The Dragon in the Sword (34 page)

More of this nonsense followed, with von Bek growing increasingly restless and Alisaard and I becoming gradually bored and impatient.

“Now we summon the Chalice, the vessel of our spiritual essence, the Chalice, which is that same cauldron Parsifal sought; the Chalice of Wisdom, which the Christians stole from us and incorporated into their own mythologies, calling it the Holy Grail!” Goebbels chanted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other; fidgeting like some malformed dwarf. “Now we summon our Chalice so that we might partake of its contents and be filled with the Wisdom we seek!”

These words were echoed now by Hitler and Göring.

“Now we kneel!” cried Goebbels, evidently relishing every moment of his power over the others.

Obediently the two Nazi leaders went down on their knees, leaving only Goebbels standing, his arms spread as he addressed the altar.

“Here in this most ancient of all places, where the Chalice has resided since the beginning of Time, let us be granted a vision. Let us drink that wisdom. Let us be granted the power of our old gods, the knowledge of our old blood, the certainty of our old strength. We must know which way to go. We must know if we are to concentrate our forces on releasing the power of the atom or upon conquering the threat from the East. We must have a sign, great gods. We must have a sign!”

I shall never know if Goebbels was merely putting on a theatrical act for his less skeptical comrades or if he actually believed the rubbish which fell from his thin lips. I do not know if his incantatory speeches had any part in what occurred next, or if von Bek’s presence in the vault was the cause of the phenomenon. His family was associated with the Grail, just as I, in all my guises, was associated with the Sword. And that, perhaps, is why fate had drawn us together, since it was a great and important fight we presently fought. How much of a rôle Sepiriz played and how much he knew, I still do not know entirely, but it is obvious his powers of perception and prediction had been used to ensure that we would be in that exact place at an exact time.

For now there began a phase of the ritual which, I could tell, took all three by surprise, most of all Goebbels. We heard the sweetest music fill the vault. A scent like roses accompanied it. The music was almost choral. It was in direct contrast to the dark heaviness of our surroundings, to the pagan paraphernalia of the Nazi hierarchy. And then came a white and blinding light. A light of such loveliness that we could after a moment stare into it without suffering. For at the centre of that white light, the source of the music and the perfume, was a simple chalice, a golden bowl, the like of which I had seen only once before.

This is what Christian legends called the Holy Grail and what the Celts had called the Cauldron of Wisdom. It had existed for all time, under many names, just as the Sword we sought had existed, just as I, the Eternal Champion, had existed. Beyond the radiance I perceived Goebbels, and Hitler, and Göring, all upon their knees now, looking in utter astonishment at the unexpected vision.

I heard Hitler muttering over and over again some mindless oath. Göring seemed to be hiccuping and trying to raise his fat body to its feet. Goebbels had begun to grin, again like an evil schoolboy who had made a wild discovery. He was almost laughing.

“It’s true! It’s true!” Goebbels screamed now, addressing himself, his own doubts. “It’s true. We have a sign! What shall we do? Must we dispose of the threat from the East before we concentrate our forces on building an atomic bomb or should we attempt to consolidate our gains while putting our energies at the disposal of our scientists? How long can it be before Russia attacks us? Or America and England invade us? What shall we do? Our conquests came so rapidly we are hardly able to think. We need guidance. Are you truly a sign from the old gods? Will they truly direct us onto the right path to ensure Germany’s dominance of the world?”

“The cup cannot speak to us, Herr Doktor!” Adolf Hitler was suddenly contemptuous, sensing his Minister’s uncertainty in the face of this actuality. “It must be held. Then the truth will be revealed. Surely that is what it means?”

“No, no, no!” Göring finally lumbered to his feet, panting heavily. His eyes were red, his nose ran, and thin lines of spittle fell from his lips. He drew a great, shuddering breath. “There is a maiden, surely. A maiden who guards the Grail. A Rhinemaiden, eh? I know. From Wagner, eh?” And he giggled.

I could scarcely believe that these were the men who had done so much to influence the course of my own world’s history. It now seemed obvious that all of them were drugged in some way. They were acting like silly children. And yet I suppose I should have realised that it is in the nature of all such creatures to be at heart infantile. Only children believe they can achieve enormous power over the world without paying a price for that power. And the price so often is the sanity of the one who seeks it. In a way these three men were even more like grotesque caricatures of the people they had once been than those poor distorted things of Chaos who had pursued us earlier. Did they realise it? And did that realisation actually further their willingness towards their own corruption and descent into utter madness?

“Yes,” said Adolf Hitler with a display of almost ridiculous self-importance. “Rhinemaidens. Valkyries. Wotan himself. This chalice merely signifies their presence.”

This ludicrous debate continued for a few moments. I believe they had never wanted this vision. The rituals they performed were a kind of reinforcement of their need to believe in the rightness of their actions. This vault in the depths of the Nuremberg castle, the robes, the incantations, were all a means of revivifying their flagging, drug-dependent energies, a way of making themselves believe in their mystical destiny.

And now it dawned on me that the Grail had not appeared in answer to Dr Goebbels’s summoning. It had appeared because we were there—or, specifically, I guessed, because von Bek was there. I looked at my friend. His face was rapt as he gazed upon the Grail. Plainly it had not occurred to him that the golden cup had a special affinity with him, in spite of his family’s legends.

Now Hitler stepped forward, his strange little face suddenly sober as he stretched shaking hands towards the Grail. The radiance from the cup emphasised the horrible pallor of his skin, the unhealthiness of his appearance. I could not believe that such a corrupted being would be allowed even to look upon the Grail, let alone touch it.

Those clutching fingers, which already had the blood of millions upon them, reached towards the singing cup. The eyes reflected the glow, glittering like little stones; the moist lips parted, the features twitched.

“You realise, my friends, that this is the source of energy we seek. This is the power which will allow us to defeat every enemy. The Jews as usual look in the wrong direction for the means of creating an atomic bomb. We have found it, here in Nuremberg. We have found it at the very core of our spiritual stronghold! Here is energy to destroy the entire globe—or to build it again in any image we desire! How paltry is the thing they call science. We have something far superior! We have Faith. We have a Force greater than Reason! We have a wisdom beyond mere knowledge. We have the Holy Grail itself. The Chalice of Limitless Power!” And his hands seemed like black claws reaching into that pure light; reaching towards the Grail; about to despoil something of such wonderful holiness I felt sick at the very thought.

But now the Cup was singing louder. It was almost shrieking its alarm at Hitler’s intention. The note changed to one seemingly of warning. Yet still the dictator made to grasp it. His fingers touched the glowing gold.

And Adolf Hitler’s shriek was louder than the cup’s. He fell backwards. He sobbed. He stared at his fingers. They gleamed black as if the skin had been fused to the bone. Then, like a little child, he put the fingers into his mouth and sat down suddenly on the flagstones of that ancient vault.

Goebbels frowned. He reached out, but more cautiously. Again the Grail sounded its warning. Göring was already retreating, covering his face with his arm, screaming: “No, no! I am not your enemy!”

In tones of placatory reasonableness Joseph Goebbels said: “It was not our intention to violate this thing. We merely sought its wisdom.”

He was frightened. He looked around him as if he sought a means of escape, as if he had grown appalled at whatever it was he had accidentally brought there. Meanwhile his master remained upon the floor, sucking his fingers, staring thoughtfully at the Grail and from time to time murmuring something to himself.

Afraid that the cup would now disappear as readily as it had appeared, I reached forward to grasp it. In the light I understood suddenly that they could see me. Hitler in particular had focused on me and was shading his eyes to try to get a clearer view of me. I thought better of taking the cup. I said to von Bek: “Quickly, man. I am certain that only you will be able to set hands upon it. Take it. It is our key to the Dragon Sword. Take it, von Bek!”

The three Nazis were advancing again, perhaps fascinated by the shadowy figures they saw, still not absolutely certain that what they observed was real.

Now Alisaard stepped between them and the Grail, raising her hand. “No further!” she cried. “This cup is not yours. It is ours. It is needed to save the Six Realms from Chaos!” She spoke to them reasonably, having no knowledge of what they represented.

Plainly Hermann Göring at least believed he had seen his Rhinemaiden. Hitler, however, was shaking his head as if trying to rid it of a hallucination, while Goebbels merely grinned, perhaps convinced and fascinated by his own insanity.

“Listen!” Göring cried. “Do you recognise it? She’s speaking the old High German! We have summoned an entire pantheon!”

Hitler seemed to be biting his lower lip, trying to come to a decision. He looked from us to his fingers and back again. “What shall I do?” he said.

Alisaard could not understand him. She pointed towards the door. “Go! Go! This cup is ours. It is what we came here for.”

“I would swear it is High German,” said Göring again, but it was plain he could understand her hardly any better than she could understand him. “She is trying to tell us the correct decision. She is pointing! She is pointing to the East!”

“Take the cup, man,” I said urgently to von Bek. I had no idea what would happen to us if we remained much longer. The Nazis were not stable. If they fled from the room and locked the door behind them we would be thoroughly trapped. It was even possible we would die in that vault before they dared open it up again.

Von Bek responded to my cries at last. Very slowly he reached out his hands towards that beautiful chalice. And the thing seemed to settle into his palms as if it had always been his. The voice grew sweeter still, the radiance subtler, the perfume stronger. Von Bek’s own features were illuminated by the chalice. He looked at once heroic and pure, exactly as the true knights of the Arthurian legends might have seemed to those who accompanied them on their quest for the Grail.

I led both him and Alisaard past the uncertain Nazis and towards the door of the vault. We took the chalice with us. They did not attempt to stop us, yet they were not sure whether to remain or to follow us.

I spoke to them as I would speak to a dog. “Stay,” I said. “Stay here.” Alisaard drew back the bolt.

“Yes,” Göring murmured. “We have our sign.”

“But the Grail,” said Hitler, “it is to be the source of our power…”

“We shall find it again,” Goebbels reassured him. He spoke dreamily. It seemed to me that the last thing he wanted to do was to set eyes on either the Holy Grail or ourselves ever again. We had threatened the strange power he had over his fellow Nazis, especially over his master, Hitler. Of the three men in that vault, only Goebbels was truly glad to see us go.

We closed the door behind us. We would have locked it if we could.

“Now,” I said, “we must return as quickly as possible to the room we were first in. I suspect that is the way back to Chaos…”

As if entranced, von Bek continued to hold the cup in his two hands, moving with us, though his attention remained fixed on the Grail.

Alisaard looked at him with a lover’s eyes, holding him gently by the arm. And now, when SS men approached us, they fell back, blinded. We reached our destination without difficulty. I turned the handle of the door and it opened onto blackness. Cautiously I entered, then Alisaard followed, leading von Bek, whose eyes had never left the Grail. An expression of rapt sweetness was on his handsome face. For some unknown reason I was faintly disturbed by it.

Then Alisaard had closed the door and the Grail’s radiance filled the room. We were all dark shadows in that light.

Yet now I counted three such shadows, besides my own!

The smallest of these now drew its little body closer to mine. He grinned up at me and saluted.

Jermays the Crooked no longer wore his marsh armour. Instead he was clad in more familiar motley. “I note that you’ve lately experienced what’s common for me.” He bowed. “And know the power as well as the frustrations of being a ghost!”

I took his offered hand. “Why are you here, Jermays? Do you bring news of the Maaschanheem?”

“I am presently in the service of Law. I bring a message from Sepiriz.” His face clouded. He added slowly: “Aye, and news from the Maaschanheem. News of defeat.”

“Adelstane?” Alisaard came forward, pushing loose hair away from her lovely features. “Has Adelstane fallen?”

“Not yet,” said the dwarf gravely, “but Maaschanheem is completely reduced. The survivors, too, have rallied to the Ursine stronghold. But now Sharadim sends even the great hulls through the Pillars of Paradise in pursuit of them! No realm is free of invasion. Each is violated. In Rootsenheem the Red Weepers are enslaved, swearing loyalty to Chaos or they are slain. This, too, is true of Fluugensheem and, of course, the Draachenheem. Only Sharadim’s forces occupy Gheestenheem now. All humans are defeated. The Eldren and the Ursine Princes continue to resist, but they cannot hold Adelstane much longer, I fear. I have just come from there. The Lady Phalizaarn, Prince Morandi Pag and Prince Groaffer Rolm send you messages of good will and pray for your success. If Sharadim or her creature reaches the Dragon Sword ahead of you, it cannot be long before Chaos breaks through and Adelstane is engulfed. Moreover, the Eldren women will never be reunited with the rest of their race…”