Pombal

George noticed the concerned look, Willoughby threw at him. Wrapping the reins tightly around his wrist, he hauled himself up into the saddle with a wince. 'I'll promise I'll be good and try to stay out of trouble, Willoughby. I'll have to see the General anyway to get his permission to see the surgeon. Yod'd better not come with me. No need to have him angry at the both of us. At least in my case, if I do get thrown out of the army, I'll have the satisfaction of my commanding officers calling me Sir George'.

"Sir George, sir?" He kept his thoughts to himself, behind a slight smile. He glanced from bela to Firebird and made sure that the two had a fair distance between them and that his reigns were as tight as they could be without having the horse in great discomfort.

'Yes, I am a not very proud holder of a baronetcy, so if they take away my rank and I'll again become a civilian, they'll have to address me as Sir George'. Hunter had an urge to stick his tongue out in the direction of Wellesley.

"Why do you not take pride in it... sir?" He maybe should have not asked, yet since the captain had acted rather patient earlier he dared it. He did look away quickly trying to act busy, as he awaited an answer - or lack thereof.

His eyes stopped on the village below, and he thought he could make out some of the soldiers that belonged to them and some of the French trying to 'run for the hills' to escape the prosecution. Then there will be those that would rather give themselves up and use the protection of the British against the Portugal's civilians.

'It was my father's title, that's why'. Geprge's mouth twisted in a small bitter smile.

"Sir.. ought not a man be proud of his father?" He glanced briefly at the captain before quickly averting his gaze to the happenings below. He then went further to study the blade he had gotten from the Frenchman, wipping some of the blood away with a handkerchief.

'Perhaps, Willoughby, but I could never bring myself to be proud of a man that he was'. George checked his own weapons, making sure none fell out during their escapade with the horses. He pulled the dagger out too and noticing a small piece of an intestine stuck to the blade just below the handle, tried to scrape it off.

He caught sight of the flesh on the dagger and turned from it shaking his head. Still the battle continued below, and the cavalry rode after the French and the riflemen took good aim at their enemies and so the redcoats fired and slashed their weapons and stuck them deep into the bowels of their enemy.

And there were the irregulars too, who killed and who ran after the French causing havoc all around. War was never a clean business, and it was quite evident here.

"Sir , is there anything else that you need?" Else he could, well he was not sure what he could do, but he did not wish to take the captain's time unneeded.

'I'm fine, thanks. I'm sorry to have held you up, Willoughby. I think I'd better rejoin Sir Arthur before I manage to look even less presentable', George smiled at the thought. 'Good day to you Willoughby'.

He saluted, again rather dumb struck by the apology he had gotten from the superior ranked officer. "Thank you sir. To you also, sir." He smiled. Held him up? The man had made the day entertaining even if with the antics he was yet to understand. Apologies, self blame. He shook his head.

Officers. Sometimes one could barely understand them. He turned Bella around so they were both facing in the direction of the village.

Back atop the hill the General made a small noise of annoyance. The cavalry had come on too soon; too soon by far! He had wanted tham to wait until they infantry had most of the French running across the open ground, but insted of chasing and hacking them down the Greys had turned the enemy and driven them back towards the village - like sheep, he mused bitterly - and now there were more Frenchmen remaining in the narrow streets, which would mean more Frenchmen, desperate for their survival would be up against his men. What would have been a simple fracas would become a massacre; for one side at least.

Yet there was something going on in the village. There was a thin pall of smoke - musket smoke - rising from within the maze of houses and low stone walls; yet none of his men from either attack had penetrated that far. He could not see clearly, even with his telescope, and he was desperate to know what was going on. He needed to get to higher ground. He looked across to the villa, past a couple of muddy horsemen, and then saw the tree.

"Brandon, Sanders and Bullen - with me, if you please!" he called as he cantered towards the tree. "Picton, you keep an eye on 'em!"

Hearing the thudding of horse hooves he turned just to see the General pass and with him several other men, all making their way ahead of their present station. At first it looked as if their intention was, though hardly phantomable, to ride towards the village. But then at last the reason of their journey was revealed as they stopped beside a tree.

Not that the Hussar made any more sense of the later. So rather than question himself and what he was thinking, he decided to observe and make sense as it happened.

Towards the center of the village, it seemed as if much of their work had been done for them already. There were dead French littering the streets, if the meandering spaces between houses and gardens and barns could be called streets. Still, many French had fled the village already, probably looting as much as they could take. Crouching next to one of the houses to look out into the square, Perkins heard a noise within.

"Cooper, I think there's someone in there!"

Cooper peered around the corner. "You wait here, and I'll look in the window."

"Hold Hercules steady," Wellesley said to Sanders as they halted beside the tree. He passed his hat to Brandon, tucked his telescope into his sash and removed his feet from the stirrups.

All at once Hercules tried to shuffle sideways.

"Keep still, damn you!" he snapped at the stallion, and Hercules stilled.

Getting his balance, Sir Arthur raised himself up until he was kneeling on the saddle - then reached up, taking a hold of the branch overhead and with a loud grunt pulled himself up into the tree.

Now, that was something he hadn't seen before. Bella lifted her head, twitching her ears slightly as she observed the General's keep. She made little protest when she was urged ever so slowly and softly in the direction of the tree.

Be damned. It was true. The General, the officer, the very man had climbed a tree in a rather hands down experience, all with an intention to see what went on below. He shook his head and grinned to himself, slowing Bella down, for the mare made her walk smooth and with each step a tad bit faster.

Hunter seeing the General's acrobatics, forgetting about all his pains rushed over to the tree.
'Sir, please get down! I've just been up there! I was coming to report! Please, get down!' Hunter leapt off his horse stumbling towards the branch.

Harris looked at the dead Frenchman. This one had been shot, and then his throat cut. But as far as he knew, they had been in the front rank of those entering the place from one side, and they had not yet met up with any of the Riflemen of the 60th, who were supposed to be coming from the other side. So - that Calderon had had support here, and this was the result. Well, the man was no danger now, nor probably the owner of the pair of boots and breeches he could see half in the doorway of the house. But that did not mean there was no one else around. He flattened himself against the wall and glanced across at young Carty.

Swearing softly, Sir Arthur climbed up the next two levels of branches. Somehow this had seemed so much easier when he was younger... The boots and coat were awkward for climbing in, and he heard the not very encouraging sound of fabric ripping under his armpit, yet he paid it no heed.

He climbed one more level, then settled himself against the trunk, extended his telescope and directed it at Pombal.

Down below, Hercules pricked his ears up and sniffed the air, turning his head in the direction of the approaching Bella. He gave a soft whinny, and tried to pull away towards her, yet Sanders hold tightened on his reigns.

"Stay still, you brute!" he whispered fiercely.

Brandon made a tutting noise, tilting his head and lifting an eyebrow to indicate their leader aloft. Bullen shrugged. There was the sound of a muttered oath from above, followed by a small shower of leaves and twigs. All three, despite themselves, grinned.

"Sir, please get down! I've just been up there! I was coming to report! Please, get down!"

The staff officers' heads turned as one, startled and surprised to see a figure caked in mud running towards them, waving his arms frantically. Instinctively they all drew their sabres - even though the figure appeared to be calling in English.

Carty looked down at the body, frowning slightly, troubled by the multiple wounds. It made it seem more... deliberate. He caught sight of Harris looking at him and nodded, his sworded rifle ready in his hands. He understood that silence was necessary in case more Frenchmen were around, but he had grown very adept at communicating without words - he cocked his head questioningly.

Hunter watched in horror as the General climbed the tree. He was scared: there was a treacherous branch quite close to where the General was, but Hunter was not sure if it was higher up or if the man had already passed it. He cursed and pushed Firebird under the branch next to Hercules, ignoring the startled aides, swinging himself up. Sanders tried to pull him down, no doubt not having recognised George, but he pulled up his legs just in time. His leg, where Firebird kicked him, hurt like hell an and his palms were on fire from the earlier scratching, but he climbed, muttering softly to himself.

Harris touched the rifle, and nodded towards the door, with its French boots sticking out of it, then slipped along the wall to stand at one side, his rifle in held upright. He listened carefully - someone was there, he was sure, but even as he waited, there was the sound of footsteps and the slamming of a door.

Bella threw her head up, and made a low, yet soft whine, before she moved, a more deliberate pace towards the men and the horses, of which one she had been quite ready to kick out of place, while the other she was greeting with her noise.

The Hussar had had to slow her progress yet again and wondered if it were best that he turns now, as too many officers in one place never did promise anything but trouble. Though, he did wish to walk closer to where the fighting was, and the villa and the tree were on that path.

The muddy figured had moved too swiftly for the officers to skewer him, but when they saw him climbing the tree to where their General was alone and unawares, they acted. Brandon leaned forward, grabbing the man's leg and so halting his progress.

"Who the devil is that?" Bullen snarled.

Carty nodded and skipped to the other side of the door on his tip-toes. He gripped the rifle with both hands, ready to use the sword or swing the butt up like a club.

'Oh, for God's sake! It's me, Hunter!' growled George at Bullen. Unfortunately for Brandon, Hunter was to high up and the man had to lean up to hold on to him: slipping out of his grasp and up into the tree was painful but easy. He saw Firebird dancing nervously again and then noticing Willoughby in the distance, bellowed:
'Willoughby! Hey, would you please get my idiotic horse out of here? I beg you!'. With that he rushed up the tree branches.