On Parole in Lisbon

Raoul smiled his thanks. "That sounds like Dr Maturin - so you helped him too, did you? I would be glad if you would accompany me to Army Headquarters. I ought to... I should say, though, that I am not Portuguese, but French, a prisoner on parole." He looked squarely at them, wondering how they would react to the news that they had saved an enemy.

Their grins vanished and their chatter died, like animated puppets with their strings cut.

"Captain Raoul des Sablières," Raoul said formally, and accepted that it was only to be expected. "Thank you, anyway, for your help." His mouth twisted and he turned to leave.

"Hold on," Billy said, reaching out for his arm. He wasn't sure why, but it felt wrong to let the man wander off just like that. Everything was a bit strange about him. "You ain't wearin' a captain's uniform," he began, addressing the first and most obvious point.

Raoul stopped. "The French are not welcome here. I do not wish to parade myself like that. A Hussar uniform is - conspicuous, and I would constantly be challenged to account for myself. But," he touched his pocket, "I have my parole papers with me."

"Oh." They relaxed fractionally when they heard that he was a hussar. That was different. Let the army worry about hussars. He wasn't a naval captain, and not so much their problem.

"But... why are you friends with a royal navy surgeon?" Bristol Joe asked, skepticism in his voice.

Raoul grimaced. "Friend is too strong a word. He is here in Lisbon with the Army - and is treating some of my men who were made prisoner with me. He took me to see them - they are held outside the city, and has brought me news of them, from the hospital."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause, but Billy broke the silence by exclaiming, "You're still bleeding there. Hey, barman! Bring a cloth for senhor's arm. He's bleeding. He has sangue. Bring a cloth," he repeated, waving his own neckerchief demonstratively and mimicking the action of wrapping an arm. The tavern keeper complied, grateful to the men who had prevented a brawl even if they were noisy and foreign.

"You still want to go see that doctor of yours?" Billy asked des Sablières.

Raoul shook his head. Dr Maturin would not wish to see him after their conversation in the morning, nor did Raoul want to go to him for treatment, having ignored his advice to take care. In fact, he did not wish to see the doctor again, until he could be open with him. Tomorrow - tomorrow he would go to the restaurant to find Captain Delaporte and his lieutenants - with luck, they would have already escaped. He might have told Maturin nothing, but the doctor was suspicious and might have the power to set a watch on them. "He may have gone to Belem. It is not that bad. I shall bind it up properly when I get home." He pushed his sleeve up and tied the bandage round his arm. "Thank you again. But I will not trouble you or him."

Billy narrowed his eyes slightly. "Well, if you're going home, we may as well walk with you. There's still that bugger - that man with the knife out about." And the the ethic still stood that a man who bought drinks should not be stabbed moments later. "Or there's our surgeon, the Terpsy's surgeon."

"Terpsy?" Raoul queried, wondering what sort of name that was. "I think I will go home. To go to your ship may well make me late - miss my curfew, you understand. But I will be grateful for your escort." No one would attack him with this escort. Tomorrow he would wear his sword, at least.

"Oh, he's not on the ship. He's staying at a house in the street of Saint John of the... no, Saint John the Baptist something. It's not far. Though a curfew... don't want to miss that." As if they would bring a French hussar on board the Terpsy as a guest... But Doctor Crozier wouldn't mind. They'd seen him treat Frenchmen before, side by side with French surgeons even.

"That would be kind." Raoul looked down at the sleeve, where it bulged over the bandage. "And the curfew in not until 8 in the evening, but ... is your Terpsy moored in the river? We saw many ships there when we went to Belem. Frigates, and brigs, and sloops and ... - or so Dr Maturin told me. What sort of ship is yours - and what is its full name - it cannot be called Terpsy!"

"We're from the Terpsichore, mate," Tommy Dunnett replied, selectively answering only the last question. Who knew but this French cove still might be a spy?

Billy was too busy frowning and thinking. "Is your Doctor Maturin from the Surprise? I think he took my second cousin Bill's leg off!"

Dr Maturin had not named his ship, nor his Captain, beyond the name Jack. "It could be," said Raoul "He took my friend Thierry's arm off as easily as anything."

[OOC - bedtime. Good night,and pleasant wakings]

"My Bill says, when his leg was taking off, the doctor whipped it off as quick as you please, neat as a pin in the middle of battle, just off and away. And there weren't no infection, nothin', though it were taken off way up here." Billy held a hand to a certain height on his thigh. "His knee were shot away, see. This way, down the hill. Billy Barrow, by the way, and this here's Joe and Tom and Cob and Jim. What happened to your friend's arm then?"


[good night!]

Chase was still annoyed that he hadn't been able to catch the knife-wielding man. It would've been fun to drag him back for a dunking in the fountain.

"We had a bleedin' idiot fer our surgeon on me first ship," he said. "Couldn't even take a splinter out wi'out havin' to cut great holes in you. Ain't so with ol' Doctor Crozier though."

With Crozier's competence thus affirmed, Chase grinned cheerfully. "We'll getcha there t'him, no trouble."

"Though I ain't seen Dr. Crozier whip off a leg," Billy commented, to be fair and impartial. "I know he's done it. Ezra Methody had his leg off, but I never seen how quick it was, and Ezra weren't awake for to remember it." He looked at the Frenchman as if attempting to judge whether he might need a leg removed, but being satisfied on this point he added, "Still, you'll be fine and all with your arm. Don't you worry."

Raoul looked at him in some amusement. "My legs are at the moment quite sound - I would not want your surgeon to practise his skills on them - not on my arm, which probably only needs cleaning and a dressing. Something cleaner than the cloth the barman gave, anyway."

But if their doctor was in the town, then it was worth getting it dressed now. It was kind of the men to offer their surgeon's time, but he had more trust in British doctors, than in the Portuguese.

Within a few more minutes they were sitting in the front room of a house much like Mr. Dawson's, the French captain and two of the seamen, the others having departed to join other friends spotted at a tavern. A message was sent up, and the doctor came down.

"Jacob Chase, William Barrow. What can I do for you lads?" He glanced at the stranger. "Have you formed a press gang in Lisbon and brought us a new recruit?"

Chase grinned at the sawbones and saluted. "Not yet, sir. This gennelman fell inta some trouble an' needs a lookin' at. Fer his arm."

Crozier could not quite hide his grin at the thought of the men bringing injured locals to him like children bringing home lost puppies and kittens. "Good day, senhor," he said in hesitating Portuguese. "I am called Crozier, surgeon of..." He did not know the words for his majesty's frigate... "of the ship Terpsichore. Your arm...?"

"Sir," Raoul gave a polite, civilian bow, speaking in English. "I am not Portuguese, but French. Raoul des Sablières, a Captain of Hussars, and a prisoner on parole. These gentlemen saved me from a man with a knife, and - offered your services. I hope," he glanced from the doctor to the two seamen. "I do not wish to intrude, and will go if you are unwilling. It is a small cut, I can..."

"Not at all, not at all," Crozier said quietly, looking at the little group with curiosity. "Take off your jacket and let me see. Or - perhaps we'd better go upstairs, so Mrs. Grose won't find a bloody spectacle in her front room. And Chase, Barrow, while you're here, do you mind moving the rest of those boxes for me? And ask Sally to send up a basin of warm water, and don't keep her chatting, either. This way, monsieur."


[ooc - off to work, bye!]

Raoul grinned at the sailors, who had let themselves in for work on their day's liberty, because of their kindness to him. He hoped he would see them again, before they left. To convey his gratitude to them in a proper fashion, in as much as it was possible. He followed Dr Crozier up the stairs.