Waiting to enter Óbidos

Padstowe wanted to say no; but then he saw the faces of all the men. They were anxious, curious about what was happening and their hostile reception had made it worse. The had been shabbily treated, and he owed it as much to them.

"Very well, hagman," he said. "If you would fetch my saddle bag - it's the one on the left - and then come with me back upstairs. I may need an extra pair of steady hands."

He had been listening for noises outside the door, unable to distinguish much, but when he heard footsteps on the stairs and the door opening he tried to prop himself up and, unable to fully focus on who came in, attempted to look at least slightly better and more cheerful. He hated, more than anything, to be a burden, and he knew that in the past few hours he had been nothing but. "Captain Padstowe?"

"I thought I told you to lie still," Padstowe grumbled, though not severely. "I've brought one of Sharpe's men with me to help - he and Jose are exchanging differences of opinion on the stairs."

He frowned. Stephen's eyes were still not focussing properly. "Are you alright, Stephen? Can you see me?"

"Well enough - it is a temporary symptom, nothing more. Please to tell me how you feel first: your shoulder to begin with, and then the rest of you - in detail, if you please."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Padstowe swore under his breath. "A temporary symptom of what? You tell me what is wrong with you first - in detail - and then I shall tell you. Dan, hand me that canteen."

"I am the physician, Jonathan, and I can still kick you with this leg." Stephen manged to weakly raise his left leg, and even a smile.

"So be a responsible physician and tell me what I can do to help you," Padstowe said, somewhat glad tha the doctor still retained his sense of humour. "If anything were to happen to you, I don't know who is going to look after me - not to mention His Nibbs will skin me alive for not bringing you back in one piece."

Stephen raised his eyebrow at the shape he assumed to be Padstowe. "If you will promise to answer my questions in as much detail as I require afterwards."

"Yes, I promise," he said, his frustration clear. "On my honour."

"Very well. Put your ear to the side of my head, just above the left ear. I will touch my skull, and you will tell me if you hear anything."

It was an odd request, but such were the ways of the medical world. He put his head down, placing his ear just above the doctor's left and waited.

"This do?"

"Yes." He gritted his teeth and he firmly pressed his fingers over the place where Prideaux had hit him with the pistol-butt. Every point of pressure sent a shot of pain through his head, but he was still conscious by the time he finished the examination, and he looked at Padstowe expectantly.

Padstowe's frowned deepened, and he pulled back.

"A sort of crackling noise?" he said hesitantly.

Somehow he didn't think skulls were meant to make that sound.

Crepitation - there must be a fracture. "Well, there's nothing to do about that but to leave it be, and I can cope with a concussion. Lying down has done me the world of good. Apart from that, it is only the leg." He hoped his expression looked as innocent as he was trying to make it. "And now: your shoulder."

Damn the man... Padstowe sighed.

"It still hurts when move it, but not so sharply as before and nor is it complete agony. There is some feeling come back to my arm, though I still feel cold."

He paused, shooting a sideways glance at Hagman.

"And somewhat nauseous."

"Move your arm as little as possible - I will fix you up a sling as soon as... as I can." He swallowed and licked his lips. "There is a basin to the side of the bed; pray do not stand on ceremony if it would make you feel better to vomit. As for the sensation of cold, it is a most common side-effect of desanguination - you will find that warmth returns with every hour of rest, and every solid meal you eat: red meat if at all possible. Unless..." He grabbed at Padstowe's wrist, and felt his pulse. "The pulse is stronger, to be sure... do you feel feverish at all?"

"Not presently, no."

Stephen lay back, relieved. "Well, that is a blessing. I feel most reassured, but keep as much weight as possible off your arm, if you please - no more acting the hero than is absolutely necessary." His grateful smile belied any mockery in his words.

Padstowe rolled his eyes, affecting impatience to cover his embarrassment. He took his canteen from Dan and one of the clean cloths left over from when Stephen had operated on his shoulder. Pulling the cork out with his mouth, he wetted the cloth with the brandy and then began to clean away at the wound.

"Ah-!" The brandy stung fiercely, and the green-clad stranger held his forearm in a firm, comforting grip. "Thank you - I am fine..."

Padstowe smiled despite himself, wetting the cloth again and continued wiping away the blood and dirt. Now more clean the wound itself looked fairly sound - a miracle after all it had been through.

"So says the man with a fractured skull..."

"It is only a small fracture - barely a crack, I predict."

I know something's cracked, Padstowe thought to himself, taking a last swipe and leaving the skin clean. It was only a shallow gash - superficial but spectacular - and should heal on its own.

"Hand me a bandage from my saddle bag please, Hagman."

Stephen sat up as far as his throbbing head would allow him, and he peered at his leg - he could see the redness of it, but no particulars. The cleaning had stung sharply, and the leg felt just as painful as before, but Padstowe did not seem too worried, and he knew wounds. "Is there any sign of infection?" He surreptiously crossed himself when Padstowe turned to receive the bandage.

"It looks angry," he said unrolling the bandage, then suddenly realising thatthis was a two-handed job. "Perhaps you could wrap the doctor's leg, Hagman? It looks sound though, and it's only shallow."