‘Quick!’ said Conyngham’s voice. ‘Quick—take your reins—never mind the lamps.’
And the carriage swayed as the man leapt to his place. Estella made a movement to look out of the window, but Concha had stood up against it, opposing his broad back alike to curious glances or a knife or a bullet. At the other window the General, better versed in such matters, held the leather cushion upon which he had been sitting across the sash. With his left hand he restrained Estella.
‘Keep still,’ he said. ‘Sit back. Conyngham can take care of himself.’
The carriage swayed forward, and a volley of stones rattled on it like hail. It rose jerkily on one side, and bumped over some obstacle.
‘One who has his quietus,’ said Concha; ‘these royal carriages are heavy.’
The horses were galloping now. Concha sat down rubbing his back. Conyngham was galloping by the window, and they could see his spur flashing in the moonlight as he used it. The reins hung loose, and both his hands were employed elsewhere, for he had a man half across the saddle in front of him, who held to him with one arm thrown round his neck, while the other was raised and a gleam of steel was at the end of it. Concepçion, from the other side, threw a knife over the roof of the carriage—he could hit a cork at twenty paces but he missed this time.
The General, from within, leant across Estella, sword in hand, with gleaming eyes. But Conyngham seemed to have got the hold he desired, for his assailant came suddenly swinging over the horse’s neck, and one of his flying heels crashed through the window by Concha’s head, making that ecclesiastic swear like any layman. The carriage was lifted on one side again, and bumped heavily.
‘Another,’ said Concha, looking for broken glass in the folds of his cassock. ‘That is a pretty trick of Conyngham’s.’
‘And the man is a horseman,’ added the General, sheathing his sword—‘a horseman. It warms the heart to see it.’
Then he leant out of the window and asked if any were hurt.