The Secret Crown (2010) (43 page)

Payne pointed at the letters on the wall. ‘And Loher was his ambassador?’

Ulster nodded. ‘Ludwig had always been enamoured of the concept of building the perfect kingdom on the perfect tract of land. He thought if he couldn’t make Bavaria live up to his high ideals, then he would start again somewhere new. It would give him the chance to rule a country as he saw fit - even if there were no citizens except his servants.’

‘Did Loher take him seriously?’ Payne asked.

‘As a matter of fact, he did. Unlike the amateurs who went to Frankfurt with no intention of robbing a bank, Loher approached his mission with verve. Ludwig had given him a specific list of requirements for his new kingdom, and Loher travelled the globe searching for land that would meet his needs. Keep in mind, this was during the 1870s, long before air travel and cars. Loher was forced to travel by horse, train, boat and everything in between.’

Heidi picked up from there. ‘Amazingly, Loher did all this in total secrecy. If word of his mission had leaked, think of the damage it would have done. The King of Bavaria, a ruler who was loved by his countrymen, was looking to abandon them? There would have been riots.’

‘How did they keep it quiet?’ Jones asked.

Ulster explained. ‘Loher, who had travelled extensively in his younger years, posed as a travel writer or a wealthy foreigner looking for land. When he arrived in a new country, he would talk to the locals and work out who owned the most scenic real estate. Then he would tour the properties and determine if they suited his needs. Not surprisingly, Ludwig was more concerned with pastoral beauty than anything else. He wanted breathtaking views and crystal-clear water, the utopian world he had dreamt about for years. But Loher was level headed. Although beauty was an important factor, he viewed the land through the eyes of a bureaucrat. He made sure the soil was fertile and ready for crops. He enquired about fish, wildlife and other sources of food because Ludwig and his servants needed to eat. He asked about droughts, storms, and the weather in all four seasons. He studied the local history and made sure the land was defensible from invading forces. In other words, he made sure the kingdom would be sustainable for the long haul.’

Payne was impressed. It sounded like Loher was the perfect accomplice for the crazy king. One was a dreamer, the other a realist. ‘What did he determine?’

Heidi answered. ‘After his first journey in 1873 - a trip that took him to Spain, Africa, Greece and the Turkish isles - he presented Ludwig with a detailed report on a number of locations. No one knows how the king reacted because their conversation was private, but it’s assumed he told Loher to keep looking.’

Payne asked, ‘If their talk was private, how do you know about the report?’

‘Loher’s reports eventually turned up in the Geheimes Hausarchiv, the secret archives of the Royal House, two years after Ludwig’s death. The reports are still there today.’

Jones glanced at Ulster. ‘I thought you said your friend searched through the archives and didn’t find what he needed.’

Ulster smiled. ‘He wasn’t looking for Loher’s reports. Those have been scrutinized for decades. My friend was searching for documentation on what happened next.’

Payne furrowed his brow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘According to the Munich archives, Loher made a second journey abroad in 1875. He visited Cyprus and Crete and enquired about Crimea, an autonomous republic on the Black Sea. Unfortunately, nothing seemed suitable for their needs. By this time, Ludwig was getting antsy and Loher was getting too old to be traipsing round the globe. Understanding the importance of secrecy, Ludwig trusted no one except Loher to work on this sensitive project, which forced Loher to refine his approach. Instead of travelling himself, he collected journals from travellers, read books on foreign lands, even interviewed tourists from different countries - all in the hopes of finding a kingdom for his king. Despite these efforts, he reached a regrettable conclusion. The perfect spot for Camelot did not exist.’

Loher explained his verdict in his final report to Ludwig:

Heidi added a few more details. ‘Unfortunately for Loher, he was vilified by the public when these reports were uncovered by the press. Most people were still angry about Ludwig’s murder, so they lashed out at Loher, saying he had taken advantage of the deluded king by getting Ludwig to finance his extensive travel. Eventually, the Bavarian government pressured Loher to give up his position as director of the archives even though Loher was the person who had added the reports to the archives in the first place. He felt they were an important part of Ludwig’s legacy, but he was punished for his honesty.’

Payne stared at the letters on the wall. Even though he couldn’t translate the language, he was able to read the handwritten dates on the documents. Most of the letters were sent in 1886, the year of Ludwig’s death. ‘When did Loher file his final report?’

Ulster grinned with delight. ‘That, my boy, is why I am so excited. This wall of letters, dated years after Loher’s final report was presented to Ludwig, contradicts every scrap of evidence that has ever been collected. There have been rumours, but never this kind of proof.’

‘Proof of what?’ Jones asked.

‘That Loher hired a team of researchers to travel the globe for him and compile data for an unnamed client. That these researchers found a piece of land for a modern-day Camelot, and Loher’s final report - in which he claims no such place exists, so it would be a waste of time and money to keep searching - was simply a smokescreen to throw off Ludwig’s rivals.’

Payne took a deep breath and tried to make sense of the claim. During the past few days, he had received a crash course on the history of Bavaria, and his head was starting to spin. Prior to his current trip, he had seen pictures of Ludwig’s castles but had been completely unfamiliar with Ludwig’s life. Now he was standing in a secret room, hidden underneath one of those castles, talking about Ludwig’s plan to abandon his country.

Payne stared at Ulster. ‘I think you better explain.’

Ulster nodded. ‘As I mentioned earlier, my colleague visited the Munich archives on a very specific quest. He wanted to find out more about the ongoing relationship between Ludwig and Loher in the months leading up to Ludwig’s death. As you know, Ludwig was a loner, and the friends he made were artistic in nature. If that’s the case, why did Ludwig and Loher continue to communicate for years after the end of their secret project? Loher was an elderly historian, not a painter or a musician. Trust me when I tell you this, most historians are painfully dull!’

Payne smiled. ‘Aren’t
you
a historian?’

‘Obviously, I’m the exception to the rule.’

‘I beg to differ,’ Jones teased him.

Ulster laughed. ‘Anyway, when Loher’s travel reports were leaked to the press in 1888, some people speculated they were the real reason Ludwig had been deposed. Not because he was insane, but because his cabinet had learned about his crazy plot to start a new country and had punished him for his disloyalty.’

Payne shrugged. ‘That seems reasonable to me.’

Ulster shook his head. ‘The problem with this theory was the timing of things. Loher’s final report was given to Ludwig several years before his murder. If the subject had been closed for that long, why did the cabinet act so viciously when they discovered Ludwig’s foiled plan? What’s more, why would they have waited so long to react? If the final report was indeed intended as misdirection, Loher would not have concealed its delivery. In fact, it would have been essential that Ludwig’s cabinet learn of the report immediately to reassure them Ludwig would not be leaving. Obviously, I’ll know more once I read through these letters, but my guess is the subject
wasn’t
closed. That Ludwig was
still
looking to leave Bavaria, and his cabinet killed him before he had a chance.’

While Ulster and Heidi focused on the letters, Payne and Jones examined the rest of the room, searching for information about Ludwig’s secret mission. Unfortunately, their inspection was hindered by a lack of electric lights, a surprising oversight considering the special effects in the grotto but one that was probably done to avoid incriminating power cables. Jones noticed ventilation shafts in two of the corners, which would have allowed Ludwig to use candles or lanterns without fear of asphyxiation.

Shining his flashlight on the left-hand wall, Payne stopped in front of a series of sketches that caught his eye. None of the artwork had been signed, so he didn’t know if Ludwig had drawn them or not, but they highlighted the rocky coastline of a scenic island. Most of the sketches featured a spectacular palace, whether real or imagined, that made the Linderhof look like a shack. Built on the edge of an imposing cliff, it was designed with an assortment of whimsical details - decorative chimneys, ornamental turrets, steep gables and stone sculptures - yet the structure seemed to sprout out of the earth as if it had been there for ever. With beautiful gardens and sweeping views of the endless sea, it appeared to meet Ludwig’s definition of Camelot.

A few feet to his right, Payne noticed a collection of architectural blueprints hanging from two hooks mounted on the wall. Having grown up in the offices of Payne Industries, he was familiar with a wide variety of technical drawings, but their combination of age, language and scope was unlike anything he had ever seen. Drawn in the 1880s and labelled in Bavarian, the pages showed the interior rooms of a massive palace that was larger than most cathedrals. Payne studied the floor plans and tried to imagine what the building would actually look like. When he did, he realized the designs matched the sketches to his left.

Apparently, Ludwig’s scheme wasn’t just a pipe dream. They had started the planning process.

In the centre of the room, Jones sat on the carved chair and sifted through the drawers of the antique desk. A version of the Bureau du Roi (King’s Desk) - a richly ornamented roll-top desk commissioned by Louis
XV
of France - it was inlaid with an intricate variety of coloured woods. The original desk, which still stands in the Palace of Versailles, has a miniature bust of Minerva on top, but Ludwig’s featured an elaborate bust of the Swan Knight. On the public side of the desk (away from where the king would sit), there was an oval filled with the carved head of Silence, a symbolic figure that held a forefinger to its lips. It was a reminder that discretion was required in matters of the king. Down here, where the desk had been locked away for more than a hundred years, the symbol seemed to have extra meaning.

Unable to read Bavarian, Jones searched through the desk for anything that seemed
unusual
- although that was a tough term to define in the underground lair of a man with his own secret grotto. Still, he went about his search with zeal, realizing it was a unique opportunity to investigate the death of an important historical figure.

At first glance, most of the objects in the desk seemed to be artistic in nature. He found dozens of pages of sheet music and the vocal scores for Ludwig’s favourite operas. There was a sketchpad filled with doodles, ranging from clouds to mountains to horses. In addition, one of the smaller drawers was stuffed with nineteenth-century office supplies, including pencils, fountain pens and stationery. Like most people in the modern world, Jones was tempted to steal some items for personal use, but decided against it since they belonged to the king.

Jones was nearly ready to abandon the desk and focus his attention on the right-hand wall when he came across a handwritten receipt. The paper itself was an early sheet of letterhead that had been printed from a copper engraving. The emblem at the top of the page was a fierce-looking lion holding a shield. At the bottom, there was a name and an address. Jones tried to translate the words but struggled with the language.

‘Hey Petr,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘are you familiar with a city named
Minga
?’

Ulster, who was reading one of the letters on the wall, stopped and turned round. ‘As a matter of fact, I am. Minga is the Bavarian name for Munich.’

‘Really? I thought Munchen was the name for Munich.’

Ulster shook his head. ‘That’s the
German
name for Munich, not the
Austro-Bavarian
name. Most people get them confused. Why do you ask?’

‘Minga is written on this letterhead.’

‘What letterhead?’

Jones handed it to Ulster. ‘I found it stashed in Ludwig’s desk. I think it’s a receipt. Then again, it could be a grocery list. My Austro-Bavarian is kind of rusty.’

‘So is mine,’ Ulster admitted as he shone his light on the document. ‘But as luck should have it, I believe you are correct. This
is
a receipt.’

Jones stood from his chair. ‘A receipt for what?’

‘Honestly, I have no idea. It’s one of the most cryptic receipts I have ever seen.’