Evening in camp, 1 June

"So far as I know, I've got everyone here who got away," Sharpe said, feeling sorry for the woman. "I ain't seen him with us, I'm sorry." He didn't think he'd seen the man's body, either, which meant that the only conclusion he could draw was that Cotton was now a prisoner of the French, along with who knew how many more of Vickery's men.

And quite what state Vickery himself was in, if he was still alive, was anybody's guess. Sharpe had no idea where he was, but if the 60th officer was still alive, it was Sharpe's duty to inform him that he'd brought hopefully the majority of Vickery's men home safely. His own sergeants could give him a better idea of the butcher's bill than Sharpe could, after all.

And maybe one of them had seen for sure what had happened to Cotton?

She stared up at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. "You've got - ?" And then she looked further along past the crowd of men from the 95th and recognized the familiar red patches with a cry. She grabbed Mister Sharpe's arm and gave it a quick squeeze of gratitude before rushing past to see her friends. "You have to tell Captain Vickery!" she called back to him. "He's been so worried. Roper! Did you see Gabe?"

Someone was calling his name. Roper frowned; the voice sounded familiar but the news he had for her was not going to be at all welcome. His friends had been through so much in the short time that they had been married - in fact, since they had been walking out together - and Roper did not know how Maggie would react to the news that her husband was a prisoner of the French.

He shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, Maggie. He's bin captured - he's a prisoner of the Frogs. Was fightin' somethin' fierce when they broke our line. I don't know how we managed to reform, but they were all over the place and, well, they kept comin'. We got away but Cotton didn't. He's all right - they never touched him, but he didn't get away with the rest of us. The Frogs got the Palmers too - well, one of 'em for sure." He sighed. "I wish it'd been me, Maggie, I do. The two of you...." He trailed off, wishing he knew how to say it.

So it was true then. For some reason, Maggie had refused to believe that Gabe had really been captured. She had hoped that the men who had reported it before had been mistaken. How could they know what had happened to every single rifleman there? But she could not say that of Roper. He of all people would know.

She blinked back tears. "They didn't hurt him?" she asked, quietly to control the wavering in her voice.

Roper shook his head. "No, they didn't hurt him." He looked at her sympathetically. "Really sorry, Miss, really I am. Wish it'd been me instead, I do. You've both bin through so much."

He wasn't sure if he ought to offer her a hug or not; probably the only person she really wanted to hug right now was Cotton himself, but he wasn't here.

Maggie nodded, not having anything to say for a moment. Then she remembered and said "Captain Vickery's..." She had to stop or else she was going to fully break down crying. She could do that later, in privacy somewhere. She finished by vaguely pointing.

Roper frowned, feeling at a loss. "You...?" he began and trailed off. Well, of course she wasn't all right, was she, not with Cotton a prisoner somewhere. It felt awkward, knowing she was upset and not knowing quite how to comfort her - if he even could.

If his position and Cotton't were reversed, and he wished they were, there wouldn't be anyone to worry about him the way poor Missis Cotton was worrying about her husband.

"Thanks," he said, and wished he could think of something comforting to tell her. And something she had said made him pause. "The... Captain? He's alive? I thought for sure he'd bin killed, Missis, the way he went down."

"No, he weren't killed," she said, regaining her composure in order to reassure him. She brushed at her eyes and continued. "Got his side cut up and his head knocked about, but a surgeon patched him up a bit. Young Joe Cavender brought him back. He's been that worried for you lot. You better come and see him. Or... someone." She scanned the group, wondering where the lieutenants were. She wanted to ask more questions about their losses, but the captain ought to be told first.

Roper let out a sigh of relief. "Though for sure he'd been killed, the way them Frogs was goin' for him," he repeated. And of course he would have been worrying about them - he was supposed to know where they all were, after all, and he'd been brought back after being knocked out, without having a clue what was going on around him. "Thank God young Joe's all right too," he added, and gave her a half-shrug. "Mister Brady's somewhere around, though it was Mister Sharpe of the 95th as took charge when the Frogs got through, and got us all together. Made us circle right round in the hills, tryin' to catch up with the rest of you all."

Maggie nodded, only half listening because her thoughts were preoccupied with Gabe. She looked back at Lieutenant Sharpe when Roper mentioned him, and she saw that he was talking with a Guards officer. She realized belatedly that she had probably interrupted them earlier.

"The captain's been with the Guards," she told Roper. "We're over that way. We lost the baggage. They took it all. It's why I'm fetching these things." She was tired, so tired, and all she wanted was to curl up in her husband's arms and go to sleep.

Everything? The Frogs had got everything? Roper felt sick to his stomach at the realisation that they'd lost everything, that the Rifles had failed in their duty. Maybe the Captain or someone could organise an exchange or something, or could at least get Maggie reunited with Cotton somehow?

"I'm sorry," he said again, hopelessly, and glanced towards the officers. The sooner the 60th were under the command of their own Captain, the better, as far as Roper was concerned.

It seemed that Mister Sharpe thought so, too, from the way he kept looking in the 60th's direction.

Catching sight of a familiar face, Knox called out, "Chapman!"

"Yessir?"

"Captain Blackwood - have you seen him?"

"Over there, sir," answered the man, pointing up ahead.

"I think we'll be able to find our way now, thank you," Sharpe said. The sooner he could hand the 60th over to their own officer, the better for all concerned, in his opinion. Vickery must be worrying himself sick over where they'd got to - Sharpe knew that he would be, were their positions reversed.

Hurrying ahead to tell Vickery the news, Maggie nearly stumbled right into the midst of his private conversation with his visitor. Seeing poor young Cavender at his side and her mind being clouded by exhaustion, she almost failed to notice the man speaking to him. But years of habit saved her, and the man's tone and bearing betrayed him as a superior officer of great importance. And he was soon joined by several other officers covered in gold lace. She carefully back-tracked away from the group and dropped her bundle of blankets next to the fire a cautious distance away.

Roper and some of the others had pooled the few rations they had saved, although they couldn't cook anything. They didn't even have a kettle to heat water for their tea, although that didn't stop them brewing up in their own individual tin cups.

Roper looked at Maggie Cotton in concern as she dropped her things nearby. She looked about done in, the poor girl. "Here, Missis. Bit of tea'll do you good," he said, picking his own mug up from where it was heating at the edge of the fire, and holding it out to her.

Maggie jumped at the sound of Roper's voice. She had not realized he was so near. Her nerves were on edge and she was exhausted. "Thankee, Tom," she said quietly, accepting the hot cup and wrapping her shawl around it carefully. She gave him a joyless smile. "Guess Mister Sharpe'll tell the captain."

"Very likely. You get your head down for a bit, you've had a long day and we won't be staying here too long. Careful you don't get your shawl all black - that cup was in the fire warmin' up."

He'd keep an eye on her when she finally went to sleep. It was the least he could do for her, and Cotton would appreciate it, too. He hoped Cotton and the others were all right; he had no idea how the French would treat them.

"I will," she answered, "after I give these things to the captain. He lost his baggage too." And his batman. She stared at the fire without tasting her tea. "Friedler died. Someone found him and brought him to us." She frowned, trying to remember the details in the fog of her tired mind.

He had been aware the Friedler had been badly wounded, but he hadn't known how badly. "Captain won't like that," he replied, though really, the man had been a soldier and a Rifleman, and it was hardly reasonable to expect that they would never lose anyone.

"Baggage is only things. It's more important to be alive," he added, watching the dancing orange flames of the small fire. "I'll take the stuff to the captain, if you want. You ought to get some sleep while you can, Missis. It's bin a bit of a long day, for all of us."

"Captain was there with us. It was after Joe Cavender brought him when I was with Captain Blackwood." She was starting to forget what she had and had not already explained, but it didn't seem to matter. "Nah, I'll wait for them officers to leave. I have to wash his shirt. It's all bloody."

"I'm sure his shirt can wait for a bit, you're half asleep as it is," Roper pointed out. Besides which, if the Captain had lost his baggage, he didn't have a spare shirt to wear while it dried, and putting it on damp wouldn't be healthy.

He poked a stick into the fire and wished again that he'd been taken instead of Cotton.

Maggie nodded absently, but she was not listening to Roper. She was listening instead to the officers conversing nearby. Lieutenant Sharpe was giving his report to Vickery and the other men gathered around him, and she heard her husband's name. Cotton, he had said. She was so completely drawn into their conversation that she forgot herself, forgot her place, and wanted nothing more than to turn their conversation back to Gabe. So much so that she stood and blurted out something before she realized what she was doing. Then, mortified, she turned and ran from the fire.

Roper opened his mouth to call after her, and closed it again without saying anything. The only person who could help her, comfort her, wasn't here.

He sighed and picked his mug up. She had dropped it as she'd scrambled up, and there was nothing left in it. He up-ended it to let the last few drops drip out and uncorked his canteen, threading the string of the cork through the handle to let the mug hang there, within easy reach.

Now that he was sitting down, Blackwood felt the worst of the heavy guilt settling about him like a leaden cloak. It had been a miserable couple of days. He was still smarting from the consequences of his own bad judgment the day before and with this new calamity heaped upon that... he prodded at a half-buried stone on the roadside and sighed.

There was no point in wallowing in self-pity but for the moment, he couldn't help it and hardly cared. He was being left to his own devices this evening, it seemed, and that suited him fine. So much the better to collect his thoughts and shore up his sense of purpose. Hopefully.

The normal bustle of the army in camp swirled on around him unnoticed. Blackwood brushed at a swath of caked mud on his hat and paid none of it any mind. If he was wanted, someone would seek him out. If not, he would happily - or at least readily - spend the night in this spot, undisturbed.

Vickery's side was still painful, but he felt easier now that his Company was back under his command. Well, most of it was, anyway - there were still men missing, of course: Cotton himself, Newbury and their newest recruit Pye, and some of the others as well, he thought.

He would have to see if the General or one of his staff was going to organise an exchange. Failing that, he would himself see if it would be possible to send Maggie through French lines so that she could be reunited with her husband - if she wanted to, and after everything that they had been through, he didn't think she would want to be separated from him any longer than she had to be.