There was no chance of outrunning them. Daniel accepted that. Their horses had been chosen for speed and stamina. His, by contrast, was the kind of serviceable but willing animal that a wine merchant might be expected to own. It was only a question of minutes before he was overhauled. Since there was no hope of winning a race, Daniel’s sole means of escape was to elude them somehow. The wood ahead of him offered that vague possibility. Coaxing the last ounce of speed from his horse, he pounded towards it then veered off to the right, heading for the point where the trees and undergrowth seemed at their most dense. He was just in time. The moment he changed direction, a bullet from the pistol whistled harmlessly past him. Had he stayed on the track, it would have hit him squarely between the shoulder blades.

Unaware of his good fortune, Daniel rode on. Plunging into the wood, he had to slow his horse down so that he could pick a way through the trees and bushes with a degree of safety. He finally had something in his favour. Though most of the leaves had been shed, there was still a thick fretwork of branches above his head, darkening the interior of the wood and limiting visibility. It was like riding through a huge cavern with a timber roof. The deeper he penetrated, the murkier it got. When he stole a glance over his shoulder, he could barely make out the shadowy figures hunting him. Confident that their quarry could not escape, the soldiers had fanned out and were moving at a trot. Some of them taunted him, ignoring the scratch of bushes and the jab of low branches. Nothing would stop them. They were lusting for a kill.