Matthew could understand repentance. He did not have a particularly clean soul himself, and theorized that it wasn't pearly gates that would be welcoming him on his death, when it came to that, not unless things changed. He knew too many dead men. Matthew was raised to feel the heat of Hell and the Devil's hand when he spoke of sin, and it wasn't just a philosophical theory that came to mind.
Matthew let the woman in the building across the way fade from his senses. She was not his enemy, and so far, the soldier has spoken of the activities of half the standing armies of the known world in 1603. Matthew had been recruited to certain causes as soon as he could conceivably be of use, and Matthew's idea of a child was younger than ten years old. To press people into military service and steal their children for vague causes was, sadly, not high on Matthew's list of witnessed horrors. Otherwise, he may have gone to more effort to hunt the woman down. Now, she only mattered because she mattered to his friend.
Matthew shook his head. "Clementine wished to know how thee--how you are." He moderated his speech with more care. "You must remember to contact her, or she will worry enough over both of us, when I think it should like be the reverse." He sighed deeply.
Matthew understood penance, deeply, and he nodded slowly. With easy grace he moved around a crate and, entirely avoiding the sightlines, came to the soldier's side (flesh, not metal). He put one hand out for his arm or shoulder, whichever came to his fingers first. "To repent is a good thing, my friend. In seeking it, do not seek they penance and only do more harm." A short pause. "Someone must find the body."