Rendezvous With Danger (19 page)

A bridge led from the road to the cobbled castle precincts and the driver drew his horse to a halt on reaching it. My three fellow passengers were already fumbling for cameras and getting their guide-books at the ready, but before the horse had turned round on the start of his return journey, I was running over the bridge, through the darkened arch, and into the bright sunlight of the courtyard beyond.

It was thronged with people. Tourists of every shape and size jostled together, forming themselves into groups of thirty or forty around tired-looking guides. Among the babble of voices I could distinguish Italian and French, but there was no sign of Annabelle and her friends and it was fast becoming obvious that, even if they were here, I stood little chance of finding them. I tried to push my way through the mass of camera-slung bodies towards one of the guides. There would be a phone somewhere. I had to find it before Gunther arrived at the bridge. Then I would hide. But the tourists weren't giving way so easily. They stood firm, deliberately preventing me from getting to the front.

A woman shouted at me angrily as I frantically tried to edge round her. Her husband, too, turned.

‘I'm not trying to push in.' I tried desperately to make myself clear. ‘ I just want to know where there is a phone, a
Telefon
.'

He shook his head. ‘
Hier ist kein Telefon.
'

‘But there
must
be! Please let me through so that I can ask the guide.'

‘
Nein, hier ist kein Telefon.
' They were adamant, turning their backs on me, trapping me so that I could move neither forward nor back. I didn't see Gunther enter the courtyard, all I could see were the heads and shoulders of those surrounding me, but I knew when he had. The familiar icy terror I had felt so often in the last twenty-four hours flooded through me and my hands and face were damp with sweat. The mass of people gave me no feeling of safety, rather the reverse. He would be able to kill me and lose himself among them with no difficulty at all. In fact, if he could ease himself into the crowd I was now in, he could stab me and I wouldn't even fall to the ground! I pressed my hand to my mouth stifling the screams rising within me.

Then we were moving. The crowd began to follow the uniformed guide and I shrank as small as possible, keeping in the centre, hidden, I hoped, by the surrounding bodies. Cold and sick, I shuffled along with them, past the splashing of a fountain and up the steps to the upper courtyard, expecting every moment to feel Gunther's hands upon me.

We drew to a halt again while the guide, first in German, then French, and finally English, informed us that the Palast to the right of us contained the Singers' Hall and two octagonal corner turrets. He enlarged upon the beauty of the frescoes that decorated the inner walls, and pointed out the copper-chased figure of a lion surmounting the gable. The crowd craned their necks and flicked to the appropriate pages in their brochures. I bent my knees, sliding as low as I could, my head bent to the yellow sandstoned ground.

‘And there you see the Knights' House.' The heads around me turned in unison to the right. ‘ This is a two-storied building containing the passages connecting the Square Tower and the Palast with the Knights' House proper rising a storey higher. The intended rich architectural ornamentation was not carried out on account of the early death of the King.' The couple in front murmured sympathetically.

‘The German Romanesque style is not only applied to the groined cross-vaults, the framework of the windows and portals, the richly sculptured ornamental work of the passages, but also to the King's rooms, which are divided into two parts by columns and arches. These partitioned rooms …' On and on he went, while those around me listened attentively, referring to their guide-books and easing their weight from one foot to the other. Then, after exhausting his detailed description of the exterior of the Knights' House, the guide led the way into the communicating building that connected it with the Square Tower.

I hurried after him, edging as close as I could to the couple in front, not daring to look round in case my eyes should meet Gunther's. Then we were herded up a narrow winding staircase and there was no hope of remaining hidden. If Gunther was on the periphery of the crowd he could not help but see me as I climbed after the others, cruelly exposed in my bright green dress.

I steeled myself to look down, towards the door we had just entered, but there were only suntanned holiday-makers patiently waiting to mount the stairs and endure more of the regimented sight-seeing. I licked my lips nervously. If Gunther was outside or in another part of the castle entirely, there was still a faint chance.

We clustered into a beautiful room with a vaulted ceiling, and a chandelier of gilded brass. The guide paused beneath it, informing us that it contained no less than forty-eight candles I took his word for it, and tried once more to ease my way to the front. With their attention riveted to the ceiling I managed to squeeze past the couple who had remained so obstinately in front of me, and with many whispered apologies push my way to the edge of the crowd and the guide. I moved towards him as he finished describing the chandelier in French. Seeing my intention he frowned, motioning me to remain where I was as he turned to what he described as the Swan corner.

‘Here you can see more of the Lohengrin saga.' He stationed himself in front of the frescoes on the wall, and I struggled manfully to keep my place not too far away from him. ‘The swan was the emblem of the Lords of Schwangau and the castle is known as the Castle of the Swan.'

‘Excuse me, could …'

The guide glared. ‘The blue silk drapes and chair coverings are all embroidered with the motif of the swan, as are the iron doorhandles.'

He pointed to a flower vase on a tiled stove. ‘This vase of Nymphenburg china is also made in the shape of a swan. This favourite animal of King Ludwig appears in every room in the castle. There is no escaping from it.'

No escape. I said defiantly, ‘
Bitte, wo gibt es ein Telefon
?'

Curtly he turned. ‘Madam, I must ask you to remain silent while we are on a tour of inspection of the rooms.'

When I spoke again, my voice was wavering, worn down by the fear, the hopelessness and the heat. ‘If you would just tell me where there is a telephone.'

‘The nearest telephone is at the restaurant near the car park. And now, ladies and gentlemen, the fresco behind me depicts the miracle of the Holy Grail. According to the legend, the Grail is the Holy chalice Jesus used at the Last Supper and into which Joseph of Arimathea …'

The car park. If the nearest phone was at the car park I didn't stand a chance. I clenched my hands into icy knots, shaking my head, trying to clear it of the words ‘ no escape, no escape', trying to think positively.

‘This chalice was preserved in the Castle Monsalvat, specially built for it and watched by the knighthood that served the Grail and fought for right and justice. When …'

He couldn't be talking in English to only me! I said suddenly, ‘Would you ask who else is English here, please?'

‘Madam!' he hissed. I ignored him and turned, desperate with hope. ‘Is anyone here English, please?'

Curious and displeased faces stared back at me as I waited in vain. The guide spoke to me through clenched teeth. ‘ Madam, for the last time …'

‘I'm sorry, but …'

‘When Elsa of Brabant is innocently accused, God grants her prayers by sending Lohengrin, the Knight of the Grail, to fight for her. Therefore, the name “Lohengrin” is to be seen on the chalice. On the wall …' he continued firmly, studiously avoiding looking in my direction. ‘On the wall where the entrance is, Lohengrin's arrival in Antwerp. In the recess …'

I stared unseeingly. There must be some way of escape. My powers of reasoning seemed to be frozen. The castle wasn't so big, sooner or later Gunther was going to catch up with this particular party of tourists. What was the most sensible thing to do?

My first idea, that of seeking help from the guides, seemed less practicable now I was face to face with one of them. Presuming they had a rest-room and let me stay in it, Gunther would simply do what he had done at Nordlingen: explain that I was mentally disturbed and that he was my doctor. After my bizarre story the guides would need very little persuasion. Courteously he would thank them, apologize for any trouble I had caused … and lead me away. To kill me with as little effort as it takes to swat a fly. The guide's persistent voice broke in on my thoughts.

‘He defeats Telramund thus proving Elsa's innocence. Lohengrin becomes Elsa's husband on condition that she should never enquire from where he comes …'

Any chance of leaving the castle and travelling back to the car park was utterly remote. If there had been a delay in Stephen being given my message (I refused to contemplate the fact that Gunther might have had Ellis or Levos with him in Oberammergau and that Stephen might be dead). If he hadn't received the message straight away he surely would have by now. Any minute and the castle would be swarming with police. All I had to do was hide from Gunther until they arrived. The guide may have been right in that there was no escape from the castle, but in the castle …'

‘After some time, Elsa, in spite of having promised, asks the question, thus destroying her happiness. Lohengrin has to leave Elsa and his two little sons.'

In a castle like this, there must be one corner or recess in which a young woman weighing only eight stone could hide.

The people around me began to move once more.

‘The next room is the King's dressing-room. Here the impression was intended of an open bower with the blue sky above.'

I let them file past me, scouring the room for any place that could offer a hidey-hole. There were no cupboards, only panelled walls of oak and the richly covered stools and chairs covered with blue silk. The long curtains that fell behind each white stuccoed pillar were caught half-way down and gathered back, offering no hope of concealment. I could hear more people climbing the staircase leading to the room and I hurried after my own party, worming my way into their centre again. By this time I was conscious that I was regarded very much as an eccentric, as they made room for me, grumbling and holding their cameras and handbags well out of my reach.

The guide was saying in his monotonous voice, ‘The ceiling is painted sky-blue with clouds and birds, around the sides a trellis with clinging vine, the painting on the wall is of the Meistersinger Hans Sachs and of the minstrel Walther von Stolzing. The birds teach Walther how to sing …'

There wasn't room to hide a thimble. The only furnishings were a richly carved wash-stand with a pretty toilet-set, and a small table with a jewel-box. As I listened to the guide extolling the beauties of the metal work on the doors I tried to decide which was safest. To stay with the group until I could see somewhere I might hide, or leave them and hurry through the castle by myself, searching for a place? If I came face to face with Gunther on my own …

‘And now the Oratory. This small chapel is devoted to St Louis, the patron saint of King Ludwig. On the altar, in the centre of the triptych, St Louis. The crucifix is of ivory.'

There was not enough room to walk into it, and those around me peered forwards to catch a glimpse of the altar and the praying desk covered in violet velvet and lavish gold embroidery. Since we had climbed the stairs I had been unable to see down into the courtyard or on to the steep path leading up through the woods. Surely the police would be on their way by now? I looked at my watch. It was twelve-fifteen. Where in the world were they?

‘And now this next room was the King's private dining-room. It is a comparatively small room as the King used to dine alone and there were never any feasts. The dishes were brought up from the kitchen by means of a food-lift in the corridor. In contrast to the other castles there is no magic table which may be lowered into the floor. On the walls …'

Opposite me, set in the centre of the wall, was a large door with ornate metal hinges. Red silk curtains hung at either side of it from a polished wooden rail, and in front of it, barring the way, was a Romanesque chair. Wherever it led, it was obviously not in the official itinerary.

‘The pictures on the walls are all from the times of the minstrels. The centre-piece of the table is a sculpture in gilded bronze showing Siegfried fighting the dragon. The base of the table decoration is polished marble and weighs two hundred and fifty pounds.'

By sheer will-power I prevented myself from running over there and then to see if the door opened. I forced myself to stand still, to wait until he had described in painful detail the wall painting and the unusual ceiling, the ferns and thistles surrounding Siegfried and the dragon. Then, as they moved forward once more, I hung back, hoping against hope. The last straggler left the room and I ran over to the door. The handle was hidden by the chair and I had to move the chair forward, off the wood floor on which it stood on to the carpeting.

It was very heavy and I could hear the next party enter the Oratory. It would only take a few minutes to describe the few furnishings in there. Panting, I pulled the chair clear of the door, grasping the heavy metal handle. My fingers slipped, sticky with sweat, as I strained at the stiff bolt. The guide was describing the altar.

Frantically I pushed for all I was worth, but it didn't move. Now he was describing the praying desk. I tugged and strained, panic rising in my throat until I thought I would choke. Then the handle turned, opening into what must have been a servants' room but was now bare and empty and obviously not open to public view. I heaved the chair back off the carpet, pulling the door to, and edging the chair back into its original position as near as I was able. It was impossible to pull it as far back as it had been, but I managed to get it clear of the carpet, and at least straight, before I closed the door and sank shivering and trembling to the floor.