The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

by Dennis Wheatley

  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 flattish 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 Gothenburg.

  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 Gothenburg.

  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 his 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 châlet 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 south-east 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 Gothenburg 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 chimed 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 Gothenburg.

  He met no one on the way and when, nearly an hour later, he arrived looking and feeling like a drowned rat, at the Gamla Port of the city, he found it closed against him.

  His shouts brought a ready response from a group of sentinels up on the wall and one said to his companions in German with a laugh: ‘Having had one fellow here tonight who claims to be the King, what will you wager me against this one telling us that he’s the Crown Prince?’

  On Roger giving his name and vowing that he had accompanied the King to within three miles of the city, their hilarity was suddenly stilled. It then transpired that Gustavus having arrived at the gate in a junior officer’s uniform, and unattended by a single companion, they had refused to believe that he was their King, and had kept him outside as a butt for their jests for nearly an hour. He had only just been admitted and was still being questioned in the guardroom.

  Roger’s story tallying so completely with that which Gustavus had already given, he was let in without more ado, and he rejoined the furiously angry monarch just as he was being led under escort to the Guild House.

  The rumour that a man who claimed to be the King had arrived had now spread through the city, and lights were appearing everywhere as people hurried from their beds to ascertain the truth. The prisoners and their guards had not proceeded far when a man ran out of the crowd, and throwing himself at Gustavus’s feet, proclaimed that he was indeed their King, for he knew him well, and that by his timely arrival he had saved them all from destruction.

  The joy of the people was then wonderful to behold. Cheering and shouting they crowded about Gustavus, striving to kiss his hands or even touch his person; and, swiftly gaining the mastery over his outraged feelings, he smilingly adopted his favourite role of their father and paladin. It was only with the greatest difficulty that he persuaded the citizens to allow him to continue on his way; but, at length, hundreds of them waving torches formed into a great procession and led him in triumph to the Governor’s house.

  Old General Duretz was bot
h surprised and confounded by the unexpected appearance of his sovereign; and, wringing his hands, told him that he had been most ill-advised to come, as nothing could save the city from capture.

  ‘You mistake, General!’ replied the King disdainfully. ‘I came on purpose to save it. Now I require beds for myself and the gallant gentleman who accompanied me. I will make my pleasure known to you in the morning.’

  It then transpired that neither beds, plate, tables nor chairs remained in the house, as the General had sent them all away the day before to prevent them being pillaged by the Danes. At this an English merchant who was standing among the crowd came forward and begged the King to accept the use of his house, which chanced to be next door; so Gustavus and Roger gratefully followed him to it and, flinging themselves down on two piles of rugs before the fire, fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

  The King’s famous ride had taken place on the 3rd of October; yet, in spite of that gruelling experience, he arose before dawn on the 4th and sent for the principal personages of the city, to whom he announced his intention of defending it to the last extremity.

  General Duretz fell on his knees before him and begged him not to do so. In an effort to cover his own shame and partly, perhaps, from an honest conviction, the Governor urged that the place was in no state to resist. He said that by the previous evening it had been three-parts surrounded and within a few hours would be so entirely, and that he had received intelligence that by mid-day they would be sent a summons to surrender. Should it be rejected a bloody assault would follow and His Majesty’s sacred person be exposed to grave danger.

  Gustavus heard him out in silence, then said quietly: ‘Such being your opinion, General, you will, of course, feel much obliged to me for releasing you from the charge of this garrison. Retire, Sir, and follow your baggage.’

  He then appointed Count John Sparr to be the new Governor, and told the assembled magistrates and the officers that if only they could hold the city for a few days his army of Dalecarlians would have time to come to their assistance; and of his hopes that if they could thus rob the enemy of a major triumph, Britain and Prussia would actively intervene before it was too late.

  Charmed by his eloquence and animated by his courage, his listeners pledged themselves to give him their utmost support and broke up to set about the defence of the city in earnest.

  The King then made a personal tour of the defences, and Roger, who accompanied him as one of his suite, soon saw that General Duretz had at least had some grounds for believing the place to be indefensible. Although the greatest fortress in Sweden it had been allowed to go to rack and ruin, the timbered platforms of the batteries having become so rotten that they would not bear the weight of a cannon.

  It was already abundantly clear that Gustavus’s momentous decision to throw himself into Gothenburg had been fully justified, as, had he not done so, the city would certainly have been surrendered without firing a shot; but by the end of the tour of inspection Roger feared that the gallant gesture would have been made in vain if the Danes attacked the place with even moderate determination.

  Nevertheless, as far as emergency measures could be taken they were now in full train, and the whole population was enthusiastically engaged in digging earthworks and dragging up great baulks of good timber to replace those that had rotted in the gun emplacements.

  At mid-day, General Duretz’s intelligence was proved correct by the arrival of a herald from Prince Charles of Hesse-Cassel, bearing a letter for the Governor which peremptorily demanded the surrender of Gothenburg. To the herald’s astonishment, he was taken, not to the Governor, but before the King, who promptly returned a defiant answer.

  The die was now cast and an assault could be expected as soon as the Danish General had deployed his troops. In a private conversation with Roger that evening Gustavus admitted that in spite of the new heart he had put into the garrison he feared that the city could not possibly resist a serious attack, and that their one hope now lay in Mr. Elliot.

  Nevertheless, they laboured on all through the next day improving the defences and, late that night, just as they were about to retire, Hugh Elliot joined them. He was looking very tired and ill, and his news was of the blackest. He had reached Uddevalla, where the Danish headquarters were established, late on the night of the 4th, but found that both Prince Charles and the young Crown Prince were absent, directing the movements of their troops. During the day he had despatched two letters to the Danish Commander-in-Chief, requesting that a truce should be called so that negotiations might be opened to prevent a general European conflagration. To both Prince Charles had disdained to reply.

  ‘And so, Sire,’ the British Minister concluded. ‘Since I have failed you as a diplomat I am come to offer myself to your Majesty as a soldier. Having been trained in arms as a young man I have some knowledge of artillery; and if my country is dilatory in honouring its obligations, I can at least prove my belief that she will yet do so by acting as if Britain was at war with Denmark, and dying in our united cause.’

  Gustavus embraced him, vowing that no man could have done more, and that hs accepted his offer with deep gratitude. After talking gloomily together for a little they then parted for the night.

  Next morning Elliot, although still suffering from a fever, threw himself into the work of defence. There were several British ships in the harbour, and taking Roger to assist him, he mustered their crews and addressed them. He told the officers and men that Britain had pledged herself to assist Sweden in her war against an unjustified aggression, and asked them to join him in honouring their country’s obligation by taking part in the defence of the city. To man they agreed to do so, and as all the ships carried cannon there were many good gunners among them. Under his direction the British seamen cheerfully set about disembarking their pieces and manhandling them through the streets to the redoubts where they were most needed.

  Yet, after seeing the miserable, makeshift state of the defences, Hugh Elliot confessed to Roger that he saw small hope of their holding the city in the face of a determined assault. All that he had seen during the morning had made him so pessimistic of Gustavus’s chances of successfully giving battle to the Danes, and escaping being made their prisoner on the fall of the city, that at mid-dav, when they rejoined the King, he told him that he had determined on writing yet a third letter to Prince Charles in an eleventh-hour attempt to induce the enemy to negotiate.

  The letter was written and despatched to Uddevalla by a galloper early in the afternoon. After that they could only continue with their feverish preparations against attack and wait, with such fortitude as they could muster, for what the night might bring.

  In the middle of the night the messenger returned with a despatch which stated that, while the Danish forces would continue their preparations for a mass assault on Gothenburg, Prince Charles was prepared to give the British Minister an audience the following day.

  The relief of Gustavus and his entourage was immense. Yet they recognised that their lives and safety still hung in the balance, and the outcome of the interview was awaited with feverish impatience.

  Mr. Elliot departed for Uddevalla at dawn on the morning of the 7th, taking Roger with him to act as his confidential courier, but when Roger returned to Gothenburg late that night he could only report that negotiations were proceeding. Between six a.m. and one p.m. he had covered the sixty miles with Hugh Elliot in his carriage, and between four in the afternoon and ten at night he had done the return trip on horseback, so he again slept the sleep of exhaustion.

  At eight o’clock next morning he set out again, to see if he could secure more definite tidings which might lift the sense of doom from the anxious and breathless city; but when he reached Uddevalla Hugh Elliot had none to give him, so he slept there that night.

  On the morning of the 9th there was a further conference, and after leaving it at mid-day the British Minister said to him with a wry smile: ‘Half-a-loaf is better than no bread. I have succeede
d in inducing the Danes to grant King Gustavus an eight-day armistice. You have well earned the right to inform him of these good tidings, for what they are worth, so ride on ahead and tell him. I feel desperately ill, so shall follow more slowly in my carriage to give him full particulars.’

  Roger rode all out and reached Gothenburg by five in the afternoon. Gustavus received his news with the utmost thankfulness, and asked him how he might reward him for bringing it. Roger then told him how he had been forced to abandon his Star and ribbon in a dungeon at Schlüsselburg; upon which the King promptly replied: ‘I will make you an Officer of the Order, for no man has better deserved it!’ and presented him with his own Star, mounted in diamonds.

  At ten o’clock Hugh Elliot arrived and gave the King details of his negotiations. On the carrying out of very modest stipulations the Danes were prepared to cease hostilities and evacuate their entire army to Norway.

  Gustavus was utterly amazed and could scarcely find words to express his gratitude; but the diplomat warned him that nothing definite had been agreed, and that the Danes had only consented to abandon the conflict on the confirmation of certain eventualities. Tired out but in a far more optimistic frame of mind, Gustavus and his suite sought their beds.

  Hugh Elliot and Roger were sharing a room in the English merchant’s house, and when they reached it Roger said:

  ‘Tell me, Sir! How did you achieve this miracle?’

  The Minister sank upon the bed. His thin face was flushed and his eyes unnaturally bright, as he replied: ‘I can make no secret of it from you, since you are intimately involved. I could not find it in myself to stand by and witness this great city, with all its people, become the spoil and plaything of a brutal invader. Upon my own responsibility I took a high tone with the Danes and threatened them with the destruction of their whole kingdom did they not instantly desist from their invasion of Sweden, and withdraw.’