5 June - officers' suppertime

Pelletier jerked his head at Kerjean, signaling that the soldat was to follow him to the makeshift kitchen behind the tent.

Following Pelletier, Paol caught a glimpse of the chicken he'd been able to smell since he got there. It looked impossibly good and he swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how hungry he was. He wondered if Pelletier was going to carve it there or bring it to the table for the officers to carve. If he cut it there.... Paol shook his head as though to clear it. He was much too far out of his depth to even think about scrounging.

With an effort, he dragged his attention away from the roasting fowl to the other dishes Pelletier had prepared. "What are they?" he asked, peering with mild curiosity at a bowl of what he could only suppose to be vegetables of some kind.

"Looks like slop to me," Bright remarked, strolling toward them out of the gloom. He'd been past here only a few minutes before and had sampled the available wares already.

"Who asked you?" Pelletier snapped. "You better clear off before the lieutenants see you." Then, moderating his tone, he answered Kerjean's question. "They're asparagus. Now set this bowl on the table and lay this fork in front of it. Set it in front of Jarreau and I'll let Leveque carve the bird." He shot Bright a final glance indicating that he would rather like to carve him as well if he interfered in the officers' supper.

Paol glanced uncertainly between Bright and Pelletier. Asparagus, table, fork, Jarreau... Right. He grabbed the bowl and headed back around the tent. Careful not to upset any wine glasses this time, he set the bowl down between the two women. Bowl on table, fork in front – he hesitated; something was supposed to go in front of Jarreau, wasn't it? Gingerly he placed the serving fork before the other lieutenant and backed away.

Who'd asked him? Nobody. But that had never stopped him offering his opinion, had it?

"I'm not on duty, so it's no matter if they see me or not." Bright smirked at the batman and shrugged.

Even though he would be best suited to clear out of there before the officers tucked in. Those poor bastards. Then again, a little gunpowder in one's food never hurt anyone.

The soup had been watery, but Jenny did not mind. It was only the company that she objected to. But her eyes widened longingly as the grimacing servant brought out a small roasted fowl and set it in front of their host. It smelled incredible. And there were vegetables too, which the servant snatched away from her and placed in front of the surly lieutenant.

A strange expression crossed Jarreau's face as be bit into a fork full of asparagus and twisting quickly, he spat into the dirt. He'd bitten off enough cartridges in his time to know that taste anywhere. Turning back to the table, he was hard pressed not to laugh at the mildly scandalized expression on Leveque's face. "Pelletier!" he called, "Is gunpowder a common condiment in Portugal? Or are we really that hard up for supplies?"

Now it was time to go. With a smirk, Bright resumed his stroll, disappearing into the surrounding camp without a backward glance.

"Sir?" Pelletier replied, uncertain and startled. What was the lieutenant talking about?

"Jarreau! What the devil has got into you?" demanded Leveque, finally finding his voice.

Jarreau laughed. "Try it for yourself," he retorted. Then, grabbing the bowl, he held it out to Pelletier. "What does that taste like to you?"

Jenny watched the officers with surprise. She did not understand what they were saying, apart from the surly lieutenant apparently complaining about the food. Officers could afford to be picky eaters. She had never had that luxury. She was still waiting for the host to carve the chicken, but meanwhile she would try some of the asparagus.

Olivia frowned, trying to figure out what exactly the Frenchman was claiming was in the asparagus. It was not a word she was familiar with. She shook her head as she saw Jenny reach for some.

"I might wait," she cautioned in English. "There's... something... on it."

Jenny stopped with her fork raised halfway to her mouth. She sniffed cautiously. "What is it? Too much pepper?" What was the word for pepper? Poire? Or was that pear? Poudre, was that the word he had said?

"I'm not sure," Olivia replied, frustrated with herself. "Powder of some kind, I think."

Pelletier's face registered distaste and shock as he sampled a morsel of the asparagus. Then his face darkened as he realized what had happened. "I am very sorry, messieurs, mesdames. I will remedy the situation at once. Meanwhile, perhaps Kerjean ought to test the chicken." He wanted to remedy the situation - by finding Bright and gutting him - as soon as humanly possible.

How on earth had gunpowder got into the food? He could not imagine Pelletier being so careless. Utterly bewildered, Leveque shook his head, turning to call over the other soldier.

"A food taster, René?" Jarreau drawled, "How very imperial of you." Leveque looked at him sharply, a faint flush suffusing his cheeks at the implied rebuke. "You needn't put it like that," he protested, reaching for the knife himself.

"Well how the devil should I put it? I'm afraid I don't know the Latin."

"I'm sure it would simply be 'Jarreau'," Chevenier put in with a grin. "After all, you are the one who ended up with a mouthful of the stuff."

He paused, pretending thoughtfulness.

"The other option," he said with a mock contemplative air, "is that it was a plot against you. Perhaps you've offended someone in camp." His eyes twinkled with merry mischief and he added drily: "Though who is certainly anyone's guess."

For some reason it was unnerving to witness all the emotions and gestures of a conversation without understanding the matter itself. One of the officers was perplexed, another angry, and the third amused with their private joke, but Jenny could not follow their quick speeches. "What is the problem?" she asked, wishing they would hurry up and serve the chicken. The watery soup had only served to increase her appetite.

"Oh, just Jarreau being picky about the seasoning," Chevenier told Jenny with a slight chuckle. "Apparently he is not fond of the flavour of gun powder."

He offered the two Englishwomen a smile. "Don't worry, though, we won't let him ruin the entire meal. I'm sure the rest of it is quite delicious."

Jarreau scowled at Chevenier and refilled his own wine glass, wishing that it were no longer considered unacceptable to tell one's peers to sod off.

Meanwhile Leveque had cut off a sliver of the meat and was scrutinizing it for any signs of tampering. Finding none he raised it hesitantly to his lips. There was, as far as he could tell, no trace of gunpowder or anything else untoward in it.

"I believe the chicken has escaped unscathed," he announced, his former cheerfulness returning. "I do apologized for all this," he continued, carving several slices and placing them on the plates of the two women, "I can't imagine what has gotten into Pelletier. This isn't like him at all."

Olivia murmured quiet thanks as she accepted her plate. It certainly did not look as though there was anything wrong with it. And, if Pelletier were the man who had been serving them, he did not seem at all pleased by the current state of affairs. She doubted very much that he had sabotaged the meal.

"Perhaps it was simply an accident," she offered mildly.

Bright was nowhere to be seen as Pelletier glared about the area behind the tent. He muttered a few curses for the man, being careful to keep his voice low so that the officers might not hear. Continuing his curses but directing them at the vegetables themselves, he doused them in the remaining hot water from the kettle. Too late he remembered that he had been saving the vegetable water for broth, hoping to add the chicken carcass later. Now it was fouled with powder. Damn that Bright! He would get him back, somehow, at some time. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and Pelletier was capable of many cold dishes.

"My humble apologies, messieurs, mesdames," he repeated as he brought the asparagus back to the table. He had tasted the head of one stalk to make certain it was clean. It was good enough, at any rate.

Jenny began to devour the chicken as soon as it was put on her plate. She slowed slightly when the servant returned with the bowl of vegetables again. She realized that her ravenous eating was perhaps not the most elegant of table manners, but what did that matter? These French officers ought to see how hungry their prisoners were.

"I am very hungry," she said before devouring another piece of chicken.

Olivia took a more delicate bit of her own food, though she felt like diving in with the same enthusiasm. The chicken tasted delicious - though she was sure it could have been terrible and she still would have loved it.

"Indeed," she said and, to her embarrassment, her stomach rumbled in agreement.