Vengeance 10

The horses clattered over a small wooden bridge arching a deep brook. Bethwig, who had fallen behind, pulled up a moment to examine the lovely stream, drawn by the mysterious way it disappeared into a stand of willow. He was about to investigate further when his attention was caught by a flash of sunlight on metal in the shadows. Bethwig turned his horse in that direction, curious as to who else might be riding in a park belonging to the protector of Czechoslovakia, and saw a horseman watching. The man stared at him for a moment, then turned and disappeared into the trees. Franz had a momentary glimpse of a steel helmet and carbine. Of course, bodyguards. Suddenly, the day was no longer quite so pleasant. The war had intruded and with it the realisation that they were the guests of a man who must, by all odds, be a major target of any resistance movement in Czechoslovakia. Slowly now he pulled the horse around and followed along the trail after von Braun and Heydrich.

* * *

Franz Bethwig mentioned the experience at dinner that night. He and von Braun had been seated to the left and right of Heydrich, and their table formed an elevated T to that occupied by the majority of guests. Beneath the huge vaulted arch of a ceiling the vast dining-hall was lit by thousands of candles. Heraldic banners and burnished armour decorated the stone walls, causing Bethwig to feel as if he had stepped into the thirteenth century.

Heydrich repeated Bethwig’s comment to the dining-hall at large, and the guests laughed dutifully. Heydrich finished his wine and motioned for the silver goblet to be refilled. ‘Your question is perfectly valid of course. When you reach a position such as mine, you are aware very soon that there is only one defence against an assassin.’ He waited, and Bethwig asked the question as expected.

‘Keep the people sufficiently happy and pleased with you, and they will not fall prey to the blandishments of malcontents. By making this my rule, I have seen to it that the Czechoslovakian people will support a National Socialist government.’ Winking at Bethwig, he raised his voice so that the majority of diners could hear.

‘Why, there is every likelihood that as soon as the war is finished, Czechoslovakia will be invited to join the Reich under the same status as Austria, that is, as an integral part of the nation.’

Bethwig could see that the impromptu speech was having the desired effect. Many of the guests he had been introduced to before dinner were Czechs. From their smiles and whispered asides he could tell that Heydrich had made his point.

‘As you can see,’ Heydrich went on, ‘the Czechs already enjoy many of the fruits of our victory. There is certainly no reason why they should not continue to do so.’ He paused, then bent towards Bethwig as if to confine his remarks, but spoke loudly. ‘Unless of course I were to be replaced and my successor to treat Czechoslovakia as a conquered country.’

A dead silence fell over the hall. Faces turned in their direction as if attached to the same wire. Nationality was obvious by expression. The Czechs were frightened, the Germans interested. Everyone had heard the stories emanating from Poland and occupied Russia.

Heydrich beamed at the upturned faces, and Bethwig knew that he was enjoying himself immensely, and he realised then what it was to have the power of life and death. He shivered, even though the dining-hall was overwarm from candles and close-packed bodies.

* * *

It was long after midnight before Bethwig broke free of the favoured few swirling about Heydrich and edged out of the dining-hall. Von Braun was still in there somewhere, smiling and laughing and having the time of his life. Wernher liked people and functioned well in such situations even though he preferred to avoid them whenever possible. The halls were quiet, and Bethwig found his way to the main staircase without assistance. SS guards stood like black statues guarding the corridors. Heydrich was obviously a great deal more concerned about assassination than he pretended to be.

Low-wattage electric lamps burned where candles had once blazed, the only sign so far of wartime economies. The walls of the echoing hallways were panelled in rare woods and adorned with magnificent paintings, most of which, Bethwig was certain, had not been hung in the castle before 1939. Heydrich certainly spared himself nothing.

He found his room again with some difficulty, and the door was unlocked. ‘No need to lock doors here, Herr Professor. Who would steal in the house of Reinhard Heydrich?’ the footman had observed when he enquired about a key. Who indeed?