Road to Vallongo, 22nd May, Clearing the Road

The tall soldier and the one other that dared advance were both left lying.Not before that a slice had split some leather, and another badly parried thrust - the man not attempting to flee which would've been his downfall before he'd have known it - left a small injury. It was but thanks to the pelisse , worn over his arm, that it hadn't turned out for the worse. Willoughby turned and saw as the officer of the French had stopped. He did not run, nor did he look to attempt and strike the lieutenant that cut of his progress.

With a glare equalling one that was not as satisfied though to fall in the hands of the enemy, he lowered his weapon but spoke none yet.

He would slow to a stop within sword striking distance of the officer and looked the fellow over before once more speaking in French. "This skirmish was well fought monsieur, however the tides of war seem to have swung from your favor to ours for the time being and as such I must kindly ask you for your sword, you will of course be treated with the courtesy your rank dictates if you shall give me your parole."

"It has been a fair day. You have fought also, quite bravely." The man spoke and slowly reached for his sword, which he turned so that it was its handle that would point at the lieutenant and thus speak of his harmless intentions.

"It is thus one day for some a victory, another for others." He smiled politely. The French were running. He could see his own disappear in woods. Willoughby slowly approached. A parole had been asked for and given. He understood as much. Not willing to disturb the conversation, he waited to report about the ..sadly rather obvious. The two Frenchmen were down, the rest fleeing. And there were some injured ones and some dying from before.

He smiles and nodded politely before taking the offered sword and for the moment tucking it under his arm, as he sheaths his own.

Still in French he would continue "It will of course be returned to you upon our return to our lines, might I ask your name monsieur?"

He turns to Willoughby as he approaches and would give him a small nod, "Well done Willoughby, lets escort our prisoner here out of the woods and link up with the others, after we can send one of the others in search of some of our redcoats to clear these woods proper and take care of the wounded."

The Frenchman nodded with a gallant gesture and took a step to the side before he answered, his speech calm, composed though still a slight bit out of breath: " I am Saint-Hilaire. Who have I the honour of meeting, monsieur?" And he added neither his rank nor the regiment with whom he served but smiled as if there have been enough words spoken.

Willoughby saluted and with a curt nod he held his horse at bay, glancing briefly at their captive.

He nodded politely before speaking to the Frenchman once more in his own language "I am George William Cathcart Lieutenant in His Majesty's 15th Hussars, would you be so kind as to accompany us out of these blasted trees? I will of course see to it that you will not have to walk all the way back to our lines once we have returned to my men."

The man gave his captor a simple nod and turned so that he would walk in the direction indicated. He knew that running would have been futile even if he had not given his word and his sword to the Lieutenant. With two men on horses, even with the terrain and with the trees that could slow them, their distance was too small that he would have come far.

Willoughby took his place to the side and slightly behind the man, having his horse in a slow walk to accommodate to the pace of their captive. The Frenchman seemed to pause only once and look over his shoulders to where his men had been and then he looked at the ones who had fallen.

"Could I ask of you that you would look that my men are buried with respect and those alive sought and given medical attention." If the French had not been on the run, then perhaps he would've thought that in a time, a short one at that, his own people would come to claim and do just that. But now he feared more that the Portuguese might come claim them first and he, as any Frenchman, had heard of the stories. His pride was probably wounded, as he had to ask aid of an Englishman, but he would have preferred such, than to have vanity be the price paid for his men.

He looks to the Frenchman and blinks before nodding "But of course Monsieur, I hoped to summon men to have just such a thing done once we reach my men. might I ask Monsieur which regiment is it that you command? they fought well"

As the trees begin to thin, he would begin to relax slightly though he would wince as the adrenaline slowly leaving his system would allow the throbbing pain in his still bleeding thigh to re-emerge.

"It is indeed that you may ask.." The man replied as he continued on his path, sensing both horses , one at each side. He could swear that he felt the heat come from their bodies, just as he'd seen some of mist rise from their flanks and their necks. It was wet and so were they, and the air was cooler for it.

He looked proud of his men, though reluctant at their departure. Still was it not the sensation that they have slowed the ones at their tail and thus contributed for the others, fleeing, to be able to have more time?

"Lieutenant in 17th Light Infantry." And then: " I would urge you not to postpone the taking of my men who lie here, for too long... for I fear that your allies might be driven... "He hesitated a moment and the look on his face was that of displeasure. "..strongly by their emotions.. in causing suffering fully unneeded to those who can scarcely defend themselves." And then he followed again, seeing the trees disappear and the horses and horsemen appear before them. Some were wounded by shot or bayonet, some of their horses, few tending to them and others awaiting most impatiently - for they thought them dead - their lieutenant and a fellow trooper. They stiffened to attention at the first sight of him, greeting him with a firm cavalry salute of the sword.

He looked back to the man and nodded "You needn't worry Lieutenant, I will be sending one of my men for infantry to clear your men from the woods, both wounded and dead....along with those still resisting, you understand yes?"

He returns the salute trying to hide a smile before turning to Willoughby "Willoughby, care to find some redcoats to help clear the wood? or would you rather I send some one else? you have earned the choice for spotting the good Lieutenant here."

"You will not find any but the wounded and dead. The rest of my men will have left." He spoke with confidence. His men would have been hard pressed to remain behind when there was nothing but the Portuguese and British left to face. They were fleeing on orders.

The officer gave a curt nod while Willoughby looked at the lieutenant masking his surprise. "Sir. I shall do, sir." Though he registered the good gesture of a choice, he considered that it was his duty to do as the lieutenant asked and not to hope and pick something that would be most cosy to him. He'd done that before and it had left him mucking about the horse's stables.

He saluted, but waited that he would be dismissed before he could spurr his horse back to the line to find the redcoats.

Saint-Hilaire observed the state that the Hussars of the 15th were in. Several wounded, some dead, he had remembered a dead horse that his own men had felled. These were the men who got flogged as punishment, he had always wondered what pressed a man to serve willingly with such barbarics in play.

He looks to the Frenchman before nodding slightly. "You will of course excuse me if I am cautious in trusting you Lieutenant for the moment."

He summons one of the unwounded troopers waiting for him to arrive before speaking. "Trooper, get me a butchers bill, both men and mounts if you please."

He reaches into his coat and removes a black handkerchief which he then attempts to use to stanch the slow trickle of blood that leaks from his bullet creased thigh.

"I Would expect no different from you but to be cautious." Saint-Hilaire replied with a simple, curt nod. He gazed at the injury that the man had recieved but refrained from commenting on it, though he saw that there were a few troopers who spotted it too , and had been wary of pointing it out.

It was Willoughby however, who had added - turned and ready to depart - in his final words: "..Sir... you bleed. Best we take you to the surgeon!" There was a burly men of the riders who agreed verbally with the suggestion, while the younger Kenley hurried to, with the aid of another, mark all losses and injuries recieved.

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He looks to Saint-Hilaire and returns the nod before looking to Willoughby and waves him off.

"Nonsense I'm fine for the time being, seek out the infantry and be quick about it, the faster you return with the redcoats the faster we can be away from here and find the rest of the 15th, I will last until then I am sure."

"Sir, yes sir." Willoughby saluted one last time and spurred his horse
away from the 15th. He rode as fast as the road would allow him along
with what lay littered about on it.

Saint-Hilaire had taken a seat on one of the tall rocks, seeing that
they were possibly going to wait a while longer before setting of in
any direction.

He looks to saint-hilaire and cleans the blade of his sword before sheathing it.

"your regiment was it ment to be a rear guard or were you merely cut off lieutenant?"

"Why is it that it would matter, whether we have been a rear guard or whether we have been cut from the rest?" He asked, masked not the curiosity at the question, but he did mask perhaps the distrust that such a question, no matter how innocent, might have asked more than it seemed it did.

"Sir. you are bleeding, we can guard this man if you were to see the surgeon, sir." One of the 15th troopers gained some courage to say. "Please sir, the wound does seem to bleed.. a lot, sir."

"well if your regiment had been selected to be the rear guard it would be a great honor no? as to being cutoff well that would just be unlucky"

He looked to the trooper and gave his head a slight shake. "if it troubles you perhaps you might help me bind it for the time being? I will not abandon the field until we are relieved by the infantry, also some of the men are wounded worse then I, if they have to wait then so will I."

whether this was bravado or actual compassion for his men was hard to tell...at least at this point.

"Speaking of wounded, is the butchers bill ready?"

"Indeed, it would be a greater honour.. rather than bad luck." He smiled and did not continue. Instead he glanced at the men around him, the wounded, the dead and the men that sported little to no injury at all. He could be pleased at what his damage his men had inflicted on the troopers, but he would not voice such thought or pride at it.

Kenley approached Cathcart anxiously. "Sir.. may one then help bandage that thigh? All others have been... so far as we can, taken care of." They could not offer more than a binding or a press, not till there was a proper surgeon to know how to deal with the wound and how to heal it. No man looked forward to going to a surgeon though. they were as good to help a man as they were to kill him, in their opinion at least.

"Almost sir." The man, who had been making the list called out. He rode to Cathcart then and held his marks of the lost, the wounded both horses and men, to him.

He nods slightly to the Frenchman before looking to Kenley.
"Aye I suppose, do what you can... Kenley was it? as long as the rest of the wounded have been taken care of."

He takes the list of dead and wounded and looks it over shaking his head slightly. "damn trees, had it not been for your leadership I'm sure your men would have broke and ran Lieutenant"

"Sir? Yes sir. Kenley." The boy was left speechless for a moment even if he was known to blabber on at odd times. He grinned and drew his horse closer before he slipped from it. He passed the reins of it to the fellow , broad shouldered and certain to be able to handle and keep any horse in place.

"Ah sir,.."He waited for Cathcart to get off of his horse as well. It would be much easier to see to his wound if he was not half sitting on it.

Étienne glanced at Cathcart only then realising that he was being addressed. He smiled. "..My men are brave, lieutenant Cathcart. The trees were to our advantage.. yes. But we did make it so." And he cursed the luck that they could not have done more damage than they did. "It.. isn't the sort of land that favours cavalry, don't you think, monsieur?"

He slowly dismounts, his leg all but buckling as he puts his weight on it causing him to have to keep a firm grip on his saddle to keep from falling, a sharp hiss of pain leaving his clenched teeth.

"Bloody hell I'm going to be feeling this in the morning" he says before limping over to a large rock by Etienne and sitting slowly, leading his stallion along by its reins.

"This whole damnable country does not seems favorable to cavalry sir, one has to make do with what one has at hand though, and as shown cavalry will always break infantry good sir."

Looking to Kenley he nodded to him "Lets get this over with Kenley, hey?"

Kenley kneeled by Cathcart's side glancing at the injury before he was shooed away by a fellow, known to have treated the wounds of their horses. The man had been helping raise the lot as his family's business before he had entered the military.

"Let me. You'll not know t' wounded from the well one." The boy scowled pointing quite obviously which was which. But hushed again the other man, called Andrews, made something of a press so that the bleeding would've been stemmed at least. "Will ache a bit, sir.But better its tight then it goin' anywhere." He said gruffly.

Étienne observed the three men in silence unbothered by the blood, which was no surprise. "Not always, monsieur. Not even with the favourable grounds." He shrugged. "..How much time will your trooper take to return?"

He winces as the bandage as such was tightened, he watched the man work before patting him on the shoulder. "aye, would rather not loose the leg, damn hard to stay on a horse without one, wot?" he grins at the trooper.

He looks up to the Frenchman ignoring his comment about infantry before pulling a watch from his pocket at checking the time. "depends on how far he has to ride to find the infantry, shouldn't take much more time I would hope, though if it will make you happy I will send two of my men on a quick patrol around the wood to make sure the Portuguese don't torture your wounded."

He summons one of the veteran troopers who was unwounded. "Peterson, take Kenley with you and make a take a quick look around the woods, though try and avoid trouble if you can and if you see any civilians try to herd them away from the woods we don't want them cutting up the French wounded in the woods."