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pouch and took out a fresh toothpick that he thrust between his teeth. “Onwards,” he said brusquely, and he led the servant through the wood, across the hill’s crest and down to a large farmhouse. It was plain that Christopher knew the route well for he did not hesitate on the way, nor was he apprehensive as he curbed his horse beside the farm gate. “Stables are in there,” he told Luis, pointing to an archway, “kitchen is beyond the blue door and the folks here are expecting us. We’ll spend the night here.”
    “Not at Vila Real de Zedes, senhor ?” Luis asked. “I heard you say we would look for Miss Savage?”
    “Your English is getting too good if it lets you eavesdrop,” Christophersaid sourly. “Tomorrow, Luis; we shall look for Miss Savage tomorrow.” Christopher slid out of the saddle and threw the reins to Luis. “Cool the horses, unsaddle them, find me something to eat and bring it to my room. One of the servants will let you know where I am.”
    Luis walked the two horses to cool them down, then stabled, watered and fed them. Afterward he went to the kitchen where a cook and two maids showed no surprise at his arrival. Luis had become accustomed to being taken to some remote village or house where his master was known, but he had never been to this farmhouse before. He would have felt happier if Christopher had retreated across the river, but the farm was well hidden in the hills and it was possible the French would never come here. The servants told Luis that the house and lands belonged to a Lisbon merchant who had instructed them to do all they could to accommodate Colonel Christopher’s wishes. “He’s been here often then?” Luis asked.
    The cook giggled. “He used to come with his woman.”
    That explained why Luis had not been brought here before and he wondered who the woman was. “He wants food now,” Luis said. “What woman?”
    “The pretty widow,” the cook said, then sighed. “But we have not seen her in a month. A pity. He should have married her.” She had a chickpea soup on the stove and she ladled some into a bowl, cut some cold mutton and put it on a tray with the soup, red wine and a small loaf of newly baked bread. “Tell the Colonel the meal will be ready for his guest this afternoon.”
    “His guest?” Luis asked, bemused.
    “One guest for dinner, he told us. Now hurry! Don’t let that soup get cold. You go up the stairs and turn right.”
    Luis carried the tray upstairs. It was a fine house, well built and handsome, with some ancient paintings on the walls. He found the door to his master’s bedroom ajar and Christopher must have heard the footsteps for he called out that Luis should come in without knocking. “Put the food by the window,” he ordered.
    Christopher had changed his clothes and now, instead of wearing theblack breeches, black boots and red tailcoat of an English officer, he was in sky-blue breeches that had black leather reinforcements wherever they might touch a saddle. The breeches were skin tight, made so by the laces that ran up both flanks from the ankles to the waist. The Colonel’s new jacket was of the same sky blue as the breeches, but decorated with lavish silver piping that climbed to curl around the stiff, high red collar. Over his left shoulder was a pelisse, a fake jacket trimmed with fur, while on a side table was a cavalry saber and a tall black hat that bore a short silver cockade held in place by an enamelled badge.
    And the enamelled badge displayed the tricolor of France.
    “I said you would be surprised,” Christopher remarked to Luis who was, indeed, gaping at his master.
    Luis found his voice. “You are…” he faltered.
    “I am an English officer, Luis, as you very well know, but the uniform is that of a French hussar. Ah! Chickpea soup, I do so like chickpea soup. Peasant food, but good.” He crossed to the table and, grimacing because his breeches were so tightly laced, lowered himself into the chair.