Patching up a rifleman

Pye gulped. If there was anything else Sir Arthur Wellesley needed to know, to have him recognised out of the whole army, he did not know what that could have been. He slowly nodded.

"Sir,.. yes, sir." But it was not captain Vickery's fault. The man, the man was a very fine officer, only he feared saying this now, else this man, the commander in chief might read into it, as they always did, in a bad way!

Wellesley nodded once, casting a glance at Broderick as he did so. This next question would prove interesting, if Broderick allowed the lad to answer it truthfully.

"Tell me, Pye; would Captain Vickery be at all surprised if were to inform him of your current location and physical state?"

It was harsh, and unfair, and he knew it - but he wanted to get to the bottom of this. That Broderick was taking time to defend him spoke in the lad's favour, but Wellesley wanted to be sure he was not somehow missing some major felony.

"He..... he would not be surprised I was by the river sir. I always go fetch t' water in the morning. " But as for his physical state. The poor boy felt faint. It was not a full lie, what he said first. Of course captain Vickery would wonder why he was here without a kettle, why he did not so much as sport his coat, or shirt, why he was draped in a cape of a member of the Hussars. So many things that did not generally happen. That, and he was up the river, a longer way from where they were camped. There was a certainly shorter path to the river. Several of them.

But as for the second. Bruised and battered, perhaps captain Vickery would not have been exactly surprised. There were events that had been quite recent, that might make him suspicious. But bringing those to Wellesley's attention even further, would make captain Vickery appear... well he was certain it would not make him appear in the best of light, whatever the man thought.

"Sir..'s nothing. I've jus' needed a wash. I'll ..I'm ready fer service a' soon as I'm done 'ere." If Broderick dared so much as protest about that claim, well he better not!

Matthew had kept quiet throughout this exchange; he'd already tried stepping in for the lad, but Wellesley had put a freeze on that. The best he could do was guide Pye over to the rock in question and encourage him to sit down. At least Wellesley was not forcing him to stand at attention anymore.

He frowned sharply at the last from the lad, though. Nothing? It absolutely was not nothing, and Pye was not ready for service at all, and Wellesley was not going to believe such a patent untruth. And Matthew was not going to let it stand that way.

"Absolutely not!" his mouth said, before his brain caught up with it, and he stopped himself before going any further.

".. I'm a'right." The lad insisted, his eyes snapping to look at Broderick. "Jus' a brush.. nothin' more!" He kept his injured hand out of sight and too much contact against the fabric that draped over his shoulders. " I mus' do m' duty... sir. " For someone who had wanted to desert not a long while ago, he was equally stubborn that Sir Arthur Wellesley does not believe himself terribly injured.

Broderick should have kept his mouth shut. He should have agreed and pointed the lad the right way. Or waited , mended his two fingers and let him go on his way. If Vickery would still insist on keeping him and not sending him back from where he had come, he wanted to do his duty. To fight and be of use, not just a burden who ate all.

Broderick was standing up for Pye again, and Pye wanted to return to duty, whatever he had been doing. That much seemed true, and was enough for Wellesley to decide to let things go for the moment. He gave another stiff nod.

"Very well. Mr. Broderick, you will oblige me by seeing to this man's injuries in the way you think proper, then escort him back to Captain Vickery and present him with a verbal account of this morning's... fall."

He bent down to pet Lavinia again, as she had returned with a stick in her mouth and was circling the general's legs in a hopeful manner.

"Once Pye is safely returned," he continued with particular emphasis on his words as he fussed over the excited spaniel. "You will tell Captain Vickery, with my compliments, that he is to inform me, after proper examination, as to Pye's fitness for duty. Is that clear?"

This seemed an entirely fair proposal to Matthew, and he nodded agreeably, without realizing how it had affected Pye. "Quite clear. I'll see to it, sir." After all, if he delivered the lad over to Vickery, he could have a quiet word with the captain, and explain what was going on with Pye. Carefully, of course. He was not about to bring up that Pye had been trying to desert. But he thought he understood at least some of what was bothering the lad; and he might be able to intervene on Pye's behalf to deflect some of any anger Vickery did have.

Vickery was not going to be overjoyed about being summoned to give a report to the Commander-in-Chief over this, but...well. There wasn't much that could be done about that, except making sure that Vickery knew it wasn't the lad's fault.

Captain Vickery would have to report to the Commander in Chief on the account of one of his men. Wellesley's interest in his health was hardly that. Pye doubted that Sir Arthur truly wished to know about his fitness. His captain would be in worse trouble. Much worse. It was solely the bait which would bring the young officer to enter the lion's den. And it was all his fault. But, if he dared so much as protest, if disobeying an order of an officer half this man's position was a terrible act, it would appear suicide, should he have thought to do it against this man!

Was it really necessary? He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it and bit his tongue so hard that he thought he could feel a copper like taste on it. Could have just been he added pressure to an already preexisting injury.

He gave a heavy sigh and looked miserable, physically and mentally and did not even know which of the two he was in the worst state of.

Wellesley nodded curtly, ignoring the look of abject misery that had appeared on Pye's face. It seemed the rifleman knew better what was in store for him than the surgeon; but then Pye probably had more experience of getting in trouble.

"Very good. Carry on, Mr. Broderick."