Time for Tea, 11th June

"..I know. Though...if it 'elps. I never did betray t' rifles..n' wos' I to be demanded ter do that, I'd rather be dead..than do." He turned away then and bit his lip. What else could he say. His friendship with Cotton had been lost. Their freedom had had a great price that needed to be paid.

"...Thank ye fer wot' 'elp you gave me till now, Gabe. It was...good." Almost like saying good bye.

Cotton sighed. "Pye. Just promise me... Swear, by whatever you hold dear, that you never meant to desert, that it was just an act. Swear it!"

Pye turned his eyes on Cotton, not averting his gaze after, which was common when he was nervous or when he was perhaps speaking something as a partial lie. He wanted for Cotton to see his face, be able to study his eyes, if he so desired, and see that he was honest in what he would say. First he nodded and then: ".. I swear to you, Gabriel Cotton, on m' chick's life.. and on mine.. an I swear on everythin' that I hold close t' me heart...swear it on Lucy and Davy, and on t' friendship we had, before this occasion that t' thought o' deserting has not crossed my mind when I asked to take on the French coat. I swear too, that it had been solely an act, which, even though it was such, I had still disliked doing... but did it for the benefit of my friends."

He was quiet again , but still held his gaze there, vulnerable perhaps, honest certainly, open for the scrunity, and willing himself to remain so.

Cotton let out a long quiet sigh, feeling the tension and strain melt out him with the exhalation.

"All right. I believe you. But if you ever do anythin' like that again..."

It had surprised him, the whole list of things that Pye was prepared to swear by, including their old friendship. He had had no idea that it had meant that much to the young lad.

"We're even, then. Just... don't go gettin' in any more trouble. Don't even look like you might be thinkin' of gettin' in any more trouble." He shifted his position a little. "Captain's given you a second chance. If you screw it up, he'll have you up in front of him on a charge so fast your head'll spin. So don't go gettin' in any more trouble, all right?"

"Gabriel..Cotton. I will do m' best not t' get in trouble. I will not do somethin' of t' sort again. That's a certain. Not unless Captain Vickery hisself tells me to." He relaxed just a little. The fact that Gabriel was willing to accept him, and perhaps to attempt at least, to trust him again, if not in full was enough to make him hope for the better. And then after Cotton had 'threatened' him with the 'charge' if he was to go get in trouble, it was that, that he had to say in answer to it.

"I don't want t' displease t' captain, Gabe. You know that." But if trouble looked for him and he could not avoid it? He hoped trouble had enough of his company, as he did not want to make neither his friends, nor his superior gray before their time.

"Well, that's all right then, I s'pose. Anythin' else you want to say to me?" He wiped his hands on his trousers, brushing the dirt off them. It seemed Pye was as much in awe of the Captain as ever, which, strangely, went a long way to relieving Cotton's mind as to the lad's loyalty.

"Only.. thank you fer not killin' m' chick when we were marchin' back." He hesitated and lowered his gaze. "...Cotton..what ..happens now?..Will you hate me...fer ..fer all time?"

"Couldn't do that. Not enough meat on her for one thing." He scrubbed at his face with his hands, suddenly feeling very old and very tired. "I don't hate you at all, lad. I just... I can't understand why anyone would want to do what you done, even to help his mates. But I don't hate you." He dropped his hands to his lap again and looked at Pye. "If I didn't hate you when you joined us, I don't hate you now. So don't go thinkin' like that, or, I don't know. you'll get me in trouble with the Captain. An' I really would hate you then."

"I would not want t' get you in trouble with him.. Cotton." Pye shook his head vigorously. He felt so light now, so happy, so relaxed. Cotton had said he not feel such ill feelings towards him. It was enough to want to celebrate.

"You're his batman, he should only be happy 'bout you. No trouble." He nodded quickly again then managed a smile. "M' sorry. Fer t' stuff that wasn't good.. m' sorry."

"It's... all right, Pye." Cotton just felt tired, bone-tired. He didn't know any more how to keep the lad out of trouble, or how to teach him about the Rifles, or how to explain the gut-wrenching feeling that Cotton had when he saw the boy in French uniform and just knew that everything he, Cotton, had ever said or done had been thrown away and spat on.

An apology couldn't make that right. Could never make that right. But maybe it was a start. And Cotton had his own part to play in whether they could put it behind them. If he wanted to.

Did he want to? He wasn't sure, but not trying would be worse, almost. He sighed, and made his decision.

"Got any tea there, Pye?" he asked, still unable to call him 'Zack' or even 'mate' as he would other Riflemen. But it was a start.

Pye was eager to share all that was his, even if that was very little, and to please the other man best he could. He wished to put it all behind them but knew that although good steps were taken in the direction, it they were far from crossing that line. "I do. How much d' ye need?" He shuffled to his knapsack, which he was very quickly emptying of his supplies.

He winced when his hurry had caused some disturbing of his injury. It hurt, but it was very quickly ignored. He just made sure that he was not causing it any further injury that he might regret noticing too late.

"Only half a handful, if that - jus' enough for a cup o' tea," Cotton replied, shrugging. "Ain't 'spectin' you to use yourn though. Here." He dug in his own new cartridge pouch - the leather was stiff and new and still a little unforgiving - to find his own small stock of tea-leaves.

"I wouldn' mind." The rifles have been giving enough in the past. His own knapsack was still the French one he had gotten and since it was much more comfortable, kept. " Will it ...ever be like it wos' again, Cotton?" He asked.

Poking a stick at the ground he added: "..How's Maggie? She mus' be thrilled ter have you safe n' around again. Rightly so."

Cotton sighed quietly. How could it ever be the same again, after everything that had happened? "I don't know," he said simply. "Mebbe. I jus' don't know." He looked up and smiled fondly at the mention of Maggie. "Ah, she'm grand, jus' grand." What had happened between the two of them was nobody else's business but theirs, though. "It... hurt, not bein' able to tell her I was all right - she was proper frettin'." Just as he had when she had not been there that morning in Coimbra.

"Mus've been." Pye agreed. This, the fond smile and the happiness at the reunion with his wife, made the past efforts at escape all worth it. It was one of the reasons it had to have been done quicker, successful. Maggie would never have forgiven him, if Gabriel Cotton would have died in the attempt at the escape. Never.

"I think is' worse not knowin'. Knowin' somebody's dead makes yer sad, but 'tleast you know and yer can live on, heal." Not that he had much experience in that. "But.. not knowin'.. makes yer worry." That he would. If something had happened to his friends, of which he had so few, he would worry and wish to be able do something to help them.

"'d have ter tell.." Though he didn't think he exactly dared go to them alone. "t' others I am sorry I'd had to ..lie ter them 'bout their sweethearts waiting.. t' real, human ones.., but they were actin' irrational." You just did not run away with something that could endanger your means of escape. Old street rules, and presently, to him, just common sense. "There's no way we could'a taken them with us. First'..we'd get caught tryin' ter free 'em. Second...They'd..slow us down an' they may be lasses marchin' with t' army. But marchin' ter escape ain't t' same as marchin' with a full belly." He shook his head , frowning. "We nearly got caught 'couse o' all t' bickerin'....bickerin' in t' camp no less!"

"Mebbe it ain't all lost with 'em, though," Cotton said slowly, speaking his thoughts aloud. "I heard stories about the Frogs sendin' the womenfolk they'd taken afore Corunna back to the Army jus' afore the battle, so's they could get home with their menfolk."

But would they send Jenny Ross and the others back to the British now? It would certainly be easier than feeding them themselves, and it wasn't as though keeping them would deprive the British of manpower, after all.

"I wasn't told whether t' women would be sent back and... regretfully I could not understand wot' they was talking.. what with me not understanding their language"

He did feel guilty at not bringing the women back. He had thought about it. Mulled over his chances, their chances. He had felt even more sad for the women that were Portuguese as their lives were marginally worse than that of the English womenfolk. But, what he could try, he could not do miracles yet and thus they walked without them.

"M' sorry." He murmured. He knew they could say that because he had no woman he could not know how hard it was to part from one.

"Ain't anybody's fault but the Frogs, that ain't," Cotton pointed out. "Anyhow, women what follow the Army are about as tough as they come - ain't anyone tougher." He chuckled. "Not even us menfolk - though don't you go tellin' anyone I said that. You'll have a lass of your own one day, an' then you'll see."

"Women may be tough but they're still women. And.. if you say they are so much work, I'd rather not know one." He shook his head with a scoff. " Mind, ter know a woman you need ter be able ter offer her something. And I don't have much I can offer one lass. It wouldn' be fair ter take 'er and then.. have her go hungry n' starved n' poor when she can get better elseway's. S' wot every lass deserves." He shrugged his shoulders and looked thoughtful. " You know Lucy, do ye?.. I hope she finds herself a real good man. Not a brute but someone who'll have her life one o'.. well good life fer sure. That be good for her and Davy."

"Don't think I said they was work, Pye," Cotton replied, adding some more sticks to the fire. He shrugged. He maybe had more to offer Maggie than Pye could offer a lass, but that shouldn't stop the boy, if he wanted a girl.

"No, I don't know Lucy. You tell me a bit about her, then."

"She's a nice lass. Can be a bit quiet at times. She's been alright after a while though. We's been talkin' an.. I tell you she's scary sometimes. She's been upset with me once.. n'.. "He shook his head. "She's not all timid mouse what you think her be!" He smiled. "She's the lass t' lad Davy's with. "

He tilted his head to the side pausing in thought. "You know Davy, do ye? Hmm.. Think he'd skulked about a bit..." That made him remember that the boy had been hurt and this in turn made Pye bite his lip in a frown and a heavy sigh. He ought to have protected the lad, but instead the lad was trying to help him!

After what felt like a life time he began again, more quietly: "He isn't her son though. She's too young fer that. Well, that is, I think she is, couse she looks young." He frowned. He knew some things about her and yet some she did not even know herself. "You.. you ought ter have seen her. Summat Skinny , brown hair, pale."

"Davy's courtin' her?" Cotton asked, then nodded in understanding as Pye clarified his meaning. "Oh. Think I met him - that day we was lookin' for you."

"D'you like Lucy, then?" he asked, though he couldn't work out Pye's feelings for her from his sparse description.

"Oh no, Davy's her brother. "He could not have said more, his eyes downcast. He had been looking for him. He'd got the lad in trouble where he could get hurt, and the boy still had been looking for him. He felt responsible but glad that Davy was not that bad. That he was alive and fairly well if he was going about.

"..Lucy..?" He blinked, so lost in his thoughts that he did not catch the first part of the question. "Wot' did ye say?" He asked adjusting his shirt.

"I axed if you liked her. Meanin', well, would you court her?" He grinned. "If Davy's the young limb I think he is, he done his best by you - thought we was goin' to get you in trouble or summat. He never give you away." Though why he should care what Pye thought about some kid, Cotton couldn't say.

Pye's cheeks coloured and he shook his head sharply, left and right. "She's a friend!" He exclaimed and then more quietly. "She deserves t' finest man.. that's wot' I know off. An' I hope that fer her. Couse.." He had a good opinion of her and would have told off or even thump anyone daring to suggest she was a - no good for nothing or worse - girl.

" 'couse she's deservin' of it." He thought of Davy and looked glad, grateful and then sad that the boy had to do it at all. "'e's a good lad too. Smart if not always in t' right way. Brave as a lion.. he is." If only the boy knew he was not strong as an ox.