‘Then I think we had better make a run for it.’ Matching words with action, Jane snapped the reins across the horse’s back. It sprang forward, and Jane let the reins out like long strands of glamour, conjuring the horse to speed.

At first they pulled away from the officers, as their horse was fresher than theirs, and eager to run. The phaeton rattled down the road. But as they went, the cart began to wear on their horse and the gap between them narrowed. Fire raced up Jane’s arms as she strained to hold on.

They overtook a carriage travelling toward Brussels and Jane fought to steer their phaeton around it. The coachman looked astonished as they came round.

Jane shouted, ‘Napoleon is behind us!’

With a glance over his shoulder, the coachman cursed and whipped his horses so they lumbered into a gallop behind Jane and Vincent. One of the French officers got past and drew alongside.

Vincent roared, rising to his knees, and flung Jane’s canvas at the soldier. His horse shied and reared, tossing his rider under the hooves of his comrades. Cursing, one of the other riders drew his pistol and took aim.

The retort alarmed Jane’s horse. He sprang forward with a new burst of speed, but they did not have long before one of the other riders gained on them. Vincent lifted the easel and swung it at the man. The officer caught it on his sabre, splintering the wood. With the shattered remnant, Vincent aimed next at the horse’s head and neck.

Jane split her attention between the view over her shoulder and the road before her. Though the latter demanded her attention, her greatest interest lay with her husband as he tried to fend off the Frenchmen. As they began to climb one of the rolling hills that marked the Belgian countryside, her horse flagged. Taking advantage of the slower pace, the coachman’s outrider levelled a long carbine and aimed it at the soldier in the rear. The shot went wide but caused him to drop back nevertheless.

Mounting the top of the hill, Jane surveyed the road ahead. A peasant woman drove her flock of geese along the road, and beyond her, a carriage rode toward them from Brussels with riders before and behind. Jane doubted of her ability to steer clear of the woman and still miss the approaching carriage.

Gaining speed as they charged down the hill, Jane shouted, ‘Alarm! Alarm! Napoleon is behind us.’

The woman shrieked and tossed her apron over her head. She and the geese scattered, she to the side of the road, the geese rising into the air. Jane’s horse liked this not at all, and broke from the road, galloping into the rye fields.