Second day on the march

Stephen was confused. "For things you have not done...? Oh, I would never blame you for the actions of your government - yours is not a democracy, sir - nor would I blame a man for an action not his own. Your actions are your own responsibility; it is a hard thing to apologise for another's." How strange - he had said almost the exact same thing to Capitaine des Sablières. He searched for the correct term to inwardly shake his head over. Normans.

Since explaining that he was a member of the Government party, and actually had a seat in Parliament, seemed unlikely to ease matters, Edrington just smiled an acceptance of Maturin's comments. But Ireland was not the issue here. It was hard to believe that irregulars this far south would have a motive for revenge against the French - who had not penetrated south of Coimbra. He said, following that thought: "Then that will be an extra grief to Raoul - to Captain des Sablières. That his men suffered for the sins of other Frenchmen."

"I will break the news as gently as possible, Colonel. I will be at least a number of days in Lisbon, perhaps even weeks; I will check on him."

He realised that he would have anyway; if he thought of des Sablières without his guard, there was rather more affection than he would have thought wise. He wondered if it was his loneliness to blame - the attachment to any other human being that offered care, for a man must have conversation with the living if he was not to die in his unmechanical part; or whether it was the inevitable solidarity of two men who shared a terrible secret, alone in a strange city. Or perhaps it was simply that Raoul des Sablières was a confused, hurting young man, even more alone than he was, who for all his beliefs and mistakes was, he truly believed, a good person.

"Thank you." They rode on for a moment, then Edrington continued: "He is too open a person to be mixed up in - whatever it is that happened. You will see that, when you meet him. And so I ask you, if there is anything I can do to help him, can you let me know?" He had tried to ask Padstowe to do the same thing, and Padstowe had twisted it back on him. But Maturin was more subtle than that. "Short of assisting in an escape, of course."

"Of course." Stephen smiled. "And I will - there will no doubt be couriers bringing messages from the Headquarters to the General, and should the need arise I am sure that one of them will consent to bear an extra message. You are of the 62nd, yes? Are prisoners given an allowance for food and the like?"

"Eventually, no doubt, arrangements will be made. Though I doubt whether any allowance will be sufficient to live on." He grimaced. "Which is to say that I doubt if I could live on it. While he was in the Guardhouse he was fed at least - I expect someone will realize that a paroled prisoner needs to eat. But I was not thinking only of financial help." What help he could be to a prisoner in Lisbon he did not know, but if there was anything, he would be prepared to try.

If not financial, what did the colonel mean? Stephen doubted somewhat that the man might be referring to his spiritual or emotional help - there would be little enough that he might be able to do regarding that, and anything he could do could be contained within a letter. Was he referring to the prisoner exchange, possibly? "Well, sir, I will pass on your message, and whatever help the captain may require, I will be available, at least for a time, to pass on any message he may wish to send to you in return."

"And any need for help that he does not ask you to pass on. He may be unwilling to appeal to me, but if he needs it - not only if he's prepared to ask for it." He thought for a moment, as the horses negotiated a steeper descent, where flood water had caused runnels crossing the track and exposed the roots of the trees. "You may tell him that as promised I have written to my mother, and when she receives the letter she will send one to his parents. I would like to feel more certain that, by the time they hear that he is safe, Raoul's situation had not deteriorated."

"I doubt it will deterioriate - what would compel you to consider such a thing? The Captain will be safer even as a prisoner in Lisbon than on the battlefield, or, God between us and evil, as a scout in the countryside." Stephen crossed himself, and brought the thought to its conclusion. "But this might mean that you suspect a quick exchange? I thought such things were not generally approved of by the governments in question."

"They are not - such exchanges as there are, are delayed and hedged about with guarantees and paperwork. But before, the Armies would sidestep all that and arrange exchanges between themselves. I hoped Raoul would benefit from such an arrangement. Although perhaps you are right and he would be safer as a prisoner."

"I see - is it different in the Navy, do you know? I have been a prisoner of the French twice, but we were rescued both times in another engagement before the question of exchange ever needed to be raised. And if the captain is to be housed in Lisbon, he will be in a prime position to make a complaint to Headquarters if he is treated at all unfairly."

"I do not know about the Navy. I have heard of 'exchanges' as something to be hoped for if captured, but never met any Naval officer who benefitted from one. Perhaps it is just that prisoners on land can be taken in ones and twos, so that a skirmish might end with a few prisoners held on each side. It is easier to exchange them than to look after them. If not, they are sent to Verdun, I believe, and the chances of release from there are slight." He smiled slightly. "Bonaparte seems to object to the idea."

"Just so," said Stephen, his thoughts elsewhere. They could see the end of the column now, though Wellesley was nowhere to be found. If he did not wish to discuss the papers that Stephen had painstakingly prepared, then on his own head be it, he thought with a minute shrug. Let him have the headache. Ungrateful swine - God forbid Sir Joseph had ever acted that way. He then reprimanded himself for his mental lack of charity - the man was tired, and had a lot on his mind - he was no doubt used to unthinking deference. He would let Wellesley make the next move.

Edrington reined Bauer in just before they reached the road, and looked at his companion. Dr Maturin's thoughts were clearly elsewhere, as he watched the end of the column, the Divisional wagons pass.

"Dr Maturin, do you intend to ride back to Lisbon now? I would offer you a chance to rest and refresh yourself, but not of course until we reach our camping ground for the night. And that would take you in the wrong direction!" He waited, half smiling, for the doctor to collect himself. If they were going to part now, he would at least take his leave of a man who remembered his existence.

They had stopped, almost without him realising; Bethany was concentrating at least. Stephen blinked, and the colonel's words formed something coherent in his brain "Hmm? I beg your pardon - you said-? Ah, yes, I do intend to ride back now. It is a kind offer, sir, but I must return."

"Then I bid you farewell, at least until you return to your patient." His lips quirked. "Let us hope that he follows your regimen with a better grace. A pleasure to meet you, Dr Maturin."

"The honour was mine, sir," said Stephen, bowing forward in his saddle and ignoring the quip about Wellesley, embarrassed that the General's disdain had been apparent enough for the colonel to comment on it. "I wish that we might have met under better circumstances."

"Yes. Let us hope that if we renew our acquaintance in future, it will indeed be in better circumstances. It would be hard to imagine worse." If Maturin did return to the Division, whether as Wellesley's physician or in some other capacity, it would be interesting to talk to him, in rather less fraught conditions. "You have a long ride ahead of you. God speed."

"God willing, Colonel. Farewell, now." Lacking a hat, Stephen raised his wig, and then pulled Bethany about with an encouraging word to begin to ride back to Lisbon, and Belem.

Edrington touched his hat in response to Maturin's salute, and watched him ride away. Then with a last frowning glance up the hill to where his riflemen were burying Raoul's hussars, he turned Bauer to ride along the column, back to his place with his battalion.

It was not a pleasant task at all, and several times one or other of the Riflemen had to pause to swallow his nausea. Sharpe was glad he'd sent the young lads back down to the column. This was no place for them.

The men worked in silence. The horror was too present for them to say anything much beyond "The poor bastards!" Sharpe wanted to strip off his jacket and help, but things were delicate enough between himself and his men, even now, that he didn't dare. He watched the carrion birds circling noisily, angry at being deprived of their meal.

He watched his men - Sims, Cresacre, Slattery, Jenkins, Cooper and Tongue - as they worked. He had no idea how he would feel if this outrage were done to any of them, and was glad he was English, and not French. Having to fight against an unseen enemy that made use of this horror would sap the morale of any soldier.

At least the General and Colonel Edrington had decided to return to the Army and let the Rifles work in peace.

Sir Arthur had long made his way back to his position in the column, not deining to answer any of the questions of his staff and fuming silently. God damn the impudence of the little man! But it was not just Maturin's lack of deferencethat upset him, but also the sight of those mutilated Frenchmen... It reminded him of India after the fall of Seringapatam. They had gone into one of the inner courtyards and found eight British soldiers - prisoners from a skirmish a few nights before -brutally murdered with nails hammered through their skulls or their necks rung like chickens. It had been an awful sight, and had angered him as much as it disgusted him; and now he felt the same revulsion. He had enough sense to admit that such attacks were useful to him in disrupting the French, and that he encouraged them; but to see the evidence for himself... and the fact that the French had abandonned their own wounded to the wolves, and not even made a pretence of securing their welfare...