Dennis Wheatley - The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

Just before mid-day they espied a village in the distance which the King said was Otterbacken; adding that he counted on getting fresh horses there. With feverish impatience he lashed the poor brute he was riding into a canter and Roger, perforce, followed his example. When they drew rein in the village square both beasts stood head down and quivering, their forelegs apart, rasping pitifully and broken-winded.

Ignoring them, Gustavus, white-faced and trembling himself, staggered to the door of the post-house, beat with his crop upon the door and yelled for horses.

An ostler appeared in answer to the impatient summons and, not recognising the King, but scared by his cursing and galvanised into activity at the sight of some gold that Gustavus threw upon the cobbles, speedily furnished them with the two best mounts in the stable.

For another hour and a half they pressed on, now rocking in their saddles, so that when they reached the town of Mariestad at half-past one even Gustavus had to admit that the pace was proving too much for him, and that they must rest a while before proceeding further..

At the inn he curtly demanded refreshments, a bedroom to lie down in, and fresh horses to be ready for him at three o'clock. Again he was unrecognised, so after they had munched a piece of sausage and drunk a mug of beer apiece, they were shown up to a room with a big double bed. Flinging himself on it the King insisted that Roger should lie down beside him and for over an hour they relaxed their wearied limbs.

When they got up they found that it had begun to rain, but they put on their cloaks and a few minutes after three were on their way once more. The road now left the lake-side and ran up into the foot­hills of the mountains; so it was a quarter to five before they reached Skara and could change their mounts again at the post-house there.

From Skara the way descended sharply to the coastal plain, then ran through flatfish country; but in spite of their rest they were no longer capable of maintaining the pace that they had made during the earlier stages of their journey. It was past six and twilight had fallen by the time they trotted into Vara.

They still had a third of their journey before them and were now soaked to the skin, so Roger no longer believed it possible that they could finish it without further rest and a change of clothes. Even allow­ing for the fact that he had slept only fitfully and in considerable dis­comfort the previous night, he was many years younger than the King and felt that his youth qualified him to sustain a greater effort. Yet he was already appallingly tired and sore, and he now feared that they would both fall off their horses from sheer exhaustion before they reached Gothenborg.

At Vara a kindly postmaster, seeing their condition, pressed them to put up for the night at his house and, since they would not, insisted on producing a bottle of wine for them to drink. As wine was an ex­pensive luxury rarely found in the Swedish countryside Gustavus was much touched, and without revealing his identity, vowed that if the business on which they were riding at such a pace proved successful he would secure a handsome promotion for their host in recompense for his generosity.

Much refreshed by the wine and a twenty-minute rest they set off again. Full darkness had now come, but the rain had ceased and the road ran flat and straight between dark forests with a ribbon of star­lit sky overhead, so they were little incommoded by it. There was only Alingsas and one more wayside posting-house now between them and Gothenborg.

Gustavus crouched over his horse's neck and rode on with such relentless determination that it seemed as if he was possessed of a

demon. Roger was aching in every limb, but gritting liis teeth, he continued to spur his mount into keeping neck to neck with that of the still resolute King. At half-past eight they breasted a slight rise and pulled up in front of the chalet where they expected to make their last change of horses.

To their consternation the postmaster told them that his stable was empty, as a troop of Danish cavalry had seized all his horses that afternoon.

The news could hardly have been worse since, not only were their mounts flagging sadly from the twenty-five miles that they had already covered, but it meant that the Danes had now infiltrated to the south­east of the great lake and at any moment the King and Roger might ride straight into a vedette of enemy skirmishers.

Nevertheless Gustavus would not be deterred from his purpose, so, flogging their tired mounts into a canter they clattered off down the far side of the slope.

The next twenty minutes were a nightmare. For alternate stretches they walked and trotted the poor beasts, alarmed at their ever in­creasing signs of exhaustion and rocking in their saddles from fatigue each time they managed to urge them into a trot. To the strain of keeping the horses moving was added a constant apprehension that they would encounter an enemy patrol.

Their only comfort was the rising of the moon, which now showed the track clearly for some way ahead, and twice they swiftly took cover in the woods on seeing little groups of horsemen in the distance.

At last, having walked their horses up a hill, they saw from its top their journey's end. Below them, no more than three miles distant, the spires and gables of Gothenborg glinted in the moonlight, and beyond them shimmered the sea.

With a cry of joy Gustavus spurred his horse forward and in a stumbling canter it lopped down the easy gradient. Roger too, urged his mount into a last effort and the spurt carried them for half a mile down on to the flat.

Suddenly, the King's horse halted with a jerk which nearly threw him over its head, stood quivering for a moment, then collapsed; rolled over and lay still in the middle of the road.

Gustavus had had time to jump clear and stood by the dead animal, cursing furiously. Roger had overshot him by several yards. Pulling up, he dismounted,-and now desperately anxious lest the King should yet be captured, cried:

"Take my mount, Sire! Your goal is but a few miles ahead. She'll carry you that far if you use her gently. Ride on, I beg, and I'll follow on foot."

With a word of thanks the King hurried to him, hauled himself into the saddle, and ambled off towards the city.

Heaving a sigh from weariness, Roger watched him cover the first quarter of a mile; then, although big clouds had just obscured the moon and a new downpour commenced, he sat down to rest on a bank by the roadside. Now that he could no longer help Gustavus his task was done, and there was no particular urgency about his reaching the city. Even if a Danish patrol came upon him it was highly unlikely that they would interfere with a solitary English traveller.

For half an hour he remained sitting there in the pouring rain. He was very tired physically, but his brain was still so excited from the hazards of his mad ride that he felt no desire to sleep. As eleven o'clock dtumed out from the bells of the city he judged that, unless the King had fallen foul of the enemy or his horse had foundered, he would now be at its gates.

He thought of the famous ride of Swift Nick, often wrongly attri­buted to Dick Turpin, in which the highwayman had ridden from Gad's Hill, via Gravesend ferry, Chelmsford, Cambridge and Huntingdon, to York; a distance of one hundred and ninety miles, in fifteen hours. King Gustavus and himself had covered a hundred and seventy miles ' in fourteen hours; but, whereas Swift Nick had used only one splendid bay mare, they had changed their mounts many times. Nevertheless Roger felt that their feat was one of which any King or subject might well be proud. Standing up he stretched his aching limbs, shook the raindrops from him, and began his trudge to Gothenborg.