Now, as the clouds parted completely, I saw that the sky was filled with dragons. A great squadron of flying reptiles whose wings were at least thirty feet across and whose riders were dwarfed. A squadron that waited lazily, adrift in the atmosphere, for me to lead it.
In sudden terror I woke up. And looked directly into the cold eyes of Lieutenant Klosterheim.
'My apologies, Count von Bek, but we have urgent business in Berlin and must leave within the hour. I thought you might have something to tell us.'
Confused by my dream and furious at Klosterheim's graceless intrusion, I told him I would see him downstairs shortly.
In the breakfast room, where one of my old servants was blearily doing his best to attend to my guests, I found them . munching ham and bread and calling for eggs and coffee.
Gaynor waved his cup at me as I came in. 'My dear fellow. How kind of you to join us. We received word from Berlin that we must return immediately. I'm so sorry to be a bad guest.'
I wondered how he had received such news. A private radio, perhaps, in the car?
'Well,' I said, 'we shall just have to be content with our dull tranquillity.'
I knew what I was doing. I saw a contradiction in Klosterheim's eye. He was almost smiling as he glanced down at the table.
'What about the sword, cousin?' Gaynor impatiently directed the servant to unshell his eggs. 'Have you decided to give it up to the care of the State?'
'I don't believe it has much value to the State,' I said, 'whereas it has great sentimental value to me.'
Gaynor scowled and rose up in his chair. 'Dear cousin, I am not speaking for myself, but if Berlin were to hear your words- you would not have a home, let alone a sword to keep it in!'
'Well,' I said, 'I'm one of those old-fashioned Germans. I believe that duty and honor come before personal comfort. Hitler, after all, is an Austrian and of that happy-go-lucky, tolerant nature, which thinks less of such things, I'm sure.'
Gaynor was not slow to understand my irony. He seemed to relish it. But Klosterheim was angry again, I could tell.
'Could we perhaps see the sword, cousin?' Gaynor said. 'Just to verify that it is the one Berlin seeks. It could be that it's the wrong blade altogether!'
I was in no mood to put myself or the sword in jeopardy. Fantastic as it seemed, I believed both my cousin and his lieutenant to be capable of hitting me over the head and stealing the sword if I showed it to them.
'I'll be delighted to show it to you,' I said. 'As soon as it comes back from Mirenburg, where I left it with a relative of von Asch's, to be cleaned and restored.'
'Von Asch? In Mirenburg?' Klosterheim sounded alarmed.
'A relative,' I said. 'In Baudissingaten. Do you know the man?'
'Von Asch disappeared, did he not?' Gaynor interrupted.
'Yes. In the early days of the War. He wanted to visit a certain Irish island, where he expected to find metal of special properties for a sword he wished to make, but I suspect he was too old for the journey. We never heard from him again.'
'And he told you nothing about the sword?'
'A few legends, cousin. But I scarcely remember them. They didn't seem remarkable.'
'And he mentioned nothing of a sister sword?'
'Absolutely nothing. I doubt if ours is the blade you seek.'
'I'm beginning to suspect that you're right. I'll do my best to put your point of view to Berlin, but it will be difficult to present it in a sympathetic light.'
'They have called on the spirit of Old Germany,' I said. 'They'd be wise to respect that spirit and not coarsen its meaning to suit their own brutal agendas.'
'And perhaps we would be wise to report such treacherous remarks before we are somehow contaminated by them ourselves.' Klosterheim's strange, cold eyes flared like ice in sudden firelight.
Gaynor tried to make light of this threat. 'I would remind you, cousin, that the Fuhrer will look very positively on someone who bestows such a gift to the nation.' He seemed a little too emphatic, revealing his desperation. He cleared his throat. 'Any preconceptions that you, like so many of your class, are a traitor to the New Germany will be dispelled.'
He was almost unconsciously speaking the language of deceit and obfuscation. The kind of double-talk which always signals a dearth of moral and intellectual content. He was already, whatever he had said to me, a Nazi.
I went with them to the outside door and stood on the steps as their driver brought the Mercedes around. It was still dark, with a sliver of moon on a pale horizon. I watched the black and chrome car move slowly away down the drive towards those ancient gates, each topped by a time-worn sculpture. Firedrakes. They reminded me of my dream.
They reminded me that my dream had been considerably less terrifying than my present reality.
I wondered when I would be receiving my next Nazi guests and whether they would be as easily refused as Gaynor and Klosterheim.
Chapter Three
Visiting Strangers
That same evening I received a telephone call from the mysterious 'Gertie.' She suggested that around sunset I go down to the river which marked the northern edge of our land. There someone would contact me. There was a snap in the air. I was perfectly happy to stroll down through that lovely rolling parkland to the little bridge which connected, via a wicket gate, with a public path which had once been the main road to the town of Bek. The ruts were hardened into miniature mountain ranges. Few used the path. Now one rarely saw anything but an occasional pair of lovers or an old man walking his dog.
Just on that point of dusk between night and day, when a faint shivering mist had begun to rise from the river, I saw a tall figure appear on the bridge and wait patiently at the gate for me to unlock it. I moved forward quickly, apologetically. Somehow I had not seen the man approach. I opened the gate, welcoming him onto my land. He stepped swiftly through, closely followed by a slighter figure, who I thought at first must be a bodyguard, since it carried a longbow and a quiver of arrows.
'Are you Gertie's friends?' I asked the prearranged question.
'We know her very well,' answered the archer. A woman's voice, low and commanding. Her face hooded against the evening chill, she stepped forward out of the tall man's shadow and took my hand. A strong, soft, dry handshake. The cloth of her cloak and the tunic beneath had a strange shimmering quality and the shades were unfamiliar. I wondered if this were some sort of stage costume. She might have been a German demigoddess in one of those interminable folk plays the Nazis encouraged everywhere. I invited them up to the house, but the man declined. His head lifted from within a darkness it seemed to carry as a kind of aura. He was gaunt, relatively young, and his blind eyes were glaring emeralds, as if he stared past me into a future so monstrous, so cruel and so agonizing that he sought any distraction from its constant presence.
I believe your house has already been microphoned,' he said. 'Even if it has not been, it's always wise to behave as if the Nazis could be listening. We'll stay out here for a while and then, when our business is done, perhaps go into the house for some refreshment?'
'You will be welcome.'
His voice was surprisingly light and pleasant, with a faint Austrian accent. He introduced himself as Herr El and his handshake was also reassuring. I knew I was in the presence of a man of substance. His dark green cape and hat were familiar enough clothing in Germany to cause no comment, but they also had the effect of disguising him, for the great collar could be pulled around the face and the brim tugged down to put what remained in shadow. There was something familiar about him and I was sure we had met at least once before, probably in Mirenburg.
'You're here to help me join the White Rose Society, I presume?' I strolled with them through the
