The Amber Knight (24 page)

‘And you think the Amber Knight will give Poland that?’

‘People don’t want to know the story of Helmut von Mau, seducer, murderer and lecher. But they do want to know about the brave, courageous, Amber Knight. He symbolises a nationalism every Pole can identify with. Pensioners with worthless pensions, workers without work, students who can’t afford to study, even the Mafia…’

As Adam listened, he realised that beneath the austere image lurked the soul of a romantic. A woman who desperately wanted to believe that good can, and does, always ultimately triumph over evil.

It was a comforting delusion. One he’d been forced to relinquish when he had seen his father fall prey to an avaricious gold digger who’d done everything in her power to hurt and humiliate his mother and make his father disinherit him and his brother. Before his fifth birthday he had learned that money could buy anything, including principles and integrity. And he’d seen nothing since to make him change his mind.

‘I find Helmut von Mau’s relationship with the Prussian Princess Woberg somewhat odd, given that he raped her,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘As she took the veil on his death she must have forgiven him.’

‘She must have done more than that. I can’t believe that any young girl, let alone a princess, would willingly take the veil and devote the rest of her life to guarding the corpse of a man, unless that man had shown her a good time first.’

‘And what’s your idea of a medieval good time?’ she smiled.

‘A convivial house-party of like-minded people, including musicians and poets, in a relatively small, easy to heat and clean castle with a view of the sea. It would have to be built off the beaten track to keep plagues, pestilences and war at bay. But it would also have to be surrounded by productive fields full of plump well-fed animals, vines and happy, smiling serfs to ensure a plentiful supply of food and drink.’

Her smile broadened. ‘It never happened. Hermann von Balk killed Woberg’s father and brothers, Helmut von Mau cut the head off her bridegroom and she, like many other pagan Prussian noblewomen, was held hostage to ensure the good behaviour of her tribe.’

‘So, she was put in the dungeons and von Mau met her down there one evening when he was filling in the tedious hours between dinner and bedtime by torturing a few heathen captives.’

‘What dungeons? He was an officer in an invading army. They didn’t carry castles with them.’

‘The prison tent?’ he suggested.

‘More likely she was kept in the kitchen tent and made to scrub pots and bake bread.’

‘A princess?’

‘It takes a lot of work to keep an army on the move fed.’

‘We’ll go for a compromise, von Mau went to the kitchen tent one night for an extra helping of swan stew after a hard day spent cracking enemy heads with one of those ball and chain things monk soldiers used. He saw her scouring a cauldron with sand and lent her the wire wool he used to burnish his armour. One thing led to another and they fell in love during a mutual metal polishing session.’ He picked up the wine bottle and emptied it into their glasses. ‘Then he took her out of the kitchen tent…’

‘Into the barrack tent with all his men?’

‘The lieutenant of Hermann von Balk would have had his own quarters.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘So, he found a cave, and they set up house there. If she was happy with Helmut, you’d think she would have gone off with one of his fellow knights after he died. Particularly if she was left with twin daughters to support. There was Hermann…’

‘Who unlike Helmut von Mau took his vows seriously and, to avoid lapses, castrated himself and offered his offending organs to God.’ She picked up his empty plate and stacked it on top of hers. ‘Coffee and cheese?’

‘You’ve just killed my appetite.’

‘You must have known that some medieval monks castrated themselves?’

‘I try not to remember it. Anyway what was the point, when they took a solemn vow of chastity?’

‘No one trusted vows, even in those days. The medieval church was an institution much patronised by noblemen with large families. For half the cost of a modest dowry, younger sons could be cloistered and educated away from the insecure, inheriting eldest, and castration ensured they didn’t stray or pass on their intelligent genes via any troublesome young peasant wenches who might be tempted to bring up their illegitimate offspring as revolutionaries.’

‘And how old were these poor bastards when they were gelded?’

‘The younger the better. The death rate from the operation soared among novices who’d reached puberty.’ She poured herself a coffee. ‘For someone who doesn’t believe in marriage you seem to enjoy weaving “happily ever after” stories.’

‘Who says I don’t believe in marriage?’ he asked.

‘You want to divorce your wife.’

‘All that signifies is that I don’t believe in marriage to Courtney.’

‘So you’d marry again?’

‘If a sweet, loving, subservient, selfless and attractive woman exists and I found her, most certainly. And you?’

‘I have a husband.’

‘Do you?’ He reached across and took her hand in his. When she didn’t pull it away, he lifted it to his lips.

‘The films…’

‘What films?’ he whispered as he bent his head and kissed her. To his utter astonishment she kissed him back.

Seduction had been the last thing on Adam’s mind when Magdalena had entered the room, but as soon as she was in his arms it felt so right he was disinclined to stop. He couldn’t have explained why he was so suddenly attracted to her after a year of working alongside her. There was none of the ruthless intensity of Helga’s embraces in the kiss they shared, or even the soothing, if rather perfunctory, perfumed allure that characterised his infrequent bouts of lovemaking with Waleria. There was passion but, unlike his relationship with Courtney, there was also peace. A profound, sensual peace that permeated every aspect of his being, relaxing his battered muscles and tranquillising his fraught mind. As he held her close, not even the imminent threat of death, Brunon or the Amber Knight seemed to matter.

Magdalena destroyed the mood and his illusion. Breaking free, she pushed him away. The telephone rang. Mentally cursing whoever was at the other end he watched Magdalena disappear into the bathroom before picking up the receiver.

‘Adam Salen,’ he barked.

‘Hold for Captain Dalecka.’

Adam’s temper heightened as precious seconds ticked past. ‘You know how to pick your bloody time,’ he complained, as Josef came on the line.

‘Don’t tell me you were bedding the ice-queen?’

‘Early night,’ Adam lied.

‘With company?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Remind me to check the guards’ notebooks in the morning.’

‘Next time you’re looking for salacious gossip ring the guards direct.’

‘They’ve found Krefta’s body.’

‘Where?’ His irritation melted at the news.

‘Not far from your hotel as it happens. He was lying in the woods three miles outside Gierloz. They’ve taken him to the mortuary in Ketrzyn.’

‘What did he die of?’

‘All I could get out of the locals is what I’ve just told you. The only reason they notified us, was the “wanted” bulletin we’d circulated on Krefta in relation to a possible art fraud. Police surgeon’s doing an autopsy in the morning. Want to sit in?’

‘That’s not the best invitation I’ve ever had, but yes.’

‘Pick you up at eight.’ The line went dead. Adam turned to see Magdalena gathering up the DVD’s. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘We’re both tired. I thought I’d carry on with this in my own room.’

‘And I thought we were working on this together?’ He stepped towards her as she went to the connecting door and pulled back the bolts.

‘I don’t see how we can after what just happened.’

‘Unfortunately, nothing happened.’

‘You call that nothing? I’m married and I’ve just kissed a man who isn’t my husband.’

‘Unless I’m mistaken, it was something we both wanted.’ He reached out and touched her shoulder, ‘Magda…’

She whirled around. ‘Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that. You’re not family, or even a friend.’

‘Where are you coming from, Ms Janca?’ He deliberately emphasised the Ms. ‘I know you’ve studied medievalism, but I didn’t realise you had adopted its morality. Wake up. This is the twenty-first century.’

‘A sin is still a sin in the eyes of the church.’

‘And what is a husband who abandons his wife, takes up thieving and worse, and refuses to support his family?’

‘Brunon’s failings are no reason for me to stoop to his or your level.’

‘Who are we hurting, Magdalena? Brunon? He couldn’t give a shipyard worker’s fart for you. And my wife doesn’t know the meaning of the word faithful. I kissed you, you kissed me back, I enjoyed it as far as it went and frankly I wouldn’t mind more.’

‘More? That word characterises your life. It covers wine, food, luxury and women. All I am to you is an experience. Another female to scratch yourself against. Duller and dowdier than the others, but what I lack in looks I make up for in intelligence. Just one more notch in the Adam Salen crotch.’

‘Sounds painful.’

‘Damn you and your jokes!’

‘Magdalena, please.’ He put the full weight of his arm against the door to prevent her opening it. ‘Don’t ask me to say I’m sorry I kissed you, because I’m not. If the thought of making love to me repulses you, I apologise. But none of it alters the fact that if we’re going to find the knight, we have to work together, and that means watching these films. If it will help, I’ll promise not to go near you again. If that isn’t enough, you could try tying my hands.’

The eyes that gazed back into his were dark, serious.

‘What else can I say?’ he pleaded. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. The only excuse I can offer for kissing you is –’ he almost said “the softness of your skin, the loneliness in your eyes that I thought mirrored something of my own feelings” but he recalled her loathing of personal conversation and said, ‘– sheer bloody weariness and an excess of wine on an empty stomach.’

‘And the lack of a more willing woman in the vicinity?’

‘It won’t happen again.’

‘You have quite a reputation.’

‘That was Josef on the phone.’ He changed the subject. ‘They’ve found Krefta’s body in the woods outside Gierloz.’

‘That’s only a few kilometres from the Wolfschanze.’ She sat on the arm of the sofa as she thought through the implications of the news. He watched the expression on her face change, and wondered if she cared – really cared – for anything outside her work, her brothers and the search for the knight.

‘They’re holding an autopsy in Ketrzyn tomorrow. I told Josef I’d go with him. This could be the break we’ve been looking for. There might be something on Krefta’s body that will lead us to the knight.’

‘What did he die of?’

‘Josef didn’t know, but Krefta must have been carrying something to enable the police to make a positive ID.’

‘His passport and identity card weren’t in his apartment.’

‘It’s pointless talking about it. We’ll find out more tomorrow.’ Crouching on the floor, he pushed a DVD into the machine, then sat on the opposite end of the sofa to the one she was perched on. It was a very long sofa. Three people, even Germans of Herr Dobrow’s ilk, could have sat comfortably between them.

The film opened with a shot of a man standing in the car park of the Wolf’s Lair as they had seen it earlier that day. The stream of statistics that poured from his mouth was in Polish, but Adam was conscious only of Magdalena, sitting, poised and strained a few feet away from him, and the kiss they’d shared that might have led to so much more, if she hadn’t pushed him away from her and Josef hadn’t chosen that moment to telephone.

“The Wolfschanze covers 250 hectares – Organisation Todt was given the responsibility of construction and building began in the autumn of 1940–”

The voice droned on, covering ground they had already picked clean a dozen times and more, as the man paraded in front of bunker after bunker. The tedium of the shots was relieved by occasional inserts of black and white stills taken sixty years ago at the same locations – Hitler greeting Mussolini – Hitler greeting his generals – Hitler greeting von Stauffenberg.

‘I was hoping we’d see more of this,’ Adam commented as the camera followed the guide into an underground tunnel.

‘Preferably the one that will lead us to a previously undiscovered treasure chamber,’ she agreed.

‘Failing that, a map of the complex with a spot marked X will do.’ The film ended. Rising to his feet he went to the mini-bar, opened the fridge and took out a miniature of bourbon. ‘Drink?’

‘After all that wine at dinner?’

‘I need something to loosen my muscles. I’m sure yours are in the same state, for all your puritanical ideals.’

‘Perhaps I’m fitter than you.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Returning with his whiskey he removed the DVD from the machine and inserted another.

‘Can I see those photographs of the knight again?’

He handed them to her as an amateur film filled the screen. This time there was nothing but tunnels, and wobbly ones at that. ‘They must have picked a cameraman with the DT’s. If you’re trying to match the colour of the concrete, you’ll find that concrete is concrete.’

‘I’m beginning to see that,’ she agreed.

‘And that swastika behind the coffin is no different from the neo-Nazi…’

‘Let’s not go over that again.’

He leaned back and emptied the bottle into a glass. ‘The autopsy tomorrow shouldn’t take long. We could go on to the Wolfschanze afterwards.’

‘You sound as though you’ve already given up on finding the knight there.’

‘Serious treasure hunters have been searching for the Konigsberg Castle loot for sixty years. What chance do we have of finding them in a few days without a tip-off from someone in the know?’

‘None if we have to rely on this.’ She nodded at the screen. ‘They haven’t even told us which bunker they were filming in.’

‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings.’ He finished his drink and returned to the mini-bar.