“Aha!” – I almost startled myself at the speed with which I guessed – “it was stolen.”
“N-no.” The Princess hesitated. “N-no, not from me; in fact, not stolen at all, in the precise sense of the word. Let us say: lost in some inexplicable way. I prefer not to talk about it: for my father it was the most valuable piece, irreplaceable: and it still is for me. It has been missing since I can remember; I used to dream about the empty velvet even when I was a little girl. Although I bombarded him with questions, my father never told me how the spearhead came to be lost. Every time I asked he would go around with a sad face for days on end.” The Princess broke off abruptly and, half absent-mindedly, murmured something to herself in Russian in which I thought I caught the word Isaïs; then she continued out loud: “Just once, shortly before our flight into exile from the Crimea and only a few weeks before his death, he said to me: it will be your task to recover the lost jewel, my child, if all my efforts here on earth are not to have been in vain; I sacrificed more for it than should be expected from any mortal man. You, my child, are wedded to the spearhead dagger, it will be with you on your bridal day.
You can imagine the impression these words of my father’s made on me, my friend. Lipotin, who was in his confidence, will tell you how deeply moving was his dying remark about his lifelong efforts to regain possession of the missing spearhead.”
Lipotin nodded in agreement. It seemed to me he did not find the memory a pleasant one.
The Princess meanwhile had taken out a tiny bluish steel key and opened the cabinet. She took out the flecked yellowed card and began to read it out to me:
“No. 793b: spearhead of an unidentified alloy (manganese ore with meteoric iron and gold?). At a later period reworked as a dagger blade. Hilt: late Carolingian, probably Spanish/Moorish work, not later than mid-10th century. Thickly encrusted with oriental alexandrites, chrysolites, beryls and three Persian sapphires. Acquired by Piotr Shotokalungin – this was my grandfather – as a gift from Catherine the Great. Originally part of a set of Western European curios, which Tsar Ivan the Terrible is said to have been sent by the great English Queen, Elizabeth. The following traditions are associated with it:
In ancient times this precious blade adorned the irrestible spear of the old hero and Prince of Wales – Hywel, known as ‘Dda’ which means ‘the Good’. Hywel Dda is said to have obtained the weapon with the magic aid of the White Elves, who are the servants of a brotherhood named ‘The Gardeners’ which guides the fortunes of mankind. Prince Hywel once did these White Elves, who are considered a mighty spirit tribe in Wales, a great favour, for which the King of the Elves instructed him how to make a weapon by grinding a special stone to powder and then mixing it with some drops of his own blood, all the time repeating certain secret magic formulae; from this mixture was forged a spearhead the colour of bloodstone, tougher than any metal, harder than the hardest diamond, which would render its owner invincible, invulnerable for all time and worthy of the highest kingship. And not only that, but protected against the wasting death that comes from woman. Down the centuries the knowledge remained alive in the family of Hywel Dda, the spear was carefully guarded, hope nourished and the rise of the descendants of the great Rhodri to the highest honours repeatedly seemed about to come to pass. But the spearhead was most shamefully lost by one of the line of Hywel Dda – now calling themselves Dee – who, mindless of the elves’ promise, fell into evil ways and sought a path to an earthly crown in a wanton bed. And he lost the dagger and his strength and the elves’ gift, and a curse fell upon the spear, a curse which will never be broken, unless perhaps the last in the hapless line of Hywel Dda can recover the spear and the old hope. For not until Hywel Dda’s spear is washed clean of the blood that once stained it can Hywel Dda be freed from the curse that ends in darkness and destruction.”
Here Lipotin interrupted the Princess and said quickly, turning to me: “Moreover, there is a prophecy according to which if a Russian should come into possession of the spearhead, Russia will rule the world in days to come; if it should come into possession of an Englishman, then England will conquer the Russian Empire. But that,” he said with an air of studied indifference “leads us to politics, and who is interested in matters of such little consequence?”
The Princess ignored his interruption; she put the faded note back in its place. She looked at me with a tired, absent-minded expression; she seemed to be gently grinding her teeth. She continued:
“Well, my friend, perhaps now you can understand my keenness to follow up any clue that promises to bring back the spear of Hywel Dda, as the legend of my ancestors calls it; for what can excite and satisfy a collector’s enthusiasm more than to have carefully locked up in his cabinet an object which would mean life, fortune and eternal
