5 June; At odd ends

It was all he could do to simply shrug. "I do not know. I am just a soldat."

There was, of course, a snort from Bright. Predictable. "Depends on what sort of 'help' yer meanin'. Madame." Again with the mocking emphasis, which was beginning to get on Jérémie's nerves. Not that the Englishman ever cared who he affronted.

"Besides," Bright went on with a sneer. "You tellin' me you come alla way from France on yer own? Through this mess of a country?"

Mr. Blanchard took an easy way of answering, as it was expected from a nice, but modest kind of gent as he appeared to be. The attention immediately was drawn to his Brittish colleague for her surprise.

"The ones that needed, of course, like cooking or fixing a hole on an uniform, for an instance. But such help also appreciated, I believe, during bandaging the wounded, just to satisfy your interests, Sir."

That reaction. Certainly man was an interesting kind of beast, not the one to hunt, but to learn from, afterall Angy married one. Still they were not one of a kind, like this English fellow who seemed calmer earlier , but now quite amusing in his own way.

"On my own? Only as much as you got here from your island. You see, marching on foot is for soldiers, I prefer travelling with horse carriage for distance like this. but even with that it seemed unusually long. I still wander how I will get back. Or you have any other idea of traveling such distance?"

"I sailed here from my island," said Bright. "Into Lisbon, then marched up'n'down Portugal some. Now I'm here." He made a noise of derision. "Can't think how you mighta brought a carriage over through Spain an' all, wit'out meetin' up with no guerrillas. S'prised you're still breathin' after that sorta journey."

He paused and glanced at Rosy, who was once again devoting too much attention to his work. Tellingly, the Frenchman's cheeks were flaming red, more noticeably than usual. Softhearted idiot

"Anyways. There's no goin' back now, dearie. Yer stuck."

For a moment he looked serious enough Angy feel his he weight of his concern of war in this matter, but Bright seemed to be willing to know something that could not satisfy him. The brunette was just looking at his eyes with a shock.

"Depend's on what you call surprise, Sir. The army can't survive on booty and robbery, so the supply must be carried after the camp from time to time, which needed to be protected by many men. Or by not taking the main route to the front line."

A glance at 'Rosy' made her a bit comfortable, then she returned to Michael Bright. She just finished a sentence in her book and she placed her plume in the ink holder.

"So you see we have our own way on land. And weird as it sound, we share the same fate. But why would we go back when we can march forward?"

Narrowed her eyes.

"Are you worrying about me at all?"

This was more than even Jérémie could bear.

"What he means is, how did you avoid being attacked by the Portuguese irregulars coming here from France? They and the Spanish guerrillas as well. They are not known for missing an opportunity to kill Frenchmen." He sighed, annoyed that he had been provoked to temper. "Do not preach at us. Not when you do not know anything of what you speak."