The Secret Crown

Jones raised his voice. ‘Wait! Now you’re making fun of America?’

Payne rolled his eyes. This was going nowhere. ‘DJ, please shut the hell up and let Petr talk. You know damn well he wasn’t insulting you. Or America.’

Jones grinned a devious grin. ‘Sorry, Petr. What were you saying?’

Ulster gathered his thoughts, trying to figure out where to begin. Known for his attention to detail and his tendency to digress, he started at the beginning, hoping to give them enough background information for them to understand. ‘When Napoleon abolished the Holy Roman Empire in 1806, Bavaria officially became a kingdom, and Maximilian I was named its king. For the next eighty years, the crown passed from father to son until it was placed on the eighteen-year-old head of Ludwig the Second, a handsome lad who was ill-prepared for the title.’

Payne recognized the name. ‘You mentioned Ludwig earlier.’

Ulster nodded. ‘Known as the Swan King, Ludwig is best remembered for the elaborate stone castles that he built throughout Bavaria – including the legendary Neuschwanstein. The castle is so scenic and grand, it inspired Walt Disney’s design of Sleeping Beauty’s castle at Disneyland. If you haven’t seen Neuschwanstein, you should arrange a tour before you return to the States. It truly is remarkable.’

Familiar with Ulster’s habit of getting off track, Payne steered the conversation back to Ludwig. ‘How did he get the nickname?’

‘Due to his obsession with Lohengrin, a famous character from German folklore who was known as the Swan Knight. If you are familiar with Arthurian legend, you might recognize the name. Lohengrin was the son of Percival, one of the Knights of the Round Table who pursued the Holy Grail. Over the centuries, Lohengrin’s tale has taken many forms and has been translated into many languages. Still, the basic details remain the same. Lohengrin is sent to rescue a maiden in a far-off land, a journey he makes in a cockleshell boat pulled by a magical swan.’

Jones frowned. ‘Did you say a cockleshell boat pulled by a magic swan? Pardon me for saying so, but that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard. And that includes Jon’s ringtone.’

Payne rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

Meanwhile, Ulster used the off-colour remark as a teaching moment. ‘I realize you meant it as a joke, but history tells us that Ludwig was one of the most flamboyant rulers of all time. In fact, Ludwig often dressed up in a Swan Knight costume and pranced around the halls of his castle while listening to opera.’

Jones, who was a smartass, not anti-gay, tried to bite his tongue but simply couldn’t. ‘Sorry, fellas, I just changed my mind. That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘Regardless,’ Ulster said, ‘the costume helps explain why he was called the Swan King. Strangely, the majestic creatures had fascinated him even before he had heard of the Swan Knight. As a small child, he used to draw pictures of swans in his notebooks and on his schoolwork. Later in life, when he ruled Bavaria, he sealed his correspondence with a swan and a cross, a reference to Lohengrin and the Holy Grail. Even his personal crest had a swan on it. I’m telling you, it was an obsession.’

Payne pointed to the symbol on the lid. ‘Is this his personal crest?’

Ulster shook his head and lowered his voice. ‘No, the symbol that you’re holding is known as the black swan, and its history is far more mysterious. Unlike his personal crest, which is celebrated in history books and museums across Germany, the black swan is kept in the shadows, a dark reminder of Ludwig’s final days as king. If you believe the rumours – and most historians do – the symbol in your hands is the reason for Ludwig’s murder.’

18

Born in 1845, Ludwig the Second was the eldest son of King Maximilian the Second of Bavaria and Princess Marie of Prussia. His parents had wanted to name him Otto, but Ludwig I, the deposed king of Bavaria, who was known for his eccentric behaviour, insisted his grandson be named after him since they shared a birthday. In time, Ludwig the Second would be renowned for his own eccentricities.

As a small child, Ludwig despised ugliness. If approached by an unattractive servant, he would cry and refuse to look at the employee. His father tried to change his ways, assigning several ugly servants to wait on the petulant boy, but when his behaviour became a phobia, Ludwig’s staff was made up of the most attractive servants they could find.

Embarrassed by his son’s unusual ways, King Maximilian had little interest in him, except in regards to his training and schooling. For that, he hired private tutors. Realizing that Ludwig would someday be king, Maximilian subjected the crown prince to a demanding regimen of education and exercise, which some experts believe amplified the odd behaviour that had already taken root. Still, as bad as his relationship was with his father, Ludwig was even further detached from his mother, who he coldly referred to as ‘my predecessor’s consort’.

Not surprisingly, it is a term rarely seen on Mother’s Day cards.

Despite his abhorrent behaviour behind the scenes, the Bavarian public fell in love with Ludwig at his father’s funeral which was his first public appearance as king. As a handsome, well-spoken eighteen-year-old, he performed so admirably at the memorial service that word of his composure spread across Europe. Before long, Ludwig was more than a monarch; he was an icon whose public appearances and passion for the arts were even more celebrated than his politics.

One of his first acts as king was to summon composer Richard Wagner to the Royal Palace. Three years earlier, Ludwig had been deeply moved while watching Lohengrin – Wagner’s opera about the Swan Knight, the Holy Grail and a mysterious castle – and had become obsessed with the production. Now that Ludwig was finally in charge of the kingdom, he had the opportunity to reward the composer for all the joy he had brought into his life. Wagner, who was on the run from various creditors, happily accepted the invitation to Munich. The two of them got along so well that Ludwig offered to settle Wagner’s considerable debts and agreed to finance several of his operas with money from the royal coffers.

For a young king barely into his reign, it was a careless mistake.

A mistake he would repeat again and again until he was marked for death.

Payne stared at the black swan symbol on the back of the lid and wondered how it had led to the king’s death. ‘Ludwig was murdered?’

Ulster answered. ‘Officially, no. But logically, yes.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means there was a cover-up of the grandest proportion.’

Payne glanced at his watch. He sensed a long story coming on. ‘Explain.’

Ulster beamed. He loved sharing his knowledge. ‘Ludwig was killed in Berg, less than a hundred miles from here. Though I don’t remember an exact date, I’m fairly certain the year was 1886. Obviously, back then, forensic science was far from sophisticated. Still, the conclusions that the police reached on that night were downright laughable.’

‘In what way?’ Jones asked.

‘Allow me to paint the scene. Ludwig, who wasn’t officially the king at the time of his death since he had been deposed a few days before, decided to take a stroll with his psychiatrist along the shore of Lake Starnberg. When they didn’t return for supper, palace guards conducted a search and found them dead, floating in the nearby shallows. Now, as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t take a trained criminologist to examine these facts and presume the possibility of foul play. Nevertheless, the authorities ruled otherwise. With nothing but a cursory investigation, conducted under a cloak of darkness, Ludwig’s death was officially ruled as suicide. Furthermore, the doctor’s death was labelled an accidental drowning. They claimed the doctor went into the lake to save Ludwig and lost his life in the process.’

‘How deep was the water?’ Payne asked.

‘Roughly knee high.’

Jones laughed. ‘Were they hobbits? If not, how do you drown in two feet of water?’

‘Good question. Which is why the coroner decided to perform an autopsy – even though the new regime had no intention of changing their official ruling.’

‘And what did he find?’ Jones asked.

‘There was no water in Ludwig’s lungs, so the odds are pretty good he didn’t drown. Meanwhile, the doctor – I believe his name was Gudden – wasn’t so lucky. He had a fractured skull and several scratches on his face, possibly the result of a struggle. But unlike Ludwig, the doctor’s lungs were filled with water. That means he probably did drown.’

Payne scratched his head. ‘If Ludwig didn’t drown, how did he die?’

Ulster shrugged. ‘Poison is a possibility since no injuries were found, but no one knows for sure because the