An Officer's Room in Belem

"Thank you," the captain murmured faintly to the empty air. Whether Dr. Whiting would permit him to sit up he did not know; but he knew that one more day of lying trapped like this with only indifferent or no company would send him insane, if not kill him.

Whiting came in, accompanied by a strong-looking orderly in a drab coat. "Captain Padstowe, I understand you want to sit up. Well, it should be safe enough. Now, before we disturb you, do you need anything else? The - uh - utensil?"

Raoul stepped back into the corridor, and closed the door. The Captain had a right to his privacy.

About five minutes passed before Whiting emerged from the room again, the orderly carrying something covered with a cloth away down the corridor.

"You may go back in now if you wish, monsieur," said Whiting, holding the door ajar.

Raoul re-entered the room, to find Captain Padstowe sitting up in bed, with pillows behind him. "Is that better for you?" he asked, resuming his seat.

At this Padstowe managed a smile as the Frenchman re-entered.

"Much, thank you."

He turned to continue his study of the view out of the window. It seemed his room looked out over the courtyard, and he could see the comings and goings of the hospital.

"I did not think I was on this side of the building," he murmured.

"On the other side the windows are much higher and the wall is thicker - it is not possible to see out of them. All you would be able to do was watch the light."

Raoul looked out towards the courtyard, and remembered other hospitals he had seen. "It may become unpleasantly busy, fairly soon. Do you know when you will be able to leave here?"

"Doctor Maturin said a week, perhaps, before they consider moving me to my lodgings."

Fortunately he had paid his rent for the month in advance, so there would be no issue there. He was glad to be sitting up at least, and with something interesting to see. It had hurt, at first, when they were easing him up the bed, but once settled he was starting to find relief. He still could not really move his arms, but there was some mobility in his hands and fingers at least.

"So soon, but you will need care while there, of course. Do you have a servant, or a kind and considerate landlady?"

Either would be preferable to remaining here, once the wounded started arriving back from ... from wherever the two armies would meet. Whichever side won, unless it was a complete rout, there would be a stream of wounded, who had survived the initial injuries, and the treatment in field hospitals, but who were sent back for more surgery, to a hospital that would soon find itself overfull. Perhaps he could extract Thierry before that happened, and ensure that he was either repatriated, or given into his own care.

"I cannot afford a servant," Which was in a way true. "But a landlay, yes; I have one of those."

Padstowe pulled a face, which in normal circumstances would be considered comical.

"Too considerate, one might say. Prattles about like a mother hen - and built much to the same design as one."

Now he was sitting upright and with something to actively engage his attention, and mind, it seemed some of his usual good humour was returning - although he did not feel as if he could be wholly amicable with the Frenchman, being as he was several days behind the times, and unsure of the status of the case in question. The doctor had said that he found Capitaine des Sablières to be of good character and would not betray them; yet Padstowe had still to see solid evidence of this for himself.

Raoul smiled back at Padstowe, welcoming the restored good humour. Clearly being horizontal had not done much for him, or it was just the sight of life beyond the four whitewashed walls that had cheered him.

"I am housed in a most salubrious part of town now. I do not think it is for my merits, but because my host is a British gentleman, and more to be trusted. I understand the family has lived in Lisbon for some time, but whatever trade they were in has fallen on hard times, and he had several officers lodging with him. Now there is only me." He grimaced. "You may need the services of a mother hen, though, when you return to your lodgings. Does she speak English? Or you Portuguese?"

"I speak a little Portuguese, and she not much English."

Padstowe shrugged with his good shoulder, which at least, though sore, was moving now. To say that he spoke Portuguese like a native would be something he was not willing to admit to his present company.

"We understand each other well enough, and I have taught her how to make tea properly. You would not credit how little understanding the average Portuguese has of tea."

Raoul smiled. "I shall come and try it. I do not think Mr Dawson has ever been to England, and has not impressed the correct method on his cook. Perhaps I should go and speak to her myself." The woman in the kitchen, whom he had seen on a few occasions, appeared to be Portuguese, but might, he supposed, be Mrs Dawson.

"Language will not matter, though, if she is caring for you, and she will cosset you so much that you will want even more to recover, just to escape from her."

Padstowe looked at Raoul solemnly.

"There is more truth in that statement than you are aware, monsieur," he said with heavy sincerity.

Raoul cocked his head and smiled at Padstowe. "But they are all the same," he said. "I may not know your landlady, but I do know how they fuss. Or insist on tidying up the sick room while one is trying to read, or rest. You have suffered in the past, I gather?"

"Let us just say, monsieur," Padstowe said carefully. "That though I have tried to persuade her to act otherwise, I have found that she and I do not share the same views on privacy. I have had visitors brought up to me before now when I am in a state of undress or in the bath."

Raoul chuckled. "But how I sympathise, monsieur le capitaine! I remember the difficulty I had with the blanket, when the guard showed you in. Perhaps you need to find the key to your room. I did not have that privilege."

Padstowe gave a small smile.

"Perhaps I shall have the lock changed when she is out, and keep the only key for myself - but then I shall probably have my ears sliced off by her razor-sharp tongue. I do not know if it shall be worth it."

He wondered vaguely when Maturin would be back, and whether he was having success with any of his potential agents.

"It would not be wise to annoy her just when you need her to look after you. And once you are well, you go to join your army, do you not?"

And if the landlady became too intrusive, no doubt he would make that move earlier. Dr Maturin was, he thought, only waiting for Captain Padstowe to be well enough to travel.

"Yes." He had told des Sablières that four days ago, when signing his pass to Belem - had it only been four days ago? He gazed at the whitewashed walls with unconcealed contempt.

"I must admit that I will not be sorry to leave."

Raoul inclined his head. "It is never good to feel that there are things one ought to be doing elsewhere, if only one were free to go. I feel the same, monsieur, but I think my departure from Lisbon will be somewhat more delayed."

Padstowe remembered Maturin's words about the Frenchman's parole; of Pumphrey, of his expected danger and the possibility of taking him with them... But it was not something he was free to discuss at this moment, and especially not with the man concerned.

"And yet, I cannot help but feel it," he said, side-stepping the issue which had so gently been raised. "Somehow I am of the opinion that my own misfortune began as soon as I stopped here in Lisbon. Once I am moving again I shall shake my boots of this city!"

Raoul noted that Padstowe declined to comment on his exchange. And smiled gently in response. "Then I wish you well, Captain. A speedy recovery and a safe return to your comrades. If we do not meet again, I hope that at least we bear each other no ill-will."

"There shall be no ill-will on my part," Padstowe said quietly. He gave an infinitesimal nod, at which his bruised shoulders gave the slightest protest. "I may not trust you completely, monsieur, as one never should with an officer of an enemy nation; yet I hope as you do that should we meet again it will be on much better terms."

"When the War ends," Raoul murmured. "Only - who will win, and will you not feel more ill-will to the victors, than you do to one stray captured enemy." He smiled, and added: "But to return to the state of the Peace, if that were possible, it would be good to visit your country again, and my friends there. Would you visit France, monsieur?"

"I don't know."

Padstowe had travelled quite far within his lifetime - he had seen Egypt, for one - but he had never really thought of visting other countries. His family had not been wealthly enough or of a high enough society to send him on anything resembling the Grand Tour, and to be honest the concept of travelling for leisure had never really occured to him.

"I should quite like to see Paris, perhaps," he said. "One day. But who knows, monsieur; it may well be that I see it as one of the victors."

If he lived that long.