25th May Coming early

Nodding again, Blackwood nudged his horse forward and he followed the two riflemen into their camp. Quiet, or even mostly quiet, was preferable to tense expectation of attack at any moment.

"We got good picquets out an' all, sir," Cotton said, moving forward to guide the officer's horse towards where Captain Vickery had set up his temporary Company headquarters.

"So I see," Blackwood said approvingly. There were greenjackets moving purposefully about as they moved closer to the heart of the camp, no doubt attending to their assigned chores. It seemed to be a very business-like bivouac, which was a good sign.

They'd reached the middle of the camp now, and Cotton paused, looking up at the horseman. "Um, would you wait here a moment, sir? I'll jus' go an' tell the Cap'n you've come. Only, what name shall I give him?"

"Captain Blackwood," he answered, again reining his horse to a stop.

"Arright, sir. Won't be but a minute," he said, with another tug of his forelock. He hastily passed the kettle over to Pye.

Vickery hadn't expected anyone, and was slightly startled by Cotton's nervous cough, alerting him to the man's presence. The Rifleman passed on his message, a little anxiously after the censuring he'd received earlier. He seemed relieved when Vickery picked up his shako and followed him out to meet the newcomer.

"Good evening," the Rifles officer said, smiling at the pale blob in the darkness that he took to be the other man's face.

"Good evening, sir," Blackwood greeted and swung down from his horse. "I am sorry to intrude so unexpectedly. My name is Blackwood."

Vickery held his hand out. "Vickery. I trust you had a pleasant ride and found us without too much difficulty, sir."

He gripped the man's offered hand and nodded. "I did, thank you. I have been sent to enquire about reports of French infantry movements." A slightly amused smile came onto his face. "Or perhaps I should say, 'reports'."

"We haven't seen any French infantry. Well, not alive, unless you count one man who looked half scared out of his wits, and for good reason - there are ordenanca around." By which he meant civilians in arms against the French. "And the survivor was sent back to the column, under guard. He seemed almost relieved when he realised we aren't French." He smiled ruefully, and indicated his own dark green jacket. "Wearing this does have disadvantages at times."

Ah. The Ordenança. He'd heard something of them. A particularly ruthless lot, if the stories about them were to be believed.

"Good news; it was feared there may have been some attempt at a fighting withdrawal. Which, of course, may yet be a possibility," Blackwood said. Another smile tugged at his mouth. "Occasionally it is an advantage to wear red, it seems."

"Wearing green is certainly an inducement to learning Portuguese," Vickery said. "I believe I may be able to offer you tea and, if you not averse to our simple diet, some form of stew."

"I would be grateful for that, sir," Blackwood said. A meal away from the boisterous chaos of the mess would be a blessing.

"It would be a pleasure to share a meal with you," Vickery said. "It is not often I get to share a meal with a fellow Captain, as you will understand."

Blackwood grinned. "I can well imagine so, sir." Being constantly removed from the company of other officers had to be tiresome indeed.

Pye headed off to their campfire carrying the heavy kettle careful not to spill any of the water inside. He passed it on to the rifleman closest and took a seat. He expected Gabe to return, and even if he didn't and needed to go about his business, he would stay by the fire a bit. His hands were having trouble gripping anythiing, as cold as they've become. Holding them close to the fire for a short while he then slipped his shoes off, turned them about, flicked a stone across the fire, and then made his uniform appropriate again. Gaiters, boots and all, though the coat he lay hanging open on his shoulders.

They would be heading back soon. And that made him wonder where the 33rd were, and Wilton. Probably his old friend was well and fed right now, if not in company of women, then in the concealed company of drink. Pye smiled and while waiting for the food to be served, picked his chick from its bread bag, giving it a short feed. The animal ate silently, though every so often it gave a great chirp, demanding of royal atention.

The discomfort of his present position was not great enough to prevent him from sleep. Newbury kept himself awake enough to shift his pack underneath his leg one last time, then his eyelids drooped. He'd had enough of being awake for the day.

"It must be different from what you are used to with the Guards, of course," Vickery said. "It is strange how quickly one gets used to sitting on the ground, for example, when we outmarch the baggage."

"Pleasantly different," Blackwood replied with a smile. "It can wear on one's nerves, spending every evening in the company of your fellows. As much as does to spend every evening absent such company, I'm sure."

"There are my Lieutenants, of course," Vickery replied. "Although, as you say, it does get rather wearing seeing the same faces all the time, especially when it is such a small circle of faces." He indicated the nearest fire, smiling. "I hope you are not averse to stew and will not begrudge my being unable to offer you a china plate to eat it from."

Very true, but that was one of the pitfalls of regularly dining with the regimental mess.

"Not in the least, sir," was Blackwood's response. "A change to routine, such as this, is best done fully."

Cotton had guessed his master's intentions when he had seen the arrival of the redcoat captain, and had lit a fire just for the officers. He sat back on his heels from where he had been blowing it into life, to look up at the officers.

"Evenin', sirs," he said, sounding cheerful. "Supper'll be along d'reckly minute."

"There's no need to hurry it along on our account, Cotton." Vickery indicated a spot by the fire. "Take a seat, and I hope you won't mind Cotton cooking on the same fire. It's easier for him that way."

Blackwood nodded amiably. "I am a very easy guest," he assured the Rifleman. Stew and shared fires were perfectly acceptable to him. So too was a more relaxed meal, regardless of setting.