In the spirit of giving, consider this the last door of our literary Advent Calendar, sit back, pour some eggnog and enjoy thinking about tomorrow - over-excited children, industrial-scale gluttony and family arguments started by squiffy uncles..
Merry Christmas!!!
Chapter 12
Paris, January
Arriving too late to catch the last flight to Paris from Graz, the nearest airport, they had spent the night at the Grand Hotel Weisler in the centre of town. Elena had decided that it was too dangerous to return to the Schloss. Dining separately in their rooms, they returned to the airport after a short sleep to catch the 6am flight to Paris.
While Vienna and Austria managed to pull off the snowy look, Paris was not quite able to do so. Perhaps it was the proximity to the Atlantic, and the warming breeze of the Gulf Stream, but the pure white snowfall Simon had become used to, had turned to a grey slush as they sat in a taxi negotiating the rush hour on the peripherique. The combination of general dirt and salt turned the sleet that managed to reach the ground into a reddy brown colour, which looked to Simon’s mind like very cold mud.
Despite the recent general strike which had been enthusiastically observed by most of the capital’s workers, they all seemed in a hurry to get to work today, resulting in a cacophony of horns as drivers cut each other up in the attempt to gain a car’s length advantage. Gradually, as they headed west, away from the centre of Paris, the traffic eased and, while not racing along, they managed to make steady progress.
Two hours after they left the airport, they arrived at the outskirts of Versailles. Home to Louis XIV’s massive Palace, and a couple of smaller ones for good measure, the town had become a refuge for the Parisian upper-middle class, as well as the tourists who flocked there to tick off another of the world’s great sites. Turning off the main road into a broad, cobbled side-street, the taxi stopped outside the walls of an impressive villa.
Weiss’ son, according to his obituary had been called Abel, and a check of the Parisian phone directory had revealed only one A Weiss, resident at 14 rue Hardy in Versailles. An old wrought iron gate blocked their path, behind it a gravel path lined by bare chestnut trees headed through a comfortable garden towards the old house. They rang the entry-phone which was answered shortly by a spritely, if elderly sounding lady.
“Mme Weiss?”
“Yes, is that the electrician?”
Simon was flattered that his accent was authentic enough to pass for a tradesman, but he replied “No Mme. We have come from Austria. We would like to speak to you for a moment. Can we come in?”
“You have come from Austria to fix my lights?”
Oh dear. This might be harder than they thought. “Hello?” Another voice took over, male, younger and more in control of its faculties.
Simon introduced themselves and explained once more that they had come from Austria and only wanted a minute of their time, resulting in a clunk and the gate swinging open. Heading down the path, they were met at the door by a short man, in his forties, elegantly dressed in flannels and a red sweater.
“Abel Weiss” he said, kissing Elena’s hand, and shaking Simon’s. Every stereotype of the dapper French lover was ticked, from the pencil mustache, to the elegant dress, to the brown, puppy eyes which managed to be both pleading and playful at the same time.
He showed them in to the yellow drawing room overlooking the garden, an elegant collection of nineteenth century furniture showing his taste. Calling for coffee, he beckoned Elena to the chaise longue, joining her on it, while Simon was given the comfortable, if more distant, armchair.
Coffee was served by a maid carrying a tray of white and pink Sevres china. Abel poured and handed round the cups, before stretching back and clasping his hands behind his head.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from Austria? If you are interested in business, the factory is more convenient, but my mother does not keep well, so I tend to work from home when I can.”
“It’s a bit complicated” Simon started. He had seen Elena preparing to jump in, her policewoman’s instincts jumping at the chance of an interrogation, but he thought the soft approach would probably go down better.
“We came across your father’s name recently in connection with some work we were doing, and wanted to follow it up. We discovered he had passed away quite recently, so we thought we might talk to you instead.”
“And this work, what is it?” This could be tricky. As in his second meeting with Elena, Simon was conscious of the need not to appear completely insane.
“Well, something went missing recently, a few months after your father’s death, and one of the people who looked after it left a note with your father’s name, so we thought it would be worth following up”
“This object that disappeared, what was it?”
“It was an antique, an old spear. It had been in Germany during the war, then it was returned to Austria by the allies.”
“Well Papa was certainly in Germany during the war, many of my countrymen were, not entirely by choice but I don’t remember him mentioning any spear. The Nazis then had different weapons I believe.” There was an unmistakable tone of bitterness in his voice. He had obviously heard much of his father’s suffering, and could not quite bring himself to forgive it.
But Abel Weiss was nothing if not a salesman, particularly when a pretty woman was involved in the deal, and the first lesson he had learnt in selling was always to help your customer. “Maybe my mother knows something about this. Let me get her. Do you happen to have a picture of this spear by any chance, maybe it will help her remember.”
Reappearing a few minutes later, he was accompanied by a frail, elderly lady, elegantly attired in trousers and twin set. Pearls hung from her ears, and a pair of soft loafers covered her feet. Helping her to a chair, Abel poured another cup of coffee.
“These people have come from Austria, Mama, they want to talk about Papa. Do you know anything about a spear? Did he ever talk about it?” Gesturing at Simon, he took the photograph and showed it to his mother. Although in her eighties, and easing into the grip of senility, Mme Weiss retained her memories, seared into her mind, no doubt, by her experiences, and those of her husband. Taking the photo in her elegant, if slightly trembling hand, she looked at it closely. A spark of recognition flashed across her eyes and the colour drained from her recently rouged cheeks.
“Who are you, what is this about. How dare you?” Agitated, she turned on Simon, no longer the gentle old lady, but something altogether more fierce and aggressive. “I want them out of this house, Abel” she shouted, reaching for her stick.
“Please, Mme Weiss, we mean no disrespect. The spear has been stolen and we want to get it back, we came across your husband’s name and wondered if you might no anything about it.”
“Stolen? When?”
“Just after Christmas”
‘Get it back then, get it back before it is too late.”
“Why Mme? What can you tell us? Why are you so upset?”
Mme Weiss sent her son for her handbag and composed herself. When he returned, she reached inside and withdrew a packet of long, menthol cigarettes. Lighting one, to her son’s obvious displeasure, she exhaled loudly and prepared to speak.
“My husband and I had met before the war but once the Germans came” she glanced at Elena. “we got separated. I was able to stay in France and he was taken to Germany. When the war ended, he was still alive, and made his way back to France where we met again. He was different though. Not just thinner and weaker because of the starvation and constant beatings, different in his mind. Something had changed about him, although I could never work out exactly what it was.
Anyway, as he grew stronger, he started his business and we got engaged. I was so happy, even though I knew he was hiding something, some secret he wouldn’t tell me. The day before our wedding, we went for a walk on the banks of the Seine and sat down on one of the benches overlooking the Ile de France. I was just enjoying the view when he took my hand and said that he had something to tell me.
I was worried it was another girl, Eric was very handsome, but it was nothing like that, it was about the war. Because he was an engineer, Eric had been spared the worst of things in the concentration camps. Yes, he was starved and beaten, but he was valuable, so he had escaped the gas chambers.
He spent most of the war in Buchenwald, but in late 1944, he was moved to a new camp called Mittelbau-Dora. It was near some tunnels which the Germans were turning into an underground factory where they would produce weapons. One day, one of the tunnels was about to collapse, but Eric saw the problem and managed to stop it. The SS were watching and their commander was impressed by his skills, so he arranged for Eric to be transferred from the digging team, to a special projects unit.”
She took another drag of her cigarette and continued.
“The Germans were desperate, and trying anything to win the war. They had missiles and strange-shaped aeroplanes, a huge bell-like thing which they thought was a source of limitless power, all nonsense of course. They also, in the deepest part of the tunnel, had a special room which they called the spear room.
“One day just days before the end of the war, when they were short of labour, Eric was summoned to the spear room, to act as an assistant. Everything was different. There were crowds of SS officers, all the way up to general, and a queue of prisoners shackled to one wall, their arms outstretched. One of the Germans was different to the others, wearing Green robes and a turban. He held an old leather-bound book in one hand and a spear in the other.
He walked down the line, chanting something from the book and when he reached the first prisoner, he stabbed him in the side with the spear. The Germans all crowded around to look at the spear, but nothing seemed to have happened to it, so they carried on, down the line of 20 prisoners.
At the end, they all seemed upset and angry, turning on the man in the robes, asking if he was doing it right, if he hadn’t made any mistakes. He insisted he hadn’t, but one of the Generals didn’t believe him. He saw Eric standing at the back of the room and had his guards bring him over to the wall and string him up in place of one of the others. He put on the robes and turban the other German had been wearing and picked up the book. Eric saw that it was ancient, like papyrus, with a picture on the page of a man on a cross, and a spear sticking out of him. He could make out the word Nyssa in Greek, but that was all.
The German began chanting, hefting the spear, and when he was finished, he drove it into Eric’s side. That was the last he knew. He woke up, days later in an American hospital. The camp had been liberated that night, and Eric was found where he had been left in the tunnel, the only one to survive.
He never knew what they were trying to do, but it scared him. He had grown used to the beatings and the rapes and the shootings, but something about that day scared him. The evil seemed almost other-worldly, like it came from Hell itself.
And so, if someone has taken that spear, you make sure you get it back, for it is evil, through and through.”
She stopped, slightly out of breath. Elena took over, re-assuring her that they would find the spear, and keep it out of the wrong hands. Then they stood up, aware that they had probably imposed enough.
Abel went to call them a taxi and then walked them to the gate.
“I am sorry about my mother. She does get worked up about things. But Papa saw a lot during the war, and I think it all comes back to her.”
“Not at all, she was very helpful. I am sorry for intruding and asking her to relive such terrible memories.” Simon was at his most charming now, a strange smile on his face.
Elena was intrigued, but waited until they were in the taxi before asking him. “What are you so happy about? We flew all the way her for a mad story from a mad woman. We’re no closer to finding the spear. Oh, and where are we going?”
“We’re going to the airport.” He told her and the taxi driver together.
“And she was very useful, very useful indeed.” he was enjoying teasing her like this.
“How? I mean tragic story, but it doesn’t tell us where the lance is, who has it, or anything.”
“No, but it tells us where they’re going.”
“How? And where? This Mittlebau place?”
“No Greece.” Ignoring Elena’s disbelief, Simon continued.”Mme Weiss told us two important things. Firstly, the spear the Germans had did not work. That was not a surprise, because the Order hid it before the Germans entered Austria. It spent the war in some Alpine barn, probably with Heidi.”
“Heidi was Swiss” Elena retorted.
“And secondly, she told us how to operate it.”
“How?”
“Well, obviously the incantation is the key. The chanting the robed soldier read from the book.”
“The big old leather book? There are thousands, millions of those. Hell, I’ve even got a room full of them at the Schloss.”
“But you don’t have this one. She said the word Nyssa. Do you know what that means?”
“No” she confessed, feeling on the back foot for the first time since meeting Simon.
“It refers to Gregory of Nyssa. He was an early Christian saint and bishop, He was also a mystic. If anyone was going to know how to work the lance, it would be him.”
“So what now? Do we go and buy his book?”
“That’s just the point. Old manuscripts survive by chance generally. We only have Tacitus, the Roman historian, because someone chose to use a manuscript to stopper a beer barrel. Survival of manuscripts is very dicey. And old Gregory didn’t do too well.”
“What do you mean?”
“As far as we know, there is only one copy of the works of St Gregory of Nyssa in the world today. No-one has yet bothered to publish the text, although I think someone from Germany is planning to, so we have to go to the original.”
“And that’s in Athens?”
“No, it’s at the top of a stone pillar a couple of hundred miles north of there. But we’ll go to Athens first. I’ll need to see an old friend.”
Paris, January
Arriving too late to catch the last flight to Paris from Graz, the nearest airport, they had spent the night at the Grand Hotel Weisler in the centre of town. Elena had decided that it was too dangerous to return to the Schloss. Dining separately in their rooms, they returned to the airport after a short sleep to catch the 6am flight to Paris.
While Vienna and Austria managed to pull off the snowy look, Paris was not quite able to do so. Perhaps it was the proximity to the Atlantic, and the warming breeze of the Gulf Stream, but the pure white snowfall Simon had become used to, had turned to a grey slush as they sat in a taxi negotiating the rush hour on the peripherique. The combination of general dirt and salt turned the sleet that managed to reach the ground into a reddy brown colour, which looked to Simon’s mind like very cold mud.
Despite the recent general strike which had been enthusiastically observed by most of the capital’s workers, they all seemed in a hurry to get to work today, resulting in a cacophony of horns as drivers cut each other up in the attempt to gain a car’s length advantage. Gradually, as they headed west, away from the centre of Paris, the traffic eased and, while not racing along, they managed to make steady progress.
Two hours after they left the airport, they arrived at the outskirts of Versailles. Home to Louis XIV’s massive Palace, and a couple of smaller ones for good measure, the town had become a refuge for the Parisian upper-middle class, as well as the tourists who flocked there to tick off another of the world’s great sites. Turning off the main road into a broad, cobbled side-street, the taxi stopped outside the walls of an impressive villa.
Weiss’ son, according to his obituary had been called Abel, and a check of the Parisian phone directory had revealed only one A Weiss, resident at 14 rue Hardy in Versailles. An old wrought iron gate blocked their path, behind it a gravel path lined by bare chestnut trees headed through a comfortable garden towards the old house. They rang the entry-phone which was answered shortly by a spritely, if elderly sounding lady.
“Mme Weiss?”
“Yes, is that the electrician?”
Simon was flattered that his accent was authentic enough to pass for a tradesman, but he replied “No Mme. We have come from Austria. We would like to speak to you for a moment. Can we come in?”
“You have come from Austria to fix my lights?”
Oh dear. This might be harder than they thought. “Hello?” Another voice took over, male, younger and more in control of its faculties.
Simon introduced themselves and explained once more that they had come from Austria and only wanted a minute of their time, resulting in a clunk and the gate swinging open. Heading down the path, they were met at the door by a short man, in his forties, elegantly dressed in flannels and a red sweater.
“Abel Weiss” he said, kissing Elena’s hand, and shaking Simon’s. Every stereotype of the dapper French lover was ticked, from the pencil mustache, to the elegant dress, to the brown, puppy eyes which managed to be both pleading and playful at the same time.
He showed them in to the yellow drawing room overlooking the garden, an elegant collection of nineteenth century furniture showing his taste. Calling for coffee, he beckoned Elena to the chaise longue, joining her on it, while Simon was given the comfortable, if more distant, armchair.
Coffee was served by a maid carrying a tray of white and pink Sevres china. Abel poured and handed round the cups, before stretching back and clasping his hands behind his head.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from Austria? If you are interested in business, the factory is more convenient, but my mother does not keep well, so I tend to work from home when I can.”
“It’s a bit complicated” Simon started. He had seen Elena preparing to jump in, her policewoman’s instincts jumping at the chance of an interrogation, but he thought the soft approach would probably go down better.
“We came across your father’s name recently in connection with some work we were doing, and wanted to follow it up. We discovered he had passed away quite recently, so we thought we might talk to you instead.”
“And this work, what is it?” This could be tricky. As in his second meeting with Elena, Simon was conscious of the need not to appear completely insane.
“Well, something went missing recently, a few months after your father’s death, and one of the people who looked after it left a note with your father’s name, so we thought it would be worth following up”
“This object that disappeared, what was it?”
“It was an antique, an old spear. It had been in Germany during the war, then it was returned to Austria by the allies.”
“Well Papa was certainly in Germany during the war, many of my countrymen were, not entirely by choice but I don’t remember him mentioning any spear. The Nazis then had different weapons I believe.” There was an unmistakable tone of bitterness in his voice. He had obviously heard much of his father’s suffering, and could not quite bring himself to forgive it.
But Abel Weiss was nothing if not a salesman, particularly when a pretty woman was involved in the deal, and the first lesson he had learnt in selling was always to help your customer. “Maybe my mother knows something about this. Let me get her. Do you happen to have a picture of this spear by any chance, maybe it will help her remember.”
Reappearing a few minutes later, he was accompanied by a frail, elderly lady, elegantly attired in trousers and twin set. Pearls hung from her ears, and a pair of soft loafers covered her feet. Helping her to a chair, Abel poured another cup of coffee.
“These people have come from Austria, Mama, they want to talk about Papa. Do you know anything about a spear? Did he ever talk about it?” Gesturing at Simon, he took the photograph and showed it to his mother. Although in her eighties, and easing into the grip of senility, Mme Weiss retained her memories, seared into her mind, no doubt, by her experiences, and those of her husband. Taking the photo in her elegant, if slightly trembling hand, she looked at it closely. A spark of recognition flashed across her eyes and the colour drained from her recently rouged cheeks.
“Who are you, what is this about. How dare you?” Agitated, she turned on Simon, no longer the gentle old lady, but something altogether more fierce and aggressive. “I want them out of this house, Abel” she shouted, reaching for her stick.
“Please, Mme Weiss, we mean no disrespect. The spear has been stolen and we want to get it back, we came across your husband’s name and wondered if you might no anything about it.”
“Stolen? When?”
“Just after Christmas”
‘Get it back then, get it back before it is too late.”
“Why Mme? What can you tell us? Why are you so upset?”
Mme Weiss sent her son for her handbag and composed herself. When he returned, she reached inside and withdrew a packet of long, menthol cigarettes. Lighting one, to her son’s obvious displeasure, she exhaled loudly and prepared to speak.
“My husband and I had met before the war but once the Germans came” she glanced at Elena. “we got separated. I was able to stay in France and he was taken to Germany. When the war ended, he was still alive, and made his way back to France where we met again. He was different though. Not just thinner and weaker because of the starvation and constant beatings, different in his mind. Something had changed about him, although I could never work out exactly what it was.
Anyway, as he grew stronger, he started his business and we got engaged. I was so happy, even though I knew he was hiding something, some secret he wouldn’t tell me. The day before our wedding, we went for a walk on the banks of the Seine and sat down on one of the benches overlooking the Ile de France. I was just enjoying the view when he took my hand and said that he had something to tell me.
I was worried it was another girl, Eric was very handsome, but it was nothing like that, it was about the war. Because he was an engineer, Eric had been spared the worst of things in the concentration camps. Yes, he was starved and beaten, but he was valuable, so he had escaped the gas chambers.
He spent most of the war in Buchenwald, but in late 1944, he was moved to a new camp called Mittelbau-Dora. It was near some tunnels which the Germans were turning into an underground factory where they would produce weapons. One day, one of the tunnels was about to collapse, but Eric saw the problem and managed to stop it. The SS were watching and their commander was impressed by his skills, so he arranged for Eric to be transferred from the digging team, to a special projects unit.”
She took another drag of her cigarette and continued.
“The Germans were desperate, and trying anything to win the war. They had missiles and strange-shaped aeroplanes, a huge bell-like thing which they thought was a source of limitless power, all nonsense of course. They also, in the deepest part of the tunnel, had a special room which they called the spear room.
“One day just days before the end of the war, when they were short of labour, Eric was summoned to the spear room, to act as an assistant. Everything was different. There were crowds of SS officers, all the way up to general, and a queue of prisoners shackled to one wall, their arms outstretched. One of the Germans was different to the others, wearing Green robes and a turban. He held an old leather-bound book in one hand and a spear in the other.
He walked down the line, chanting something from the book and when he reached the first prisoner, he stabbed him in the side with the spear. The Germans all crowded around to look at the spear, but nothing seemed to have happened to it, so they carried on, down the line of 20 prisoners.
At the end, they all seemed upset and angry, turning on the man in the robes, asking if he was doing it right, if he hadn’t made any mistakes. He insisted he hadn’t, but one of the Generals didn’t believe him. He saw Eric standing at the back of the room and had his guards bring him over to the wall and string him up in place of one of the others. He put on the robes and turban the other German had been wearing and picked up the book. Eric saw that it was ancient, like papyrus, with a picture on the page of a man on a cross, and a spear sticking out of him. He could make out the word Nyssa in Greek, but that was all.
The German began chanting, hefting the spear, and when he was finished, he drove it into Eric’s side. That was the last he knew. He woke up, days later in an American hospital. The camp had been liberated that night, and Eric was found where he had been left in the tunnel, the only one to survive.
He never knew what they were trying to do, but it scared him. He had grown used to the beatings and the rapes and the shootings, but something about that day scared him. The evil seemed almost other-worldly, like it came from Hell itself.
And so, if someone has taken that spear, you make sure you get it back, for it is evil, through and through.”
She stopped, slightly out of breath. Elena took over, re-assuring her that they would find the spear, and keep it out of the wrong hands. Then they stood up, aware that they had probably imposed enough.
Abel went to call them a taxi and then walked them to the gate.
“I am sorry about my mother. She does get worked up about things. But Papa saw a lot during the war, and I think it all comes back to her.”
“Not at all, she was very helpful. I am sorry for intruding and asking her to relive such terrible memories.” Simon was at his most charming now, a strange smile on his face.
Elena was intrigued, but waited until they were in the taxi before asking him. “What are you so happy about? We flew all the way her for a mad story from a mad woman. We’re no closer to finding the spear. Oh, and where are we going?”
“We’re going to the airport.” He told her and the taxi driver together.
“And she was very useful, very useful indeed.” he was enjoying teasing her like this.
“How? I mean tragic story, but it doesn’t tell us where the lance is, who has it, or anything.”
“No, but it tells us where they’re going.”
“How? And where? This Mittlebau place?”
“No Greece.” Ignoring Elena’s disbelief, Simon continued.”Mme Weiss told us two important things. Firstly, the spear the Germans had did not work. That was not a surprise, because the Order hid it before the Germans entered Austria. It spent the war in some Alpine barn, probably with Heidi.”
“Heidi was Swiss” Elena retorted.
“And secondly, she told us how to operate it.”
“How?”
“Well, obviously the incantation is the key. The chanting the robed soldier read from the book.”
“The big old leather book? There are thousands, millions of those. Hell, I’ve even got a room full of them at the Schloss.”
“But you don’t have this one. She said the word Nyssa. Do you know what that means?”
“No” she confessed, feeling on the back foot for the first time since meeting Simon.
“It refers to Gregory of Nyssa. He was an early Christian saint and bishop, He was also a mystic. If anyone was going to know how to work the lance, it would be him.”
“So what now? Do we go and buy his book?”
“That’s just the point. Old manuscripts survive by chance generally. We only have Tacitus, the Roman historian, because someone chose to use a manuscript to stopper a beer barrel. Survival of manuscripts is very dicey. And old Gregory didn’t do too well.”
“What do you mean?”
“As far as we know, there is only one copy of the works of St Gregory of Nyssa in the world today. No-one has yet bothered to publish the text, although I think someone from Germany is planning to, so we have to go to the original.”
“And that’s in Athens?”
“No, it’s at the top of a stone pillar a couple of hundred miles north of there. But we’ll go to Athens first. I’ll need to see an old friend.”
