Leaving Terpsy.

She stared at him, startled out of her weeping by the absurdity of the question. "At home! At the caves!"

"If we bring you safely to your father in Gaia, will he then be able to bring the boat back for you? Where are these caves?"

"The wine caves!" She shook her head at the fool who obviously thought she too was a fool. "I'm not leaving the boat. I'll take it home myself. I'm not leaving it here for thieves like you."

"We do not want your wine, senhora," said Stephen wearily. He turned and began to walk away.

She stared after him, drained and muddle-headed. She looked out to the river again, watching for someone who might help her. There was one boat, far off in the distance. Probably a French boat, but they were usually amenable to bribes since her family was such a reliable supplier of wine. She would probably even know their officer's name, and that generally worked in her favor. If she left the boat here, it would certainly be taken. "Allo!" she called to them, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Stephen turned around and looked at her as she hailed another boat, probably French. "You are a fool, senhora. You think that we on foot intend to make off with your crates, when we have only offered to help you, but you will willingly ask men who have the means to profit from your goods to aid you?"

She glared at him. "If I leave my boat here someone will steal it - like you. They might seize it, or they might help me. They haven't seized my husband like you have."

"We did not steal your husband, senhora. We have absolutely no interest in your boat or your wine. And as a reward for our lingering to help you, we might be captured or killed. So I suppose we are the bigger fools. Capitaine, Mister Yates, we go now - up the beach."

She hesitated, wanting nothing more to do with them but at the same time believing that perhaps the man was right - perhaps it would be better to ask for their help rather than that of the French. "Wait!"

"For what?" said Stephen, looking over his shoulder. "We are already in great danger from that boat, if they heard your hails."

She looked at the distant boat. "They didn't."

"Then if you wish to come, come - your father can collect your boat later, when you are safely returned."

"No." She would not ask for help as a favor, but would demand it as a right. "I'm taking the boat back with me. I can call them to help, or - you push it out for me. And I will take it home myself." They owed her that much at least.

"Come, or wait for the French to steal your wine and whatever else they can take from you," Stephen said like a dead man, still walking away.

She stared after them, numb, her eyes blurred with tears.

Raoul spoke to Stephen as he stared the the sand. "I would advise against the village, Doctor. They will try to kill me because I am French, Captain Padstowe because he is English, Mister Yates because he is of the Royal Navy, or all of us because they are smugglers. What the sailors did will only make them more angry; that woman holds capture above your head as a threat."

"I cannot think of anywhere else," said Stephen tonelessly. He felt like a corpse, no longer even animated by will, but simply the knowledge that if he collapsed now, Yates and Raoul and Padstowe would be in more danger. But he could not do it all.

"I can guarantee the safety of the village," Padstowe said firmly. Stephen seemed to be fading on the spot, and they had far enough to go before any of them could rest. "My contact there guarantees it, and I trust him implicity. Please, doctor, capitaine; we must move now, regardless of her."

Stephen nodded, relieved that Padstowe was seeming to take charge and make the decisions.

Padstowe nodded in return, and before he could stop himself placed a consoling hand on Stephen's shoulder.

"It will not be long," he said quietly. "The question is though what to do with our chests, I would leave a guard..."

Fortunately this line of thought was forestalled by the sound of a horse's whinny and the rumbling of a cart approaching.

Stephen looked over his shoulder. "I thought she would follow us," he said, sadness and guilt flooding into his voice.

Padstowe's face had brightened considerably as he examined the cart coming their way, but he became serious once again when he turned back to Stephen; his gaze flitting briefly over to the woman who was fighting with her boat.

"Some people will not be helped," he said.

"Everywhere I go, it seems..." He shook his head. "Forgive my weakness, Jonathan." He looked up as the cart drew nearer.

"There is nothing to forgive, Stephen," Padstowe said. He paused and then said quietly; "Only my ridiculous notions of right and wrong."

He smiled again and took three sprinting steps up to meet the cart as it came to a halt at the edge of the beach, and next to the Portuguese driver sat a young man with black hair who smiled down at them.

"Hullo, Jon! Still with us then?"

"Andrew! For once I am glad to see you."

The young man laughed and jumped down from the seat, he open peasant's coat flapping open to reveal a red officer's coat and white breeches beneath.

Stephen, Raoul and Yates stared at the man, Yates' mouth slightly open.

"Gentlemen," Padstowe said, repressing a smile. "This is Major Andrew Barnthorp, of the 24th Warwickshires."

Barnthorp made his bow.

"At your service, gentlemen. Temporarily assigned to the Quarter-Master General, for my sins. Do you have much baggage?"