Heidi added a few more details. ‘Unfortunately for Loher, he was vilified by the public when these reports were uncovered by the press. Most people were still angry about Ludwig’s murder, so they lashed out at Loher, saying he had taken advantage of the deluded king by getting Ludwig to finance his extensive travel. Eventually, the Bavarian government pressured Loher to give up his position as director of the archives even though Loher was the person who had added the reports to the archives in the first place. He felt they were an important part of Ludwig’s legacy, but he was punished for his honesty.’
Payne stared at the letters on the wall. Even though he couldn’t translate the language, he was able to read the handwritten dates on the documents. Most of the letters were sent in 1886, the year of Ludwig’s death. ‘When did Loher file his final report?’
Ulster grinned with delight. ‘That, my boy, is why I am so excited. This wall of letters, dated years after Loher’s final report was presented to Ludwig, contradicts every scrap of evidence that has ever been collected. There have been rumours, but never this kind of proof.’
‘Proof of what?’ Jones asked.
‘That Loher hired a team of researchers to travel the globe for him and compile data for an unnamed client. That these researchers found a piece of land for a modern-day Camelot, and Loher’s final report – in which he claims no such place exists, so it would be a waste of time and money to keep searching – was simply a smokescreen to throw off Ludwig’s rivals.’
Payne took a deep breath and tried to make sense of the claim. During the past few days, he had received a crash course on the history of Bavaria, and his head was starting to spin. Prior to his current trip, he had seen pictures of Ludwig’s castles but had been completely unfamiliar with Ludwig’s life. Now he was standing in a secret room, hidden underneath one of those castles, talking about Ludwig’s plan to abandon his country.
Payne stared at Ulster. ‘I think you better explain.’
Ulster nodded. ‘As I mentioned earlier, my colleague visited the Munich archives on a very specific quest. He wanted to find out more about the ongoing relationship between Ludwig and Loher in the months leading up to Ludwig’s death. As you know, Ludwig was a loner, and the friends he made were artistic in nature. If that’s the case, why did Ludwig and Loher continue to communicate for years after the end of their secret project? Loher was an elderly historian, not a painter or a musician. Trust me when I tell you this, most historians are painfully dull!’
Payne smiled. ‘Aren’t you a historian?’
‘Obviously, I’m the exception to the rule.’
‘I beg to differ,’ Jones teased him.
Ulster laughed. ‘Anyway, when Loher’s travel reports were leaked to the press in 1888, some people speculated they were the real reason Ludwig had been deposed. Not because he was insane, but because his cabinet had learned about his crazy plot to start a new country and had punished him for his disloyalty.’
Payne shrugged. ‘That seems reasonable to me.’
Ulster shook his head. ‘The problem with this theory was the timing of things. Loher’s final report was given to Ludwig several years before his murder. If the subject had been closed for that long, why did the cabinet act so viciously when they discovered Ludwig’s foiled plan? What’s more, why would they have waited so long to react? If the final report was indeed intended as misdirection, Loher would not have concealed its delivery. In fact, it would have been essential that Ludwig’s cabinet learn of the report immediately to reassure them Ludwig would not be leaving. Obviously, I’ll know more once I read through these letters, but my guess is the subject wasn’t closed. That Ludwig was still looking to leave Bavaria, and his cabinet killed him before he had a chance.’
65
While Ulster and Heidi focused on the letters, Payne and Jones examined the rest of the room, searching for information about Ludwig’s secret mission. Unfortunately, their inspection was hindered by a lack of electric lights, a surprising oversight considering the special effects in the grotto but one that was probably done to avoid incriminating power cables. Jones noticed ventilation shafts in two of the corners, which would have allowed Ludwig to use candles or lanterns without fear of asphyxiation.
Shining his flashlight on the left-hand wall, Payne stopped in front of a series of sketches that caught his eye. None of the artwork had been signed, so he didn’t know if Ludwig had drawn them or not, but they highlighted the rocky coastline of a scenic island. Most of the sketches featured a spectacular palace, whether real or imagined, that made the Linderhof look like a shack. Built on the edge of an imposing cliff, it was designed with an assortment of whimsical details – decorative chimneys, ornamental turrets, steep gables and stone sculptures – yet the structure seemed to sprout out of the earth as if it had been there for ever. With beautiful gardens and sweeping views of the endless sea, it appeared to meet Ludwig’s definition of Camelot.
A few feet to his right, Payne noticed a collection of architectural blueprints hanging from two hooks mounted on the wall. Having grown up in the offices of Payne Industries, he was familiar with a wide variety of technical drawings, but their combination of age, language and scope was unlike anything he had ever seen. Drawn in the 1880s and labelled in Bavarian, the pages showed the interior rooms of a massive palace that was larger than most cathedrals. Payne studied the floor plans and tried to imagine what the building would actually look like. When he did, he realized the designs matched the sketches to his left.
Apparently, Ludwig’s scheme wasn’t just a pipe dream. They had started the planning process.
In the centre of the room, Jones sat on the carved chair and sifted through the drawers of the antique desk. A version of the Bureau du Roi (King’s Desk) – a richly ornamented roll-top desk commissioned by Louis XV of France – it was inlaid with an intricate variety of coloured woods. The original desk, which still stands in the Palace of Versailles, has a miniature bust of Minerva on top, but Ludwig’s featured an elaborate bust of the Swan Knight. On the public side of the desk (away from where the king would sit), there was an oval filled with the carved head of Silence, a symbolic figure that held a forefinger to its lips. It was a reminder that discretion was required in matters of the king. Down here, where the desk had been locked away for more than a hundred years, the symbol seemed to have extra meaning.
Unable to read Bavarian, Jones searched through the desk for anything that seemed unusual – although that was a tough term to define in the underground lair of a man with his own secret grotto. Still, he went about his search with zeal, realizing it was a unique opportunity to investigate the death of an important historical figure.
At first glance, most of the objects in the desk seemed to be artistic in nature. He found dozens of pages of sheet music and the vocal scores for Ludwig’s favourite operas. There was a sketchpad filled with doodles, ranging from clouds to mountains to horses. In addition, one of the smaller drawers was stuffed with nineteenth-century office supplies, including pencils, fountain pens and stationery. Like most people in the modern world, Jones was tempted to steal some items for personal use, but decided against it since they belonged to the king.
Jones was nearly ready to abandon the desk and focus his attention on the right-hand wall when he came across a handwritten receipt. The paper itself was an early sheet of letterhead that had been printed from a copper engraving. The emblem at the top of the page was a fierce-looking lion holding a shield. At the bottom, there was a name and an address. Jones tried to translate the words but struggled with the language.