On the road to Lisbon

Something suitable for splints? Not ramrods; his men would need those. "Perkins can cut you something," Sharpe said. "There's enough wood round here. I'm sure he can find summat suitable.2

Hearing his name, Perkins looked up and grinned. "I'm already on it, sir."

Padstowe having handed Stephen some bandages, he walked the short distance to Perkins, grimacing but trying to limp as little as possible. He was certain that it had been unintentional, but the soldiers' comments had stung his pride a little. "They will do perfectly, Perkins - I am much obliged."

As the young man leaned forward to show the doctor his handiwork, Saint-Laurent chose his moment and seized the knife. The boy leapt out of harm's way, but the doctor was not quick enough. Saint-Laurent managed to reach his arm around the doctor's neck and held the knife there, lightly.

Stephen did not panic, but gently put his hand over Saint-Laurent's knee. "Do you really want to do this?"

Saint-Laurent's very heart blanched in fear of that particular pain being renewed. His eyes flicked to the rifles that were of course aimed at him - why did they not fire? What were they waiting for? He released the doctor from his grasp, but in an instant flashed the knife up to his own throat.

Stephen slid from under Saint-Laurent's arm, and twisted on his good leg so that he lay on top of the clerk, pulling the knife away from his throat. "No! Perkins, help me!" Stephen twisted his fingers in the man's hair, gripped, and pulled his head down to the ground, while he and Perkins wrenched the knife away. The rifleman twisted Saint-Laurent's wrist, and he dropped the knife with a sob.

Stephen looked around at Harris, Cooper, Harper and Sharpe, all pointing rifles at the man. "It is fine, thank you, gentlemen. You can lower your weapons." He smiled weakly at Perkins. "Honestly, my dear, I am fine. You can release him."

He was annoyed - he had no intention of hurting the man, let alone killing him, but at this moment, he did not have enough time to convince him of the fact - the clerk had to acquiesce, immediately, or he would be shot. Saint-Laurent slumped back, and Stephen tightened his grip on the man's knee by an infinitesimal amount. "Now, no more of that, do you hear?"

You had to admit that Maturin had speed and courage. What made the worm so desperate, that he would prefer to die, rather than go to Lisbon? But why should he believe that the enemy would not use methods that he suspected his own side used? He turned back to Noix. The clerk might know more about such things than he did.

The pathetic young clerk was still sobbing, apparently with a touch of hysteria. "Please!" was his only response to the doctor.

"Come on; sit up. Sit up. Look at me." Stephen kept his voice gentle and soft, as though he was dealing with a frightened child or a delirious patient. "Come on now, it's all right."

Saint-Laurent obeyed unthinkingly, but his breath was coming in quick short gasps and he could not control his sobbing now that the floodgates had burst. Everything was terror.

"Look at me, Monsieur Saint-Laurent, I will tell the truth to you now. You are not going to be killed. You are not going to be tortured, and, if I can help it, you will not be harmed in any way. Do you know why?"

Saint-Laurent's arms were about his head as if to fend off the torture already. He heard the words but did not acknowledge the question.

"You're lying. Lying!"

"I am not lying. For one thing, you are my patient, and thus until you are completely and fully healed I may not harm you in any way. Now, as to why no one else will harm you - what good would it do? The merest possibility of pain was enough for you to burst like a swollen wine-skin - why on earth would anyone expend any amount of energy in hurting you when there is absolutely no need?"

Saint-Laurent attempted to calm his sobbing breaths. "I am not a fool, monsieur," he murmured, but with a little less conviction.

"No, monsieur, you are not. You are, however, a coward. Courage is no constant in any man, I know that well enough - I pass no judgment at this point." That was a lie. "But torturing a coward accomplishes nothing but a lot of unpleasant and unnecessary noise and mess, and with my headache, I can cope with neither."

The Frenchman shuddered. "I know what men are capable of when gripped with desire for revenge. I have seen, and heard of... things. Perhaps you are naive, sir, if you think they will not misuse me!"

"You have participated." Stephen paused for a moment to let that statement sink in. "As to a desire for revenge, we are the only thing standing between you and the ordenança, for your involvement in the 'misuse' of an innocent priest and apothecary." He softened his voice again. "Now, what is the alternative?" His dropped the volume of his voice down to a whisper. "Make no more trouble - forget that you were ever involved in espionage. You are a civilian prisoner, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. You will be an embarrassment, to be exchanged and sent immediately to the nearest French city as soon as possible."

"I did not participate," he replied heavily. "I am simply a clerk. Clerk to a man that I hated, in a position that I never wanted. I never wanted any of this!" His protest died away, and he felt once again that there was nothing in the world he could say to convince these English of his innocence. What point was there in trying? His hysteria over, he felt dizzy, tired, morose, hopeless.

"Simply a clerk - no great, honourable capture for the British army, and, as I said, to be exchanged and sent to France as soon as possible. But only if you never give any indication or involvement in espionage."

Stephen stood up, leaning on his crutch, feeling tired and dirty. "Think about what I have said. Someone will help you into the wagon presently." He whispered "Watch him, closely, please" to Perkins as he walked, slowly, but with as much dignity as he could manage, back to Sharpe and Padstowe.

It would have been interesting to know just what Maturin had said to the worm. He had left him in as much fear as he had been since the beginning of the incident, but had not harmed him. There had been anger in the doctor's face as he had turned to go back to his friends - probably not a good moment to go and ask for his things back. Not even for his handkerchiefs.

A small worm indeed, trodden on. Saint-Laurent lay back twitching on the ground with his eyes screwed shut, all of his strength now expended. Perkins guarded him, full of chagrin.

Padstowe had watched the whole display with something like distaste. Saint-Laurent was pathetic even when he attempted to be otherwise; a pathetic little man at the end of his tether.

"Should we not tie him up?" he asked Stephen as he returned. "He is a fool and may try something similar again."

Which on the move may be far more difficult to deal with.

"I don't know," said Stephen, sitting with a grunt. "It might panic him more. If I go in the wagon, I might give you my pistol for safe-keeping."

"Very well, if you think it best."

They had now got Thierry and Moreau onto the cart and were now handing up Aucoin, who still seemed to be insomething of a state of shock. It had been decided that it should be Harris to sit guard, seeming as he was the only one of the men with a passable understanding of French.

"Shall we find M. Saint-Laurent a seat? Although," he said, lowering his voice. "Would it be a good idea to have him in with Moreau?"