Time for Tea, 11th June

Cotton nodded. "Well, Maggie an' me was friends for ages afore I started thinkin' I'd like to walk out with her." He couldn't say anything about whether Lucy deserved a finer man than Pye or not - he didn't know the girl, and he wasn't entirely sure he really knew the boy any more.

"Kids - boys - are like that." Cotton shrugged. "Young Cavender ain't, so much, but he's bin follerin' the Army since I dunno when. An' he'm older'n your Davy, an' all."

"But you two are different. You both love each other n' you've got much you can offer her. Ye'um respected too, and trusted." Much more than Pye felt he would ever again be. "An'..You'um a fine man, Cotton. I'm sorry I've done sumthing bad.. ter upset you.."

He averted his gaze to the fire again. "Davy's a good lad. I just wish... he'd take more care o' himself. Fer Lucy's sake."

"It wasn't allus like that," Cotton pointed out, lying back on the grass with an arm behind his head, staring up at the sky. "I'm only a farm labourer back home, me. Dunno how I got to be Captain Vick'ry's batman, an' I dunno how long I'll have the position, neither. If he gets killed afore this war's all done, I'll end up back workin' on the land again, an' that's a hard life for a woman, too."

"S' better n' beggin' out in t' streets.. or seein' a different man every day." He pointed out. "It's work.. but it ain't work a lass would choose fer herself if she had a choice." He glanced over at Gabriel, observing the man. "Vickery won't get killed. ..he's had his brush with death. He was spared. ...he can't get killed. He's one o' those men who'll live ter ol' age. You'll see."

And that would mean that with it, also Cotton's situation would keep if not improve. It was that simple in Pye's mind.

"I hope so, but I ain't sure - not knowin' the Captain like I do. Leads from the front, the Captain does, an' you'll find that out soon enough." It'd be nice, though, if he could be sure of keeping his position, and maybe getting taken on properly after the war was over.

"Reckon you'll have prospects yourself, lad, if you apply yourself." Quite what sort of prospects, Cotton couldn't say, however.

"Apply m'self how?..Wot' prospects, Cotton? I can't ever be an officer. Can't rise n' rank and I ain't t' sort o' batman material. I don't think." He paused. "Ter be that yer need ter be someone like you. Respectable..n' smart." He frowned. "..But'.... if you think so... wot' is it that yer think me prospects could be?.. Couse I ain't complainin' jus' sain' I don't see it." He smiled faintly. He saw it even less now.

"Captain ain't above promotin' folks he thinks can do a good job," Cotton said, with yet another shrug. "You keep your nose clean, don't go doin' anythin' else stupid an' learn your job as a Rifleman, mebbe learn to read an' write - you'm younger'n me, you ought to find it easier - an' you'll mebbe be surprised, one day."

"Su'prised by wot'?" Getting his nose clean would only need some scrubbing done, not doing stupid things was harder to achieve, but he could atleast attempt it, or get better at not getting found out, learning his job as a Rifleman was easiest as he meant to do that all along. He wanted to do best he could as a Rifleman so that needed little telling, to do right.

"Wot' could t' cap'n do?" He knew what he could not do. Well, he knew what Captain Vickery told him, he could not do, nothing more.

Cotton turned his head and looked up at Pye. "You might get to be Chosen Man one day - reckon that'd surprise you." He looked back up at the sky. "I wouldn't, though." His voice took on a slightly sing-song tone. "No non-commissioned officer is on any account to be permitted to act as an officer's servant."

"...couldn' t' captain make an exception for you?...Or make you a Chosen man an' not a batman fer t' time bein'?" Pye thought that Cotton would have become one at that very moment, should a sensible person be asked about this being deserved. though perhaps he did not know how much was expected of a Chosen man and what he was entitled to do before becoming one. "...Gabe... other n'.... not bein' an officer's servant.... which yer can be changed from......wot' uh... wot' is all that's required ter be even chosen ter be Chosen?" Gabriel was correct. Becoming something like that, even now not quite sure what it meant, would still have surprised the lad a lot.

"That's King's Regulations, that is," Cotton replied, idly reaching for a stalk of grass growing nearby, and picking it. "I've got used to bein' his batman, though. Don't think I'd want to do the other instead."

He rolled over onto his side, slightly surprised that he could lie on his back without it hurting - and when had it stopped hurting? He wasn't sure.

"Chosen Man's kind of like a Lance Corp'ral in your old regiment. It's a Rifleman who's basic'lly bein' watched, to see if he'd make a good Corp'ral or not. They have a squad of eight men or somethin' like - Tom Roper's in charge or our mess, bein' as we'm all English in it."

He began stripping the dry sheath from the stalk of grass he was holding. "You need to know your duties as a Rifleman, to be a good shot, to be able to act responsibly. That sort of thing."

"Oh." He remembered the last time, not too long ago, when he had about eight men to drag across the woods trying to convince them that going back was a daft idea, that they ought to escape at all. It was not a too pleasant an experience. Then again, he had not played an exact role, there was another man, of higher rank than him.. a mere rifleman.

He had just done a small part in the escape. "..I dunno. It sounds like hard work..." He murmured. "N'.. when people don' lissen to you. 's it even worth it?"

"Oh, they listen. Because it is a rank, really - even gettin' the cord is a promotion. There's a bit more pay goes with it an' all." He stuck the peeled stalk into the corner of his mouth and laced his fingers behind his head, lying back again.

"..Oh." He thought about it again and shook his head. He could do all of what he was asked, but he could not expect to end the war - if alive - as more than he was now. He could try to learn and study all he wanted.

"s' nice ter get more pay." Said a lad, who had most of his delivered for a friend's young ones and knew poorly what to do with the rest. "I think." he said more truthfully. He knew more pay meant a possibility of a better life, better food certainly, it was the keeping of it that was somewhat harder. "Do yer get more as a batman too?"

He nodded, gazing up at the deep blue of the vast sky above them. "I gets an extra shillin' a week for runnin' round after the Captain," he answered. "Comes in useful - 'specially now I've got Maggie."

"It does. Um...Cotton. How do you know how much.... "The boy became quiet then. How embarrassing would it be to ask it though?He shook his head sharply and lowered his gaze. "Nevermind..a shilling's extra's a good'un for miss Maggie too, ain't it? Glad t' cap'n has you as a batman. Couldn't pick a better'un. You's always there fer 'im an' jus' know wot' he wants and when and where!"

He turned his head to look at Pye. "How do I know how much what?" he asked, before laying his head down again.

It had been about a month since his flogging, he thought, though it didn't seem like it. He wasn't quite sure if it felt longer than a month, or shorter. Certainly, a lot had happened in that month - he'd got married, been taken prisoner by the French, and escaped...

"I wouldn't say I allus know ezackly what he wants, or when," he said, chewing the stalk of grass thoughtfully. "I'm only human. So's he, o' course. An' I make mistakes, an' he'm got a bit of a temper when things ain't ezackly how he'd like 'em, times."

"Capn' Vickery... a temper? You's not talkin' about t' same man!" Pye shook his head. Of course his infrequent experience could not compare at all with that of Cotton, who had been with the captain for most of his time , any time certainly when he was needed. Morning, day, evening and perhaps even night.

"..Can't 'ave it. Even now, that 'es been injured." The boy shook his head and decided not to ask about that after all. Better than appear all too ignorant of the dealings of money, when he was not at all ignorant about the stealing part.

Cotton shrugged. "He don't let folks see it, usu'lly, if'n he can help. He's all right though, really - an' I know when to tread careful with him, b'now." He brought one arm over his face, resting the crook of his elbow on his forehead, to give himself a bit of shade. "He's mostly over his wound now, I think - or least, he'm trying to show he is, which ain't the same thing. He'm bin a bit shorter-tempered 'n usual, waitin' to get back to bein' prop'ly fit."

"I understand how 'e feels, and I think yer do to, and Newbury..if'n you'r a right kind of lad, then being kept back from your duties an' in pain's a right.. well pain." He studied his hand thoughtfully. The one needed proper healing before he could fight again, but he was determined to have the fingers do its job. No matter what he needed to do for them to do so.

"T' captain...he'll see things right. He always does." He leaned back a bit until he found a comfortable position and from there he gazed at the sky as well.

"Mmhmm," Cotton murmured in agreement. "Y'know, he'm the first gentleman I ever really spent time with - spoke to the Squire an' that, times, but he never really had anythin' to do with me. Captain's diff'rent. Think he's an Hon'rable, too - means he's higher up than the Squire was. But he don't go makin' a fuss about it or anythin', jus' gets on with things."

He turned his head to look across at Pye. "How's your fingers doin'?"

"He mus' have a large 'ouse he lives in back home. N'..I bet he has lots of horses and lots of windows and doors and rooms..." Pye turned quiet and tried flexing his fingers some. "....They are.. on the mend." He murmured with more confidence than he felt. "I'll be able ter fire in no time.. A week or so.. I'm sure of it." He averted his gaze towards Cotton. "...if you'll let me learn more from you."

"Reckon so... he'm worth five hundred pound a year, I think," Cotton replied, trying to imagine what that sort of wealth would look like. He fell silent for a moment.

"Reckon you'll get you own partner soon, then you won't need to learn any more from me," he said after a pause. He didn't know whether he could teach Pye after what the lad had done to him. Pye might be able to trust him, but he didn't know any more whether he could trust Pye.

"..doubt that." Pye looked up with a frown, searching for shapes in the clouds, and for clouds that would betray the weather for the next day, or their present one. "...But..I'll understand." He left the rest unspoken and rolled onto his side, resting his injured hand on the arm of his other, allowing the chick to run about freely. The little fluff hopped up to him, chirped right into his cheek, bumped her head against it and then scampered to see if the other man had any food for her. She knew he had before. Something in those pockets that would satisfy her little tummy.

"You'll understand what?" Cotton enquired, turning his head to come nose-to-beak with Pye's fluffball of a chick. He fumbled a hand down to his breadbag, wondering if he had any grain or anything in there for her.