Love Conquers War Page 6
The band was already beginning to play the opening bars of a new act when suddenly a tremendous noise could be heard outside the hall.
A number of people were shouting and then there was a pistol shot.
Instantly everyone turned their heads.
The noise of voices grew louder and the door burst open with the cry,
“Out! Out! Out!” “Out with foreigners!” “Clear them out of our country!” “Get them out of Munich!”
Those at the back of the Hall sprang to their feet.
Some of the men tried to prevent what was obviously a rabble of students forcing their way into the room.
But the people in front and nearest to the stage moved forward.
The Professor gripped Tilda by the arm.
“We must get out of this,” he shouted. “There will be another exit.”
The people round them had the same idea.
There was the crash of tables and chairs falling to the floor and the breaking crockery as crowds surged towards the stage like a tidal wave.
There was no question of deciding where one should go and Tilda felt herself carried being along by the people beside her.
The Professor still had hold of her arm and they had to push the people in front of them because they were being pushed themselves from behind.
The noise at the back of the Hall grew louder and louder.
More shots were fired.
Then more voices were screaming,
“Out with the foreigners! Bavaria for the Bavarians! Munich belongs to us!”
Tilda had a brief glimpse of the performers standing on the stage staring at the turmoil that was taking place below them. Then they too turned and ran.
The crowd had carried her and the Professor to the very edge of the stage and she saw that the two double doors on one side of it were open.
Then, as she realised that this was the exit the Professor had spoken about, the lights went out.
As they did so, there went up a great cry, half of anguish and half of amusement.
Now the noise of the invaders was even louder.
“Catch them before they escape! Duck them in the fountains! Give them something to take away from Munich!”
Some of the cries did not sound vindictive or frightening but merely jovial, as if the student or rioter concerned was only playing, but others were swearing viciously in the darkness.
There was a shrill scream and again pistol shots.
The crowd increased its efforts to get away and Tilda found herself swept off her feet so that she was barely touching the ground and simply being carried along by the pressure of the bodies on either side of her.
She reached out for the Professor and finding his hand held on to it tightly.
‘Whatever happens,’ she thought, ‘I must not be separated from him.’
His fingers closed over hers.
Now she felt that he was pulling her with him away from those who seemed almost to suffocate her, so that she was half afraid that she would find it difficult to breathe.
‘If I faint in this,’ she thought to herself. ‘I would be trampled underfoot.’
It was a frightening thought and she held onto the Professor knowing that to lose him would be disastrous.
The passage was almost like a tunnel and then there was a light ahead, as the outer doors must have been flung open.
It was a relief to breathe the cool air after the heat and the smoke of the Beer Hall and quickly Tilda found that she was now outside.
The crowd was running away as quickly as their legs could carry them.
“They are coming round the side of the building,” a man shouted.
And a woman screamed,
“They are not far behind! ”
Everyone was running and Tilda ran too.
They were in the dark narrow lane with no street lighting or it might have been extinguished.
All she could do was to cling to the Professor’s hand.
There were dozens of other people running beside them, having no idea in which direction they were going, but propelled by only one thought – to get away from the Beer Hall and the rioting students.
They ran on until Tilda felt breathless.
Then at the turn of a corner there was a street lamp.
She held on to it feeling that her legs could carry her no further and her body was aching from the pressure of other bodies that had squeezed her so closely in the dark passage of the Beer Hall.
“We have escaped!” she gasped and looked up at the Professor.
For a moment she could not credit it.
She could net believe that she was not dreaming or that her eyes were not deceiving her.
It was not the Professor standing beside her holding her hand, but the man called Rudolph!
If she was surprised, so was he.
He stared at her and then he said,
“I thought you were someone else.”
“I-I – thought you were – my – uncle,” Tilda said, remembering the plan after a slight hesitation.
As she spoke again there was the sound of shouting and pistol shots.
“Whoever we are we had better get out of here,” Rudolph said.
He had dropped Tilda’s hand in his surprise at seeing her, but now he picked it up again.
“Come,” he said, “we don’t want to be caught by those noisy hooligans.”
He pulled her away from the street lamp and, keeping in the shadow of the houses, they ran the length of the short lane, turned into another and a few seconds later turned again.
Neither of them looked back, but Tilda was aware that they were not alone. There were people behind them.
Whether they were friend or foe she had no idea.
She only knew that Rudolph was right. It was sensible to get away.
Everything else could be sorted out afterwards and somehow she would find the Professor and Rudolph would find Mitzi, but for the moment it would be madness to go back and look for them.
On and on they ran and then round the corner of what appeared to be a deserted lane they suddenly found themselves in the midst of a crowd of students.
They both stopped dead and instinctively, because she was afraid, Tilda moved closer to Rudolph’s side.
Then they realised that these students were not rioting but standing defiantly in the small square and that the Police were present.
Swiftly Rudolph turned and, pulling Tilda by the hand, would have moved back the way they had come, but as they did so, a Policeman saw them.
“Into the centre!” he commanded them sharply.
“We are not with these people, Herr Oberinspektor,” Rudolph said.
“Do as you are told! Into the centre!” the Policeman answered curtly.
He had a truncheon in one hand and a pistol in the other and there was nothing they could do but obey him.
They took a few steps forward to join the students, nearly two dozen of them, standing sulkily and yet somehow defiant in the centre of the square.
“What will – happen to – us?” Tilda asked in a frightened whisper.
“It’s all right,” Rudolph answered, “we shall be able to prove we are not students.”
Tilda felt her heart give a frightened leap.
If she gave her real name she was well aware of the scandal that would ensue.
For the future bride of His Royal Highness Prince Maximilian of Obernia to be arrested as a rioting student would be a news story that would undoubtedly be printed in the London newspapers as well as all across Europe.
It would probably mean that the British Embassy would be informed of her behaviour and she could guess what her father and mother would say if they heard about it.
“Please – let’s get away from here,” she urged Rudolph in a frightened voice.
“I will do my best,” he said, “but it’s not going to be easy
“What are they waiting for?” Tilda asked.
“I imagine a P
olice wagon,” he answered.
Tilda drew in her breath.
A Police wagon would take them with the students to Police Headquarters.
If she then told them that she was a tourist, they would undoubtedly ask her where she was staying.
Perhaps before they would set her free the hotel would have to vouch for her.
She saw all sorts of complications and difficulties ahead.
Worst of all she could foresee the shocked reaction of her relatives.
She could almost hear the sort of remarks they would make sitting in their cold formal Palaces where they had little or no contact with the outside world.
“Fancy Queen Victoria’s Godchild behaving in such a manner!”
“Can you imagine the way that girl must have been brought up to behave in such a fashion?”
“It was obvious to me from the very start that she would not be the right sort of wife for Maximilian! ”
It was not him they would be disapproving of now but her.
She could hear their voices, see the expression in their eyes, know that they were looking down their aristocratic noses at her audacity and disreputable conduct.
She found she was holding even tighter to Rudolph’s hand.
“Try not to be frightened,” he said in a kindly voice.
“We must escape! We must!” Tilda insisted.
He made no reply, but drew her slowly and imperceptibly round the students who were standing in the centre of the square.
She saw that he was edging his way towards another road on the opposite side to where they had entered. It was in this direction that the Police kept looking, obviously expecting the wagon at any moment.
‘How could I have been so foolish as to have made the Professor take me to the Beer Hall?’ Tilda asked herself.
It was all her fault, but to be humble and repentant was not going to get her out of the mess she was now in.
“Here it comes! And about time!” she heard the Policeman say and saw a Police wagon drawn by two horses come down the road towards them.
It was a long, black narrow vehicle with no windows and only two doors at the back through which those who were to be conveyed to the Police Station could enter.
There were two Policemen on the box driving the horses and they entered the square to circle it slowly, turning the horses round to face the road they had just come down.
The Policeman opened the doors and two other Policemen ordered the students to move forward.
“Get in!” they commanded.
Two or three students appeared about to obey.
Then, as if the action galvanised the rest of them into life, they all began to shout.
“Down with oppression! Down with the Police! Down with foreigners! We want Munich to be ours!”
The voices rang out riotously in the darkness and, as the Police began hitting a student who tried to escape, there was a yell from behind, the sound of running feet and voices shouting,
“To the rescue! To the rescue! Students to the rescue!”
Suddenly the whole square was in a turmoil.
There were students carrying banners, others with sticks, and even one or two with knives, fighting with the Police, struggling and screaming.
A Policeman fell over and it appeared as if a dozen students were trampling on him.
One of the men in the front of the wagon seated beside the coachman climbed down to go to his assistance.
The noise was indescribable!
Now Policemen were blowing their whistles and the students, noisier than ever, were shouting them down.
There were several shots.
The Policeman driving the horses bent forward from the front of the wagon to see what was happening.
He was half out of his seat although the reins were still in his hand.
With astonishing speed it was then that Rudolph acted.
He pulled the man from the wagon and, as he sprawled on the ground, Rudolph seized the reins from his hands.
In one movement he picked Tilda up and dropped her into the seat in the front of the wagon.
It seemed to her almost as if she flew through the air and then he was beside her.
He had the whip in his hand and he brought it down on the horses’ backs.
They jerked forward, moving at a tremendous pace along the road with the open doors at the back of the wagon swinging behind them.
These made so much noise that it spurred the horses into even quicker efforts to get away from the sound.
There were screams, shouts and yells behind them but Rudolph did not look back.
He was concentrating on keeping the horses in the centre of the road, aware that the wagon swinging behind them could easily turn over.
They were moving so fast that Tilda had to hold onto the sides of her seat to prevent herself from being flung out.
“We have – escaped!” she gasped more to herself than to him.
“For the moment,” he replied. “Now not only the students but the Police are after us!”
“Will they – catch us?” Tilda asked apprehensively.
“I hope not,” he answered. “I believe that there are few comforts in a Munich prison cell.”
He obviously meant to speak soberly, but Tilda could hear the excitement in his voice.
‘This is certainly exciting!’ she told herself, ‘even if it is terrifying!’
They were moving now along roads that mercifully seemed empty and were not, she was sure, in the central part of the City.
The horses were still galloping at a tremendous pace and Rudolph was urging them on.
She realised that he drove well and seemed to know his way. She was sure that he would avoid the main thoroughfares or streets where they were likely to be seen by other Policemen.
They had travelled for only a short while before the houses began to thin out.
Now there were trees and, when they had passed over a bridge, they were in open country.
Rudolph was still urging the horses on until Tilda asked,
“Where are we going?”
“As far away from Munich as possible!”
“But I cannot – I mean – I am staying in – Munich.”
“It will not be very healthy for either of us at the moment” he said and now there was no doubt that he was laughing. “Not only are we branded as rioting students but we have also stolen Police property and that, I am quite certain, is a criminal offence.”
“But I must go back!” Tilda cried. “They will miss me and they will make – trouble.”
“Not half as much trouble as I shall be in if I am caught,” Rudolph said.
Tilda was still for a moment and then she asked,
“You have – reasons for not wishing to be – interrogated by the Police?”
“I have indeed!” he replied and now he was no longer laughing.
‘I am in the same position,’ Tilda told herself.
She wondered as they travelled on in the darkness what he had done.
It could not be anything very bad, she thought. After all, he had seemed happy enough this morning when he had been chasing Mitzi through the woods at the Linderhof.
At the same time she could remember hearing stories of interrogations by the Police in Continental countries.
Stories of people shut up in damp dark cells having to prove themselves innocent, unlike in England where one was innocent until proven guilty.
‘He is right!’ Tilda thought. ‘We neither of us want to be caught. Whatever happens, we must avoid the Police!’
But, as they rattled along in the darkness in a stolen Police wagon, it seemed an aspiration unlikely to be fulfilled!
Chapter Four
They drove on and now Rudolph slowed the horses so that they were moving at a more normal pace and the flapping doors did not make so much noise.
The moon, which had been obscured by clouds, came out and everything was touched with the radiance of its silver light.
The road wound, Tilda saw, through a valley with hills rising on either side and silhouetted against the starlit sky were the snow-clad peaks of the mountains.
The wind blowing from the snows was icy and Tilda shivered.
“You are cold!” Rudolph exclaimed, “hold the reins for a moment.”
Tilda obeyed him wonderingly. Then she realised that he was taking off his jacket.
“There is no reason for you to give me your coat,” she said quickly, “I am quite all right.”
“I am much tougher than you are,” he answered.
He put his jacket over her shoulders and took the reins back from her hands.
“What is your name?” he asked after a moment.
“Tilda, and thank you for your coat.”
“There is no need to thank me, and I am Rudolph.”
With difficulty Tilda prevented herself from saying that she knew this already.
“You are a tourist in Bavaria?” he enquired.
“Yes. I am English.”
“I thought you must be.”
“Why?” Tilda enquired.
“Because only the English could remain cool and calm under such extremely explosive circumstances.”
She saw him smile and then he added,
“I feel that really you ought to be crying hysterically on my shoulder.”
“I have always been brought up to understand that men dislike scenes, especially when they are concentrating on their horseflesh,” Tilda replied.
“You are quite right,” Rudolph approved.
“But why are you running away?” Tilda asked, “except, of course, from the Police. You are not a foreigner.”
“I am not Bavarian if that is what you mean.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“I thought you must be.”
“No. I am Obernian.”
“Then it is the fault of your country that all this rioting has started.”
“How do you know that?” he enquired.
“I was told in the Beer Hall that the students did not like the University’s choice of a Vice-Chancellor because he came from Obernia.”
“They do not really need an excuse for making a nuisance of themselves.”
“The students have always been very powerful” Tilda said. “After all it was due to them that Ludwig I was forced to abdicate.”