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army.”
    Instead of the predicted day and a half, it took nearly three days to reach the village Juan mentioned.
    And now he found himself in the centre of a fierce argument between Juan and one of the village elders.
    Juan left the bunch of angry men and came across to Vidal. “These people deny having a stranger among them, apart from Phillipe’s cousin, and she kept to her bed with a fever nearly all the time she was here.”
    â€œIs she still here?”
    His guide shook his head. “No she returned home several days ago, and then Phillipe left a day after the French soldiers came and searched the village.”
    â€œAnd of course—” Vidal swept his arm out in frustration. “None of these people know where the cousin or Phillipe have gone.”
    â€œThey say not, but they did tell me Phillipe headed west.”
    â€œAnd the significance of that?”
    If he remembered correctly, his study of the local maps on board ship indicated the most direct road to the French Pyrenees would be north and east. But then what did he know of troop movements away from the battle grounds on route to Madrid?
    Juan shrugged and returned to the huddle of men watching them.
    South west. Were they trying to make for Portugal? Surely they’d be aware of the futility of attempting to enter, let alone leave that country, especially by sea, due to the blockades.
    The voices were too low for Vidal to overhear. He knew enough Spanish to carry on basic conversations, but an argument on the scale and intensity of the one in progress a few feet away was beyond him. He let his gaze roam over the compound. "Village" was a grandiose term for the collection of adobe-huts circling the gathered men. When a movement caught his eye, he slowly sauntered over to where a young man lingered beneath the sparse shade of a stone-pine. He expected the man to disappear as he approached; instead he stood his ground, only moving closer to the tree when Vidal turned sideways apparently enjoying the view.
    â€œYou have information for me?” The ease with which the man attracted his attention bothered Vidal. Had this man done the same when the French soldiers arrived?
    â€œYou seek the strange woman?” The lip of the local man’s cap shielded his face from scrutiny.
    â€œYou mean Phillipe’s cousin?” Vidal asked. Could it be the "cousin" and Lady Beaumont were one and the same, he wondered.
    â€œShe’s no relative of Phillipe’s.” A snort accompanied the shuffle of feet. “I don’t know who she is, but she is not Spanish.”
    â€œAnd did you tell this to the French?” For the life of him Vidal failed to mask his contempt.
    â€œOf course not! I wouldn’t do that.” Indignation won over caution and the man stepped in front of Vidal, his face red with fury.
    â€œThen why tell me?”
    â€œYou are English. The woman was talking with Sancia, Phillipe’s wife, one day when I was passing her hut and I didn’t think she spoke like a native. The door was open, you see, and she did not speak like a true Spaniard.”
    â€œGo on.” Vidal waited for his informer to continue.
    The villager cast a glance at the huddle of men still talking with Juan then shrugged before refocusing on Vidal. “She left before nightfall.”
    The significance of this information did not escape Vidal. “How long ago?”
    â€œSeveral nights. The French came the next day, and on the next Phillipe disappeared.”
    â€œYou say you heard her discussing recipes with Sancia?” Vidal asked. “Did you ever see her?”
    â€œAs she left the village. She wasn’t alone. The men with her were not from here, but Phillipe knew them.”
    â€œDescribe her.”
    â€œShe was dressed in breeches, waistcoat and boots.” He paused, his eyes unfocused in thought. “A cap,” he said. “She wore a cap, but it didn’t hide her hair well.