An Officer's Room in Belem

"We try to get around it," Padstowe said. It was an awkward question, but one he had to with all duty try to answer. "If there is resistance we try to either bribe it into oblivian or fight a war against its soldiers. We don't choose to abuse or steal from civilians."

On the whole anyway, and that had apparently been the General's policy in India as well as now in the Peninsula. How much it applied to other parts of the British Army he did not know; he could only speak for his own bit of it.

"Though we are not here to conquer the Portugese - or the Spanish, or the French."

"Or at least you punish those who do." Raoul knew that the British Army retreating to Corunna had not always kept to those rules, with so much plundering and worse that their Spanish allies had actually welcomed the arrival of the pursuing French - for a time, at least. But just as he hated the way some of the French had behaved - and it was not always the crimes of individual soldiers - so he realized that it would be unfair to blame Padstowe for the crimes of the English.

"Have you had to fight in such a war? It is not easy, to control one's men, knowing that the civilian by the side of the road may be an Irregular. We have been ambushed by men that were civilians before they attacked us."

"No, and I pray to God I never shall."

Though any decent soldier that was worth its salt would always be on the lookout for an ambush, whether it wore any enemy uniform or not. The worst thing any of them could do was to take anything for granted.

"I am sorry, you have been kind enough to deliver the doctor's books and we have strayed to shop talk."

"All soldiers talk shop," Raoul said, wondering if he should go. "What we have done is worse - we have strayed into "politics". As for talking shop, that is difficult, between you and me. I think you will not wish to talk to me of your work, even as a perfectly respectable Exploring Officer. Which is not unlike our role as scouts."

Padstowe smiled.

"Only there tends to be more of you than me."

"That is true - you cannot quite say that we are inconspicuous. But we can cover ground, and -" Raoul grimaced " - ride close to the enemy, with some hope of getting away again." He shook the thought away. If it was to be shop - which was what they had in common - then let it be shop uncomplicated by recent memories. "Your regiment is the 50th - from Kent? Are they in Portugal, or back in England." His lips twisted "Unless such information is useful to an enemy, of course."

"At home," Padstowe said offhand. "Though it is not really my concern where they are or what they are doing - they are my regiment no longer."

Which in many ways he regretted. He had been in his new occupation for eight months, yet he still often felt as if he should wake in the morning to find a servant laying out his coat and a company of redcoats awaiting his inspection.

"But you still wear their uniform," Raoul objected. "You have not joined another regiment - even if you no longer march with them."

Had he been able to, Padstowe would have shrugged.

"I don't have another uniform. This one has to do."

He was...nondescript, that's what he was. He clung onto his jacket and introduce himself as 'of the 50th' from some twisted sense of nostalgia, but it did not mean anything anymore.

Raoul sat back and studied the other man. He was still part of his regiment - separated from them, admittedly, and likely to be in disgrace if he ever got back, for surrendering to a rag-tag of British riflemen and Portuguese Irregulars. But part of it. It was difficult to read any expression in the battered face, but the voice had been so studiedly noncommital that he responded without analyisng: "Did you not wish to leave them?"

"I don't know."

That was not the truth, though... He sighed.

"I did at the time."

"And now you cannot go back?" Raoul asked. He did not ask, but wondered, if it was because Padstowe could not admit that he had been wrong to leave - it was never good to burn your bridges, he thought.

"Be damned ungrateful of me if I did," said Padstowe, a humourless smile quirking at his lips. "And I don't know if anyone would have me back. Been on my own too long; might start giving advice or countermanding orders or thinking for myself or some such dangerous thing..."

"Not thinking for yourself is even more dangerous, and some orders are better countermanded than obeyed." Raoul controlled his face, his grey eyes wide as if that could stop them conveying his own feelings. "At least, away from command, you can plead change of circumstance, not blindly follow the last order given. When he is standing by you..." He swallowed, and realized he had - as he had to Maturin - said more than he might wish this man to know. Or understand.

"Quite," Padstowe said, trying to steer the subject away from such dangerous ground. "Absent authority is always the easiest to ignore; though I don't suppose most regimental colonels will see it that way."

Raoul smiled, recognizing the generosity as Padstowe steered the conversation away from the pit he had been digging for himself. "Cavalry is quite often out of earshot before orders can be changed - not so much ignored, as unheard. But you have a similar tradition with your Navy, not seeing signals."

"Only if the captain in question carries the day," Padstowe said. "Should he have lost it, doubtless he would have faced a court martial."

"It is the same in our army," said Raoul, feeling a chill that did not come solely from the thick stone walls. "We can say 'I did not hear the bugle, did not see the signal, the orders never reached me', but what matters is success or failure. And if the decision is wrong, the cost is not only borne by the captain, but by his men as well. A victory at little cost - that is the way to prove your decision was correct."

"Amen to that!" Padstowe exclaimed, but then was caught by another series of wheezing coughs.

Raoul moved instinctively to fill a glass with water and brought it back to the Captain. He grinned inwardly - Dr Maturin was right: he had a new career lined up.

"Here, Captain - some water?"

"Thank you," Padstowe managed to say before another pitiful cough caught in his throat. He made a feeble gesture with his hand towards the cup "Forgive me, I cannot..."

Raoul went down on one knee, and lifted the glass to Padstowe's lips. He was concerned not to try to support him - since every part seemed to be lacerated and bruised, and a careless 'helping hand' would probably cause pain.

Padstowe lifted his head slightly as Raoul placed the glass to his lips. He drank a couple of gulps before setting his head back down again.

"Thank you," he wheezed.

Raoul settled back, watching him for a moment to see if more assistance were needed. "I am becoming quite handy with a glass when needed," he said wryly. "Do you want anything else? Or shall I go?"

"No, I am sorry, I..."

Padstowe stopped, sighed and closed his eyes.

"It is my ribs. They catch by breath now and again."