On Parole in Lisbon

"Then - you believe that Captain Delaporte or the others carried papers for him - I do not know, Dr Maturin. You say that these smugglers tried to kill you. They tried to kill me, too. But if they are allied to my country..." He gave a short laugh. "I still do not want them to kill me, or you. But does that mean I must turn traitor?"

"I suspect it was they, yes. In principle I cannot fault you. I despise informers," Stephen said, softly and sadly, all the anger gone from him. "But these men are not your allies - were the French in control of Lisbon they would spirit British prisoners and officers away for money, I am sure. I do not intend to turn them in, but only to protect us. I thought... There is nothing more you can tell me? On your honour?" He frowned, and looked up, fighting his concern. "You were attacked?"

Raoul nodded. "On Saturday, although... I cannot be sure it was anything to do with that. It might have been ..." He shrugged, and said more concisely. "A man with a knife attacked me. If it had not been for a group of British sailors, at the next table I ... He was Portuguese, I am sure, and him I could draw for you. But whether he had anything to do with Captain Delaporte and the others, I do not know. That was why..."

"I am..." Stephen took his wig off, absently putting it into his bag and running his fingers through his hair. "I think it would be prudent to assume that for the moment," he concluded. "Do you have no more information, Capitaine? Or can you not give it honourably? Please tell me that."

"I have no more information of any kind. Well, I did go to the restaurant - on Saturday." Raoul pulled a face. "I thought, like you, that that was what it was all about. That was why I would not ... I would not hand the man over to the Guardia Civil. That, and because I do not wish to bring myself to the notice of the Portuguese authorities." He hesitated then finished: "I left a note for the Captain. To tell him that I would not inform on him. But I do not know if he received it, or if it would do any good."

Stephen shook his head wearily. "I doubt it would - it would probably be seen as a very poor attempt at dissimulation. You said you were attacked - what happened? Did he injure you?"

"It was not meant to be. I gave my word, but ... I can see why they would not believe me." Raoul's mouth twisted in disgust. "Theirs meant nothing to them, after all, or - not enough for them to keep it." He made a casual gesture with his right hand. "As for the attack - that is perhaps too strong a word. It was not like the attack on you, sir. He had a knife, and demanded that I go with him. To somewhere less crowded than the parvis in front of the cathedral, I suppose. I did not go, and the sailors drove him off." Somehow, after the misunderstanding and the coldness, this did not seem to be the time to appeal for sympathy. The cut was nothing much, anyway.

"That is something then," said Stephen, relieved in spite of all his mixed feelings that that captain had not been hurt. "You should be very careful in the future - only go out before dark, and walk only in the populated, busy parts of the city."

Raoul was frowning. "Indeed, but it was broad daylight, and you cannot find a more public place than the square in front of the cathedral. Today, I stayed here, but I do not want... I might as well be back in the Guardhouse, if I cannot go out at all. And you too, doctor, although..."

The doctor, he remembered, was waiting for Captain Padstowe to recover before going north to join the Army in its assault on the French forces in Oporto. "How long will it be before you can leave Lisbon?" he asked. "How is Captain Padstowe?"

"He is recovering - I do not know when it is we shall leave the city." Stephen looked up at des Sablières, and knew that he could delay no longer. "But when we go we shall bring you with us. It would not be safe for you here alone."

"And I will be safer..." Raoul said in sudden astonishment. A moment's thought and he added: "Yes, it will be safer, if that matters to you. I shall still be on parole, I assume. Otherwise..." He gave a short laugh. "Or send me back to Oporto, when I shall no longer be your responsibility, even remotely."

"You will be safer among the British than the Portuguese, especially considering the mess your actions have led us into here," Stephen said tonelessly. "Your parole is not mine to give or to take away, but your safety is my concern now, whether I will it or not."

That was unfair, thought Raoul. He had tried to juggle his own honour, his duty to his country, a disinclination to carry tales, and ... And what had seemed to be the start of a friendship. The man's coldness now suggested that he had forfeited it, but ... "I did not mean any harm to you," he said mildly, "and I do not wish to burden you with my problems. I consider myself bound by those promises I have already made, until I am freed from them." He remembered the brightness of the previous day, and longing to ride or walk outside the city. He might be going to get his wish sooner than he had expected.

Stephen only nodded in response, and then stood up. The sky outside was a dark, heavy grey, and the candles should probably have already been lit. "I have much yet to do. I must be on my way. Be careful, Capitaine."

"And you too, Doctor." Raoul stood up too. "I am sorry. I hope that ... " But he could not say quite what he hoped for, and went to the door and opened it. "Thank you for at least listening to my explanation. I did not enjoy - misleading you." His mouth twisted. "Lying to you, you will say."

Stephen looked at him askance. "I cannot fault you in principle - you did what you thought was right, and I would not have informed upon them myself." So why did he feel so angry? It was not just the danger the captain's involvement had brought down upon them. Des Sablières was right; it was the lying tht hurt and twisted - a personal betrayal. He had no right to feel that - there was no personal relationship between them for des Sablières to betray. "Good night to you."

"Good night, Sir." Opening the door out into the Rua Santa Maria he realized that it was indeed night - the warmth had misled him when he had woken up. "You will let me know..." He did not continue. Dr Maturin might have listened to him, but he was still angry and still blamed Raoul for the consequences of... of what? His chance meeting with some fellow countrymen, officers like him on parole?

Stephen walked through the courtyard and out of the front door, almost humming with anger, now directed more at himself than at des Sablières. When had been become so emotionally invested in this man, this whole affair? He would have to clear his mind before he confronted Coelho, and it was in the direction of his house that he began to walk.

Raoul stood and watched Dr Maturin as he walked towards the avenida. At the end of the road he turned left, down towards the port. Raoul closed the door to the road and returned to the sitting room, still frowning. He would collect his sketch pad - it was already too late to go out - evening had fallen, and even a quick meal would probably delay him beyond the limit of his parole. He remembered the doctor's warning, not to go out after dark. Mr Dawson would probably be prepared to feed him bread, ham and cheese, he thought.

It had fallen dark quickly, so quickly that they had not noticed it in the intensity of their conversation. But Mr Dawson had lit candles in the hallway, and Raoul took one of these into the sitting room. His sketch book was on the table, and on the floor, by the chair Dr Maturin had used, was the bag he had been carrying. Raoul swore, and put the sketch pad and the candlestick down on the table. He picked up the bag, and hurried out through the courtyard into the Rua Sta Maria. He half expected to see Dr Maturin returning, but the road was empty and he ran, the bag clutched in his hand to the avenida, looking down in the direction the doctor had gone.

Stephen walked quickly in his distraction, trying to bring a riot of thoughts under control as he left the main street and turned into the alleyway that would bring him towards Coelho's house. In his distraction he walked straight into a man standing in the alleyway. "So sorry," he said reflexly in Portuguese, and stepped aside, but then a voice from the shadows hissed "Aquele é o homem." The voice of the man whose clavicle he had broken; he moved to break into a run, but was grabbed from behind.

The steepness of the hill meant that Raoul, standing by the steps to the church of Sta Maria, could look down onto the people on the avenida. The light from a window showed a cropped dark head, that Raoul recognized, and as he looked the doctor turned into the alley just beyond the light. Raoul broke into a run again, for fear of losing his quarry in the tangle of streets and alleys and twisting stairs that lay behind the broad avenues. He ran through the swathe of light in which he had seen Dr Maturin, and followed him into the alley. It was dark, and Raoul's eyes were still reacting to the light in the avenue, but he could see the three men, two holding a shorter third man. He recognized the man in the middle.

Stephen struggled furiously: one of the men ripped his sword away from him and tossed it backwards into the alleyway, then twisted the arm he was holding up Stephen's back towards his neck; the other impatiently cuffed him about the head. Stephen cried out in pain and sagged backwards, the world spinning, while the injured man, his right arm in a sling, stepped forward into sight from the doorway in which he had been hiding, a vicious expression on his face. "You broke my shoulder, you little bastard."

Even as Raoul dropped the bag, a fourth man stepped out of the shadows to help the two men attacking Dr Maturin. Raoul brought the pistol out of his pocket and raised it. He dared not fire at either of the men holding the doctor - he had no practice, no chance to test its accuracy, and its range was strictly limited. But this new man, hissing in Portuguese, was closer. Raoul drew back the hammer, pointed the pistol at him, and pulled the trigger. The man clutched at his throat and turned towards him. Raoul sidestepped and, dropping the pistol into his pocket, took hold of one of others by the back of his coat.

The Capitaine, des Sablières, came into the alleyway; his vision clearing, Stephen saw him raise a pistol - where had he got a pistol? - and shoot the injured man in the throat; he turned, and staggered towards the Frenchman, then fell at his feet, blood bubbling at his mouth. Des Sablières ignored him and grabbed the man twisting Stephen's arm up by his coat and pulled him towards him - Stephen cried out again as his arm was wrenched nearly out of its socket, and then released. His captor pulled him back, wrapping one arm around him and pinning his arms to his side; with his free hand, he pulled Stephen's pistol from beneath his coat and pointed it at des Sablières. "Capitaine! Look out!"

The man he had pulled from Stephen swung a boot at him, catching him on the shin. Raoul twisted his collar and felt the thin, cheap material give. At the same time he heard a shout from the doctor, and looked up from his own opponent. The other man had his arm round Maturin, immobilising him, but he was pointing a pistol at Raoul. With a firm grip on the thug's coat Raoul brought his free arm up round his neck and swung him round as a shield between him and the pistol. The gun shifted, as the man holding it tried to aim over his partner's shoulder at Raoul's head. Raoul stepped forward, closing the gap still further, so that the man holding Maturin had to draw his arm back to avoid the pistol being trapped between them. He released his grip on the coat and reached out with his right hand for the pistol.