11 June; The batman's trade

"Um. T-town, I think." Martin thought of home with no small feeling of distaste, but he was no country man. "B-but not London."

Maggie approached the group with her own little kettle which she set down on the fire. "Gable Cotton, did I just see you with your trousers taking off? Hello," she added briefly, nodding to the others. "What would your captain think, seeing you like that in broad daylight?"

Cotton looked up, going pink as he realised that Maggie had seen it all. "You done that, lass. Managed to tear 'em sittin' down - Martin here was good enough to sew 'em up for me." He would ask her to take a look at the stitching, later when Martin wasn't around to hear his needlework discussed.

He shrugged. "Dunno. He ain't seen me like it in broad daylight - nor any other sort o' light neither - an' won't, never, not if I can help it!"

Another new face and this one a woman's. Martin's neck flamed hot and he dropped his gaze to his hands. Further words would be difficult to form, never mind speak.

"Martin?" Maggie repeated. She looked at the other rifleman apologetically. "Is that your name? I been callin' you Mayden."

What? "It is Mayden," the Rifleman replied, a little surprised. He looked dismissively at the Guardsman. "That'n's Martin."

"This's me wife, Maggie," Cotton said, grinning up at her. "Best woman in the world she is. Reckon I'm the luckiest man, an' all."

"Oh!" Mayden corrected her and now it was Maggie's turn to blush. "Sorry. Not too good with names." She settled herself next to her husband and smiled at the redcoated fellow. "Hello Martin. Second guards, is it?"

She was talking to him. To him. Oh Lord. Why?!

Martin opened his mouth to answer, his gaze firmly fixed on the mug he held, but then realised he would only make himself look stupid if he tried to speak. So he settled for a jerky sort of nod.

This Martin was not much for conversation, it seemed. "I met Captain Blackwood," she continued, for want of anything better to say. "He seems a good man."

Dear God, did they all know his captain? Martin made himself finish his tea, which was cold, and managed to squash a shiver. Courtesy demanded a response, but he was not at all confident he could give one. A coherent one, anyway.

"H-h-he's... a-a-all r-right." Good heavens but his voice almost failed him. Could this get any worse?

What he should do is disappear. Just melt away into the ground. That'd be nice.

The poor man was obviously uncomfortable with the subject. She tried to think of something else to say. "I have a friend who knows Lieutenant Woodmarsh." Not that Maggie knew much about him herself. What was there to say? "Woodmarsh. Black-wood, Wood-marsh. It must work for officers to have wood as part of their name. Like... Woodson, or Wedgewood."

"Must be only redcoats, then," Cotton put in. "'Cause Captain Vickery don't have a wood in his name."

The poor Guardsman looked as though he'd like to vanish down the nearest rabbit-hole. Cotton didn't think he'd ever met anyone quite so painfully shy, and wished he could think of something to say that might bring him out of his shell a little

"Wormwood?" Maggie goaded, smiling at Cotton.

"Wormwood?" Cotton asked, and chuckled. "Oh." He turned to Martin. "There was a court martial, not too long ago, an' I was a witness... and Mister Woodmarsh barged right into the middle of it. Your Colonel kept callin' him all sorts of things that wasn't quite his real name. Like... I think one of 'em was Woodlouse. An' Woodpecker was another'n."

Lieutenant Woodmarsh was a dandy, Martin thought. Not good for much except making himself a nuisance. Next to him, Captain Blackwood was a saint. Mostly.

"I-I-I heard a-about t-that." It had happened before he'd been moved into the Light Company. Even hearing about part of that mess gave him a firm feeling of distaste. The court-martial had involved Riflemen too, hadn't it...

"H-h-he wasn't m-my captain t-then, though."

So joking about Woodmarsh did nothing to ease his discomfort. Maggie searched her mind for something else to talk about. She was not sure why he was even here, but perhaps he had accompanied his officer on a visit to Captain Vickery. "Mister Woodmarsh's man seems like a decent fellow - Christian, I think he's called? And there's a Sergeant Burr, I think, who seems a good man. That's his name, right - Burr?"

He knew Christian, in passing. Or had at least met him before the other fellow got captured. He didn't know Sergeant Burr, however. Not personally. He'd heard about him plenty though.

"Y-yes. I k-know Christian a l-little."

It seemed like the general opinion was that the Light Company was filled with good men and decent fellows, which made Martin wonder if they were talking about the same company that he'd been drafted into.

"I've o-only heard a-about S-Sergeant Burr though."