On Parole in Lisbon

Raoul left cloak and sword in the hall, and went to find Mr Dawson. He explained that he had to leave, to accompany the doctor to the Headquarters - "and perhaps further, I do not know", the doctor having become unwell. Dawson was not happy, but he was not Raoul's gaoler. He would report it, of course, but that would not matter. In that at least he trusted that the combined word of Dr Maturin and Captain Padstowe would absolve him.

He returned to the room and gently pushed open the door, to see the doctor with his head on his folded arms. He pulled the door to again and sat down outside to wait.

The familiar Latin was comforting, and it kept his mind from wandering. Stephen Maturin was an insomniac, but he was an insomniac with a fractured skull and no more than fifteen hours sleep in the last one hundred, and only two of those in the last fifty, so he fell asleep before the end of his second decade.

Maturin had fallen asleep across the table, and Raoul thought of moving him - at least to a more comfortable position if not to one of the spare bedchambers. But before he could decide, noises showed that the sleep was not that deep, and that moving the doctor would almost certainly rouse him, and - given his strength of will, he would wake up fully, and continue with his original purpose.

The position in which he had fallen asleep was not conducive to real rest, and lack of laudanum mingled with exhaustion to ensure that it was entirely restless. The conversation had torn up all those memories of Mahon, and images and sounds and sensations battered him in rapid succession, until the faces of Carneiro, des Sablières and Dutourd appeared in front of him with increasing speed, and Stephen realised with a terrified certainty that they were all the same person.

There was a knock, and a smash, and Stephen sat up, shouting.

Raoul had been sitting in the hall, on an old throne-like wooden seat, half-reading a book, half-listening for sounds of Maturin waking. The breaking glass, followed by the doctor's voice raised in alarm or anger, brought him to his feet, the poetry forgotten, and he stepped rapidly into the room.

"No! Ne le faites pas! Eu signifiquei conservá-lo; eu sou tão pesaroso! Je vous ai dit que, je ne sais pas!" The dream died, and was replaced by des Sablières coming into the room. "Capitaine, oh, capitaine..."

There was urgency in the doctor's voice, and fear, which was faded as he recognized Raoul. The captain stepped over the broken glass, and sat back on his heels, to face the doctor. "You slept, monsieur, but not comfortably and not for long enough. Do you want to sleep some more, before you set off - you can be more comfortable..."

"I-" Stephen swallowed, grasping a fistful of his hair and nervously tugging at it. "I must have broken the glass..."

Raoul looked at the shards, glinting in the candlelight. "I think so. But it was at least empty. Would you like another? Perhaps with something other than water." He added, reassuringly. "You have not slept for long, but even that seems to have done some good. I feared you were going to faint again."

Stephen nodded at des Sablières' comforting tone of voice. "No, I... You are right, I think it did some good. I feel less...lachrymose, less shaken. I will not faint, I will just... Let me clear up that glass."

"No. Stay where you are for a moment. Say if I can get you anything, before we go - if you still mean to leave for Belem tonight."

"I must get to Belem," Stephen said hoarsely, nodding. "I will first help you clear-" He looked up sharply. "'We'? This is no 'we', Capitaine; you must stay here."

"I will go with you only as far as the Headquarters, if they will agree to provide an escort for you to go to Belem," said Raoul soothingly. "I can stay there - or return here, if someone signs for me to do so. I will have my sword..."

"Do not be absurd - your parole - it is long after your curfew - you cannot leave this house. Besides, I do not need an escort - I have made this trip many times now."

"You need a doctor," Raoul retorted. "But all I have to offer is a nursemaid. I shall be with you, and if ... It would be a technical breach of my parole, and one required by my honour, I think. You know I would not take advantage of my freedom."

"I do not need a doctor; I am a little weary, that is all. I know that you would not take advantage, but they at Headquarters do not know you from the next French prisoner on parole, who may not be so honourable. I will not allow you to breech your parole for me; I will allow them no excuse..."

Raoul thought of the Naval officers, planning their escape, and even prepared to offer him the chance to go with them. Was it one of them who had followed him, and if so, what would he have made of his visit to headquarters. It depended rather whether they planned to leave tonight or tomorrow. Even if he knew, he could not reassure them. His own honour would keep him from absconding, even if he were prepared to go out during the curfew in a good cause. The same honour would not allow him to inform on them, if they did not regard their parole in the same light.

He shook his head though, and said, almost pleadingly: "I wish you would let me - if I do not go with you, I shall worry. And not just about your health."

"I cannot, mon capitaine. I have not forgotten Pumphrey, and in any case, I wish to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I will be fine; I may not be a soldier, but I am not defenseless, and I can certainly manage the ride."

Raoul hesitated. He had not forgotten Pumphrey either, or the threat the Portuguese presented, official or unofficial. Perhaps his concern for Dr Maturin's safety was purely self-interest, since the doctor had promised to ensure that he would not be handed over, to be tried or... Breaching his parole would however give them an excuse, and he bowed his head in acceptance. "Then I must agree. Having a French Hussar Captain as your bodyguard and nursemaid might draw attention to you."

"I need neither. But I am grateful for your concern, capitaine." Stephen rubbed his eyes, pressing his fingers against his eyelids. "And I am sorry that I caused you such distress tonight."

Raoul sighed. "You did not cause my distress, doctor - you told me something that distressed me, but it was something I ... Something I needed to know, that I should have known earlier. I am sorry that an Army, in which I thought honourable to serve, should have caused you so much pain."

"You are an honourable man, for the most part, and you served them honourably. Only yesterday I said that they did not deserve your loyalty - we were having different arguments all along. A human organisation almost always embodies the worst human qualities - I know priests whom I deem greater than the Church they serve, soldiers greater than the army, or armies, monsieur, and at least one captain who is nobler in spirit than all the upper echelons of the navy he sails for, and they could not and would not ever acknowledge this fact. To unknowingly work and strive and sacrifice for an ignoble cause does not make you ignoble yourself. We are all only humans, after all, and I think that you are a better specimen of humanity than many or most I have encountered."

"You give me too much credit. If honourable men cannot improve on the organization they serve, it can nevertheless pull them down - or kill them." Raoul's mouth twisted. "And even then, those of us that see it do not understand."

"But you understand now, I think?"

"Yes. I understand. I just need to think what to do about it. What I can do about it." Raoul started to say something else then closed his mouth. After a moment he continued: "If you are to go to Belem alone - and I do not think it wise - you should go soon. And I will see you when you next come to Lisbon, I hope. I do not propose to go anywhere."