Page 38 of The Last Kingdom

His great, great relative had possessed far more sense than history bestowed upon him. He resented the label “mad,” as his guests had liked to use earlier. Ludwig was far from crazy. More intuitive in a way his contemporaries could not understand.

Especially with how he dealt with the last kingdom.

What a grand idea.

“Tell me, von Löher. What did you find this time?” Ludwig asked. “Do I have a new kingdom?”

I had just returned from another long journey. My first, two years earlier, in 1873, had taken me to Spain, the Canary Islands, along the northern coast of Africa to Constantinople, then to the Greek and Turkish islands. I closely inspected many differing sites, dealing with legal issues involved with any proposed acquisition, trying to pry vital information from suspicious people without revealing my mission. Along the way I’d endured unreliable steamships, horrible food, and terrible weather. Once, to not miss a boat, I traveled by horseback for fourteen hours across volcanic mountains, which I endured without complaining.

On Tenerife I found a place called El Palmas on the higher part of the island, a lonely area, covered with woodlands, but cultivable. The heights afforded a magnificent ocean view, the likes of which I’d never seen. A villa, belonging to an Englishman, was perfectly situated and handsomely appointed. Another, belonging to a marquess, was even more suitable. But neither was for sale, and the Canary Islandsbeing a Spanish provincemeant that Spain would have to approve any transfer of land, which seemed unlikely.

On Samothrace among the Greek islands I found hot springs and the ruins of a Christos monastery. A vista of shrubland and trees, enlivened by the presence of finches, thrushes, and nightingales, stretched out from the shores. Woodland streams, like those found in the Alps, gushed to the sea. But the island was under Turkish control and the ruling regime was both lethargic and brutal.

When I made my first report in August 1873, I noted that the king should visit any prospective site before making a decision. But I also realized the impossibility of that happening. This whole undertaking is so full of novelty that, as soon as the tiniest hint of it leaked out, not only the German but also the foreign press would seize upon it with loud cries and lengthy pronouncements. Opportunistic entrepreneurs would thrust themselves forward. The acquisition of land and the entire project would be rendered much more difficult and costly. Yet, I must say, it remains an intoxicating idea, offering the precise combination of romanticism and fantasy that attracted people to life and ultimately sustained them. I am honored to be a part.

My latest expedition had been much more expansive, taking me to South America and the Pacific islands, all places I had never visited. Being a man in my mid-fifties, this type of adventure was arduous, to say the least, but I have endured the travel with remarkable good humor. On my return, in October 1875, I met with His Majesty, who told me about his own latest endeavor. In 1873, he’d bought Herreninsel Island, which lay on the Chiemsee, but only recently had started construction of something new.

“It will be my temporary new kingdom,” Ludwig told me. “Isolated and protected. There will be paths, carriageways, even a railroad leading from the palace to the dock. The palace itself will be a copy of Versailles, only larger, better. The finest craftsmen in Europe will create it. Hedges and gardens will hide its walls until it suddenly appears with paths crossing grand avenues and canals. There will be orchards, pastures, and views of the mountains to the south. Belts of marshland overgrown with reeds will extend outward from the shore, adding further protection. Flora and fauna will grow everywhere. Can you just see it, in all its glory?”

I actually could.

“My dream will at least be partially real,” the king said. “But tell me, von Löher, of your journey.”

I recounted that nothing suitable was located on the southern continent. That land is wild and untamed, its politics highly volatile. But once leaving South America, rounding Cape Horn and heading north into the Pacific Ocean, I found a set of islands of unimaginable beauty. The British, French, Russians, Japanese, and, more recently, the Americans had battled for control of them. Once they were a loose confederation that fought among themselves. But, in 1810, a conqueror arose among them and suppressed all rebellion, proclaiming himself king. Over the reign of six monarchs since, all his descendants, the islands had slowly emerged into the Industrial Age. But their independence and cultural identity were threatened by greedy and powerful men, immigrants who control the economy and want the land brought within America’s sphere.

On my visit, we anchored in a calm bay of turquoise-colored water. The mountainous landscape was heavily dotted with grass huts and carefully tended agricultural plots. We were greeted by long canoes paddled by a handsome, swarthy people who were friendly and welcoming. Europeans first visited nearly a hundred years ago when an Englishman, Captain James Cook, laid claim to what he called the Sandwich Islands. They are currently ruled by a man named David Kalakaua. The famous American writer Mark Twain wrote nine years ago that

David Kalakaua, who at present holds the office of King’s Chamberlain, is a man of fine presence, is an educated gentleman and a man of good abilities. He is conservative, politic and calculating, makes little display, and does not talk much in the legislature. The current king, Kamehameha V, has the power to appoint his successor. If he does such a thing, his choice will probably fall on Kalakaua.

Yet it had not. Kamehameha V died without naming a successor. According to the local constitutionit fell to the legislature to choose a king, and they picked another man. But he died just over a year later without naming an heir either. In 1874, Kalakaua was chosen. From my personal observationsTwain was correct in his assessment of a younger version. This is a wise and learned monarch.

Stefan laid the narrative aside.

It was from the journal of Fredric von Löher, composed in 1889. Thankfully, his great-grandfather long ago had kept a copy, as the Americans had pilfered Bavaria’s secret state archives in 1945, taking whatever they wanted, including the original journal. It was probably now stashed away in some government records vault. Perhaps even the one still located in Bavaria and maintained by the United States. That, of course, would end when he assumed the throne. He’d toss the Americans out and, to return the favor, would retake possession of everything they had on file.

And why not?

Most if it had belonged to his family to start with.

His two German visitors were gone. Good riddance. He despised politicians. Churchill had been right.A politician needs the ability to foretell what is going to happen tomorrow, next week, next month, and next year. And to have the ability afterwards to explain why it didn’t happen.

He shook his head. Three days.

That’s all he had.

And Ludwig’s tomb was empty. His brother no help at all. Thankfully, stealing the book from Herrenchiemsee had worked out.

He sat in his study and nursed another whiskey.

What he really needed was some companionship. But this day was about over. Going out was not an option. And never would he bring any of his women-for-hire here. A buzz disturbed the silence. His phone. He found the unit and noted the caller.

Christine Ertl.

He answered and listened to her excited voice as she told him the book was gone, her apartment burglarized.

Finally, something had gone right.

Chapter 22

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