On Parole in Lisbon

"He is. I would not expose him to ... " Raoul's mouth tightened and he looked down, taking a piece of bread and cutting some cheese, before pushing the platter across to Dr Maturin. "But no exchange is likely until after your assault on Oporto." He raised one eyebrow at the doctor: they had not spoken of the purpose of the army's move to the north, although it was obvious. "I could wish that both sides would stop and stay forever in stalemate."

Stephen smiled softly at the sentiment. "I wish that the war be won by us as quickly and as bloodlessly as possible, so that the country I love most can be free again from a cruel tyrant."

"Quick and bloodless it will not be. We will fight..." Raoul's smile had faded completely. "We have discussed this, and you may be right, or... But the French soldier will fight for him, and you do not have a leader - military or in your government - who can match him."

Some of the wine spilt; Stephen put the glass down on the table. "I could list the naval victories, or extol the virtues and potential of this admiral or that general, or tell you what I saw in Madrid a year ago. Or I could tell you what you must already know but refuse to see, about informing and torture and conscription, but right now it would do us no good at all."

Raoul found himself looking at Dr Maturin's hand as he spoke. He shook his head, his eyes dark with hurt. "I do not refuse to see - I know what has been done, to you, what ... What I find impossible is to believe is that is how he wants it to be, not something forced on him..." He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they were bright with moisture. "Even if I did believe it, I am only one soldier. No one would listen to me, if I tried to tell them. And if you are right I would not survive to tell many people. The soldiers - even those conscripted - love him. And will follow him to the death."

Stephen could not betray his principles, the things that he knew to be true, but attacking the captain's loyalty would only alienate him, and apart from that being unwise, the idea was... painful. "There are certainly those who act for their own beliefs or advantages within the administration - the intelligence agencies are full of monsters."

He looked up, and saw des Sablières' eyes glistening, reflecting the candelight to an unusual degree. "Oh, Capitaine. This is not the time to be talking of this." His voice cracked. "Not when we are so fraught."

Raoul gave a shaky laugh. "Fraught. Yes. I am sorry - I am more shaken by what happened than I thought." He poured a glass of wine, but then merely sipped at it, and the smile returned. "I have good news. I spoke to Mr Dawson while he prepared our supper. He has always told me how lucky I was to have a room to myself - before the 1st Division left Lisbon there were three officers in that very room. He has the paliasses still - in case they return. He will put two in my room - so you need not worry about the hardness of the floor!"

Stephen hesitated for an instant before patting des Sablières' hand. "We both are, I think. Quite understandably." He scratched at the back of his head, wincing as he did so, but smiled at the captain as he spoke. "That is good news for us indeed, if I must stay - and I think I must." He wondered if Padstowe would worry. "Come with me to Santana's - in the afternoon I have an appointment with a priest, but in the morning we can discuss our options." He cocked his head to the side. "You are welcome to join me for confession if you wish, Capitaine. You might feel better for it."

The doctor's kindness - the way he had withdrawn from their old argument, and even offered the reassurance of his hand - affected Raoul, who was no less relieved at his acceptance at the offer of a place to sleep for the night. It was not yet friendship - there were too many outstanding issues - but something approaching that in its mutual care and concern. It was that concern, he knew, that prompted Maturin to suggest he accompany him to confession.

Raoul felt the need for confession. He had salved that, to some small extent, in talking to Dr Maturin about ... About what he had done and not done, on the chase from Obidos. But not, he thought, to a Portuguese priest, even if there was one who spoke French and would accept him. His sins had led to the death of Father Miguel: to ask another priest for forgiveness of that seemed presumptuous. And of course there were the other sins - another man dead by his hand tonight, two others ... Would-be killers, and no great weight on his conscience, but still needing to be confessed and atoned for.

Raoul shook his head, tried to keep his voice light: "Thank you, but no. I will save my confessions for a better time. But as for Senhora Santana - will she not mind your bringing a Frenchman to her house?"

"Considering what happened tonight I think it is a prudent time. I was persuaded by a priest I met yesterday, who said that he will set aside a time. He is very kind, but he is older; he has been in the world. Please consider it." Stephen smiled, and let the subject drop; confession was a private matter after all. "As for Senhora Santana, if both myself and more importantly Captain Padstowe give our word on your behaviour she will let you into the hall at least. She quite dotes on him."

"I would not..." Raoul started, but found he could not continue. "Thank you but no." He drew a deep breath, and found the ability to smile again. "As for Senhora Santana, Captain Padstowe spoke of her with - I am tempted to say with fear. As one who would smother him with kindness. But such kindness can be more welcome when one needs it."

Stephen thought of how he had riled when Jack and Bonden had similarly smothered him after his rescue from Mahon - the weight of their affection had made him furious and impatient and secretly happy, and he longed for it now with an ache that manifested itself as a physical pain. He smiled back. "Sure, I wish I had his fears."

"Perhaps she will mother you too," Raoul smiled. "But you would tell her that there are things you must do, and she would fuss in vain."

Stephen raised an eyebrow at Raoul's description. "I am a doctor, and thus inhuman. She is more likely to fuss over a chair. Or even a charming young Frenchman."

Raoul felt himself blush. "That I doubt, and I do not need fussing over." He then grinned back at Dr Maturin. "If you meant that as a compliment to me, that is."

"Actually, I meant another charming young Frenchman I was planning on taking with me tomorrow - would you perhaps know where to find one?" He picked up a piece of bread. "Ah." He put it down again, and raised his hand. "A jest, Capitaine, forgive me."

Raoul smiled. "I ... Thank you. I shall try to charm Senhora Santana, then, since ..." He hesitated and then said: "Do you think that they - these criminals - will try again to attack you or me? What can we do? It seems wrong to flee them as if we were the guilty ones?"

"I am certain of it, which is why you must come with us out of Lisbon - I doubt they will pursue us outside the city." Stephen was shredding a piece of ham into tiny pieces, a slight frown on his face. "I do not know what else we can do - save for the restaurant, we have no intelligence, and we could not go to that place alone. Were we to ask the British for aid, it would put you at risk - fraternisation with parole-breakers is not a crime in itself, but you can guess how it would be seen."

Raoul stared at the glass of wine. "The word of a French officer is not to be trusted, these days, I know. And someone would jump to conclusions. But - " He looked up at the doctor. "My terms of parole will need to be changed, or I will be a parole breaker myself when I leave Lisbon - indeed, when I leave this house. Once we are gone from Lisbon - you will be able to tell the British what you know of those men. You must do so, I think."

"Of course," Stephen said as he nodded. "I shall leave descriptions anonymously in Headquarters - I do not know who I may trust there. I shall send a message to Wellesley on our way to Santana's, and it may be that Padstowe can create some temporary solution until the General receives my letter."

"I never thought being a prisoner would be this difficult." Raoul took another piece of bread, watching Maturin's assault on the ham. "I - I realize there are - complications in my case, but even so... "

He gave a wry smile. "Then I shall be a parole breaker until our move is approved. But I will give you my word, and Captain Padstowe. I will not .... Whatever terms you want, Dr Maturin."

Stephen blushed. "I trust you Capitaine; just stay safe, and pray do not keep anything from me. I... I regret that I do not know enough about military procedure, but we can discuss this tomorrow, with someone who will know what can be done, what is to be done. If you are being... being requested to move to a different location then that is not your fault - it is mine- and I will take the responsibility; you are breaking the particulars but not the spirit of the agreement..."

"I have broken the terms already, but ..." Raoul gestured to the pistol on the table. "I meant no harm, although I cannot plead that I was ignorant of the offence. Nor," he said firmly, "do I regret it. We would both be dead if I had not had it with me."

Stephen stared at the pistol for a long moment. Then he reached out and pulled it along the table towards him.

"Thank you." Raoul relaxed slightly. "After I was attacked, it would have been foolish, and I did not wish to remain within the house for ever. Even staying in crowded places was not enough, it seemed, and..." It would have been even more foolish if he had been found with it, he realized.