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.
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 to-night 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 behqld. 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 both 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.