4th June: Visitations

Paol regarded the young man uncertainly, not sure how to interpret his change in demeanor. Had he said something wrong? Or, more likely, something stupid? "When you were last there?" It was meant to be a statement, but came out as a question.

"When i was last there i felt it was full of promise because i...." He hesitated, paused and shrugged." I was younger than now, joining a cause, wearing the uniform and thinking of a different future. .. When I was first there.." This he said because he felt that his friend might consider himself being mocked when that was not the intention at all. "I was surrounded by splendor and riches...born in the palace of Versailles."

He waited for the reaction. Perhaps his drug induced mind felt relaxed enough to be as blunt and personal about his life. Only it twisted the facts just a little and would explain them soon to clarify.

Paol's brows all but disappeared beneath the rim of his shako. "You were born in a palace?"

"Yes.. Only I was... More a child of the revolution, ..so to say, rather than that of the bourbons before it. I was born on the grounds of Versailles because my mother... Do you remember when the people broke into the palace?"

"When what people broke into the palace?"

"Those who had had enough of the opression of the fortunate few, of not even having the bread, of having their king fret away with money, and that woman he had married do worse for our Country." The young man spoke with passion approving of the storming of the palace as much as the ransacking of the quarters of the queen.

"The excitement of the event must have causee my early birth yet... I was strong enough and thus I am here. What better time to be born, when history was being made." He said, quite proudly.

"Aye, I suppose," he replied, though without much conviction. If that -- if this was history being made, he would have given almost anything to have been born well away from it.

The manner in which the other man replied dampened some of Saint-hilaire's momentary enthusiasm. He shifted, cursing quietly at the pain such a movement caused, then slowly relaxed again. "What troubles you? As it seems as if you do not.." He allowed the rest of the question to remain unasked but clear.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Sorry. I just... Sorry. Tired, I guess."

"You have just..?" He inquiree kindly, though he showed that he was as willing to drop the matter if Paol did not wish to continue it, or in the case he was wrong and Paol indeed was tired. "Please pardon me for being so selfish and keeping you here when i have but rested in this wagon and you have not had the luxury." He spoke again in a friendly tone, giving the other man a faint smile. "I am grateful for your company, but .. Not at the expance of keeping you from your own rest."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Christ, but he was making a mess of this. "What happened?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation away from himself, "When they broke into the palace?"

"I do not know. They were said to have progressed swiftly. Killing those that opposed them and bringing the rightful vengence on the riches that left them starving." He had heard many stories of the time, and they varried. Be it because the witnesses were not the same, be it because a point of view changed in time. He was too young to remember anything, just being born.

"Did you not hear any of the happenings at all? Or...how young were you when.. It happened?"

"I remember when they killed the king," he offered, "I was... I dunno, maybe ten years old." He shrugged, "We were metayers. We kept away from politics."

"My family has not been much into politics, mind. It can be dangerous waters, that sort of thing. But.. There were certain things, feelings and beliefs that were of joined kind. It was a good riddance of the king. How can one be in power, to decide the fate of all,... Merely because the man was born to be such? Chosen not for his skills and knowledge, not for the ability to lead men, but... Merely by birth." He did not think what deity could have made that choice. After all there was proof enough in his mind, that often the person born was not the best skilled. Of officer kind he would have not said out loud, but feel it no less.

Paol shrugged again. He didn't understand how an emperor differed from a king or how what they had now was an improvement. Then again, he didn't understand much when it came to such matters and was content to leave them to cleverer folk.

To speak without a voice to answer was not a way that the young man was used to converse and thus he began to feel that perhaps either the topic had bored the other man or had caused him discomfort, both of which ended in a silent plea to speak not of the politics but of other things. Something that... they could both participate in and feel at ease.

"I have heard.. that we have British prisoners. Is that so?" Or perhaps he was just fishing for something , the choices of which his clouded, drugged mind was more tan struggling to offer.

"Yes," Paol answered, grateful for the change in topic, "We captured the English baggage several days ago."

"I see. Congratulations." He smiled faintly. "Is it then that the British have had the tables changed on them...and are on the retreat?" Licking at their wounds and considering their losses. Capturing the baggage meant capturing what came with it, other than the personal artifacts, letters, wagons and horses, mules and perhaps the food that would serve the men a little, they must have taken with them the followers of such a camp as well.

"Have you captured many?" He inquired hoping that the man might say more.

"We have started to push them back, aye, and we captured a fair few, part of their rearguard as well."

"Good news, at last." The young man whispered relaxing a little. In his absence things had turned for the better. Some at the very least, though they could just as well shift again without so much as a notice. He gazed thoughtfully at the floor, shifting his one eye to study his bandaged hand.

"Let us hope guarding the prisoners doesn't stretch our own resources.." He thought more as an officer when considering their situation. "Have they captured any of the Portuguese as well?"

The young man's question caused him to hesitate. He could well imagine the motivation behind it, after what the boy had been through. All the same, there seemed little point in lying. "There were some, yes. Among the women," he answered carefully.

"..Are they still held prisoner?" He relaxed his hand and dropped it to his side. He feared the Portuguese as much as he hated them. Women could be monsters just as the men. But.. still they were weaker.

He felt a tremor and cursed silently. He knew others could turn a blind eye as their dislike for that kind has been just as well tended to by the discoveries of their dead.

"Yes." Paol suddenly wondered if he had misunderstood, "It's just some lasses, local girls, like. Not partisans."

"..How do you know that they are not partisans?" He asked and looked away. When his gaze returned, his face was still half turned so that only the seeing side was facing the other man.

"Are they held separate?.." They could not trust them for they could appear harmless and then they were not. They were Portuguese..Portuguese!

Hell, he had misunderstood. And badly. He just had to go thinking the worst of folk. "They were camp followers, with the English, that's all. Partisans got no reason to be in the English baggage."

Separate? He shook his head, "No, they's in with the other women prisoners."