Evening in camp, 1 June

"I'll be... I'll be all right," he managed. He didn't dare nod, not with the way his head was hurting. "No... I can't seem to focus properly. I apologise, senhorita."

This was rather more embarrassing than letting his men sort him out. The more so as it was a woman, and one he didn't know as well.

"..There is nothing you should apologise for, let alone when it is yourself being struck while in line of duty. " The few Portuguese took a step to the side to let them past. "Pause a moment. " She spoke kindly , helping him through towards the tent and there halted to raise the flap and aid him in.

"We have found a camp bed that might suit your present needs." Saying that they have found it was not at all far from the truth. There was much left in disarray, when the tables turned. "I do hope it will be to to your expectations."

"Senhorita, sleeping in a tent tonight is beyond my expectations," he replied. "Believe me when I say I am in your debt and I do not know how I can repay you."

A bed as well as a tent... In his current state, it felt like a miracle.

"Senhor... I would suggest that you heal yourself first." She looked thoughtfully at the man, as if trying to remember what she might have forgotten. "...Ah,... I do have another question, that you might be able to answer me, senhor." But, rather than give it, she remained silent. Was there mischief in her eyes? Quite possibly so.

"I am not a doctor, that I can heal myself," he said, and found himself sitting on the edge of a camp bed. He lay down and closed his eyes. This was far preferable to lying on the ground, especially in his current state.

He opened his eyes again and tried to focus on the pale circle that was the woman's face. "Ask your question, and I shall do my best to answer it, of course."

"...Would you like tea, or a Portuguese brew, wine perhaps?" When asking this she barely contained some of her amusement. She had made the earlier question sound so grave, but in truth it was not. Though when she considered at offering wine, she was not quite sure if she ought to have.

"...Is your surgeon aware of your loss of sharp vision, sir?" She asked, this time with real concern. Certainly she knew he could not self medicate, but sleep and rest healed, where surgeons did not.

"Tea, please, senhorina." He closed his eyes again. In truth, he did not know if any surgeon knew of his true condition - he didn't know himself how bad he was, or otherwise.

"The surgeon I saw earlier was mostly concerned with my side. He had other men to treat afterwards, men far worse off than I."

It was partially down to chance that Lieutenant Cobb had found a surgeon. He had seen that greenjacket captain being closely fussed over by a Portuguese camp follower and thought it passing odd, considering the Rifles officer's obviously tenuous state.

Of course, he thought wryly, it was somewhat out of character for him to interfere like this. Just as it was obvious the Rifles officer needed some proper interfering done on his behalf.

"Sir," he said, offering a salute and not paying any mind to the camp follower. "Surgeon for you."

The surgeon grunted by way of acknowledging his presence.

The tea could certainly wait. "Thank you," he replied, addressing the unknown person who had brought a surgeon in.

Maybe now he could get some answers - and a little reassurance. It had been worrying him, after all, the combination of blurred vision and a pounding headache, and the inexplicable inability to think straight.

"Let's have a look at you," the surgeon said, moving briskly past Cobb. The redcoat lieutenant had found him in the midst of attending to some men of the surgeon's own regiment. Being summoned away from them annoyed him.

Estefania stepped to the side eyeing the intruder with a clear sign of irritation. His brisk entrance without so much as a request for permission, or perhaps an indication of a greeting had struck a nerve in the proud Portuguese. She heard a pair of men, her own, give a curse in her native tongue, and she agreed rather heartily with them. The fact a surgeon had arrived in tow with the lieutenant, doused the flame some.

"..If you shall be excused." She said simply, and motioned the Lieutenant to leave. ".. The surgeon and his patient need some privacy. " She too intended to leave, but not before Cobb did. "And be so kind.. and bring some of your... English tea for the captain." She added with some edge to her tone.

"I'm sure he won't be long," Vickery said, laying back and closing his eyes. "Lieutenant... Cobb, isn't it? Thank you."

He put a hand to his head and rubbed his temples. He wasn't sure whether the headache was getting worse - he didn't think it was. It was probably the fact that he didn't have anything else to distract him from it now that made it feel so bad.

Tea would be good. Tea would be very good, in fact.

Being of no mind to be told what to do by a mere camp follower, Cobb ignored the woman. "It is, sir," he replied. "My man will be up shortly. He'll sort out a fire and whatever else."

He had, like most of the column, heard what had happened earlier in the day. It was a damned shame.

The surgeon was rummaging in his bag. "How long has your head been unsteady?" He asked, any other conversations taking place mattering not at all to him.

"Perhaps you ought to fetch tea as you have fetched the surgeon.. senhor." She spoke calmly this time. She had slipped outside by this time, and gave a short nod to the men that had come with her. They gazed impatiently at the tent. A short exchange was made, all in rapid Portuguese, before she moved some paces from the tent.

It was better to hope that these men had a plan on how to advance against the French again, because if they were to retreat...

"Since... Since the skirmish this afternoon. I was unfortunate enough to get in the way when a horse was kicking out, I am told." He was lucky that the animal hadn't broken his skull, of course, damned lucky.

Now if only Cotton was here to sort out a cup of tea and do whatever else needed doing... That, however, was like whistling for the wind.

"As I said," Cobb told her curtly, "my man will be up shortly to attend to that. Unless of course you might care to be so useful yourself?"


The surgeon nodded as the greenjacket explained the cause of his injury. It was ridiculously straightforward. "You'll pardon my saying," he said, not caring at all if the officer did so or not. "But you were unwise to carry on moving about so far in your state. Your head has taken a bad rattling and needs resting for it to recover."

Vickery opened his eyes at this. "Lying down in the path of a whole battalion of French cavalry is not exactly beneficial to the constitution either," he commented, somewhat tartly. "Between losing my Company and reporting to the General, I have found myself unable to snatch two minutes together until now."

And at least he knew that the majority of his men were safe, which had helped him to relax somewhat.

The surgeon grimaced and finished his examination. "Don't be impertinent, sir. Now. It is my judgment that you have sustained a concussion. A rather bad one, perhaps. Light duties and rest are the only things for it. You may, of course, sleep but I do not recommend doing so unattended."

Concussion. Well, that certainly explained the headache and the blurred vision. It was galling to find that he had effectively been rendered unfit for duty - and just when he was likely to be most wanted. He had hoped that Lieutenant Brady wouldn't find himself in sole charge of the Company quite this early in the campaign.

"How long is it likely to be before I can resume my duties, Doctor?" he asked. 'Light duties' was one thing, but he had a feeling that 'rest' would not be so easy to come by... and he wanted to be there when they finally paid the French back for this reversal of their fortunes.

"For the concussion, I will look in again in a week's time. These horrid stitches in your side - whoever is responsible for them is an idiot - will require a longer period of careful going."

A week. A whole week away from his Company. He slumped down with a sigh. If he hadn't been knocked in the head, he could still be with his men - taking things carefully, maybe, but with them.

And who knew what had happened to the baggage, precisely. If it had all been captured, he was going to get precious little rest while the Army was still marching.

"My side will mend." He turned his head towards the doctor, although between the darkness and his own blurred vision, he couldn't see him. "I... I am finding it hard to concentrate, and my vision is... blurred. How long will it be before I can see again properly, in your opinion?"

he hoped it would be less than the week; a whole week without being able to see straight was likely to send him quietly mad.

The surgeon shrugged. "A day, at the least. If you do not strain yourself, which I expect you will."

He took out a small notebook and scrawled a few lines. "This is for whomever is directed to look after you. Instructions for care. Do at least try to keep to them."

He tore the page loose and held it out.

A day. He could be patient for a day... even two days. Anything beyond that, though, would be pushing it.

"I will try not to," he replied, and blinked at the pale blob that was being waved at him. "In the event of my nurse being illiterate, what are your instructions?" He gave a wry smile. "I can hardly read them with my vision as it is, after all."

"I will leave the finding of your brew, to your people." She answered simply and glanced towards the men, that had come with her. Two were in their prime and one somewhat older, but neither really so old as to become gray of hair. "... The...recent events I hope.. are of a rare nature..senhor?" She suggested the loss of a fight, and the cause for retreat, loss of men and the imprisonment of some, but also the chaos which had caused the French to gain the access to their wagons.

"We have not lost to the French before," Vickery pointed out, keeping to himself the thought that this was very early in the campaigning season and who knew what might happen in the future. And who knew what was happening elsewhere in the world - the French were not confined to fighting in Portugal alone, after all.

"We shall certainly make them regret the temerity they had in attacking us," he added, hoping that he would be well enough to take part in that fight. It was galling, knowing that he had lost, even if it was a minor skirmish against vastly greater numbers. He vowed to himself that he would not lose a second time.

He tried not to sigh. He was grateful to be lying down, in relative privacy, but the woman seemed to want to keep on talking about stuff and he would prefer to have the surgeon do whatever he needed to do in private, and then have everyone leave him be while he slept.

If she wanted to come back later when he was more compos mentis, that would be fine. Right now, though...