Preparing to Leave Lisbon

"It is not out of me way." It probably was, but Sharpe was fit, and healthy, and armed. And he was also used to walking upward of twenty-five miles in a day, on basic Army rations.

Liar, thought Stephen, but he was worried. Worried about the British soldiers, who he had last seen at work in Ireland, and beginning to be worried about Jonathan. Besides, it was in his interest to appear as harmless as possible, even to a friend. "If that is the case, we will go to Captain Padstowe's lodgings."

"When you're ready," Sharpe said, glad Stephen hadn't put up a real fight over it.

"I am ready now. But only as far as the Captain's! I shall just apologise to the young woman for the spill."

"Go ahead," Sharpe said, making up his mind there and then that he would walk the doctor home to his billet before heading for his own, and bed.

(OOC- Just popping out for an hour or so.)

Stephen came back to the table, having patted the young woman on the arm and apologised again for his clumsiness. "It is getting late. It must be well past midnight now."

"I reckon so. Still want to try and find Captain Padstowe?"

"I do. I will try his lodgings again - if he is not there, I will leave a note and check again in the morning." Stephen looked at Sharpe, seeking reassurance. "He will be all right, won't he? He gives me the impression of being a man who can look after himself."

Sharpe smiled reassuringly at the Stephen. "He'll be fine, he's more'n able to look after hisself. It might be that he had summat come up that needed his attention at Headquarters or somewhere, that's all. If you leave a note, and try to see him in the mornin'm he can always catch us up. i don't suppose we'll be marchin' as fast as all that. Not after a winter here, anyway."

Stephen returned the smile, looking a little less worried. "Yes. Yes, that is more than likely it. If Hogan is making him strain himself, I will throttle him."

"Who - Hogan or Padstowe?" Why was it so easy to want to throttle Hogan when talking about him, but so hard to keep up that desire when you actually saw him?

Stephen laughed. "Both of them - one with each hand! But I shall save the right for Hogan."

That made Sharpe laugh in turn. "I'd like to see that. I'll just stand to one side and watch, I think."

The door of the Tavern shut behind them. "How long have you been working for Major Hogan?"

"Pretty much since we got separated from our battalion in December last year. Well, off an' on since then, doin' various bits an' pieces for 'im."

It was chillier out here than it was inside. It was still only spring, and there was a bit of east in the breeze that had sprung up.

"How did you come to be separated from your battalion? How many of you were there? If you do not mind me asking." Sharpe was more reticent than the men he knew in the navy, and if he was more like himself and disliked questions, Stephen would be happy to walk in silence. The city was noisy for the time of the night, and many of the lower-level windows along these street were still lit.

"It was durin' Sir John Moore's retreat, and we were the rearguard - the 2nd Battalion of my regiment, I mean. And we was attacked by cavalry and in the fightin' we got cut off from the rest of t'army. So, me bein' the survivin' officer, I decided it'd be best to make our way south. Here. And join the Lisbon garrison."

There was no need to mention Santiago or the near-mutiny in which Harper had tried to kill him. Not now, when he'd got them working together, and made Harper his Sergeant. Though a deal of the work was down to Harper, of course.

"Which regiment was this - the 95th? And you are going north again - will you rejoin your regiment? Or will you continue to work for Hogan?"

"Yes, the 95th. Like I said, they were retreating - you might have heard about Corunna? I reckon they're in England now, so we're well and truly stranded. And we've been attached to the 62nd Regiment, part of the 2nd Division, though I reckon if Hogan needs us, we'll end up workin' for him again."

"I know of Corunna," Stephen said carefully. He walked in silence for a moment, sorting the information. "What about Captain Padstowe? Was he in your regiment?"

Sharpe blinked. How could anyone think the redcoated Captain Padstowe could be in the same regiment as Sharpe, a Rifleman? "No. He's 50th, from West Kent."

"Ah, I see, I see..." Sharpe was giving him a strange look - he had obviously displayed his ignorance in some way. He smiled sheepishly. "How many regiments are there in Portugal?"

"Um." That meant some rapid calculating on Sharpe's part. "The 3rd, 27th, 62nd, the 5th Battalion of the 60th, and the 33rd's just got here. And the 45th and 48th are expected any time soon, and I think at least one of the Guards Regiments is due an' all. That's about 5000 men here now, with at least another 3000 to join them soon. Not sure about the King's Germans, either."

(OOC - That's all I can remember off the top of my head. If you need proper numbers, I'll go and look them up!)

Stephen's powers of calculation were nowhere near as great as Sharpe's, and he did not know the respective sizes of the regiments and battalions. He trusted Sharpe's, and nodded. "And soon we will know how many men the French have in Portugal too."

[OOC - No, that's great! Stephen's just trying to get his bearings. ]

"However many Frogs there are, they'll find us a tough nut to crack," Sharpe said. "An' we've got General Wellesley here, an' all, now." If anyone could beat the French, Sharpe knew Sir Arthur Wellesley could do it.