Page 104 of The Last Kingdom

LUKE SAT IN THE PEW WITH CHRISTOPHE.

Toni had called and said the prince wanted her to work with them, so he’d told her where they were.

Why not? The more the merrier.

They were still beneath the Frauenkirche in the crypt chapel. People had steadily come and gone over the past hour as they’d sat and planned. The wall crypts holding Ludwig III, his wife, and three others rose across the chapel in one of the brick walls. Hardly anyone stopped to take note of their final resting place. He wondered what it was like to be so famous, yet so unknown. The man had been a king. But few, outside of historians or some die-hard Bavarians, knew he ever existed. He hoped his own life would have more meaning and stand for something. Teddy Roosevelt said it best.It is not the critic who counts, not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled or how the doer of deeds might have done them better.

You got that right.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred with sweat and dust and blood. Who strives valiantly. Who errs and comes short again and again.

He knew all about that.

Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause. Who, if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement, and who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

Unfortunately, Ludwig III seemed to have been one of those timid souls.

Christophe stood across the chapel, milling about, trying to fit in. They were waiting for Toni. Koger had told him to stay close to the prince, report what was happening, and work with Sims. That was one thing. Now he was involved with the black hoods, working the other side. Which was a whole other thing. What worried him was how readily the guy Fenn had accepted him. Sure, Christophe was a known commodity and there was a job that needed to be done. And he’d seen stranger behavior before when people hired whomever without checking things out, thinking money bought loyalty. But something seemed off. Even worse, there was nothin’ he could do about it. Like what his father used to say,“If frogs had wings they wouldn’t bump their asseswhen they land.”

Yep.

Christophe walked over and sat beside Luke on the pew. More people drifted in and out of the chapel, negotiating the stairs back up to ground level and the main nave.

“We need to get into that tomb,” Christophe said.

“My mother would say the only way to do that was through prayer.”

“Sounds like a devout woman.”

“She’s a saint.” And he still called her every Sunday, no matter where he was in the world.

“Since neither one of us prays all that much,” Christophe said, “what are you thinking?”

“When I was younger, an uncle died,” he said, keeping his voice to a whisper. “They buried him in one of those vertical mausoleums, above ground, inside a vault like the ones over there. I hung around after the coffin was slid inside and watched a friend of mine seal it up. The front looks like it’s part of the wall.” He shook his head. “It’s not. Like a wine bottle cap with a stopper, there’s a part that slides into the vault nice and tight. But it will also slide right back out. I’m bettin’ these vaults are the same.”

Fenn had told them that the church closed at four today for a special service, presenting a good opportunity to take a look.

Christophe pointed. “There’s a corridor over there, past the altar, that leads to a room. Can you pick a lock?”

“Can’t you?”

Christophe said nothing.

“I can get it open,” he finally said.

Toni appeared at the bottom of the stairs and caught sight of them. She bounded over and sat in the pew in front of them. “What are we doing here?”

Luke smiled. “Grave robbin’.”

Chapter 58

STEFAN WAS AT A LOSS.

He sat slumped in a chair, feeling crushed and humiliated, staring blindly into the semi-darkness, confusing thoughts tumbling around in his tired mind. The journal seemed a treasure trove of intimate information about his great-grandfather.

Ludwig III was born in Munich, a descendant of both Louis XIV of France and William the Conqueror of England. He was named after his paternal grandfather, King Ludwig I of Bavaria. He grew up in Munich, inside the Residenz. At age sixteen he was commissioned a lieutenant in the Bavarian army. At seventeen he entered university and studied law and economics. When Bavaria went to war with Austria in 1866 he, along with many others, enlisted. Young, green, and sparsely trained, many of them did not survive. Ludwig was wounded, taking a bullet to his thigh, and received the Knight’s Cross First Class of the Bavarian Military Merit Order. But the ordeal cemented a lifelong aversion to the military, and there were entries in the journal that attested to his dislike.

He lovingly wrote of his marriage to Maria Theresia, Archduchess of Austria-Este. They had thirteen children, one of whom had been Stefan’s grandfather Rupprecht. It seemed a loving marriage, and when she died in February 1919 the entries that came after were all tinged with deep sadness and regret. One entry, written in the curious non-cursive style of the rest of the journal, caught his eye.