‘Plausible,’ I admitted. ‘But all the theories are plausible. You’re the one who used to lecture me about the difference between possibility and proof; judging by some of the articles I read in the journals, a lot of historians don’t know the difference. We have no proof, Tony. We can’t even be sure that the shrine was ever here, in the castle, much less in that vault.’
‘Oh, yes, we can.’ Tony was so proud of himself he swelled up like a toad. Reaching into his pocket, he carefully withdrew a small object.
I looked at it as he held it up to the light, and my stomach got a queer queasy feeling. The object was a wing, carved of wood and lightly gilded. In form it was the sort of thing that might have been broken off a phoenix, or a golden bird in flight; but there was a quality about it that eliminated these possibilities and defined it as what it was –
‘An angel’s wing,’ I whispered.
Chapter Eight
I HELD THE PIECE of wood in both cupped hands. I didn’t speak because, to tell the truth, I was afraid my voice wouldn’t be steady. I mean, that wing really got to me, and not just because it confirmed an almost abandoned hope. For the first time I visualized the thing we were after, not as a prize or a treasure, but as a work of art. I was seeing golden angels.
When I had suppressed this surprising burst of sentiment, I said with affected coolness, ‘Game and set to you, Tony. You’re way ahead. But you haven’t won the match yet.’ Reluctantly I put the carved wood down on the table. My hand felt oddly empty. ‘Do you realize this is the first solid piece of evidence we’ve found?’
‘We’ve been distracted by side issues. I still am,’ Tony admitted. ‘I can’t get that woman out of my mind. I keep seeing her – a girl with Irma’s face – standing in the flames and screaming.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Sorry. But – ’
‘Of course she haunts us,’ I snapped. ‘Who wouldn’t be disturbed by a gruesome story like hers? If it weren’t for her resemblance to Irma, though . . .’
I let the words trail off, and Tony looked curiously at me.
‘What?’
‘It’s gone. I almost had an idea there, for a minute . . . Let’s stick to the important question. We know now that the shrine did reach Rothenburg. It has to be here somewhere. Let’s have a look at those maps.’
We spread them out on the bed. They had been rolled for so many years it was hard to hold them open; they had a tendency to snap back on our hands like teeth. I leaned on two of the corners while Tony flattened the other side.
‘Okay,’ he said, after studying them for a moment. ‘This top plan concerns the remodelling of the east wing in seventeen fifty-two. We needn’t worry about that. If there had been anything there, the workmen would have found it.’
I put the parchment down on the floor. The sheet underneath was yellower and the writing more faded.
‘Here we have a general layout done in – early seventeenth century, wouldn’t you say? There’s no date. It’s not detailed enough to be of any use. Same for this . . .’
I added two more rolls to the one on the floor.
‘Now here,’ said Tony, looking with satisfaction at the next maps, ‘we get to red meat. These are plans of the Schloss as it was in the early fifteen-thirties. I’ll bet they were done by Burckhardt’s successor when he took over the title.’
‘What a mess,’ I said.
‘The new count was no draftsman,’ Tony agreed. ‘And the parchment needs cleaning. But you can make out most of it. Ignore the east wing, which was later demolished. Here’s the wing we are presently occupying – this line of rooms. The master bedchamber . . . is the one now inhabited by Schmidt.’
‘I suspected as much.’
‘Oh, you know everything, don’t you?’
‘I said “suspected.” How come Schmidt rated that particular room? Tony, maybe he’s already found the shrine!’
‘Think it through,’ Tony said, with maddening superiority. ‘Schmidt is still here, poking and prying and acting suspicious. If he had found the shrine he wouldn’t stick around. Do we then conclude that the shrine is not, after all, concealed somewhere in the chamber that belonged to Burckhardt?’
‘We might if we were sure of two things.’
‘One, that Schmidt is a good hunter; two, that Schmidt is a hunter, not a weird but innocent bystander. All right, we don’t conclude anything. The room next to his is mine now. According to the plan, it was once two smaller chambers occupied by servants of the noble pair. The next room – yours – belonged to the countess.’
‘How modern,’ I said, with a flippancy I did not feel. I wasn’t sure I wanted to have Konstanze that close to me.
‘It was unusual for them to have had separate bedchambers.’ Tony squinted at the dirty parchment. ‘Well, the legend is clear. Maybe she used it as boudoir or dressing room. Maybe she liked to sleep with the window open and Burckhardt liked it closed. Maybe he snored. Maybe – ’
‘Surely her room would be right next to his. If not . . .’
Tony grinned.
‘They didn’t have our hang-ups about sex. I can see the count stamping down the corridor between rows of genuflecting servants on his way to spend the night with the countess . . . But one of the noble gentlemen was more sensitive – or maybe he was susceptible to draughts. See this line?’
‘Between the count and countess’s rooms?’
‘Through the wall. I think it’s a passageway. Maybe blocked up now.’
‘That’s all we lacked – a secret passage.’
‘Nothing unusual about it. This isn’t Cleveland, Ohio; we’re in medieval Europe here. The place is probably riddled with secret passages. When you have walls ten feet thick, you can do all sorts of interesting things. I wish this parchment weren’t so filthy; I can’t make out all the fine lines. But this looks like another passage, from the library to one of the guest chambers. The count probably put his questionable acquaintances in that room, so he could eavesdrop on their conversations.’
‘What’s this?’ I pointed to a drawing of something that looked like a thick chimney.
‘It would appear to be the count’s concept of an elevation drawing of the tower. Note that there seems to be a hidden stairway in the outer wall.’
‘In the tower, eh? Then Irma could have gotten out of her room even with the door locked.’
‘Maybe,’ Tony said shortly. He lifted the last parchment and stared at the bedspread. ‘That seems to be all.’
‘Seems to me it’s enough.’
‘No, there’s something missing. We have two sheets covering the first and second floors of the Schloss. Where’s the plan of the cellars?’
‘Right on. There must be a subterranean level, for storage and cooking. Maybe a dungeon or two. The count had to deal with crimes on his own premises; there weren’t any policemen. And I’d expect a well. If the defenders had to retreat within the castle walls, they were gone geese without a water supply – ’
Someone banged on the door, interrupting my discourse. I kicked the whole collection of maps hastily under the bed.
‘Come in,’ Tony said.
It was George.
‘The Gräfin asked me to tell you that the services are this afternoon.’
‘How come so fast?’ asked Tony.
‘How should I know? Maybe she doesn’t want him lying around.’
‘And we’re expected to attend the obsequies?’ I asked.
George smiled.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
I had assumed the service would he held at the Jakobskirche, where Riemenschneider’s altar is the chief attraction, but I was mistaken. I should have known better. There is no more space for the dead inside the town walls. So, following directions, Tony and I crossed the town and went out through the Roedertor to the new cemetery. It really is new; I couldn’t find any graves earlier than 1720.