(A/N: This is a translation of the German story Gefangene der Angst by E. M. K. 81, which I am uploading with the author's permission in the hopes that other English-speaking readers will enjoy it as much as I did. Further chapters will appear as and when I finish translating them. For a link to the original, see my profile.)

The journey

On Pierre's recommendation, Raoul and Christine used a commonplace, nondescript carriage. They had a single driver, no servants and only Pierre for escort, riding on a horse next to the coach.

Pierre had chosen the horse himself from the stables of the Comte de Chagny, against the express advice of the latter. It was a big grey stallion, generally regarded as so vicious and dangerous that it should really have been shot. But for whatever reason, Pierre considered that this unattractive, shaggy and aggressive beast would go very well with his three big shaggy hounds, which answered to the names of Scylla, Charybdis and Cerberus.

To the astonishment of everyone Pierre was able to calm the horse enough to saddle, bridle and ride it, although he had great difficulty at the start. The animal knew exactly how to get rid of a rider by bucking and bounding, and it was almost midday before it gave up its resistance to being ridden.

Raoul looked out of the window of the coach at Pierre. "Can you manage?" he asked in concern.

"Yes, yes — don't worry — I'll handle it," Pierre answered, just as one of the dogs ran too close to the stallion, which leapt sideways in alarm. Pierre kept his seat. "We'll be able to — Hey! Scylla, come here! Down, Charybdis! — get along together."

Raoul sat down again. "It looks as if this soldier of ours with a taste for the classics will manage somehow. I can only hope that we're not currently being followed; he's so taken up with the horse and the dogs that he wouldn't notice so much as a steam engine."

"Give him a chance," Christine said. "After all, it's not as if we have any alternative."

In the evening they put up at a small inn. The driver looked after the horses, save for Pierre's stallion, which he had to take care of himself since the driver refused so much as to go near the beast. Pierre was clearly aching all over from the arduous ride, but he took great pains not to let it be seen. Raoul was discussing with the landlord which rooms they could have when Pierre, who was visibly limping, came into the inn's parlour.

"And I tell you it's impossible to turn a whole floor over to you," insisted the landlord, "where are the other guests to sleep?"

"He'll be taking the top floor — all of it!" Pierre's voice brought to mind the low growl of a wolf. The old soldier stood there calmly and lit a cigarette, flanked by his three dogs. A brown bag hung over his right shoulder, on his left-hand side a pistol holster and a pistol were clearly visible, and prominently in view at his back was a gun with a sawn-off barrel. The largest of the dogs showed its teeth.

"See here, my good man," Pierre went on, "Cerberus here is a little nervous. We don't want him keeping your guests awake with barking, or — God forbid — biting someone, now do we?"

"Monsieur Bertrand, that is quite unnecessary!" snapped Raoul, with an edge in his voice that Christine had never heard from him before. "While you are in my service, there will be no threats made to anyone — is that clear?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Vicomte," Pierre answered, with a hint of a bow, and cast a glance at the landlord which made it plain that he was in no way prepared to comply with the order.

"Of course we'll pay," Raoul told the landlord. "Naturally I'll hire all the rooms on the top floor."

The landlord looked from Raoul to Pierre and back again, and finally decided to take the money. It seemed to him far safer than entering into an debate involving the dangerous dogs.

Raoul and Christine took their places in the dining room, and the driver disappeared with his supper and a mug of beer in the direction of their carriage, which was standing with the vehicles of the other guests, so that he could chat with his fellow-coachmen. Pierre obtained some bones and leftovers for his dogs from the kitchen, and decided to have his own meal together with them outside the door of the inn.

It was getting late when Raoul went to look for him.

"Monsieur Bertrand, my wife and I are going to turn in," Raoul said, and Pierre stood up, his dogs following suit without any need for a command.

"Then I'll have a look to see how you can spend the night in safety."

The soldier sought out the room at the end of the top-floor corridor for the Vicomte and Vicomtesse. "May I ask what the point of that is?" Christine enquired, curious.

"The higher up in the house, the harder it is to break in," explained Pierre, "and I'll be spending the night in the corridor outside your door with my dogs."

Raoul prepared the bedroom as he usually did, by setting a little lamp on the table and lighting it.

"What the devil's that for?" cried Pierre, who was watching through the open door.

"If we are surprised in the night, I'll be able to see the attacker," Raoul pointed out.

"Not like that! You're illuminating the bed — that way all it takes is a rifle on the roof of one of the neighbouring houses to pick you off. First of all, close the shutters: what can't be seen, can't be shot. After that — if you want to sleep with a light, get hold of a dark lantern that sends out a single beam, and direct it at the door. That way, any attacker will be standing in the light and you'll be in darkness behind."

Raoul and Christine looked at each other in consternation. All these months they had been running a risk without knowing it.

Pierre went down to get one of the coach-lamps, stood it on the little table and directed it at the door.

"That's better," he said, satisfied. "Now, please don't come out into the corridor during the night without calling out first. The dogs aren't used to you yet, and it could be awkward. Good night, Madame — Monsieur."

The night passed far from peacefully. Twice the snarling of the dogs jolted Christine and Raoul awake. In the morning Christine was up very early. "Can I come out?" she called through the closed door.

In answer came the sound of barking, a loud "Quiet!", and finally, much quieter, "Now you can." Christine stepped into the hallway and saw Pierre sitting with his back against the wall a few metres away. His three dogs lay on the floor next to him.

"Good morning," said Christine in a friendly tone.

Pierre stood up with an effort and stretched. He returned her greeting. "Good morning, Madame. There were a couple of drunks up here last night who had got the wrong floor, that was all. No problems."

At breakfast the landlady came to the Vicomte's table and enquired timidly whether he would be leaving at once. "Naturally, right after breakfast," responded the latter, and was astonished when her face brightened at this reply. "Why, is something wrong?"

The landlady explained that two other guests had complained about the dogs and one had actually been bitten, although he didn't want to lay a complaint with the police. He was afraid of the dogs and of Pierre.

While the driver was harnessing up the horses, the Vicomte had words with Pierre. "I can't have your dogs going round biting people — and you can't simply threaten them!"

"And how am I supposed to protect you, then?" retorted Pierre. "Perhaps I'm supposed to ask an attacker politely if he would be so good as to take himself off to the devil!"

He took a couple of deep breaths, felt in his breast pocket, and drew out his cigarette case and matches in order to light himself a cigarette. After his first pull he said, in a calmer and considerably more courteous voice, "Forgive me, sir, I spoke out of turn. I'll take more care in the future. I'm sorry, but I fell asleep last night, and when the two drunks entered the corridor my dogs cornered them immediately. One of them stood still and wasn't bitten, but the other trod on Scylla, who gave him a bite. If I had been awake it wouldn't have happened. It... it won't occur again."

"That's a fine fellow we've been landed with," Raoul said with a sigh, sitting down opposite Christine in the coach. "I just don't know what I'm to do with this man Bertrand."

That day's journey was very laborious. Christine was feeling sick and they frequently had to halt so that she could get some fresh air. On one of these occasions Raoul noticed Pierre looking back through a small pair of field-glasses. "Is everything all right?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh yes, I just wanted to check who is in that little open carriage behind us," Pierre assured him.

They made another halt. Christine was in the coach with the windows open and Raoul and the driver were standing next to it with the map, discussing where the next inn was in which they could spend the night, when one of the horses suddenly shied.

A jolt ran through the coach as both horses bolted. The driver was holding the reins, but was dragged along and had to let go to avoid being pulled under the wheels of the carriage. Raoul ran in pursuit, but on foot he had no chance of catching the bolting team.

Moments later Pierre went tearing after the coach on his stallion. Now it was clear why he had chosen this horse; it was considerably faster than the coach-horses and he swiftly caught up with the coach, which was swaying dangerously and threatening to overturn. Pierre brought his mount directly alongside the nearside horse and seized hold of the mane of the latter. How he managed to change horses in full gallop was more than Raoul could make out, but all at once Pierre was seated astride the other animal and grabbing for its reins with his left hand while his right hand seized the reins of the offside horse. The coach slowed at once and finally came to a standstill.

The nearside horse, still agitated, reared up. Pierre pulled it back down and both horses sidled and pranced, but without setting the vehicle back in motion.

Raoul reached the coach completely out of breath, flung the door open and found Christine lying senseless on the floor. He caught her in his arms and lifted her down in order to lay her on the grass at some distance from the carriage and the still unsettled horses. The driver also arrived and tried to get back onto his box, but at that moment for no apparent reason the horses bolted again and the coach dashed off.

Raoul paid no attention, for he was tending to Christine, who had reopened her eyes. "What happened?" she asked weakly.

"Are you all right?" asked the Vicomte anxiously.

Christine sat up cautiously and put a hand to her brow. "I think I must have hit my head," she murmured.

Then they looked around for the coach. It had turned round and Pierre was driving it at a slow pace back towards the Vicomte and his wife. Here he handed over the reins to the driver, before sitting down on the grass, breathing heavily. The dogs ran up to their master at once to greet him joyfully and get stroked.

"What happened?" Christine asked, worried.

"I think... insect.. flew into... ear of.. nearside horse," Pierre answered between gasps, before allowing himself to sink to the ground and lie there on his back until he could regain his breath. Meanwhile the driver had succeeded in quietening the horses and turning the coach to face the right way.

"Is it safe to get back into the coach?" Raoul asked, concerned. The driver gave it as his opinion that the horses had tired themselves out and that no further antics were likely.

Pierre looked around for his own mount and found the stallion grazing peacefully some distance away. When he approached the horse, it neatly evaded him. Raoul tried to help him catch the animal, but it escaped more adroitly than ever.

"This is getting us nowhere," snapped Pierre, and he went to the coach and took some oats from the driver's bag. He approached the stallion cautiously with the oats in his hand. The horse was clearly torn between greed and the wish to run away. When it finally accepted the oats, Pierre was able to catch hold of the reins and lead the horse back to the coach.

Raoul had in the meantime convinced himself that his wife would be able to continue their journey in the coach; there was really no other choice, since they could not spend the night by the side of the road.

"How is the Vicomtesse?" Pierre asked.

"Still alive," Christine answered on her own behalf, "but my head hurts terribly. What actually happened? I can't remember anything."

"How is the baby?" asked Raoul anxiously. Christine felt across her stomach and said that she felt no pains, but that to be on the safe side she would rather see a doctor.

"There's no doctor here and probably not in the next village either," pointed out the driver.

"We have no choice," Raoul decided. "We've got at least to make it to the next inn."

They reached a posting-house. This time there was no argument with the landlord, as there were very few guests staying and he was happy to be able to hire out an entire floor. Christine went to bed straight away in order to rest, and Raoul decided to check on Pierre. He found him in the stables, where he was brushing down the horses.

Raoul had barely entered the stable when the dogs blocked his way theateningly. "Down," commanded Pierre, and the dogs' attitude immediately changed. Now they snuffled around Raoul's legs with friendly wagging tails.

The Vicomte went cautiously to the box in which Pierre was working. "Things could have gone very badly today," he began. "I want to thank you for rescuing my wife."

Pierre shrugged this off. "I was just doing my duty," was his somewhat surly reply. He bent over to brush the horse's belly.

"All the same — thank you," persisted Raoul.

"In that case — you're welcome."

Both men said nothing for a while, Pierre occupied with the horse and Raoul watching him. Eventually Raoul broke a silence that he had begun to find awkward. "What you did — that was as good as a circus trick. And very brave."

Pierre straightened up, and looked at the Vicomte across the horse's back as he answered "It's easy to be brave when you have nothing to lose." Then he left the box, closing it carefully.

He took out his cigarette case from the breast pocket of his shirt and took a cigarette. Then he held the case out to the Vicomte: "Want one?"

Raoul accepted, even though he normally didn't smoke. "What do you mean by nothing to lose?"

The old man shrugged his shoulders and blew out a cloud of smoke. "What I said. I have no friends, no family: like my dogs I'm nothing more than a stray cur in the street. My life is in such ruins already that it's worth nothing to me any more."

Raoul felt a sudden pity for the man before him, but he did not know what he could say. So he confined himself to discussing with him how long they could stay at the inn without running any unnecessary risk. Christine would definitely need a few days to recover, but on the other hand they ought not to wait too long, or the danger of a pursuer tracking them down would become too great.

Suddenly Pierre asked: "Forgive the indiscreet question, but — is your wife expecting?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"The dogs: my dogs treat her far more gently than they ever did anyone else," said Pierre. "So for the rest of the journey, we'll have to take into account the need to take care of Madame. I'll do my best."

For Raoul and Christine, the onward journey passed agonisingly slowly. Every day's stage was planned so that the two of them could stay in an inn while Pierre rode ahead to prepare everything at the next inn, rode back again, and on the following day the coach made the same journey. Pierre covered every stretch of road three times over, but he rode alone and left his three dogs with Christine.

Raoul was not happy about this, since the three scruffy curs crowded round his wife, constantly wanting her to play with them or stroke them, while Christine, who loved animals, spoilt them. He had nothing against dogs, but a huge guard-dog was a guard-dog and not some little lapdog for pampering. On the other hand he welcomed the fact that the dogs were there. The three would defend Christine if anyone other than Pierre or Raoul tried to come near her, which meant that Raoul was not obliged to keep unbroken watch over her.

One evening, as Pierre was running the curry-comb over his horse, Christine came into the stable. The dogs followed her as if they were hers.

"Thank you for saving me," she began.

Pierre made her an elegant bow. "My pleasure, Madame."

Then he continued tending to his sweat-stained horse. Christine sat down on a hay-bale, and Cerberus laid his head in her lap. She fondled the dog's ears. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"Would you tell me something about yourself?"

Pierre straightened up with a sigh. "Madame, I wouldn't want to bore you."

"It wouldn't be boring to me," insisted Christine, who took a genuine interest in other people's lives.

"Madame, let's leave this alone. You are a Vicomtesse and I'm nothing but a cur in the gutter. You shouldn't be taking an interest in me."

Pierre's words struck Christine like a slap in the face. "Is that how you see me?" she asked, horrified. "I wasn't always a Vicomtesse; I was an opera-singer, and I too know what it means to be poor."

Pierre lit a cigarette and took a couple of deep pulls on it before he replied. "Very well, then. I was young once and stupid. Now I'm old and bitter. End of story."

"Do you really have nobody?"

Pierre put out his cigarette on the earthen floor of the stable, then pocketed the stub so that the horse would not eat it by mistake. Then he went around the far side of the horse and turned his back to Christine as he began to clean its hooves.

"Every soldier has a girl at some time, somewhere," he answered evasively.

"What happened?"

"She married someone else."

Christine felt something twist inside her as she looked at the old, embittered man, who so clearly still mourned for his lost love. If this old man was still in pain, how much must Erik be suffering, whom she had left less than a year ago? Tears came to her eyes, and she felt for her handkerchief to blow her nose.

"I beg your pardon, I shouldn't have been smoking in your presence," commented Pierre, not pausing in his work.

"It's not that," Christine reassured him. "It's just that... oh, it doesn't matter..."

"You want to know how long it takes to get over it, don't you?" Pierre guessed. "Of course you must want to know — that way you'll know how long it will be before your pursuer gives up. Well, Madame, this is the best I can explain: if I took my pistol and shot you in the leg so that it had to be amputated, for the first six months you would be in agony. After that it would get better, but the leg would never grow back. All you could do would be to learn to live with it."

Christine broke down in tears, not from fear of Erik but out of guilt towards him. She reproached herself bitterly for letting him suffer so much; she should never have done it.

At that moment Raoul came into the stable. "It's all arranged: the extra cushions for the coach... Oh Christine, what's wrong?"

His cheerful mood turned suddenly to concern as he saw his wife in tears. Pierre made a point of occupying himself ostentatiously with the horse's hoofs, and feigned deafness. The Vicomte took his wife and led her carefully away.

"What's the matter?" he asked in concern when they were in their room.

"Oh Raoul, I blame myself so much... What I did to Erik is unforgiveable..."

"What you did to Erik?" shouted Raoul. "What YOU did to HIM? It's what he did and wanted to do to you that is unforgiveable!"

He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to shout at you... my nerves are on edge, that's all. But truly, Christine, you must stop reproaching yourself; you've done nothing wrong. You're the victim here and Erik is to blame, and never let anyone tell you otherwise!"

Christine wiped away her tears and nodded bravely. "You're right. In my rational mind I know the same thing, but in my feelings it's different... I always have a guilty conscience when I think about Erik. And I feel guilty towards you too: you're so kind and so good to me and I'm such a bad wife..."

"Of course you're not a bad wife." Raoul took her in his arms and comforted her. "You're all I ever wanted, and I want you just as you are."