Waiting to enter Óbidos

Sharpe raised both eyebrows (the one-eyebrow trick was beyond him) at seeing the arrangement Perkins and Maturin had come to. He had to hide a smile at the brow-beaten, henpecked look on Perkins' face. It seemed that Perkins had rather taken to the Doctor, which was another weight off Sharpe's mind. The boy was good at running errands, after all.

"If I were you, I'd roll that up and strap it to your saddle," Sharpe said, gesturing at the cloak in Maturin's hands. He moved a little closer to the man. "i know you don't trust me, but I need to know you've got them papers where they ain't going to be found by a casual look. Though if anything happens, I promise you they'll get where they need to go."

Running into a bunch of French, and having something happen to those papers wasn't something Sharpe wanted to think about. But did Maturin believe him, or was he only an ex-ranker and not to be trusted?

Stephen stared at Sharpe for a long moment. "I have divided the papers by concerns - I have those regarding the sea and intelligence. They are wrapped in cloth, and tied with a cingulum bandage about my waist - I can have them to hand in a second if anything happens. The papers concerning the army I will give to Padstowe - these in particular must reach Wellesley. How and where he hides them is up to him." He shifted the cloak slung over his arm to show Sharpe the corner of another cloth-wrapped parcel.

Padstowe led his horse out of the stable, having secured the saddle bags, his long oilskin overcoat back on along with the wide-brimmed hat. The front of the coat had been left open partway so as any person who saw them pass at close quarters would see the uniform beneath. He looked up to see Sharpe talking with Stephen, and hoped that whatever it was they were discussing would not end up in disagreement, as he knew that neither yet trusted the other.

Sharpe smiled. "Good. That's all I wanted to know. I'll let you pass Padstowe's things to him." He could try 'tactful' after all, even though not many people saw it, or appreciated it for what it was.

He turned to chivvy the rest of his men out, to find them out already. He was proud of his men, even though he didn't necessarily show it at times.

"Will you need a hand up, Jon?" he asked, conscious of his friend's wounded arm, and hating himself for not knowing quite what to do or say. He'd seen enough wounded men in sixteen years in the army, after all.

"I'll be alright," Padstowe said, winding the reins around his right wrist. His shoulder may be injured but his pride was not, and he would use his legs to get into the saddle like last time. "I'll manage. Is the doctor fit to travel?"

Stephen smiled hesitantly back. He was still unsure about the dangerous-looking rifleman, but he was beginning to think he could trust him, especially considering his obvious concern for Captain Padstowe.

He gritted his teeth as he urged the horse closer. "Of course I am, Captain. It is only a headache. Let me tighten that sling before we move off." Once Padstowe was in the saddle he passed him the package. "The cipher booklet is in there," he whispered.

"Sorry." Though he wasn't really, but he was glad to see that Padstowe was more like his usual self.

"Are we ready?"

Not waiting for an answer, he nodded to Hagman, sending the man off to ensure their route out of the village was clear.

This was where it could go wrong. He wanted to be in charge of his men, so that he could give clear commands if anything unexpected were to happen. However, Padstowe out-ranked him and might want to take over, despite being unfit for fighting. And though he might have been a Light Infantry officer, it hadn't been for very long, and he didn't know how the Chosen Men worked.

"Thank you," Padstowe murmured back, then in a more usual tone; "One moment if you please, Richard. Doctor, if you could assist me? I find that I have not tightened the saddle sufficiently and it is a two-handed job. If you would be so kind?"

He turned to his saddle, indicating a strap that secured the blanket and the saddle bag in place.

Sharpe came over and bent to tighten the strap. "There."

He turned to his men. "Stop gawping, Cooper. You look like you're trying to eat a bloody moth."

"Of course." Once the papers were secure and safely hidden, Stephen turned back in his saddle - it was a relief to be sitting down, but he was dreading what the movement of the horse would do his his head and his leg. He looked up, hearing a noise. "Ah, listen, Jonathan. It is our Luscinia megarhynchos again."

"And while your about it," Padstowe murmured to Sharpe, taking hold of his wrist before he could move away. "You can pull those two pieces of leather apart."

Right next to the strap, invisible to anyone not looking for it, there was a slit in the seam of the side part of the saddle, enabling an object like a thin wadge of papers to be pushed inside and hidden from view.

"What? Oh, sorry, not tight enough," Sharpe said, his quick eyes catching what Jon meant. He quickly pulled it open and took the bundle passed to him, slipping it inside and out of view, his body hiding what he was about. "Hope that's better for you," he said, stepping back.

(This thread continues [url=https://showthecolours.forumakers.com/by-land-f7/on-the-road-to-lisbon-t105.htm]here[/url] in On the road to Lisbon.)