26 May; With the baggage

Cotton kicked irritably at a pebble in his path. He could have let Newbury bear the brunt of Captain Vickery's displeasure, but that wouldn't have been either right or fair. He didn't mind being sent to the baggage as a punishment; it was where Maggie was, after all, and he was technically supposed to march with the baggage anyway, looking after Vickery's pack-mule.

"You could have mine if you wanted it, Joe," he said over his shoulder, pulling at the mule's bridle. "C'mon, Willow, you... you stupid stubborn thing."

Dores watched her friend try to run from the provost, whose horse gave him an upper hand. Seeing this she tried rather than outrun him, to find a wedge, a spot where the horse could have struggled going, and so veered in , past a wagon. She felt the horse's hooves, and thought that any moment then the man would strike her down, or grab her by her clothes and heft her up. She ran even more desperately, nearly falling when her foot caught on a stone. She looked back over her shoulder to see how far her pursuer was and gasped.

"No! Help!" She called out in Portuguese. She knew that nobody would come to help her, and yet it did not stop her from crying out again. Just as she turned around to see where she was going, she felt that she ran into something rather solid. She couldn't even cry out, the air whisked away from her chest.

"How was it any different than any other shako?" Pye inquired and stopped just as Newbury did. He tilted his head and watched the land about them. Here, he was looking about out of habit, out of an internal game. A practice which left him with the knowledge that he would not see anyone really, but he still did it as fervently as if he were scouting ahead.

If he saw a man come past, even if it was a Portuguese, when he was still far, it was a success. If he saw a rabbit, even when not hunting, he marked it as good observation.

"Can't have you goin' around without a shako," Newbury said, amused. "What'll Captain Vickery say 'bout that?"

He gazed out over the field for a moment before shrugging and buttoning his trousers back up, feeling decidedly relieved. "Had that battered old thing since I got into the Rifles, I did. You get attached to your kit sometimes."

Cotton shrugged. "It's only a hat, ain't it? He'd rather me rifle's in a half-decent state than have a shako an' not have me rifle lookin' good." He grinned. "One of the others might've picked it up - you never know."

Trooper Giles pulled his horse up sharply when his quarry tried to throw him off the chase by ducking around a wagon. He was used to such tricks.

"Stop there!" He thundered, spurring his horse around the farther end of the wagon, making up the lost ground within seconds. The warning seemed hardly necessary, for the woman was suddenly no longer attempting to flee.

She struggled to her feet. Trembling, and out of breath she gazed up at Giles. She could not run, or come past him, and one side was blocked for her. She lowered her gaze. "Please, senhor. Let me slip past." She spoke in Portuguese, pleadingly. "Please, I do not know your laws, I do not want to be punished by them, please!"

Tears were seen, wetting her cheeks.

"The Portuguese might bring it down for you...if they found it. " Pye adjusted the grip on his rifle. The life had gone and become somewhat more relaxed now that they were tagging along with the wagon. "If they don't feel too sour 'bout having to let you go." Pye smiled and looked up , observing the sky for a few steps. It wasn't easy to walk without actually looking where he was going, so his gaze dropped back to the level of the ground soon enough.

"Aye, I s'pose. Still... better not to give him reason to be any more sore at you." Not for the moment, anyway. Bad enough that it was Newbury's fault they were all back here, well removed from the rest of the army.

The Portuguese. Despite himself, Newbury shuddered. "I dunno that lot'll be willin' to give anythin' up that they found out there, after our last meetin' with 'em."

"The others're bivvyn' up near where you lost it. I daresay one of 'em'll see it, Joe," Cotton said. "Will you come on, you irritatin' thing, Willow!" The mule finally started walking again and he sighed. "Cap'n's all right. He can't be all that mad for too long, 'specially with us out here." He glanced sideways at Newbury. "How's the leg holdin' up - or don't you want me askin'?"

Giles, unfortunately, did not speak Portuguese. He nudged his horse forward a step and lifted his gloved hand to point in the direction they had originally come from. "Go back," he said firmly. "Now."

Pye slowly moved to the mule. The animal looked rather tame, but he would not trust it around its snout at all, nor around its teeth. ".. Are there any Frogs that look like us?...The Portuguese mistook us for someone else.. but why, if'un the French have blue and white coats?"

Maria approached the trooper. She didn't know what to do. Her instinct was to try and run again, but a part of her was just giving up. There was nobody who could help her and Dores hadn't followed her. She was still there, with those men that were cruel. She lifted her chin and held her head high.

But as she walked, she looked around for a man, an officer, someone that might catch her eye, and offer aid in her plight, give her and her friend the protection she desperately needed just then. She turned to look at Giles and as she did, she hoped that he might at last feel pity.

"There's Frog dragoons with greenjackets," Newbury answered, unconsciously touching his bare head as if to reconfirm the absence of his shako. "So they wasn't wrong to be after me, really."

"Shame you hadn't got a horse with you, though," Cotton said. "Tryin' to make believe you can touch your shako ain't goin' to make it show up on your head, though."

"Best he don't. They are awful things. They kick, they bite, they run you down and spook so easy." He lifted his shako and tried to place it on Newbury's head, looking innocent. He wasn't meaning to give it to him, but pretend the old shako appeared out of the blue.

Shrugging, annoyed with himself, Newbury leaned on his rifle. "Bloody horses," he muttered, turning back to step awkwardly onto the road. "You ain't seen Jenny 'round, have you?"

He managed a grin when Pye offered his own shako, though. Chances were he'd end up acquiring a new one when there was a proper fight, and there were losses taken.

"Horses ain't so bit bad, not like this here mule," Cotton said. "They'm just a bit bigger an' take a bit more lookin' after. Nice, patient things, horses. Least, the ones we had on the farm was. Big Suffolk Punches, them. Blossom an' Daffodil, an' then there was Chestnut, later."

He grinned as Pye tried to put his own shako on Newbury's head. "Here, mate, you should take him up on that. Looks much better than your old wreck of a shako done, after all."

"Jenny? .. no. Though she's probably with the other camp followers... or pickin' stuff of the floor, like most of them are doin' now." Pye dusted his shako and studied it thoughtfully.

"Horses ain't ever friendly. Cotton. ..Not for long, they aren't."

"That's too nice lookin' to fit right on me head," Newbury answered. " 'Sides, Pye needs to break it in himself."

He went a few steps along the road, then stopped. "What's all that, down there?" He asked and pointed.

"Oh, these was. Used to let Mal lead 'em, when he could hardly reach their shoulders." He chuckled fondly at the memory of that haymaking, and frowned, turning to look at where Newbury was pointing. "Looks like provosts," he said and looked closer. "Hey, ain't that Jenny Ross down there with 'em? An Molly Bicker? Though I dunno who the other lass is."

"There's a..." Pye looked at the three lasses, the two provosts and then, a few paces behind them, at the third man nearing with another girl that looked terribly distressed. The first three seemed to range between the one emotion of distress, to that of a calmer exterior.

"...Another one there. Looks like they're heardin' them up." It was a wild guess, but the provosts did resemble shepherds, collecting and bringing their flock together.

"Provosts." Newbury all but spat the word. What the hell were those interfering bastards doing with Jenny? Without considering the foolishness of the idea or the tenuous state of his knee, he hefted his rifle and set off at an uncomfortably brisk pace, heading along the winding line of wagons and carts toward the three mounted provosts.

"Hey, Joe... Joe! Don't be so damn silly! Oh, blow it." Cotton was just fractionally too late to prevent his friend going off down the road towards the provosts and the women with them.

"Oh, hang it all," he said and glared at the mule whose bridle he was holding. "Can't let you go, an' there ain't no way you'm goin' to stay put if'n I leave you, is there?" he said, and raised his voice enough that the other Rifleman could hear him. "Joe Newbury! There ain't nothin' you can do and you don't want to get in any more trouble, do you?"

Pye would have volunteered to hold the mule, but the damn thing could bite him, and he thought it would frighten and run off on its own anyway. So better than that, he gave Cotton a quick grin and moved after Newbury. "Oy, Joe." He said , once he caught up to him. " Easy on the leg. Gabe wants you to.. turn back. You'd get in trouble..no good thing with them provosts!"