As the coach passed below the Schloss, the horses were still going at a gallop; but after a mile, their pace began to slacken. Few men knew more about the staying power of horses than
Roger; and he grimly admitted to himself that, if they were to complete the journey, the most that could be expected of them was a fast trot, cased every mile or two by dropping into a walk.
Having ordered the coachman to slow down, Roger began to assess their chances of getting away. For the footman who had bolted to get back to the height on which the Schloss stood, then trudge up the road to it should take a good three-quarters of an hour. Another half-hour might be spent in unavailingly searching for von Haugwitz in the vineyards, then a final quarter of an hour for Big Karl to decide to act on his own and have his men saddle up.
That meant that the coach would have at least an hour and a half's start. But it could not travel at much more than ten miles an hour, whereas mounted men could do twenty. By the time they started, the coach should be about half-way to Coblenz, but after that the gap would swiftly close. If the pursuers rode hard, they might overtake the coach at any spot on the last ten miles to Coblenz.
"What then?' wondered Roger. As the Confederation of the Rhine was a part of Napoleon's empire, he had gone to Langenstein in uniform. Once in Coblenz, where there was a French garrison, no-one would dare lay a hand on him; although, now that he had ditched Lisala, it was certain that she would betray him, so he must disappear before he could be caught and hauled back to face a firing squad at the order of the Emperor. It followed that his chances of getting away would be better if no-one in Coblenz could report that he had passed through that city.
But speculation about the future was, for the moment, beyond the point; since the odds were that von Haugwitz's men would overtake the coach before it reached Coblenz. Would they dare detain a French Colonel? Since they owed allegiance only to the Baron, he feared they would; for it was he, not they who would have to account for the act. And von Haugwitz could justify it by the fact that Roger was making off with his wife.
The slow descent from the Schloss, their setting out towards Frankfurt and turning the coach round had delayed their taking the road to Coblenz by a good half-hour; but they had covered fifteen miles by ten o'clock—roughly the hour that Roger judged Big Karl might send his men in pursuit of them. With the horses trotting and walking alternately, they progressed another five miles. Then disaster overtook them.
For the first hour, Roger had ridden alongside the coachman, keeping a sharp eye on him. Then, assuming that the man had become resigned to driving them in to Coblenz, he had, now and then, dropped a little behind, to talk to Georgina. He was doing so and the coach was moving at a smart trot, when it suddenly swerved and hit with its near forewheel a large boulder at the side of the road. As a result of the impact, the front axle snapped and, tilting sideways, the vehicle came to an abrupt halt.
Convinced that the coachman had caused the accident deliberately Roger, swearing like a trooper, rode up alongside him, lifted his riding switch and slashed the man with it again and again across the head, shoulders and face. Screaming with pain the man fell into the road from the far side of the box. But this ferocious chastisement could not mend the axle.
A village could be seen in the distance; and, for a moment, Roger thought of galloping into it to fetch a wheelwright. Then he dismissed the idea as useless, for it would have taken several hours' work to repair the damage to the coach. Another possibility was to mount Georgina behind him, ride into the village and take the ferry across the river to the far bank. But to do so would be to court great danger. In theory, the other side of the river was French territory, but French writ did not run there. Napoleon's garrisons were stationed only in towns many miles apart. Between the rivers Rhine and Moselle lay the Hunsruck mountains. Bands of deserters of all nations roamed their forest heights; robbing, looting, murdering at will. He could not possibly take Georgina across the many miles of almost trackless territory inhabited by outlaws.
Georgina had scrambled from the lurching coach. With a courage that had all Roger's admiration, she said quietly, 'This is most unfortunate. What would be best for us to do now?'
By then, Roger had come to a decision, and replied, 'There's only one thing for it, m'dear. We'll take the horses from the coach, and you must ride.'
Kicking the recumbent coachman in the ribs, he said, 'Get up, you filth. Help me unharness the horses. You're lucky that I have, not thrown you in the river to drown. And I will yet if you give me the least trouble.'
Mopping his bleeding face, the man staggered to his feet and, with trembling fingers, set about unbuckling the harness. Handing the reins of his charger to Georgina, Roger adjusted the stirrups and mounted her upon it. Then, as soon as one of the coach horses had been freed, he strapped on its back the coach rug, folded into a thick pad to serve as a makeshift saddle for himself. The other horse he intended to use as a lead horse, and lashed to its back the two valises containing Geor-gina's most precious possessions. Finally, he turned to the coachman and snapped:
Take off your coat. I want it.'
For a moment the man stared at him in surprise; then, feeling that it was a cheap price to pay for escaping with his life from this terrible Frenchman, he wriggled out of the garment and handed it over. He was a tall man; the coat a long one, coming down nearly to his ankles, and it had a wide, triple collar. It had occurred to Roger that it would completely cover his uniform, and thus enable him to pass any French troops they might encounter in Coblenz, without being saluted and, possibly, remembered. Picking up the coachman's hat for good measure, he hauled himself up on to his makeshift saddle and, with Georgina beside him, rode away from the wrecked coach.
But now it was more than ever uncertain if they would reach Coblenz without being caught. The breakdown of the coach had cost them a good twenty minutes, and it was close on eleven o'clock. If mounted men had been sent after them by this time they could not be far behind; and there was still a third of the way to go. Yet, as sometimes happens, good comes out of seeming ill-fortune; since, without the heavy coach to pull, the horses were capable of greater speed.
With Roger now and then glancing apprehensively over his shoulder, they passed through two more villages and made another five miles. Then, as they were coming to the end of a long, straight stretch of road, he looked back and saw that five horsemen had just entered the stretch at a fast trot.
'They are after us,' he called to Georgina. 'But their horses must be near as tired as ours. Get all the speed you can out of yours.'
Spurring their mounts, they rounded the bend at a canter, with Georgina, who had always been a splendid horsewoman, leading. A quarter of a mile further on, Roger shouted to her to ease up. He had seen, as he had hoped he might, a track leading off the road up through the vineyards. Turning into it, they rode on for a couple of hundred yards, then dismounted and led the horses in among the vines. Unlike the low-growing vines in most countries, those on the Rhine and Moselle are trained up six-foot-tall poles; so anyone hiding among them could not be seen from the road.
Ten minutes later, they caught the sound of hoofbeats. Roger went on tiptoe to steal a glance through the vine tops at their pursuers. Then he began to laugh. The horsemen were not von Haugwitz's people, but a little troop of Hessian Hussars.
For a few minutes they stood there, then Roger suddenly had an idea. 'Quick!' he exclaimed. 'We must mount again and go after them.'