10th June: The misplaced

"I'm glad that you finally realized my wisdom! And of course thoroughly honoured that you would still have my company when you can have my brandy alone."

Bastien chuckled and took another mouthful of coffee. Despite his criticism of the ingredients, he swallowed it readily enough.

"Yes, let's make this a royally grand affair. I know at least two soldiers who wouldn't mind playing footmen for a bit of tobacco, and if we invite Blanchcour, we might borrow his tablecloth. Postponing it for a few days will also give us a chance to organize some decent food. Rations haven't improved during your absence. I don't think you will have to worry about the British women by then; although this leaves me with the immense problem of where to find other enjoyable company for the evening, of course. But perhaps my angel of the sick will once again take pity on us."

"Certainly. A grander dinner than it is usual in these times. It might convince me that returning from the dead had actually been a wise idea." He took a couple of sips from his coffee and then adjsted the fabric stretched across his cot. He leaned forward, but did so slowly and carefully, halting the moment the pain would become worse.

"The immense problem may be solved with the few of the ladies that we have had come along with us.. or at worst..." He thought long and hard. "...I would not know." He did not want the Portuguese in his mess. Woman, man or child, they were all monsters and he had got injured , threatened and mistreated by either of the groups. Perhaps the only that was yet to touch him , was a really old Portuguese woman or man, and he was glad to pass the opportunity.

Bastien looked hard at Etienne for a moment, then gave a monstrous sigh.

"Well perhaps then we better replace the women with even more booze and some decent pictures. At least that way we can be sure that we won't wake up and find our purses gone."

He kicked his seat back upright and let one hand fall onto his thigh with a loud slap.

"Well, after we have made our plans now, let's drain this brew and get to work before you fall asleep. Unless you find it vile-tasting enough to make sleep preferable?"

Bastien asked the question off-handedly, but his eyes held a trace of concern.

"..I shall sleep once I am returned to my tent." He spoke quietly. "Please do wake me up when you return later,... else I dread I might sleep through our time of drinking and merrymaking." He jumped at the slap, his eye alert and his back tense.

He relaxed upon the realisation that it was Prayon who made the sound. "I do not know what you plan for our dinner, as the pictures in question sound as if your mind is quite elsewhere.. than a decent polite meeting would be."

Bastien's eyes had contracted to slits at Etienne's reaction, but they quickly relaxed again and he gave no other sign that he had even noticed it. He chuckled:

"You should know by now that any dinner I'm present at is hardly decent for long. Not if I can help it."

Twirling his shako on one hand, he extended the other to help Etienne up.

"Of course I will wake you later, if you promise to try not to kill me for it. If you can't make that promise, I will take care to drink my half of the bottle first, before attempting to wake you. It would be a shame to leave this world and a bottle of tolerable brandy behind."

"Why would I attempt to take your life.." Saint-Hilaire asked while pulling himself up with Prayon's help. "When my own... would become so dull.." He slowly straightened and adjusted his shirt again carefully before his eyes stopped at his coat. This he would need to wear if he wanted to appear decent infront of the colonel. "..even if shortlived.. as I might well get sentenced to the firing squad for slaying my superior." He reached for the coat and frowned. He hated this but, there was no way around it.

"..Can you help me shrug this on...the Colonel will not appreciate to see me in a state of undress."

"Probably not, although there might be extenuating circumstances!", Bastien agreed, leaving it open whether he meant the coat or his own death.

Taking the coat from Etienne's hand, he flipped it open and held it out. With a very rakish grin, he offered:

"If you can just play the lady for a second, I can prove to you how very adept I am in not only getting those undressed, but also dressed again."

"..I shall play.. this suggested role as long as you promise me you shall not think it prudent to attempt doing the opposite." Saint-Hilaire teased and turned his back to Prayon. he held his hands to his sides and then slowly urged them back a bit. He went no further than that and rather turned a bit to the side so that one hand could easily slip into the sleeve and would then be followed by the second, whose effort would be greather, but of which the shoulder was not bandaged and injured.

"Just do not begin to think that you shall practice on me frequently, to impress the girls with your prowess later. The moment I am able, I shall be delighted to tend to myself as is expected of a sous-lieutenant."

Bastien grinned as he circumspectly helped Etienne first into one sleeve, then into the other, and finally with even greater care pulled the coat gently over the other man's shoulders.

"There. But you may rest assured that this will not become a permanent service. If I am to play butler, I usually expect at least a kiss for it, and I don't care for it if my partner has whiskers."

"Then you must be fortunate, for I have none." Saint-Hilaire answered amused. "You have shaved me, do you not remember?" He chuckled good naturedly and took a few steps so that he could place the mug, he had juggled between hands, onto the tray. It was empty now, and would do him no service.

"I believe to be ready to prevent the need for you to write the long report of how you have heroically discovered me."

Bastien held the tent flap open and bowed Etienne out as if he were royalty.

"In this case, allow me to do myself the very great honour of escorting you to the Colonel's tent to bath adequately in this glory!"

He offered his arm, but somehow managed to make it such an exaggerated gesture that nobody would wonder if Etienne went with the jest and took it.

"I am glad you have not asked me to kiss you.." Saint-Hilaire chuckled softly at the grand gesture and took the offered arm with equally exaggerated motion. Only to him, the motion caused pain because, as he had forgotten, abrupt movements , great motions of arms, disturbed wounds. He grit his teeth in time and it was only Prayon's elbow that received a rather uncomfortably tight squeeze.

"I hardly have the desire to kiss something that might as well tear my lips as it might do other." He smirked. "A clear reason that women are a preference... they do not cause injury to your face."

Bastien nearly choked with laughter at that, but held his arm quite steady.

"Be careful what you say. Did I ever tell you of that little witch in Brest that insisted on giving me a shave the next morning? I'm still not sure whether she was too incompetent to cut my whiskers or my throat, but I ended up trying to politely pretent that a cut over the better part of my cheek was exactly the way I wanted to start the day."

"You would shave for me? Really?" Saint-Hilaire asked, amused. "My dear Bastien. Here I have thought you have only missed me, because you did not have anyone to keep you company with drinking Brandy.. and now, as a lieutenant, to do your papers.. but if you feel that way.."Indeed he was playing as much as his friend, and having a rather fine, grand time, doing it.

"The wench. Oh, is it the one that had gotten a poke with the cold sort of sword rather than.. the more pleasant and pleasurable?" He arched a brow of the eye that could still see Bastien's expression.

"Because as I recall, I have heard a great deal of cursing, come that morning, and I had thought you've just liked it.. more.. ..what..is the word again...?"

Bastien pretended to slap Etienne playfully on the arm, staying his hand a hair's breadth before it could connect.

"Now you are trying to put me to the blush. Of course I will let only the best-shaved man in camp (after me, of course) do the papers. If I can't treat them with respect myself, I can at least see to it that they are treated by somebody respectable. Or at least respectably looking, in your case."

He chuckled softly, as if remembering a nice, but distant incident:

"As for that other thing: I can assure you that I left her thoroughly satisfied and that my cursing later was due to the fact that this incident had ruined one of my shirts. Whatever happend during that night however ... not a word shall pass my lips."

"You are far from best shaved at the moment, Basitien. But we might remedy this, once we have left the Colonel's." He chuckled with Bastien and thought that he was perhaps going crazy because he was smiling and laughing much more than he had been for the past... well for a great deal of time. His last might have been before he needed to escape at Oporto.

"Do you know, that your dear friend is also a master at leaving without permission.. especially when it is the enemy that wishes not to give such permission?" He winked and looked ahead of them.

"Please do tell... you slept the whole of the night all tired at your first time, hm?"

Bastien passed a hand over the the dark growth of hair that always seemed to have possession of his cheeks even if he had shaved freshly.

"While I can fully understand our enemy's reluctance to part with your delightful company, I believe your presence is better appreciated here. I'm sure you would have made a very tasty suckling pig, had you set your mind to it, but you would have been totally wasted on the Portuguese. They have very unrefined tastes."

His mouth twisted into a sneaky grin: "You'd love to know what happened that night, wouldn't you? Jealousy or just a bow to the experience of a past master?"

"..Do not jest about that... I've near become a roasted pig.." He winced at the memory and from actual physical pain. "They have rather... peculiar taste, I concur. And a terrible hospitality...." Of which some he would never speak, not even to Prayon, he was sure of it.

"Jealousy? Of whom?" He spoke tilting his head to look at Prayon. "You were never a master to me, if you wish to claim that. I've had my share of women and my skills alone have convinced them to come time and time again." Of course this was a lie, though not because he would not have been handsome or interested. His love for the emperor and his cause was greater than that for the carnal pleasures. "Perhaps it is you, who was jealous of my success and handsome looks?"

Bastien laughed easily, not at all put out by that dart.

"My dearest Sainty, without bragging or telling a lie I can claim that whenever I wished for a woman, I found a very nice one and both of us enjoyed it. I will certainly not be jealous if all those women who never had a chance to get me turned to you and found some satisfaction there."

He looked up to the command tent they had now nearly reached and straightened his back.

"As interesting as this discussion is, perhaps we should put it on hold for the time being. I'm not quite sure what the Colonel, or even more important Madame Colonel, will say if we discuss the merits of other women in front of him."

"Tch." Saint-Hilaire said and stepped aside, releasing Prayon and then straightening a little. "....Very well then....What must be done, must be done." He stepped forward towards the entrance of the tent sighing. It could be no truer. He only wished it would be over soon, he was feeling quite tired by now.

Bastien kept at Etienne's shoulder and nodded to the soldier who stood guard at the entrance. The man had probably already heard the news and knew why the two officers were coming, but he did a commendable job of not staring openly.

The lieutenant pointed a thumb at the inside of the tent and asked airily:

"Is Monsieur busy or may the prodigal son return?"

"One moment, monsieur's. I will ask." The soldier answered and disappeared inside of the tent. He took a few moments, perhaps explaining what it was all about and then returned with a simple.

"The colonel is ready to see you now." And then retook his position as simply as if nothing had happened. Of course, he could not wait but to have them pass so that he could at last look better. The other man..he barely recognised him. But was he not dead?

Without hestitation, Bastien ducked into the tent and saluted.

"Colonel Beuret, may I present Sous-Lieutenant Saint-Hilaire, who had the misfortune of getting cut off in Oporto?"

"....Colonel. " Saint-Hilaire glanced at Bastien then stepped forward. He did not know what to say, even if he ought to have explained how he had come to be here now or how his injuries were gotten or ...he froze. He had to explain himself. Why his men were lost, why he was so late.

The Colonel let his eyes pass measuringly over Saint-Hilaire, taking in the eye-patch and general appearance. His eyes darted questioningly to Prayon once, but the lieutenant was only standing relaxedly behind Etienne and did not seem to wish to to add to his former statement just now.

Clearing his throat, Beuret said:

"My congratulations that you have found back your way to us then. I assume that you wish to make a report of your time away?"