On Parole in Lisbon

Stephen looked up, blinking. "But where would you sleep?"

"On the floor would do." He gave a quick, warm smile. "I am a soldier, doctor. We do not take mattresses and bedsteads on campaign - most of us don't, anyway."

"Do not be ridiculous," Stephen said with a sharp frown. "As though I would repay your saving my life by stealing your bed, Capitaine - shame on you."

"Accepting a gift is not stealing. I make the offer in all seriousness, because it is best for you. I shall sleep well enough." Raoul met the frown with a smile. "I have done so often. Even outside..."

"I cannot in all conscience, Capitaine - you must be bruised all over from your display of heroism and the floor will do nothing for that. I am not so tired, and I cannot take a dose, so I will rest just as well in a chair."

Raoul had to admit that he was bruised - if not all over, at least here and there. And he was tired. The important battle had been won - the doctor had agreed not to go out again, but to spend the night resting. "Then - if you are not yet tired - would you like some more coffee? Or perhaps something to eat? There will be wine, which will aid rest."

The headache and faintness brought nausea with it, but Stephen had not eaten all day. He managed a small smile. "Some food, please. If it is at all possible."

"If you will be good enough to wait..." Raoul gestured at the loose sleeve, with its red stain. "I will go and change my shirt, before I go to Mr Dawson." He smiled. "I do not want to alarm him." He put his coat round his shoulders, concealing the worst of the damage. "Will bread and ham be enough?" There would probably be cheese as well, he thought, and some wine.

"Oh, please do not disturb Mister Dawson again," Stephen said with a nervous glance at the door. "Unless you are hungry yourself...?"

"A request for some food and wine will reassure him. It is not like demanding hot water and needles." Raoul smiled. "And I am hungry." Not very hungry, but enough to realise that food would be welcome. If he said he was not, the doctor would not eat either.

Stephen nodded, the expression on his face growing warmer. "Very well - if you think it would help."

It was probably Raoul's smile that persuaded Dawson to agree to provide food for his lodger and his guest. He returned to the sitting room with a plate of ham, cheese and dried fruit, with a loaf.

Des Sablières looked almost cheerful as he came back into the room, bearing a platter of food. It shamed him. "I will find somewhere safe for you, Capitaine. I pray it will not be too long before we can ride north in any case."

Raoul put the platter down, his smile fading slightly. "I find myself thinking that I wish to go home, Dr Maturin. And that is shaming. I am not a child, but here I am afraid of my own shadow."

"In Lisbon? We will be gone from Lisbon soon, please God - it is a place of... I hate this place. I have seen little but violence and horror and..." Stephen swallowed, looking up into des Sablières' face. "There is always the possibility of exchange - do not give up hope."

"I do not despair. If an exchange could be arranged, it would be more likely the closer we got to Soult and his Divisions." Raoul blinked. He did not believe in the immediately prospect of exchange, but it was good of the doctor to offer it as hope. Without malice he added: "And if you lose many prisoners to my comrades, then I become a valuable commodity, to get back something you desire."

Stephen did not know what kind of welcome des Sablières might receive should he return to the French, especially if Brissac had reached safety and passed on what information he had, and considering what he now knew, about the French as well as the British. Then the thought of exchanging Raoul, who had cried for his pains and saved his life and looked after him as though they were friends, for God's love, for some nameless, faceless British soldier - it was a weak and foolish thought, no doubt a result of the blow to the head, and he crushed it. "What would happen to you, if you returned?"

Raoul shrugged. "It will depend on what happens - what happened to sergeant Brissac. If he has made his way back to Oporto, then," he gave a mirthless laugh, "there will be trouble. I will have him charged with mutiny, and with - he abandoned the wounded, who chose comradeship over duty and safety." Raoul dropped his eyes. "He may have me tried for treason..."

"What treason can he accuse you of?" Stephen asked, concerned and careful.

"I was always suspect," Raoul said with a degree of unconcern that hid his own distress, and confusion. "I had spent too many years living with the enemy. But while I did my duty that was not a problem. Not normally. But... I surrendered a cavalry troop to a handful of riflemen. I let Ickx be shot, and St Laurent taken. I would not let Dumoulins take you..." He looked at Maturin with a question in his eyes. "You know why I did these things. It is not that I am not a good Frenchman. But Brissac will twist them..."

Stephen's own treason was so much more real. He clenched his hand in a fist, then reached out to touch des Sablières' wrist. "All of these things... you can explain. Even Bonaparte's army has some notion of honour, and Thierry will certainly defend you. The safety of your men, and you would not let it be known that France was a nation of truce-breakers..."

"I can explain them," Raoul agreed, with a touch of bitterness in his voice, "but if Brissac gets back he can - he will make sure that he is not blamed for his actions." He continued to frown. "Not Thierry though. I would not want him there. I thought - perhaps he could be allowed to go to my family in France, not sent back to Oporto, to be with an army that will ... abandon him as being of no use."

"I am sure it could be arranged," Stephen said hopefully. "There is always allowance made for the wounded and crippled."

"That would be good. They would make him welcome for my sake - and he would be happy there." Raoul smiled. "He always sent his regards, if he saw me writing, and Adrienne would send hers."

He poured out a glass of wine and offered it to Dr Maturin.

"He is prodigiously loyal, and so brave. I wish him only the best." Stephen smiled in return and took the glass of wine, holding the glass with both hands.