Maria was weeping.
“I knew this would happen someday,” she whispered. “His enemies were too powerful. I think that at heart it was what he wanted. He simply did not fit into this day and age.”
“Mother, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
Leopold was standing beside us. He stroked Maria’s apron with his slender hand. Only now did his likeness to his father strike me. The black curls, the grave expression, the tall stature. He would be a handsome man, as handsome as his father had once been. Would he also inherit his father’s deep grief, his world-weariness, and all his little eccentricities?
“It’s nothing, Leopold,” said Maria, forcing herself to smile. “Go and play, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”
The boy went away, with a slightly sulky look, and Maria’s glance was serious again. “How long have you known?”
“About you and Ludwig? Not until I saw who was to be given this letter.” I heaved a deep sigh. “For months I thought that Leopold’s father was a married man from Oberammergau. I followed you there, Maria. Forgive me, I was sick with jealousy. I . . . I’m so sorry.” Ashamed, I put my face in my hands. “I was watching you from the house on the outskirts of the village of Oberammergau, I saw the embroidery things on the bench . . . I was sure that Leopold was a child born out of wedlock to you and that . . . that farmer.”
“You idiot.” Her face wore a melancholy smile. “That farmer is a woodcarver and, as it happens, my elder brother. Now and then I go to see him, taking Leopold so that my child will have at least a little family life. And after that I always feel most strongly how much I miss having a strong man at my side, a father for Leopold . . .” Once again, tears came to her eyes. “But the king needed me so much. I couldn’t leave him alone. I . . . after all, I was one of the few who understood him . . .” Her voice failed her, and we were silent for a moment.
After some time, I went on, hesitantly. “The way Ludwig treated you. That jealous scene in Herrenchiemsee . . . I should have guessed it far sooner. I thought he was jealous of you, but he was jealous of me. Because he loved you. And how about you?” I felt my throat constrict. “Did you love him, too?”
“Oh, Theodor. There are so many kinds of love. Love for a child, for parents, for a brother, a lover . . .” I breathed a sigh of relief; it did me good to see her smile, as she went on. “The king could never really show his love. And it was only a single night at his hunting lodge on the Schachen, and he was as shy as a schoolboy. Even then, he was a child at heart, often a dreamy child. And sometimes very angry.”
“‘He’ll kill me.’ That’s what you said on the island at Herrenchiemsee.” I was almost inclined to laugh. “I thought for so long that you meant Carl von Strelitz, but it was Ludwig you meant.”
“He could be insanely jealous. Of men as well as women. When he was disappointed in someone, it was as if something in him broke.”
“I found that out for myself.” With some hesitation, I pointed to the letter in her hand. “Don’t you want to open it?”
“I think I know what’s in it.” She folded the letter and tucked it into her bodice. “It will be a . . . what is it called . . . ?” She searched for the right word. “A . . . a statutory declaration. Ludwig always promised me that someday he would acknowledge Leopold as his son. But whenever I brought it up, he withdrew. A bastard in the house of the Wittelbachs, a liaison with a simple maidservant. It would have been only one more reason for them to have him declared insane.” Her face clouded over. “Well, the letter will do Leopold no good now in any case. On the contrary, if those wretches in Munich learn about him, they’ll probably have him assassinated. As Ludwig’s only son, he would have a claim to the throne, wouldn’t he?”
“Not if the statutory declaration was made by a madman. Ludwig’s adversaries would presumably base their arguments on that.” Thoughtfully, I nodded. “But you’re right; that gang can be credited with any vile act. We must keep the secret. If necessary even beyond our own deaths. Who knows . . .” I smiled mysteriously. “Who knows, maybe someday the truth will come to light. And people will recognize that Ludwig was not insane and did not commit suicide. Then, to be sure, his son could lay claim to the throne.”
“Or his son’s son, or even his son’s great-grandson.” Maria sighed. “I don’t think the murder of Ludwig will ever be properly explained. Too many powerful men have spun that web of lies.”