Evening in camp, 1 June

"It is nothing more than what I have told you already. Light duties for at least one week and rest for at least one day. You may not march but may instead ride - in a wagon, once the train is sorted out. Walking is to be limited to fifty yards in any direction so you may not take any ideas of nobly pressing on despite your wounds. Finally, you are not to sleep unaccompanied. There will be a man - or whomever - close by at all times."

The surgeon shrugged. "So long as you are aware that anything strenuous will further endanger your already fragile state, I consider nothing more to be done in this moment. Though I daresay you will do your best to try the limits of good sense no matter what you are told, as soldiers always do, much to their detriment."

He closed his eyes. He was very tired, and trying to focus wasn't helping his head, especially now it was dark.

"If someone could send Cotton to me, I would be extremely grateful," he said, and groaned quietly as he realised the impossibility of fulfilling that particular wish right now. Who was there among his men who could be relied on, in the state of exhaustion that they were all suffering right now, to be able to look after him? "Mrs Cotton, if she will come - and that is a request. Otherwise, could someone find Joe Cavender, my bugler, please?"

He needed to be able to think. More than that, he needed to sleep.

"I can hardly say," Cobb said blandly. He was not about to offer any sort of detailed answer to this woman. She asked too many questions for his liking.

~

The surgeon was gathering up his things. "I'm sure Mister Cobb will see to all of that. It's more in his realm than mine. Mind what I've said, or at least pretend to. I'll look in again tomorrow or the next day to see how you're getting on."

"Indeed.." The English, perhaps only a slight bit better than the French. Only in the manner that they fought on their side for the moment but would in so likely abandon a lost cause, rather than to fight till the end.

"..Once the Captain is no longer in need of his tent, he may send for Senhor Ferreira. He shall be glad to have someone retreive it." The man's was one, who had sent the Portuguese to the English in the first place. Albeit disagreeing with a part of his order, they - just as she - fulfilled their task.

Maggie had been roused from a deep sleep, awaking with confusion to be told that the captain wanted to see her. The young German who woke her did not explain, and so it was with great trepidation that she tucked up her hair and made herself tidy, dreading what Vickery might say to her. In spite of her hurry to attend his summons, she found herself wishing the short walk might be longer, much longer, to delay whatever it was she was going to hear.

Someone directed her to the tent he had been given. There was no batman there, of course, so she scratched at the canvas and cleared her throat. "Captain Vickery?"

At the sight of the woman arriving, the Portuguese turned and with a simple nod exchanged among her and the men, the group began to leave. Their expectations had been made clear to the English. Their business was to be elsewhere now.

He turned his head to see who it was - not that he could see, of course. But the voice was Mrs Cotton's.

"I apologise for disturbing you," he said, and sighed. "It appears that I have concussion and should not be allowed to sleep unattended." He pressed a hand to his head. "Would you consent to be my nurse for the next few days? At least, until I am allowed to move, that is."

If she said no, he wasn't sure who else might be willing to take over in Cotton's continuing absence.

She stared for a moment before giving her answer. "Yes. I - uh - yes, of course!" And she smiled with relief and surprise. That was all he had wanted? "What do you need, sir?"

"Right now, I need to sleep, but I am told I should not be left alone to sleep with the concussion I have sustained. Would I be troubling you overmuch if you were to sleep in here in case I need help?"

It was not easy to say, of course, but by now he was almost too tired to mind the blow to his pride.

"Sleep in here, sir?" she repeated. It was not that she distrusted the captain. He was a true gentleman, and he had always been kind and respectful to her as a woman. But how would it look? What would people say? What would Cotton think? "The surgeon, did he tell you that?"

"Yes, in here. The surgeon informed me that I am not to be left alone while I am suffering the effects of the blow I received." He sighed. "I cannot see properly, and I have had a headache for some while now. I will not ask you to do something you are not willing to do. If you do not want to, could you please send Cavender to me?"

The person he most wanted was the person that he knew Maggie wanted as well: Gabriel Cotton.

"No, it's all right, sir," she said hastily. Poor young Cavender was dead asleep, and she owed it to the captain. Cotton would understand, and he knew the captain better than anyone else. "I'll just go and fetch my blanket, and - is there anything else I can fetch for you?"

"No, I don't believe I need anything else." He managed a tired smile. "Thank you. Please believe me when I say I do not like being a burden on anyone."

Still, Maggie Cotton was capable and efficient - a good match for Cotton, all things considered. And if she were with him, she would learn any news about her husband almost as soon as he would.

"That's all right, sir," she said, and then slipped out of the tent. She hurried to retrieve her blanket, along with the bundle of things she had intended to wash before falling asleep so abruptly. She had almost forgotten the bloodsoaked apron that she had pressed against Vickery's wound. There was blood on her skirt too, but that couldn't be helped now.

She needed water for her apron. And she wanted that shirt of the captain's. Putting them to soak in a basin as they were would only mean soaking in bloody water. But if there was a stream somewhere nearby, that would be better. She would ask Cotton - no, no. She would ask Roper to do it.

"Roper?" she whispered, looking around at the sleeping riflemen on the ground.

"Hmm?" Roper rolled over, realised that someone was calling his name and woke up, rubbing his eyes. "Aye?"

Ah. Maggie Cotton - though why she was up and about again, he had no idea.

"Sorry," she said apologetically, and then launched into her requests. "Will you take this down to the stream and rinse it out a bit, then bring it to the captain's tent with a basin of water, and do you have a shirt you can lend the captain while I wash and mend his. Or find someone who does."

None of that made any sense, in the state he was in. He latched onto the first thing he could think of that made less sense than the rest.

"Captain ain't got a tent; it was lost with the baggage," he said, and sat up. "Spare shirt's in me pack." He turned to reach for the pack that he'd been using as a pillow and fumbled the straps open, rummaging inside more by feel than anything else. "Here," he said, holding it out, exchanging it for the garment she was holding.

Stream... he could manage that, though quite what he was going to do for a basin was anyone's guess.

"I don't know. He's got a tent now. Ta," she said, taking the shirt and hurrying away.

Got a tent now? "Well, if that don't beat all," he said softly, before sighing. If he didn't do as he'd been asked, he'd have no chance later. He got up and took whatever it was that Miss Maggie had thrust at him - it felt like the Captain's shirt - and headed towards the stream.

Lieutenant Cobb had been as good as his word. Upon returning to his company, he wasted no time rousing his batman and sending him along to the Rifles officer's lonely tent.

The batman was present there and quietly going about the work of preparing some tea when the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention.

Maggie stepped past the old soldier without paying him any attention and moved toward the tent. She scratched on the door flap. "Captain Vickery? Is it all right to come in?" Not that he could have undressed himself in the state he was in during those few minutes that she had been gone.

Vickery shifted a little on the cot. The movement pulled at the stitches in his side and he relaxed back into the same position.

"Come in," he replied, and wondered what the time was. Pretty late, he thought. There would be no point in looking at his watch of course. Even if his vision was as sharp as usual, he wouldn't be able to see the watch face in the dark.

She dropped her blanket on the ground without ceremony and peered at him on his cot. "Can you sit up, sir? I brought you a clean shirt."

The newcomer was a woman, but he had been warned about her being around. She had some connection to the grasshopper officer. Just as well.

"If you've another cup, Missus, there's tea on," the oldster said in a low voice that had a hint of a lilt to it.

Why hadn't he just settled for sending for Cavender, he wondered. The bugler wouldn't fuss so and would just let him go to sleep as he wanted to do - had wanted to do for a while now.

Moving wasn't going to help his side. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes and gingerly shifted till he was sitting up. He felt tired and irritable and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, and stay asleep for at least a month.

"Did someone mention tea?" he asked hopefully, It hadn't sounded like Cotton's voice, but he was so tired that it probably was his batman, he just couldn't recognise the man's voice. "Someone tell Cotton he's worth his weight in gold, if it is," he added.