Leaving Terpsy.

Stephen urged his horse to follow Raoul's so that he could watch Mister Yates, who was grimly clinging to the hussar. He was hurt by Jonathan's abruptness; he could not fathom his swift changes in mood.

Padstowe positioned himself to bring up the rear; a soldier at both ends as it were, with Barnthorp taking the lead. He would like to ride with Andrew for a while, he thought; catch up on some of the news he had missed, but they had several miles to go yet, and he would wait.

In the emantime he contemplated the doctor's back, who himself was contemplating the back of the young ex-Midshipman clinging on behind des Sablières. He worried about Stephen, and he worried about his own mental state. His temper was proving to be becoming ever more volatile, no matter how he tried to keep it on an even keel. He would find another doctor to ask an opinion of when they returned to the army - he could not ask Stephen, even though he was his friend. Speculation of his own mental state would upset or offend - he would say that he was searching for an excuse - and Stephen did not need any more upset or anymore cares...

And the fact that he was cxonsidering such a thing was indication enough that he was being pathetically deranged! When had he become so selfish? When had such unworthy thoughts started marching through his head on a regular basis? He had not felt this way, so disordered and wretched, since eight months ago; but perhaps he had not escvaped that period of his life as thoroughly as he had thought.

He tried to silence his mind and turn his thoughts elsewhere; to the upcoming battle, and to what might be being planned or fought this very moment. He hoped, with all the hope of a man who wishes to escape himself, that he would not be too late to join the conflict.

Stephen found the movement of the horse quite soothing; he could concentrate on balancing, and watching the midshipman, and stroking the horse's mane - she was an even-tempered little mare, the smallest that the Major had arranged for them.

All four of them were downcast. Life in land was not as freeing as Mister Yates had hoped, he thought. The air between he and Raoul was still fraught with hurt and distrust; the large part of his thoughts were given to wondering how he might make things right with the Frenchman, but a small part betrayed him by anger that he had so easily thrown away their friendship. It might yet be mended, he hoped; his need was great, he was ashamed to admit to himself, and greater considering Padstowe's mood-changes. He knew that his own mental state was fragile - he was battered by too many emotional and physical pains, overwhelmed by fears and paranoias and duties - and he wondered if Padstowe was the same. He could sense his eyes boring into his back, and his unconsciously curled his shoulders in; Padstowe could be so concerned one moment, and cold the next, as though he was barely restraining a great anger. One or the other Stephen could have coped with, but the constant change was disconcerting.

It must be very uncomfortable for the youngster, Raoul thought, as they trotted along a fairly well-made road from the village. There had been a gasp when they started, but the boy's hands had tightened on his waist, and he had apologised. "It is no matter," Raoul said over his shoulder, and steadied the mare into a more regular rhythm. "It will not be long, unless they cannot find the army - and an army is a large enough thing. Going this way we must find it."

Stephen's shoulders curled inward, as if he felt Padstowe's gaze and the captain turned his eyes guiltily to the right, watching the surrounding countryside. It was a dry but green land - the green provided by the myriad trees, yet the grass was dry, rough and brownish; not the thick, soft green grass that grew at home. He wondered what Stephen was thinking, what Raoul and Yates were thinking. The future was uncertain for them; dangerously uncertain, whilst he was returning to the place that he had for so long thought of as home. It somehow felt not right, not fair in the least.

When they reached the army, he would first of all send Padstowe to Wellesley, in lieu of his own regiment, with strict orders that he was to have light duties only until Stephen said so. Yates would have to be put on a transport safely to England, and then Raoul... the only thing he could think to do was to bring Raoul to his friend Colonel Edrington. This was all dependent on the British taking Porto; were they to retreat, pursued... it would be even more vital to find Edrington, who could protect Raoul as Stephen could not.

"I am sorry that it has all been such a mess."

Padstowe had ridden quietly up beside Stephen and spoken quietly; Raoul and Yates were far ahead enough not to hear.

Stephen started, making his horse whinny; he had been lost in thought. "On the contrary, we would have been in a sad state if your colleague had not been here to meet us," Stephen said hesitantly - he could not keep up with Padstowe's mood-swings.

Padstowe nodded.

"I was expecting someone; I admit I was not expecting Barnthorp."

"Whom were you expecting? How did anyone know that we would be here?"

"I sent a letter," Padstowe said. "Before we embarked, stating our intent to travel by sea. I dictated to the senhora and she set it on to Headquarters where it was dispatched. The details of our rendez-vous ashore were waiting with the Fleet."

"I see." Stephen remembered the day before their embarkation; he was still shaken by Paix's death, but attempting not to show it. He felt remarkably similar now. "When we reach the army, I will recommend that you be given light duties; we will find Wellesley, and you can stay with him during the battle, I am sure."

"I do not think that will be likely," Padstowe said cautiously. "I am not on Sir Arthur's Staff, and I could serve no purpose in his presence only to get in the way."

And he did not know what the doctor might consider 'light duties' to be; he could possibly mean no duties at all. He could still ride and he could still point a pistol with one hand, and he reckoned he might still be able to use a sword. Those two points would make him of use to someone during the upcoming battle, whenever that might be.

"I am sure he can find some use for you, out of harm's way," said Stephen. "At least for the duration of this battle. Or Major Hogan will certainly be in the back, and you report to him... yes, that will do."

"I suppose so."

Major Hogan would not let him stand idle if he could help it; yes, that would do well indeed.

"I suppose. What will you do?"

"I do not know; it all depends on the outcome of the battle. I think I will ask Colonel Edrington to look after Raoul, and I will have to find a ship going to England for Mister Yates..."

"The dispatch ship will be going quickly should the outcome be favourable to us," Padstowe said. "We could arrange him a passage aboard. It may do him some good to arrive home along with the news of a victory."

Because he did not doubt that they would lose. He had fought with Sir Arthur twice, and with the Convention and the defeat at Corunna still fresh in their minds the men were more eager for a victory than perhaps even Wellesley.

"I think that such plan-making should wait until after the battle, for good or ill," said Stephen, who was more pessimistic.

Padstowe wagged his head thoughtfully.

"I do not think it does any harm to speculate. It is harder to plan for defeat; the uncertainty is greater there by far. Victory tends to follow a set pattern which you can plan for, but defeat is different in every circumstance. I am sure it must be similar at sea."

"At sea..." Stephen trailed off; he found narrating sea battles difficult enough when he did not have to deal with abstract differences.

Padstowe turned to look at Stephen, wondering why it was he paused so. Was it that he missed the sea so much? He remembered Stephen's warm reception, the way the men had inexplicably grown jealous of his care and attention, not to mention his safety. It was more than logical, Padstowe thought once again, that he would rather have stayed a float than return to the strange and, at times, inhospitable army.

"Is the sea better?" he asked softly. He did not know exactly why he asked.

"Not better - it can be a cruel element, and I am a land creature myself. But... It is better when I am sailing with my particular friend." He smoothed the reins in his hand. "But he is on land, and I... I have work to do here."

"What is he like, this particular friend of yours? You have spoke of him often, but never described him at all."

"He is..." Stephen looked out; the sea was just visible. "He is an Odysseus when he is in his ship, and a lamb being led to the slaughter when on shore. The mathematician of the world; he has taken to crafting telescopes now. Tall, and broad, with yellow hair and blue eyes - he is the perfect textbook example of a sanguine man. A little given to his appetites, but the most kind, cheerful man... and the bravest. He plays the violin."

Padstowe nodded.

"A good friend to have, especially when you are at sea. When you are away from shore for so long and confined with a limited number of men... I suppose it is a blessing to have a good friend for company."