28 May; Twilight Trial

His first task, after seeing his company suitably fallen out to establish their bivouac, was to attend the prisoners. They had borne the day's march well enough, despite being shackled and under guard. Blackwood did not speak to them, ordering their guards to conduct the men to Colonel Trevor's tent.

He had spent much of the march thinking of the trial, wondering frequently if it would have a suitable outcome. Colonel Trevor's temper was often difficult to judge and he could go either way in terms of verdict, depending on his mood. He could only hope the colonel was in a reasonable mood this evening, or the whole trial would be nothing more than a waste of time.

"Sergeant Burr," Blackwood called, summoning the stocky sergeant. "Retrieve Trooper Lambert from the Sixtieth's surgeon, if you please."

"Sir." Burr moved off directly. It would take a few minutes for the fellow Lambert to be escorted up from the baggage, during which time Blackwood hoped that Lieutenant Graham and the provost officer would both find their way to the colonel's tent.

Vickery was hopeful that the provosts would be brought to book and would think twice afterwards about misusing their authority. Newbury''s bruises spoke volumes about the sort of treatment they'd doled out.

Cotton had dug his bristle-brush out of his pack to try to brush the worst of the day's dust from Vickery's coat before turning to deal with Newbury's coat, Pye's and his own. Vickery wasn't sure about the wisdom of calling Pye to testify, but both Newbury and Cotton were likely to end up being called as witnesses.

Cotton had asked about repacking his bags, and Vickery had thought about it and said no. "Depending on how this goes, they could be used as evidence."

Vickery headed to the surgeon's wagon. "Newbury? If you're up to it, the trial is going to begin shortly, and you're our prime witness."

Newbury suppressed a scowl. It hurt just thinking about moving, but he couldn't turn down the chance to stand up before a court and speak his piece.

"Comin', sir," he grunted, levering himself up awkwardly. He had refused the quarter-dose of laudanum the surgeon had offered but he regretted it now. This was absolutely hellish. Eventually, though, he inched himself out of the wagon and onto the solid ground. Somebody - Cotton, it looked like - had cleaned up his jacket for him.

It hurt his pride some to ask, but he had to. "Could use a hand with me jacket, sir."

Vickery suppressed a smile. "Certainly." He held the jacket out so Newbury could ease himself into it, ignoring the hastily-suppressed yelp of astonished outrage from Cotton, who brushed past him to offer Newbury his arm, if he needed support to walk.

"Thank'ee, sir," Newbury mumbled, biting down on his lip as he tucked his arms into the jacket sleeves. Buttoning it up once it was one proved marginally less uncomfortable, though he disliked how the fabric pulled across his midsection. He had found his forage cap too - it was almost improper how much he missed his shako - and was as presentable as he could expect to be.

"Might's well get it over with."

"You're welcome," Vickery said, standing back to give Newbury a bit of room to button his jacket up.

"You ain't the one on trial. You might try to look a mite cheerfuller," Cotton said. "You goin' to need a hand?"

After the kicking Newbury had endured, Cotton would be surprised if his mate didn't need a hand, but he was hardly going to say that aloud.

Cheerfuller. Newbury tried a smile then winced and gave up on that notion. "Maybe later." He glanced at Captain Vickery before holding one arm out to Cotton. It would not have bothered him just then to use the officer as a crutch, but the wings on Vickery's jacket presented a too-formidable obstacle.

The sooner he got to wherever this trial was being held, the sooner it would be over and the sooner he could escape back to the wagon.

"Easy does it," Cotton said, stepping forward and taking Newbury's arm to steady him. If he didn't watch himself he was going to find himself clicking his tongue and telling Newbury to "Walk on!" as though he were a farm-horse back home. And that just wouldn't do. "We ain't so far from where they'm holdin' it." He glanced at the officer, willing his words to be true.

"Cotton's quite right. It's no more than a couple of hundred yards, if that," Vickery said briskly.

Well that was all right then, Newbury thought dryly. He grit his teeth and said nothing. It wasn't worth it. Better to focus his energy on walking. They'd get to wherever they were going at some point, after all.

"You ain't dead yet, anyhow," Cotton said, biting back the temptation to whistle something. "Leastwise, I never seen a dead man walkin' yet." He glanced at the Captain, who had an armful of papers and was wearing a look of concern, even though he seemed to be doing his best to hide it.

"No." Though not necessarily for a want of wishing for it.

A redcoat, previously pacing casually in a broad circle, spotted them and lifted a hand in greeting. "Good evening, gentlemen. You are early, as it happens."

Early? Better than late. "Is there anywhere Joe could sit down, sir?" Cotton asked, rather concerned for Newbury - hadn't he cracked a rib or something?

Vickery returned the redcoat's greeting and passed Cotton's question on.

"Of course." Blackwood glanced toward the colonel's tent, but the usual grenadier sentries would be no help. "A moment, then."

He departed at a brisk pace, returning within a minute with a folding chair. His mess would hardly miss this trifling piece of furniture.

"That is most kind of you," Vickery said. "How are the ribs holding up, Newbury?"

Cotton sent a grateful look towards the redcoat before guiding Newbury to the chair so he could sit down.

"They ain't fallen out yet, sir," was Newbury's terse response after he was settled on the chair. But that made no sense, really. Ribs weren't like teeth after all. Or something.

His reply made Vickery chuckle. "We'll try and speed things along for you, Joe. And even if we can't, the surgeon will be around to keep an eye on you." He would have to have a word with the surgeon and see if he could persuade the man to give Newbury a dose when he'd finished giving his evidence.

Newbury lolled his head forward in a suddenly-bashful attempt to hide his face. "Cheers, sir," he muttered.

Vickery patted him lightly on the shoulder. "You'll be all right, Joe." He hoped he would be, anyway.

He heard someone come running up behind him and turned to see who it could be. Jestel was holding his side, waving something at him.

"Ah. It seems somebody has found your shako, Newbury."

Well. If that wasn't something. Newbury looked up and nearly grinned. It was like seeing an old lost friend.

"That's somebody I owe a couple days' ration to," he remarked, reaching stiffly up to pull the forage cap off his head. "Good lad, Jestel."

Jestel grinned. "Roper found it," he said, adding something else in German as his English failed him.

"He said, he didn't have a chance to give it to you beforehand," Vickery translated.

Cotton glanced up at the officer and sat down on the grass with his rifle across his lap. He idly picked a bit of lint from the creased blue wool.

"It ain't like you'm the one they'm tryin', Joe," he said, glancing up at his friend.

The poor old shako definitely looked the worse for its most recent adventures, Newbury thought and and poked gingerly at a small hole in the felt. Ah well. He managed to fit the dusty shako onto his aching head.

"Aye," he allowed after a moment. "But it'd be fair hard fittin' the whole company into that tent there."

"Didn't have the whole comp'ny there for mine," Cotton pointed out, absent-mindedly testing the flint of his rifle. "Must say I was kind of glad of that, at the time." Though even with the support of Captain Vickery, that had been bad enough, what with the resultant flogging and everything as well. He shrugged. "Wouldn't have the whole comp'ny there if it was you on trial. Why would they need to?"

Newbury shrugged, or tried to. Obviously his previous remark had only made sense to him. Or maybe he hadn't heard Cotton right.

"Dunno. Never mind," he said and was glad for the first time that his face was so heavily bruised. It hid his embarrassed blush.

Obviously Newbury had heard him wrong. "Said, as they ain't tryin' you," he said, speaking a bit clearer. "Sorry. Forgot you'd had a knock to the head." Stupid excuse; as if anyone couldn't see he had, what with the bruising to his face.

He wished the officers would hurry it up; this waiting was getting to him. He could manage patient, but not when it involved this edgy, nervous sort of waiting.

Maggie approached cautiously, looking around to make sure the other officers had not yet arrived. She gave Vickery a small curtsy before sidling up next to her husband. "How are you, Joe?" she asked with evident concern. She had not seen him since the evening before, immediately after his attack.