“And the members of the ducal family are buried there?”

“The family and those connected with it.”

“Servants, you mean?”

“No, no. People closer than that.”

Closer? “

“Well, the dukes, the counts, they had their friends and sometimes there were children. There is a part of the island which is for people like that-close to the family, you might say, and yet not of it.”

The blue light from the stained glass window fell across her face as she spoke and again I was struck by the slightly mischievous light in her usually calm and simple face.

She went on: “You must visit the Island of Graves. I’ll take you myself.”

“I’d like to see it,” I said.

“We’ll arrange it.”

We were ready to go down to the crypt and I was surprised by the little ceremony.

It was dank in the crypt; Fritz kept close to me and I wondered whether it was for my protection or his own; Dagobert’s swagger was a little less convincing. There certainly was an eeriness about the place, perhaps because of the smell of damp and the dimness of the light. Our footsteps rang out on the stone floor, seeming to echo, and then I saw the great oak chest on either side of which stood a soldier in the blue and gold uniform of the Duke’s Guards.

They stood at attention while three soldiers approached, one of these held the key.

I was astonished and a little embarrassed that all this ceremony should be for me.

The Pastor took the heavy bunch of keys. Opening the chest took a little time but the operation at length was completed. In it was the treasure of the church-I saw the silver goblets, the chalice and the crosses which were of silver and gold set with semi-precious stones.

But the latter were not to be compared with the Processional Cross which was kept separately in its heavy wooden case which again had to be unlocked. It was at length revealed to me.

The children gasped as they gazed on it-lying on black velvet. It seemed to shine with an uncanny light and was intricately wrought in gold, enamel and precious gems. Each of the large stones which formed the centre had, I was told, a story attached to it. Each had been won in battle. In those days the country had been wild and the small dukedoms and principalities were constantly at war with each other.

The centre diamond and the two rubies on either side had been set in the cross to emphasize the invincibility of the Duk&s of Rochenstein.

If the cross were stolen it was believed that would be the end of the line. This was why it was so guarded, not only because of its value but because of its legendary importance.

I was rather glad when the cross was back in its box and the chest locked; so were the soldiers. They relaxed at once and ceased to look like stone statues. The children changed too; they began to talk in loud voices whereas previously they had whispered.

They appeared to know the soldiers well. One called Ser-i geant Franck was a particularly jolly fellow.

We came up from the crypt and were soon in the sunshine. “

“There,” said Frau Graben, ‘now you`’ve seen the Processional Cross.

You’ll see all the sights in time. “

She seemed to be secretly amused and again I wondered whether I really knew her as well as I had thought.

THREE

It was the boys who took me first to the Island of Graves. Each afternoon during my first week at Klocksburg we went out into the forest-they on their ponies, I on my mare. I enjoyed these jaunts for they enabled me to get to know the children better and I was more fascinated by the forest than ever; every time I went out I felt as though I were on the verge of an adventure. As we were in summer the mountainsides seemed to be touched by a blue and pink mist which were the gentians and orchids flourishing there at that time of the year.

They were breathtakingly lovely among the green.

On this particular day the boys had led me on to the downward slopes and as the land grew flat we came to a little wood in which the trees grew so close that the branches caught us as we rode beneath them. We came to a clearing and there to my astonishment was a lake, in the middle of which was an island. On the shore were two boats fitted with oars.

They had made up their minds to bring me here, I guessed, and were about to show me something of which they were rather proud.

We tethered our horses to one of the trees and both boys set about gathering the leaves and flowers which grew close to the water.

Then Dagobert cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted: “Franz!

Franz! “

I asked whom they were calling and they both exchanged secret glances.

Dagobert said: “Wait and see. Miss.” I replied that I wanted to know what they were about and appealed to Fritz.

He pointed towards the island in the middle of the lake and I saw a boat being pushed out. A man jumped into it and began rowing towards us.

“That’s Franz,” Fritz told me.

Dagobert was determined to be the one who disclosed the secret.

“Franz,” he said, ‘is the keeper of the Graber Insel. He is coming to take us over so that we can put flowers on our mothers’ graves. You can row over yourself but Franz likes you to call him. “

The distance between the Island of Graves and the shore was, I guessed, less than a quarter of a mile. The man in the boat was very old and bent; his grey hair grew long about his face, which was almost covered by his beard so that little more than his eyes were visible and they were embedded in wrinkles.

“Franz,” called Dagobert, ‘we want to show Miss Trant the island. “

Old Franz brought the boat on the shore.

“Well, young masters,” he said, “I was expecting you.” His voice had a hollow ring; he wore a long black robe like a monk’s and on his head was a tiny black skullcap. The little eyes were on me now.

“I heard you were here, Fraulein,” he said.

“You must come over to my island.”

“She wants to see the graves,” said Dagobert.

I was unaware that I had expressed such a wish but it seemed impolite to say so before their keeper.

“It was time you young masters came,” said Franz.

He took my hand to help me into the boat. His was dry, rough and cold.

Something about him made me shiver. I thought of him as Charon, the boatman of the Styx. Fritz was close behind me as though to protect me, I thought; and I was touched.

Dagobert leaped into the boat.

“Are you frightened. Miss?” he asked gleefully, clearly hoping that I was.

“Why do you ask? Did you expect me to be?”

“Franz lives all alone on Graber Insel, don’t you, Franz? Most people are a bit scared when they go there because there’s nobody there but the dead and Franz, of course. I wonder if you will be scared. Franz isn’t scared. He lives there all alone with the dead, don’t you, Franz? “

“For seventy years,” he said.

“Seventy years on the island. My father was keeper before me, and I knew I’d follow on.” He shook his head sadly.

“I’ve no son to follow me.”

“What will they do when you die, Franz?” asked Dagobert.

Old Franz shook his head.

“They’ll bring someone else in. Before, it was handed down from father to son.”

“Oh Franz, the dead won’t like it. I bet they’ll haunt the next one and drive him away.”

“This is a very morbid subject,” I said.

“I’m sure Franz will be the keeper for many years yet.”

Franz looked at me with approval.

“My grandfather lived to ninety. My father to ninety-three. They say that the dead give the gift of long life to their keepers.”

“Oh, but you haven’t got a son to follow you, Franz,” Dagobert reminded him.

“They won’t like that.”

“Why are you so pleased at the prospect, Dagobert?” I asked.

“Well, they’ll come out and haunt the next one, that’s why.”

The oars lapped gently in the water. I could see the island very clearly now. There appeared to be avenues of trees and flowering shrubs. It was very beautiful; and among the trees was a tiny house which reminded me of the gingerbread cottage in Hansel and Gretel. I felt as though I were entering the fairy-tale world again.

The boat came to rest on the shore and we scrambled out.

“First show her the ducal graves,” demanded Dagobert.

“Come this way,” said Franz.

The two boys went off to lay their flowers on their mothers’ graves and I followed Franz into one of the avenues between the flowers and the trees. There were the graves; ‘they were magnificently kept and glowing with flowers; the marble effigies were beautiful; so were the statues of angels guarding the graves and on some were gilded caskets and ornamentations in gilt and wrought iron.

“These are the graves of the family,” Franz told me.

“After the memorial services and the burial ceremonies they are brought over to me to lie in their final resting-place. I tend the shrubs and keep the graves fresh. Members of the Family sometimes come here, but rarely young ones. The young don’t think of death. These two boys come, though. That’s because their mothers lie here though not among the ducal avenues. There are two burial grounds here-that -o the dukes and their legitimate families and those whom they have honoured, as they call it. Some might say dishonoured. The boys come because they like to remind themselves that they are connected with the Family. I will show you the other graves afterwards. First look at these of the Family. This one is Ludwig’s grave. He is the brother of Duke Carl and a traitor. He was killed by the Duke’s friends and just in time for if he had not been killed he would have killed the Duke.”