Luke had just come in from the stables. It was while he was still in the little dining-room, looking over the supper laid out there, that he heard Giles shout. He immediately came into the hall to see if he could be of any help. There he was bumped into, first by the innkeeper dashing for the yard, and then by Giles himself leaping down the stairs two steps at a time. His master grabbed him by the arm and poured words into his ear as though his very life depended on their speed.
‘Get yourself a fresh horse, Luke, and ride for the castle at once. You’ll have to travel all night. Change mounts a dozen times if need be. Beg, borrow or take them—I’ll look after that later. Don’t go round by the Harbour Turnpike. Take the short cut across the moors. You ought to reach the palace by daybreak, or soon after. Tell the King Barbara is safe and unharmed. There was no kidnapping. That’s all I know now. But you can promise him that if everything goes as I hope I’ll bring her back before sunset tomorrow. Where’s that fool of an innkeeper? Why doesn’t he hurry? Here’s some money. You pay the reckoning here. And tell me, did you put anything in the pocket of this tunic when you packed it?’ (Luke shook his head.) ‘No, of course not. Well, never mind that now. There isn’t a second to lose. Where is that man?—Ah, I hear Midnight now. He’s bringing her to the front door here. Goodbye, Luke. May good luck travel with us both!’
The door opened and slammed. The rest was a clatter of horse’s hoofs galloping down the road.
While the dazed Luke tried to pull his wits together, his speeding master was thinking of that ferry-boat. Would it be this side or the other side of the river?
Barbara so near! Who would have guessed it? Up there at the convent gate. And he wondering just a little while ago if she had crossed the seas! Finder’s luck!
In five minutes he had reached the landing. No boat in sight. He would not wait for it. It was a slow craft anyhow. He gauged the distance across the river with his eye. Yes, Midnight had swum farther than that in her day. Now, at the light touch of his spur, she leapt clean from the wharf’s edge into the dark water. Then with long steady strokes she churned her way out into the stream.
Giles, as he had often done before, slipped out of the saddle. This was to free her of his weight. And with his right hand twined in her flowing mane, he half swam and was half towed beside her. He peered ahead, upwards, at the lights of the convent chapel. The distance looked greater from here than it had from the boat-landing.
Presently, nearly in mid-river, a current was felt. It grew in strength, with almost overpowering suddenness. Both beast and man were being borne downstream at a terrifying speed. The thought of the sea, so close, flashed into Giles’s mind. What if they should be swept clear out into the ocean? The tide was certainly at full ebb.
He thought of letting Midnight go, free to gain the shore of her own accord without the drag of his body. A good swimmer himself, he could likely reach the shore alone. But he decided that once separated, they might have difficulty finding one another again in the darkness on the land. It was a risk; and at best would mean a loss of precious time.
No, he would cling on; and together they must do their best. He could hear her breathing hard as she changed direction a little, to head more upstream and make the crossing aslant. For Midnight, too, knew the danger of that ebb-tide, with the smell of the sea so near. Close by her neck, he gasped endearing words up into her ear to cheer her on. And, in answer, her mighty heels kicked at the evil, dragging current with still greater strength.