13th June, afternoon - Prisoners return

Cotton shrugged apologetically at Christian. "C'mon, then. If we don't let the surgeon have his fun pokin' around, we'll not hear the last of it." He took the man's arm lightly, more for show than for actual support, although he was there in case the redcoat needed him.

"No no no, not him!" Cresswell snapped, frowning at Cotton. "He's fine! Help those other fellows up there. That one with the leg, and him with the bandage... Careful!" he shouted to someone. Already the hillside was becoming a confusing mass of returning prisoners and their welcoming friends. Word of their return had apparently begun to spread in camp.

It had suddenly devolved into a confused mass of men and women, talking, shouting, calling out to each other. It was worse than Billingsgate market, Vickery thought, disgustedly.

"What regiments are these men from?" he asked. "And have their commanding officers been informed yet as to their men's return?"

The unspoken implication was heavy. And if not, why not?

Edward appeared next to Vickery suddenly, holding the box with his precious theodolite and looking with raised eyebrows at his mapping party, now intermingled with people both returning to and running from the camp.

"I'm going to get my equipment back to the camp before anything gets smashed, Captain. Anything I can help you with there?"

Vickery looked at Torrington apologetically. "I am sorry your instruction period has been interrupted thus, Captain. I am hoping to get these men returned to their own regiments as quickly as may be - their officers will no doubt want to learn what they have been doing and how the French have treated them."

There seemed to be more men here than Vickery could account for; from what he had been told of the skirmish, it had been his own men, Sharpe's men and a company of the 2nd Foot Guards.

"If you won't mind, I'll tell Captain Blackwood to expect them. I think I spotted a few guards' uniforms there. Should the butcher slaughter an additional ox? Some of those poor sods look nearly starved."

Edward didn't know any of the men, he hadn't any regimental ties, either; and anyway, these were soldiers, and although he felt sorry for them, he could deal in a calm way with this. The way some of the women moved shocked him, however. Most were cheerful enough, but the few that were keeping to the back of the train, only slowly joining the commotion had his deepest sympathies.

"If you don't mind - you might like to remove your equipment from harm's way, too. And, I think we should probably reschedule this class. I do not think anybody will profit if we try to return to the lesson now, and I must say that they did all seem keen to learn what you have to teach," Vickery replied. "And I do not think that anybody would begrudge them extra food tonight."

He had also noticed the women trailing in behind the others and decided to speak with them and offer his assistance in any way possible. whether they would talk to him, or would appreciate his offer of help, remained to be seen, of course.

Pye overheard enough of the conversation to be disappointed. The class was dismissed. There would be no more learning, because most were not paying attention to anything but their girlfriends, their wives, their friends. He sighed a little. Much as he was happy for them, he had looked forward to learning the magic of map-making.

Perhaps the somewhat selfish fact that he had no-one among the arrived that he could either call friend or sweetheart and that plenty that he was quite uncertain about seeing him in the right light, contributed to his feeling. Shaking his head a little he moved protectively towards the stand and its tools of trade, making sure that no-one would bump into it or tip it over.

Edward took his leave from Vickery and returned to the mule with the rest of his equipment. Pye was there, and didn't exactly look as if he had anybody to greet or was already pressed into medical service, so Edward made a gesture towards the still standing tripod.

"Ah, Pye, if you have no other obligations, perhaps you could help take these things back to camp? Rottlaender ...?"

Edward turned, trying to find his batman, who had been ineffectually trying to gather the poles, protect his drawing board from harm and help with the prisoners at the same time.

"Rottlaender, come here and help Pye get our equipment together. I'm sure Captain Vickery and the surgeon will have everyone settled down shortly, and we need to inform the butcher that more meat is needed."

The lad came bounding over, poles as long as he in arms. He shared a quick grin with Pye.

"More food! We will have a Fest!"

"Yes, sir. Right away sir." Pye sprung into action. He began to disassemble the tripod and only glanced at his friend when he mentioned food. "Aye. For them." He said indicating the newly arrived. "Not us." He added and negotiated the instrument with outmost care.

"Put that over there an' help me get this off without it tumblin'." He whispered quiet enough that Torrington could not hear. Even the idea it could fall might frighten the officer and unhappy officers were not good.

After a brief hesitation, Christian followed, somewhat less steadily, after the rifleman. He felt useless just standing there, and if helping the wounded got him out from beneath the eyes of the surgeons and the officers, so much the better.

All the while he kept looking around for Jenny. He had lost track of her after his expedited descent down the hill and now she seemed to have disappeared entirely into the chaos. It was probably for the best, he thought, swallowing a sigh; if their officers really were going to be called up, that could mean Woodmarsh, and Jenny deserved a chance for a bit of peace before all that began again.

"Give you a hand?" he asked of another soldier whose awkward progress bore witness to an only partially healed leg injury.

"Sod off," the other guardsman protested, his grin belying the words, "I need your 'elp like I need an 'ole in the 'ead. I seen you go down the first time."

Freddy quickly chucked the poles into the baskets at the mule' saddle, then dashed over to his friend. He held the precious instrument with as much reference as his friend, and with a good deal of awe. His friend was allowed to handle Mylord's instruments, and he knew what to do!

"Should ... should we roll in the map? Damit it does not become dirty?"

(what on earth? I posted and closed this.. and it did not post?)

"Yeah, mebbe it's better we do that. If we get it dirty, he'll have our heads for it, but if we keep it clean he might close an eye next he sees us with.. honey." The latter was said rather quietly. Pye had been attentive at observing how everything was assembled and where it came from. Of course this helped now, when he could point, suggest and carry the different parts back into their containers. He was careful with them, and treated them as if they were made out of thinnest glass.

He did not want to have not one of the instruments harmed or scratched because either of them was not paying good attention to it. There was trust of the Lord at stake! He smiled as he motioned his friend around to the other side beside him." Alright. we'll roll it carefully not to have it wrinkled." He murmured then grinned. "And so it's even... now um.. does it have.." How to say it so it would be easily understandable? "...a tube of some sort we could put it in? It's like... it keeps it dry and from being smooshed up, really."

(Had happened to me, too ... My post appeared half an hour later, though.)

Freddie looked thoughtful for a moment, then his face lit up in understanding.

"Ah, yes! The Transportrolle! I will get it!"

He dashed to the mule and quickly retrieved a leather role from its load. The poor beast was quite irritated by the noise and the many people moving around, and boxed Freddie with its head, turning away, so that the lad had to spend a few moments to rub it behind the ears and calm it. Then of course he immediately destroyed the effect by madly dashing back to his friend again, leaving the beast to morosely pawing the ground.

Freddie waved the role, then opened it.

"Here, I hold it open, you do the map inside!"

"Right'o!" Pye grinned jut as he finished rolling up the map. It had been so carefully done that not even a single new crease was made to it. A tight roll, it would fit smoothly into its container.

"Hold it still." He spoke and began to angle the map to have it slide in. A bit of an adjustment and it would slip inside without so much as a sigh. "There. Close it up and back on the mule."

Freddie carefully put on the lid and closed the buckle. When he looked up, he saw Captain Torrington look his way. Immediately he blushed fiery red, although he didn't exactly know why. The Captain, however, only nodded and gave him one of the encouraging half-smiles he used to indicate that Freddie was doing something right and set off towards the camp, waving the young riflemen to follow him with the mule.

Freddie grabbed the rope of the beast and grinned at Pye.

"Ready?"

"Ready." Pye nodded , taking a single quick glance at the returning prisoners which were both behind and ahead of them. " Plenty of them, eh?..Glad t' French let them go."

He began walking alongside with Freddie. "...I fed them back there....couldn't help 'em 'scape. See how many they are? An' wounded. Lots of them like this." He indicated some that needed assistance of others and were still slow. "Wors n' that too, so I reckon some o' them stayed ahead of us. With the first." He nodded lightly.

"But they're all safe now. That counts fer somethin'!" He felt relief. Before, he had felt guilty of leaving some behind. Guilty of lying to them so that he could 'selfishly' help a few escape. But now they were all back and so, it turned out alright in the end. Splendid.

Freddie disputed with the mule over the correct speed, then set off besides his friend.

"You ... you were a prisoner with them?"

He asked the question very shyly, not wanting to make his friend answer questions he didn't feel comfortable to answer

Jenny watched the scene from high on the hillside before picking her way down. Poor Christian had taken quite a tumble, but he seemed to be all right. There was Captain Vickery, and there were his riflemen about him: Cotton, the Palmers, fellows she remembered seeing in the French camp. So they had made it back then. She did not see Newbury with them. She was a bit surprised to find herself looking for him, scanning the green-coated men for his rumpled, limping figure.

But there was Christian looking about in a daze. Looking for her, probably. "Come on, little one," she said to Polly as they made their way down the slope. "What a welcoming committee. Someone will show us where we can get supper."

She crossed over to where Christian was, and she linked her arm through his. "Mike. Before Woodmarsh comes," she began, and then gave him a tired smile and a shrug. She lifted up her head and kissed him on the cheek. "You're a good man, dear."

She must be very tired. She felt as if she were dripping honey with the emotions that she was feeling just now. It was a bit like being drunk.

"Yeah. Me, Cotton, Newbury.. Palmer, some o' the others." Pye nodded , glancing at Freddie. "We was all prisoners...and then it got complicated. It was done for 'em, ter escape. Never could take the women or t' others." He smiled. "But I'm glad ter see they've understood. Figured it out it wasn't real." He indicated the wounded.

"Dunno if you heard of wot' happened?"

"Nicht viel. I did not unterstand much."

Freddie returned the smile, glad that his friend was glad.

"When they ... are well. Versorgt, I mean. Would you tell me? If you want. We can make tea."

Christian looked down at her, a small crease forming between his brows. He didn't know what to say. It had all sounded like nothing so much as a goodbye. And in a way, he supposed it was.

With a faint smile, he disentangled his arm and slipped it around her shoulders, pulling her close and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"Sure, I can tell you. Lets get these things away safely and we can talk over t' preperations of tea.. though I'd rather we don't waste our own.. you know. It isn't like we's going to get any in return. We can jus' boil water fer them and ask... mebbe as t' officers if they can give off some?"

He walked alongside his friend, observing the newly arrived.

"You there! Help this one down and into the shade! Get her some water to drink! ... You! Stop this instant and sit down before you injure that leg further! Do you think I like setting your bones right so much that I need additional work?"

Aimes was raving while he tried to do his job as best as he could. Some people didn't really need to go to the waggon, and they needed to be sorted out before they could disturb things there. And those who needed to go there often were in no condition to go there on their own, and being stupid stubborn soldiers needed to be stopped before they tried to do just that. And then of course there were those who didn't even try that, and those were the people he probably would need to take care of first, and it was oh so easy to overlook them in the chaos ...

Freddie bit his lip, glanced surreptitiously at Captain Torrington, then at the women and the wounded.

"Denkst Du ... we should ask him? He ..."

He couldn't find the words and closed the sentence with an emphatic gesture instead. Freddie had already noticed that Captain Torrington did think nothing of buying another pound of tea or coffee when the old one was finished, and did think even less about it when he felt that somebody else needed a cup. Usually that meant another officer, although on occasion Freddie himself had been the recipient, but the young German had seen the troubled look the engineer had had when he had seen the women, and he suspected the other man might be willing to part with some tea for them, too.