Les Prisonniers, 1 June

Now in French again. Jérémie had to admit he was thoroughly confused by that and the burning in his cheeks betrayed that well enough.

"Blanchard," he replied, a trifle stiffly.

"He said 'knee', yes, I myself am not certain of the man's name, other than he is a prisoner now," Francois nodded.

But then the woman spoke French, which Seviere had not expected. So at least one of them could converse with the soldiers without need of a translator. Francois now let Jeremie answer for himself as he gave his last name.

"Might I have the honor of knowing whom I am addressing, miss?" the young recruit then requested in English.

She gave the boy a slight frown but then said, "You may call me Miss Ross."

Olivia frowned at the boy as well. His attempt at conversation and manners seemed very out of place, and she wondered what his motive was.

"I am sure everyone here is very pleased to meet the others," she said wryly, adopting a bored tone, "but is there a point to this?"

That was something Jérémie was curious to know as well. "The greenjackets. Do you want to see them?" He addressed the question to the Ross woman, since she had shown an interest in them. Or had appeared to do, anyway.

Jenny hesitated for only a moment. "No." Then she shrugged and said, "Well, I don't really care."

"You would rather wait here for the officers? Or go to Lieutenant LeClerc?" asked Paol, speaking for the first time since Seviere's entrance. He was less than comfortable with the proposed course of action, but it was Jérémie who had suggested it and Paol trusted him. He could not deny that it was better than the alternatives and, at the very least, the excursion would buy some time.

"I would prefer to not be a prisoner," she answered with an acid smile, hoping the bloody grammar was correct.

Francois was a bit taken aback at the woman's dismissive glare and her words too.

"Point? No point...I was simply ....nevermind, pardon me," he took a step back, realizing these women were English and this was still a war even if they were not actual participants, it was natural enough where their sympathies laid, who could blame them.

And he would prefer to not be a soldier. Funny how that worked out. Paol shrugged. "Better to be a prisoner there than here."

"Is that so," Olivia said flatly.

Given the implications of what would be expected from women invited to supper, there was potentially something of truth to that statement. To Olivia's way of thinking, however, it did not necessarily make either the good option. Stuck between Scylla and Charybdis, indeed.

She sighed, wishing the new soldier did not speak English so well, so that she and Jenny could discuss the situation. Should they follow the offer of being brought to the English soldiers? Attempting to catch the other woman's gaze, she raised her eyebrows, hoping to convey the question.

Jenny simply gave her a wary frown.

Olivia nodded slightly, then squared her shoulders and turned back to the soldiers.

"This is wasting time," she said, very purposely switching back to French. "Your officers sent for us?"

The Graham woman was obviously naive and possessed of no imagination. Jenny was in no hurry to meet with the officers, and it was not the waste of time that she objected to. "No," she said, speaking in French. "I need a surgeon. My head... A soldier broke my head. I am sick."

Very well, so the conversation was back in French, all the better for the other two soldiers, thought Francois who now replied to Jenny in French also.

"Broke your head? You don't look injured, miss. Where is it broken?" he stepped up to possibly get a better look.

He might be young but he was not credulous, he had his doubts anything was even wrong with her. Probably looking for any excuse so she didn't have to go meet the French officers.

"I think..."

Here Jérémie's frown softened, slightly. It was time someone made up his mind and he realised this someone would simply have to be him. Dammit.

"I think," he repeated, "perhaps a walk may help your head. Miss Ross."

Doubtlessly these two could not be joining the officers in their state, which led Jérémie to conclude that a walk - harmless enough on the face of it - would serve instead. The end destination of this walk, on the other hand, remained to be determined. Or at least known. Jérémie himself had already decided that a visit to those belligerent greenjackets was in order.

Jenny glared at the younger fellow. "Broke" was not the word, but she could not remember the correct phrase, and it was only fair to blame the soldiers for her headache. Perhaps a walk in the fresh air really would help. There was little point in arguing with them. "Fine," she said to the one called Blanchard. "And some water. I have need of some water."

"Water, I just refilled my canteen, miss," Francois reached back for the canteen, then pulled it over his head then held it out to Jenny.

"Thank you," she said quietly, accepting the canteen and taking a long drink from it. That did help, a little.

There was that sorted, Jérémie thought. He nodded approval at Sevière and said, "Will we go, now?"

Jenny glanced at Olivia and then nodded.

Paol brought up the rear as the small company emerged from the tent. Outside the half-light of evening was quickly fading and it occurred to him that he ought to have been back on duty some time ago. Still, they were moving in the right direction, so technically, he supposed, he was heading back. Of greater concern at the moment was the prospect of Madame Bellot arriving before him. Montreuil was a decent surgeon, but he was blunter than a rock and there was little hope that he might have talked her down, if indeed he had not further aggravated matters.

Before long they had passed beyond the bivouacs of the officers and men, and Paol could make out the shadowy cluster of forms up ahead which was the prisoners and their guards.

"The crippled greenjacket and his friends," Jérémie was saying to one of the guards. "The ladies there want to see them."

This was not a normal request and the guard looked apprehensive. "They are friends, all of them?" He wanted to know with a pointed glance at the two Englishwomen.

Francois decided to try and influence the guard then.

"We are escorting them directly from the officer's tent," he pointed out.

He did not actually say anything about the officers giving permission but just maybe the guard might infer such a thing. Worth the effort.

New voices nearby, and all of them French. Newbury groaned in annoyance and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. Couldn't these bastards ever keep quiet? He had almost been asleep, damn it.

"Don't you bastards ever shut up?" He snapped, his temper worn thin by cold, hunger, and pain.