Page 105 of The Last Kingdom

As I sit here and contemplate the fate of myself and the fate of my kingdom it strikes me that I may be the first monarch to ever be bestowed four separate titles. First, as a young man, while my father lived, I was His Royal Highness, Prince Ludwig of Bavaria. Then after my father’s death I became His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent of Bavaria. For a short five years, after my cousin Otto was legislatively deposed, I reigned as His Majesty, the King of Bavaria. That title I quite enjoyed. But once deposed, I became merely the Duke of Bavaria, a title held only in pretense, meaning nothing.

He could sympathize with that lamentation. It truly seemed an empty title.

Albert had left him alone in their parents’ bedroom, offering him the solitude to take in the journal. He’d noted one page had been bookmarked with a strip of torn paper. An entry from October 1918.

The great world war is lost, of that I am sure. Now revolution is spawning, infecting all of Bavaria. The time is coming when I will be forced to leave. My goal has always been to maintain some sort of balance between Bavaria and Prussia, all while trying to preserve the glorious German empire. But that is now lost too. I fear that nothing will be sacred here. That all from the past will be extinguished as a way to compel the people to move forward under some sort of radical modern parliamentary rule. Kings and Wittelsbachs will be forgotten, their memory intentionally purged from the public consciousness. I am no longer in a position to lead the government. My people are lost. But it is my duty to protect our family’s past. Sadly, it seems I will be the last of the Wittelsbach kings. My fervent hope is that one day our family might regain what will soon be taken away. When that day might arrive is impossible to know. Perhaps it never will. My deceased cousin, King Ludwig II, had a great dream. A grand plan. He wanted a new kingdom, a place where he could rule as kings were meant to rule. To his credit he found that dream, but its reality never came to pass. A last kingdom. What a marvelous thought. Sadly, it will not come to pass for me either. But I have created my own personal version. A place where our family might rest in peace with its memories and accomplishments. It waits in a safe place, watched over by the Sängerkrieg, protected by the Rätselspiel, waiting for a time when we are once again revered.

Cryptic words for sure. But enough to make the point.

Was the deed there?

Possibly.

“The Sängerkrieg” was a clear reference to the legendary minstrel contest at Wartburg, which supposedly took place in 1207. Nobody knew if the event was real or imaginary, but poets had been dealing with it for centuries. Supposedly six minstrels competed against one another before the count and countess of Thuringia, all to determine who could best sing the praises of the prince. One, named Heinrich, became the most eloquent and earned the envy of the others, who tricked him into receiving a death sentence. But Heinrich gained the protection of the countess and garnered a one-year reprieve, during which he traveled to Hungary and sought the assistance of a sorcerer. TheRätselspiel, or mystery game, was the subsequent poetic duel between one of the minstrels and the Hungarian sorcerer.

An epic tale.

Uniquely German.

Which the composer Richard Wagner adapted to an opera.

Tannhäuser und der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg.

The printed version of which had been waiting inside that desk at Herrenchiemsee.

Now he knew.

Ludwig III created his own mystery game. Complete with cryptic clues and gallant quests. To embark upon it required a knowledge of the world around you, similar to the Sängerkrieg and its battle between the minstrel and the demon.

Wittelsbachs had always been enamored with romantic notions.

Most times to their downfall.

But maybe not here.

Albert re-entered the bedroom.

“Did you mark this page?” he asked his brother.

Albert nodded. “I wanted to be sure you read it. Father told me of the book in the desk. Unfortunately, he never mentioned any of the other steps to this Rätselspiel. I doubt he knew them. But others are ahead of you, brother. Far ahead. I was just on the phone with a contact who told me that the Americans are now fully aware of the mystery game and are closing in. Time is running out. It is imperative that we assume control.”

“Are you serious about helping me?” he asked Albert.

His brother nodded. “I am.”

“Then tell me what we need to do.”

Chapter 59

DERRICK SAT IN THE FRONT PASSENGER’S SEAT, MALONE IN THE REARseat by himself, of the G-Class Mercedes SUV driven by Marc Fenn. They’d hired an Uber driver to ferry them from Munich south to Fenn’s estate. They’d had to wait nearly ninety minutes for Fenn to return to the castle. When he did they’d explained all that had been learned and asked his advice.

Which he’d provided.

“The lyric ‘where the minstrel aims his praise, and Parsifal points his gaze, the seer and dove offer help from above’ is clever,” Fenn had said. “You have to have some intimate knowledge to understand it. But that was surely the whole idea.”

“Any chance you could explain without the hyperbole?” Malone asked. “We’re in a hurry.”

“Come now, gentlemen,” Fenn said. “This is quite marvelous. A true revelation. What was heretofore legend is now becoming fact. Ludwig III’s Rätselspiel.”

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