Preparing to Leave Lisbon

Diana came to Stephen's mind with such force that the tavern seemed to disappear - he was entirely swept away by the memory of her unforced laugh, the artless twist of her neck as she turned to see him, her eyes flashing like sapphires as a boyish recognition overrode her former expression - and then that oh so elegant curtsy in the latecomer's box, and the cruelty in her face as she saw some cold, hurtful remark hit home, intentional malice dressed in nonchalance. "Once in a while."

He rubbed his chest. "There are other things in being a man that the sea does not erode, but in fact gives strength to - there is such camaraderie, jocularity and loyalty in a happy ship's company. Where friendship does not die in promiscuity it strengthens into something as life-giving as any romantic passion. Travel, new places and people and beasts, and a cleansing simplicity. Until now, what I saw of the British army only made me abhor it, but any present happiness I have I owe to the navy, and the man who brought me to it."

So it seemed Stephen regarded the Navy much the way Sharpe did the Army. "If it weren't for me takin' the shillin', I reckon I'd be dead now," he said. "And I know what you mean about friends. There's nowt like sittin' round a fire in the evenin', wi' your mates, talking and singing and stuff. And you make friends for life, and you know that you can trust them with your life and they feel the same way."

He was starting to get that with Harper, and oh, it had been such a trial at first, to gain the man's acceptance. But it was seeming more and more that it was worth it, that they could be friends, despite the near-mutiny of last winter and their disparate ranks.

"Or playing music." Stephen smiled shyly. "Or even in a tavern with a brandy, if you will permit.

Sharpe smiled. "Aye, I will that. Though I don't know why you'd want to be friends wi' me, like."

Stephen was confused. "And why would I not?" He had every understanding of why a man would not wish to be friends with himself. He had only the most tentative friendships in Lisbon - Calderon, still somewhere in the city, perhaps. Padstowe he hoped for, but was unsure of. And Richard Sharpe.

"Because of me past, and that I've got few prospects for promotion, no connections and I'm practically a pauper," Sharpe said, simply stating facts. He was surprised to notice he didn't sound bitter about it.

"I am almost insulted, Richard," Stephen said softly. "Why would any of that bother me, now? I have little money, and no prospect of promotion. Christ alive, as though I would worry about what rank my friends were, save in how it affects their happiness! No name, no family, a despised religion, and the majority of my 'connections' would have me arrested or killed. And all men have pasts."

"I wouldn't insult you, not for any money, Stephen. An' I would be honoured to be your friend."

One of these days, he was goin' to have more friends than he'd know what to do with. Though there was one person he would like to call a friend and would very likely never be able to.

"I am delighted, and honoured also." Stephen poured the rest of the bottle into Sharpe's cup, drained his own, and picked up his crutch. "Thank you for this interlude, and your kindness. I ought to resume my search, I think."

"If you're sure you can cope out there, what wi' a game leg an' all," Sharpe said. "And any time you need me, an' me men, just let Major Hogan know an' he'll sort it out. There are times when a man needs soldiers around, you know. And we won't say owt."

"I know you will not. But considering what happened, I think I will return to doing my work alone. I do not want to risk other people again."

"Just because it nearly went pear-shaped once don't mean it will again. And the offer's still there if you ever need us."

"I thank you for the offer, but if things do go 'pear-shaped' again, I would rather only one life be risked." He smiled sadly. "This is not your way of fighting, Richard." He stood up, steadying himself for a moment.

"We're soldiers, Stephen. Paid to risk our lives in the King's service." He offered the other man a steadying hand. "I won't push it though, but if you ever do need a bunch of soldiers, think o' us, won't you?"

Stephen's voice was low - barely above a whisper. "But I would not increase that risk for the world. And we of the secret war risk more than lives - there is no glory, no heroism, no camaraderie. Only danger." Stephen knew that things would only get more dangerous as they moved north, closer to Prideaux's mover, and the source of those secret missives. "I would think of no one else should I ever need aid, though you will forgive me if I pray that I shall not need to call on you."

"O' course I do. An' I wish you all the best in what you do." Sharpe did not understand the cloak-and-dagger work that people such as Stephen and (he suspected) Padstowe were involved in, and that was masterminded by Hogan and others. But he knew it was necessary to enable the General to command his army, and in turn, to allow Sharpe and those like him to do what they were best at and fight the enemy.

Stephen nodded, and put his crutch under his arm. He would return to Padstowe's lodgings, avoiding any of the rowdier streets, and if he was not there, he would return to his own - it was the small hours now, and the next day would be one of both physical and mental exertion.

It was at that unfortunate moment that Maggie chose to evade Cotton's caress by the seemingly natural movement of adjusting her skirts. She pushed her chair back from the table and, in so doing, managed to knock the doctor's crutch out from under his arm.

Stephen managed to catch himself, the edge of the table driving the air from his chest. He gasped, but in relief - if his arms had not jerked out in an entirely graceless movement, he might have fallen further and caught his head instead, and he dreaded to think of what would happen then.

Sharpe was half out of his seat before he knew quite what had happened. He took the doctor's arm and guided him to an empty chair, putting his own full cup in front of him. "Drink that, and try to get your breath back," he said, wondering exactly what had happened.

"Oh sir, I'm so sorry!" Maggie had immediately sprung up from her seat when she heard the clatter of his crutch. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry!" Looking up at him with concern and apology, she retrieved the fallen crutch and held it out to him.

A clatter, Mister Sharpe's friend sprawling over a table and Maggie jumping to her feet amidst profuse apologies...

Cotton took the crutch from her and leaned it against the table within reach as the officer helped his friend sit down. He put his arm around Maggie's shoulders. "It was an accident, Maggie, he knows you din't mean it."

"Quite all right - not to worry - clumsy of me-" Stephen wheezed, grateful for Sharpe's arm, before looking up at the couple they had been observing earlier, the woman holding out his crutch to him. He took it, his eyes watering. "Thank you - just a moment..."

"You sure you're all right, sir?" she asked again. "Are you-- is your leg all right?"

"Just winded, my dear, the leg is quite well..." Stephen picked up the cup with a nod of gratitude to Sharpe and drank a mouthful.