The Ludwig Conspiracy(44)
He peered through the window, then took a deep puff on his cigarillo and enveloped me in smoke. “That one outside the door?” His chuckle gave way to a severe fit of coughing that shook his whole body. Very likely he was in the early stages of consumption. “That jade’s no good to no one but the knacker,” he finally croaked. “Won’t do no business that way.”
Reluctantly, I decided to let him into at least part of my plan. Unobtrusively, I opened my shirt and showed the ragged, sick man the golden amulet with the likeness of Ludwig that hung around my neck. On the back of it was a white swan with the royal seal. Ludwig himself had given it to me as a sign of his trust. Only a select few owned such a pendant.
“Very well,” I whispered. “No, I am not a cabdriver. I am here on the king’s business. And I need a horse—a fast one. The king will reward you more than generously later.”
“On the king’s business, eh?” The old man’s eyes glittered as he examined the golden amulet with the ivory intarsia work. “Even if that’s the truth, the king’s stark raving mad, ain’t got no money left. Even the sparrows on the rooftops whistle that. So what’ll Herr Huber, like we call Ludwig in the taverns, what’ll Herr Huber pay me with, then?”
“Your king has money, believe me.” I tried to look important. But I was seething with anger inside. I knew that jokes about crazy “Herr Huber” with his empty coffers were current among the regulars at any tavern. Nonetheless, I always felt indignant when I heard such comments.
“I’ll make you another offer,” said the old cabby now, pointing to the amulet. “You give me that old nag and this pretty thing, and we’re square. The king can look in and thank me personally, for all I care.” He offered me his dirty paw and grinned like a wolf. Suddenly a small revolver appeared in his other hand. “Or you can hand the amulet over now,” he growled, suppressing another fit of coughing with difficulty. “Shake on it, then, young dandy—before I regret my generosity.”
HALF AN HOUR later I was sitting on a saddled horse that, contrary to my expectations, was not the worst mount in the world. His black coat gleamed, his tail was clean and combed, and he pranced on the spot as if to race all the way to Seville with me.
The old cabby had told me that he had won the horse in a race, but I could tell that he was lying through his teeth. More than likely the old rascal had stolen the horse and was glad to sell him quick and at a good price. Thus it was all the more important for me to leave the city as quickly as possible. Otherwise I would be wanted not only as the king’s agent, but as a horse thief as well. At least by some hard bargaining I had induced the old man to throw his revolver into the deal. I had a foreboding that I would end up needing the little gun sooner or later.
I let the reins drop, and the horse galloped through the narrow streets of the Au district swift as an arrow. When I turned to look back once more, I saw the old cabby grinning as he waved me goodbye in the gathering dusk. He had driven the bargain of his life.
RIJKHQR, EIVOEDITP
I soon left the stinking suburbs of Munich behind. I rode south through the wooded valley of the Isar, with the river on my right, making for the Alps. By now it was full night, and I was alone on my way along the moonlit country roads. The monotonous beat of the horse’s hooves made me feel tired; my eyes kept closing. I turned off into a little thicket to sleep for a few hours.
By the time day dawned, I had nearly reached Kochel. From there, it was only half a day’s ride to Linderhof. All the same, I decided to stop and rest in that little town. My horse and I urgently needed to break our journey. In addition, I was sure that von Strelitz had the roads to the castle watched. If I were to succeed in reaching the king, I was more likely to do it under cover of darkness.
I spent the whole day dozing in the flea-infested bed provided by a small inn, woken abruptly again and again by nightmares in which the Prussian agent held his Derringer to my temple and pulled the trigger. More than once the thought of the ministers’ diabolical intrigue passed through my mind. They couldn’t simply depose the king from office. In fact the opposite was more likely; they must know that His Majesty could dismiss them at any time. But if they declared him insane, he would no longer be considered capable of ruling, and Prince Luitpold, Ludwig’s uncle, would automatically move up a place in the succession to the throne. However, for that the ministers needed an incontestable expert opinion, preferably from one of the most famous psychiatrists in the German Empire: Dr. Bernhard von Gudden, royal medical officer and director of the Upper Bavarian Hospital for the Insane. The plan was watertight.