With Horses, 25 May

The mother watched in hopeful concern, following his every stride without waiting to be told. It was obvious he knew what he was doing.

Willoughby turned to the woman to explain to her, what Broderick had just told him, smiling as best he could to her. "He is a veterinary.. uh.. surgeon, but he will take your child to a proper, human one." He glanced towards the man to see what he was doing. "You needn't worry, " All spoken still in French, "Your child will be alright. " He stood a bit to the side. "Both mister Broderick here and our other surgeon.."Whose name escaped him now. "Will make sure of it."

"Keep her out, and try to calm her down," Matthew advised Willoughby, before he ducked into the tent belonging to Howard, the surgeon. They didn't need a panicked mother making things more difficult for Howard to do what he needed to do. Matthew did check to be sure it wasn't too inopportune a moment, but as soon as he was certain of that, he'd break into whatever the surgeon was doing. "I've a child here that was dropped on its head," he announced, in a voice determined to find a solution to this problem right here, and right now. "He's unconscious. I daresay he has either a concussion or a compression - and he needs treatment at once."

Veterinary surgeon or not, she trusted the surgeon and made a move immediately to follow him into the tent. She was not going to let her infant out of her sight ever again!

"A what now?" Howard demanded, irritated to be interrupted from his work. "Who is - a child? What insanity is this?"

Matthew's face drew down into a frown. "A baby. He's been hurt, a bad bump to the head, and now he's unconscious. Mr Howard, I apologise for barging in like this, but he needs help." He had no idea how to judge how bad the injury was - not in a human, especially not in a baby - but he was sure that the baby should have woken up by now. His colour was still good, but his breathing was shallow and irregular. And that couldn't be a good sign.

He'd done the best he could with the poultice, but he did not know what to do beyond that. He needed Howard's help.

The surgeon eyed the baby with distaste. "So he appears to do. Who is responsible for him, then? I am not in the habit of attending to strays, of any sort."

Matthew answered without even thinking about it. "I suppose I will take responsibility for him." He felt a slight flare of anger at Howard. This was a baby they were talking about, for Christ's sake, and Howard was talking about strays.

The woman pushed past her interpreter-escort and into the tent to follow her child. She looked at Howard - this must be the surgeon that the hussar had mentioned - and she launched into tale again with a rapid stream of French babble and a great many gestures.

Oh for all that was holy - Howard frowned at the woman who came barging in.

"Get out, m'moiselle," he snapped. To the other man, he could offered a put-upon sigh and, "Give it here, then. I would suppose you are also the one responsible for the child's present state as well?"

Matthew handed the baby over to Howard. "No!" he exclaimed. "I certainly am not. As I understand, the woman was assaulted by the Portuguese irregulars, and her infant was injured in the attack." He handed the baby carefully to Howard, making sure to support the head from flopping about.

When his hands were free, he turned back to the woman. "Partez," he tried, speaking to her in the same tone he would use to calm a skittish horse. He thought that meant something like what he wanted to say. "You must leave." Matthew took her gently by the shoulder, attempting to steer her towards the opening of the tent.

Oh of course. It was always someone else's fault, Howard thought sourly. He took the baby gingerly and began his examination, taking care of course to keep one hand behind the baby's head.

"It does not seem to be grievously harmed," he said after a moment. He was no expert with children, not that it would have mattered if there was any injury to the skull. Those never ended well for adults. Why should it be any different for babies? "But of course it will require observation to be sure there is no danger."

Howard held the little creature out again. "I can do nothing for it."

The baby awoke and immediately resumed its crying where it had last left off.

Dismay was evident on Matthew's features. The surgeon could do nothing? But surely there was something to be done! All he had done was look the infant over - Matthew himself had done more with the poultice! At least he'd said the injury did not appear to be too serious. Matthew could not help worrying, despite Howard's assurance, though. The baby was unconscious, and he didn't like that breathing pattern.

He turned from the woman, having not gone far from Howard yet. It seemed to him that he had no real choice other than taking the infant back from the surgeon; he wasn't sure if Howard would just put it down on the floor if he didn't. It was obvious from the hesitant way Howard handled it that the surgeon did not care for handling the infant. "But - what am I to do with it?" he asked, blankly. Howard had already given an answer to that, though. He'd said he could do nothing. Whatever Matthew did...would be more than Howard would do.

But when Howard held the baby out to him, that was when the infant abruptly woke, and demonstrated a lusty pair of lungs by wailing loudly. Matthew had never been happier to hear a baby cry. "I'm a veterinary surgeon," he muttered under his breath as he settled the babe in his arms again, and carefully replaced the poultice that Howard had taken off. "This is not what I am supposed to have to worry about."

"Do whatever you like with it," was Howard's response. He had done his bit and looked the wailing beast over. Now they could show their gratitude and take it out of his tent.

The mother immediately returned to Broderick's side and spoke to the baby soothingly, though little did it help. She peered anxiously up into veterinary surgeon's face, having decided that the surgeon himself was of no consequence because of his rude tone. What now? She looked around and barked an order for her interpreter, demanding to know all of what had been said, and she held out her hands to accept the crying infant if the man was ready to relinquish him.

Matthew stepped out of the tent with the baby, before handing it carefully to the mother again. He frowned at Willoughby. "Tell her that the baby needs to be carefully watched. She should stay near my tent - I can keep an eye on him. Her?" He had no idea if the infant was male or female. But he wanted to keep them both nearby, so that he could ease his mind and know that the babe was well.

And also so that she felt he was actually doing something. She had come to him for help, and he didn't want to disappoint the trust he'd seen, even if she was a complete stranger.

What were they going to do with her? She was French; she could hardly be allowed to run around loose, anyway. Maybe he should send someone to find an officer higher in the chain of command to decide how to resolve the situation.

With a curt not again, having tried to halt the woman but seen it slip past, and then decided only to remain there for the sake if anybody needed a translation again, he was right in that assumption. He turned about towards the woman and studied her briefly before speaking: "The surgeon here has said that he wishes the baby to be carefully watched, just so that he can make sure everything will be well with... er, with the baby." Him, her, it? "He suggests your child should stay near his tent , so he can keep an eye on the babe." He was about running out of words for a child in French (er, yeah and in english :p). "Means it might be best you remain close as well. " Which he would not be surprised if she would've wanted to suggest herself. She certainly did not appear to want to be without child, now that she had found it.

She nodded eagerly through her continuous tears and walked very close to the surgeon as if to obey the very letter of the law as far as his medical instructions were concerned. She would certainly not stray far from him now.

"You've got yourself a loyal thing, sir." Willoughby murmured, thinking that the girl might not remain about with the rest of Hussars as long as the baby was in the surgeon's hands. Which in a way, was very lucky for them. Continous wailing of a child could bring attention to themselves, the sort they might need to fight off.

He wasn't sure whether he was meant to follow or whether he was dismissed, his work there done, so he lingered at his spot, glancing towards the two.

Matthew had not precisely intended to keep her as close as she was walking. It would appear as if - well, it could make an impression on others that he did not really want to present. But he could not precisely push her away; he tried instead to take whatever opportunity he could to casually add a little sideways motion into his step. Belatedly, he realised that what he had said to the surgeon could also have an implication that he did not intend. He hoped Howard, or Howard's orderly, was not going to go telling anyone around the regiment that Matthew was the father of a French camp follower's infant.

He noticed, after only going a few paces, that Willoughby was lagging behind. Matthew stopped, and waited for him to catch up with a pointed look; he was not eager to be left on his own with the mother. He couldn't understand her language at all, for one thing, and the hussar could.

"Willoughby, this must be reported," he said as they set out again. "To - whoever you would report this to? You would know that better than me." Something else occurred to him. Willoughby spoke French, evidently with some fluency. That wasn't at all usual among the common soldiers. "How did you come to know French?" he asked, curiously.

Matthew Broderick seemed to need him after all, as he quickly learned when a look was sent his way, with a message that need not be spoken. He quickened his pace so that he was soon alongside the man and looked apologetic as he said a simple. "Yes sir." It would have to be reported to their officers, which could report it to the following superiors and so forth. He could ask one of the other hussars to go deliver the news.

Debating whom to ask, or whether to go ahead on his own, the latter being less likely as he was meant to translate anyhow, he was distracted enough that the question caught him quite of guard. He blinked at the man, looking somewhat startled and then gave him a slight shrug.

"..picked.. it off sir." Not the best lie. "... time and again." He gave a noncommitical shrug.

The question seemed to surprise Willoughby, but he answered quickly enough. Matthew had no reason not to accept it, and so he didn't push the point further, but let it drop. "You must be a quick hand," he did say. French was a hard language to learn, and without anyone to teach him formally, just picking it up as he went along...that was impressive.

They'd reached the wagon by now, near which he had pitched his tent. Glancing at the woman, Matthew realised he needed to do something for her. He had been more worried for the baby at first, but now he could see she'd been knocked about a bit as well. She wasn't hurt, but she would probably appreciate a chance to clean up. He hopped up into the back of the wagon, coming back out with a clean cloth. Goad had changed the water in the bucket while he was gone.

Matthew held the cloth out to the Frenchwoman, and motioned to the bucket; he kept his arms out, offering wordlessly to hold the child if she wanted her hands free. In the meantime, he said to Willoughby, "I suppose that you'd best do that, then - report the incident. Whatever the proper channels are. Is she a prisoner of war?"

The woman gratefully exchanged the baby for the cloth, and she immediately began to wash his little face.

"No, no, no!" Matthew exclaimed. The baby would be fine, it didn't particularly need a washing - the only thing wrong with it was the lump on the head. He shifted his grasp on the infant to one arm, making certain he still had it securely, and took both the cloth and the Frenchwoman's hand. Leading it up to her own face instead, he used a corner to dab away at the dirt encrusting one of the scratches, in the attempt to explain to her what he'd actually meant.