor,” Churchill said. “I‘m not certain I understand.”

  “A Swiss foundation has agreed to fund the entire expedition. Twenty thousand pounds. The Geneva Institute for Scientific and Industrial Progress. I leave tomorrow morning by boat train for Paris. Then overnight to Geneva to meet with my sponsors and sign all the necessary papers. I appreciate all you‘ve done, especially the officer‘s journal, but I‘m sure you‘ll agree a Swiss foundation is much to be preferred to support from an American newspaper empire.”

  “Pray tell me what assurances you have, what guarantees from your new sponsors, that if you find the Spear, it will be placed in the British Museum?” Churchill asked.

  “That hasn‘t been discussed, but naturally I assumed…” Campbell started to say.

  Churchill cut him off. “You assumed? Exactly what did you assume?”

  Mattie saw Campbell shrink back, like a cornered wildebeest before a lion in the African veldt.

  “I assumed that the Swiss would want the Spear placed in one of their own museums.”

  To Mattie, it sounded like a growl from deep within Churchill‘s diaphragm before it emerged as a full-throated roar. “That is entirely out of the question. The Spear cannot remain on the European continent. That is the whole point of this exercise. To keep those bloody Germans from possessing a symbol under which they have far too often gone to war.”

  “I thought the point was to recover the Holy Spear!” Campbell said.

  “The point of this exercise concerns the peace of Europe and quite possibly the world. I told you on numerous occasions that I have my own sources of intelligence about Germany. Both in and outside the country. I do not like the news I have received. There has always been talk in Germany of returning the Kaiser or his son, the Crown Prince, to the German throne. What I hear now is far more serious than that.”

  Churchill paused and pointed his cigar directly at Campbell who took a step back. “Recent reports I have received focus on the Crown Prince as a figurehead, the symbol of national unity for a new and more authoritarian government in Germany. Key conservatives there used to be frightened only of the Communists. Now, they are equally frightened of Adolf Hitler. He‘s simply too radical for those who like to think they pull the strings of power behind the scenes.”

  Churchill stared off into the distance, looking east over the weald of Kent. “It is not public knowledge, but I have been told by someone who has spoken to Hitler himself that, like the Kaiser, he has an almost mystical belief in what the Germans call the Spear of Destiny.”

  Churchill cast a knowing glance at Mattie who knew she was the source of that timely piece of intelligence. “We need to take that symbol away from them, Geoffrey. Take the Spear completely out of Europe and bring it to England. Bring it to this island with the breadth and depth of the English Channel between it and those who would plunge Europe into another war.”

  Mattie smiled as Churchill played his last card. Who did this mere academic think he was to interfere and dare disrupt the plan Churchill had carefully constructed? Mattie knew he was about to find out just what it meant to disagree with, let alone disappoint, Winston Churchill.

  “I will not permit any use of the Austrian officer‘s journal in this endeavor unless there is a copper-fastened guarantee that the Lance of Longinus will be lodged in the permanent collection of the British Museum. Otherwise, I must insist you return the journal to me.”

  “But…but, Mr. Churchill, that would be terrible. The journal is crucial to our success. Please be reasonable. This is a sacred Christian relic. In the right hands, the hands of a true believer, it might even possess the healing power which so many have attributed to it. You cannot be so heartless. Please, I beseech you. I met with representatives of the Swiss foundation a few days ago in London and I agreed to their terms. I gave my word as a British gentleman.”

  Churchill was unmoved. “You may keep your word or you may keep the journal. You may not keep them both unless the Swiss agree to my conditions.”

  Much as she enjoyed seeing Churchill intimidate the small Scot, Mattie sensed her story and her quest might be slipping away. That was not going to happen. Not if Mattie could help it and she thought she could. She watched as Professor Campbell reluctantly handed over to Churchill the journal, the image of a Celtic cross on its worn and faded leather cover.

  “Gentlemen. Perhaps a compromise can be arranged,” Mattie said. “While Mr. Hearst is willing to fund the entire expedition, he would also agree to share the expense so long as he has exclusive worldwide publication rights. Since you haven‘t discussed with the Swiss exactly where the Spear will be displayed, why don‘t you tell them that the Spear must be placed in
the permanent collection of the British Museum but you have no objection to its being loaned from time to time to a Swiss museum and put on display for a few months every other year?”

  “Well…” Professor Campbell began.

  “After all, if we recover the Spear, the two of you will be the ones most responsible. What could be more natural than your wish to see the Lance of Longinus in a permanent collection at the British Museum, which is especially fitting given that Longinus is buried in Britain? Temporary loans of the artifact, even on a regular basis, should be a relatively minor matter.” Mattie turned to Churchill. “What do you say, Winston? Would that be satisfactory?”

  Churchill removed the cigar from his mouth and pushed out his lower lip. In a pout or in contemplation, Mattie could not tell. After a long moment, Churchill spoke. “Very well. That seems a reasonable compromise. But, Mattie, you must be the one to negotiate the terms with the Swiss, not the Prof here. Will you do it?”

  Mattie smiled. “I‘ll track down the Chief and ring him up this afternoon. I haven‘t even unpacked my bags so leaving tomorrow morning should pose no problem. Besides,” she said with a laugh, “I‘ve just out-negotiated the head of Germany‘s second largest political party. A Swiss banker will be duck soup.”

  Churchill beamed as he handed the leather journal back to Professor Campbell, the anger in his voice no longer present in the aftermath of having once more gotten his way. “Never fear, Geoffrey. You are in good hands with Mattie. An adventure awaits. Live dangerously; take things as they come; dread naught.”

  20.

  The Spear Must Be Protected

  Westerham, Kent

  Sunday, 31 May 1931

  THE Celtic cross tattoo on the inside of the man‘s wrist was momentarily visible as he lowered the powerful military field glasses through which he had observed the scene below. Closer inspection would have revealed that the binoculars in question were standard issue to the old Imperial Austrian Army‘s alpine troops. The man wore a long, dark overcoat, its collar turned up. His close-cropped hair was flecked with gray, a dueling scar prominent on his left cheek. He reached into a side pocket of the long coat and pulled out a battered leather notebook, the Celtic cross imprinted on its cover, and began making notes. The notebook was identical in appearance to the one that had passed between the two men he had observed with the red-haired woman five hundred yards below his elevated vantage point.