Leaving Terpsy.

"I do not know. I am a doctor; I must... I do not know." Stephen looked gravely at Padstowe. "Were I a superstitious man I would think I had been cursed." He shook his head. "Nonsense, Maturin, for God's love. But after the battle there will be so many wounded..."

"They will cope," Padstowe said, hoping that for once - just once - Maturin would listen to reason. He was sure McGrigor would take one look at him and declare him unfit for duty, anyway. "Is your head any better? You may rest on my shoulder for the journey if you like."

"I will not, Jonathan, knowing the state of your shoulder," said Stephen, with a brave attempt at, if not cheerfulness, a tone of voice suggesting something other than mental breakdown. "How long is the journey?"

"About half an hour. And my shoulder is much better; I will not notice at all should you choose to rest."

Stephen nodded, apparently lost in thought. "My own hand is beginning to tingle; I will have to take the stitches out soon, and from your shoulder."

Padstowe paused a moment before answering Stephen; it would be better to admit it sooner rather than later.

"It will not be necessary," he said in an offhand manner, a part of him hoping that Stephen would only notice the tone and not the words contained within. "The stitches are out already a day ago. Is your side healing well too?"

"Your stitches are out?!"

"Yes, I took them out."

Padstowe took great effort to remain calm, as if he had no more than told Stephen that he suspected rain the following afternoon with sunny spells.

"When? Why would you do that? Why on earth did you take them out without telling me?" Yates politely looked away as Stephen flushed in anger. "You took them out? What possessed you?"

"They were starting to itch," Padstowe said, feeling his cheeks flush and wishing to God that Stephen would not look so angry with him. "It was after breakfast, and you had patients that required urgent attention - and please, Stephen, I beg you to keep your voice down." He could sense the embarrassment of Raoul and Yates to be party to this conversation - and he was certain that Barnthorp's posture had stiffened.

"What of the surgeon's assistant? It would have taken me moments if you had but said it to me. As soon as we reach the village I will examine your shoulder," said Stephen, sounding simultaneously dazed and icy. "It could be infected - where did you remove the stitches? Your cabin?"

"No, in the hold. It does not look or feel infected, though."

"In the..." Stephen stared incredulously at Padstowe. "With the horses?"

"Some yards from them," Padstowe replied flatly, although that was stretching the truth. A yard at most, it had been.

Stephen buried his face in his hands.

Padstowe let out a small sigh and tilted his head back to stare at the heavens. White clouds drifted lazily across the blue, blue sky, and he thought that perhaps it would have been kinder to have said nothing - and let Stephen find out for himself after the chaos of exchange and battle was over.

Just when Padstowe appeared to have things under control, to be sensible and have worked things out, to have taken some of the pressure and burden from Stephen, he said he had done this...

"I am sorry."

Again, that word. Since their time in lisbon everything he did seemed to have upset Stephen and caused unnecessary harm to someone else - why could he not simply be well again, no longer Stephen's patient and then no longer be in a position to upset him? He had not forgotten that the doctor still had not forgiven him for upsetting Raoul - it looked less likely now that he would ever be forgiven of anything at all. He would be surprised if Stephen would ever speak to him again when they returned to the army.

"That word, again and again, Jonathan," Stephen said sadly in Portuguese, his eyes still closed. "I will examine it when we reach the village. If it is infected... then there is nothing- nothing I can do."

"I do not think it is," Padstowe replied sadly, also in the the same language. "I daresay you shall be happy to be rid of me once we have returned; I have been a troublesome and deceitful companion than you expected."

"Rid of you?" Stephen opened his eyes then, frowning.

Padstowe sighed.

"Yes, I thought you would have by now. This -" He indicated his arm. "- and everything that went with it; you did not need it."

"Would have... Are you leaving us when we reach the army, Jonathan?" Stephen asked, his brow creased in worry.

"I will have to." It was Padstowe's turn to frown in confusion. "Once we see the Capitaine safe, unless I am not required for duty... I apologise, I assumed you knew."

Of course. Raoul delivered to his Lord Edrington, and Padstowe leaving, and him... in the camp full of British soldiers and alone, without a kettle, a whole mind, or a friend. "Immediately?" he asked, his voice shamefully small.