27th May with the provosts

Cotton looked around, wondering for a moment where Newbury was, before registering in shock that he and Jenny were lying on the ground. Heedless of the two officers, he darted over to see if his mate was all right.

What the hell had been going on while Vickery had been away?

"You all right, Joe? Jenny?" he asked, not sure which of them was hurt worst and needed tending to first.

"We was attacked," Stephenson answered, pointing at the unfortunate idiot Lambert. "The girl stabbed Lambert there, when he went to cut the rope off her wrists. And that one knocked me down so I couldn't help my mate."

Lambert let out a soundless moan, and writhed; his fingers were soaked in blood by now, and tears coursing down his face without shame.

Vickery returned the redcoat officer's salute, even as Cotton darted past him.

"Cotton, go and find a surgeon," he said, noticing his man stooping over Newbury. "Now!"

Cotton turned, blinked at him and ran.

Vickery sighed at the provost's version of events. Whatever the man said, Vickery was inclined to take it with rather a large pinch of salt, but he needed to give Newbury time to gather his strength so he could make his own report.

"So she attacked you for no apparent reason? Just because she felt like it?"

And from the look of things, she'd used Newbury's sword to do it, too.

"Sir." Pye saluted their officer sharply, and glanced between the two men, then to the wounded provost. Satisfaction there, though it was not him who wounded him, whoever did, deserved a reward. Seeing Jenny, he expected it to have been her. Newbury looked in too much distress, and he had not been the one whose bayonet sword was knocked out of his hands.

He relaxed now. Though a smile threatened to appear on his face, he instead kept it straight. " The provosts assaulted Newbury and Jenny, sir." Which was obvious to see, considering the injuries that both received. "...n' ..she defended herself." He added, suggesting the wound on the provost came from that. All said before the provosts could again account on their story.

Ow but his head was pounding fit to crack. The provost's boot had caught him square in the forehead, giving him a good rattle. Now somebody was talking somewhere above him. He couldn't be sure who it was or what was being said, owing to the incessant thunderous ringing in his ears, but he did manage to force his eyes open.

Horses. Two of them. One of them was Captain Vickery. No, that was stupid. Captain Vickery wasn't a horse. Newbury blinked and shook his head in an attempt to clear it, then swore feelingly when the movement made everything hurt worse. Idiot! He settled for pushing himself unsteadily into a mostly-sitting position, taking care to keep from moving his head too much.

"Sorry, sir," he slurred, and realised he'd bitten his tongue somehow.

Jenny herself made no reply, barely listening to the discussion above. She had already lost interest. Someone could tell her about it later.

Vickery sighed. Newbury looked as though he couldn't focus properly, and he crossed to crouch by the man. "All right, Joe. Take your time and tell me what happened," he said, speaking quietly. From the look on Newbury's face, even an ordinary speaking voice was going to hurt.

"Wouldn't put it past her, sir," Stephenson answered. "We was about to turn her loose and all."

This was ridiculous, Cobb thought. He remembered the incident between these two Riflemen and another provost and guessed this whole affair was nothing more than revenge.

"It would seem to me, sir," the redcoat offered stonily, "that this is nothing more than a contrived situation, on the part of these upstanding provosts, to carry out some vengeance."

Why were there three Vickerys all of a sudden? Newbury blinked, but that hardly helped. Now there were only two. He sucked some blood away from his tongue - how had he bitten it? - and swallowed with a little difficulty. Maybe it would be better if he closed his eyes?

That was better. The captain wanted to know what had happened. Right. That was easy enough, really. "They was after... Jenny," he said, trying to speak around the uncomfortable lump that was his tongue, which was still oozing blood. "They pushed, an' kicked, an'... I got one of'm down, I think."

"You shouldn'ta stayed," Jenny said wearily, not troubling to open her eyes.

Pye stood back, observing Newbury and Ross still on the floor. He would gladly report back to Maggie now. If it had been her that came, she could have not done that much, but could've gotten terribly hurt. The provosts were bastards, and even a rifle could barely contain them. But a mere unarmed lass? Maggie could have spirit, but that would not have been enough against them.

He smirked to himself. The provosts wanted revenge? Well they were asking for it, yes.

"I let you down, Joe," Vickery said. "I ordered you to stay behind and I let you down by doing so. I apologise." He looked over at Jenny Ross. "I let you down too, Miss Ross. It was most remiss of me not to remain to see that you would be all right."

He straightened up. "I believe yu are in the right of it, Lieutenant. It was nothing more than a petty act of vengeance committed by those whose duty is to uphold the law."

He took out his folding knife to cut the rope binding Jenny's wrists together, as Cotton came running up with the surgeon following him. The rifleman knelt by Jenny's side. "You all right there, Miss?" he asked, looking worried.

Jenny cringed at the closeness of Vickery's knife, but it was a relief when her hands pulled free from each other. She let them lie where they fell. She did not bother to look up at Cotton but replied with a vague grumbling whine, by now wishing everyone would leave her the hell alone. It would be good to sleep right now.

What? Newbury opened his eyes again and peered blearily up toward where he figured Captain Vickery to be. "Did we whip 'em, sir?" He asked, not truly comprehending what the officer had said.

Hmm. There were still two Vickerys floating around. He squeezed his eyes shut again and added, "Can... like a rest, sir," as he sagged wearily down to the ground. Lord but he felt as though he'd been marching non-stop for days.

Stephenson glowered at Lambert, who he considered as responsible for all this going wrong. "We ain't after no vengeance," he protested stiffly.

"Shut up," Lieutenant Cobb snapped. Then, in a more moderate voice, he said, "With your permission, sir, I shall fetch some of my men and place these fellows under a proper arrest."

"I think you need one," Vickery said, hiding his concern at the unfocussed look in Newbury's eyes. He straightened up as he saw the surgeon approaching the gathering.

Did we whip 'em? indeed. He smiled grimly. He was not about to lose one of his best Riflemen simply because some idiot Provosts thought they could exact some petty revenge for an imagined slight.

"Certainly you may," Vickery replied to the other officer. "Carry on, Lieutenant."

Cobb nodded his acknowledgment then spurred his horse forward, knowing where he could most easily find men from his regiment for this duty.

Syke’s lip curled in disgust. They’d all three of them been damned from the beginning as far as both officers were concerned. Meddling bastards. He dropped his glare from the lieutentant’s retreating back and noticed Lambert still curled up on the ground. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

Keeping an eye on the greenjacket with the rifle, Sykes slowly lowered his arms and moved towards Lambert. “Stop bloody whimpering,” he snapped, dropping to his knees beside the wounded provost. “And shift yer hands.” Without waiting for compliance, he dragged Lambert’s hands away from the wound. He found the hole made by the bayonet and tore it wider. All he could see was a mass of blood.

Reaching out, he grabbed off Lambert’s canteen. It was empty. "Dozy bastard..." he muttered, reaching into his coat and pulling out his flask. "This'll hurt," he warned and promptlyupended the contents over the bloody general area. There. He could see a bit better now, at least enough to find where the blade had gone in. He took one of the provost’s hands and pressed it down over the wound. “Hold it there,” he grunted.

Lambert barely heard what Sykes said to him, but he was unable to fight off the man; he could only weakly struggle to protect his crotch as Sykes pulled his hands away. Terrified, he tried again to bat the other provost's hands away, but the man tore open the front of his breeches. "Sykes - no, God, stop - " he pleaded hoarsely. What was he trying to do?

A scream tore out of him again as a wave of fire washed over his groin, and the pain pulsed through his entire abdomen. The wound had been agony - this was hell. He curled away from Sykes, both hands alternately pressing to the wound and recoiling away - it only seemed to make it worse. Lambert could not stop screaming.

Stupid bastards, the pair of them, Stephenson thought sourly. Worthless, stupid, bastards.

"Hold your tongue, man," Mister Todd barked, irritated by what he considered to be unnecessary howling. "Here, you. Gag him." The surgeon thrust an old leather stock at the provost who'd caused this foolish caterwauling. Amateurs!

"What the hell did you do to him?" Cotton asked in a low voice, looking between Jenny and Newbury. They both looked as though they'd been on the receiving end of a vicious kicking, but at least they weren't screaming like that poor bastard.

The renewed screams finally roused Jenny, sitting up anxiously and looking at Joe. No, it wasn't him screaming. It was that provost. Now was the first time she connected his injury with her action. Bastard deserved it, she told herself, but she watched in horror. "Will he die?" she asked in a flat tone. "I didn't mean to... I didn't think..." Hell, she was going to hang for this.

"I don't know," Cotton answered. "Surgeon' lookin' at him now." Whatever she'd done to him, there had been a reason she'd done it. He shifted a little so she could see Newbury. "Look like he got clouted over the head. Bin seein' double since we got here." When he'd had his eyes open, that was.

He looked up at Vickery, wondering what on earth was going to happen now.

Shifting position, Sykes hurriedly stuffed the stock into Lambert's mouth, then pinned both arms across his chest. "Hold still, damn you," he hissed.