10th July, late evening; A surgeon's summons

"Kicking...?" That stirred a memory. "Did you see his face at all?"

Chances were, the answer to that question would be 'no'. "Or did you see his jacket - do you know what regiment he was from?"

"He's from the Thirty-third." Mayden managed, somehow, to keep the hate from his voice. Perhaps he was too tired. "How's Jack doin', sir?"

He would be!

Vickery had dreaded the next question. "The surgeon doesn't think he's going to make it; I'm just going to check on him now."

Mayden's head came up sharply, but just as swiftly his shoulders slumped. It was really no surprise. That redcoat bastard had gotten Jack too well.

At the back of the waggon, Todd tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a grimace.

"I am sorry." He paused. "I will come and see you again once I've seen him - if there is anything I can do, please let me know." He straightened. His knees and feet protested a little; he was not used to crouching, especially in boots.

It was a bit late to be asking any officer, never mind this one, for favours, so Mayden just grunted in reply. He gazed sightlessly off into the night and wondered if they'd have been better off doing a bunk properly, instead of hanging about waiting for trouble. What the hell had Jack been thinking?

~

Todd waited uneasily round the back of the waggon, aware that his deceit was about to revealed. It didn't make him feel any better about the situation. "Sir," he began, then faltered.

Vickery grasped Mayden's shoulder for a brief moment, before turning to the surgeon.

"Mister Todd," he said. "How is the other man?"

How is he, indeed.

"Gone, sir," the surgeon answered eventually in a low voice. "He was... already dead when his mate brought him to me."

Vickery closed his eyes momentarily. His first thought - "And you could not have told me earlier?" - died unspoken; it sounded too accusatory by far. And Vickery was not an officer who was happy to abuse his position to make others feel bad.

"How? I mean, what was the immediate cause of death?" he asked, keeping his voice low, mentally running through the likely candidates: a knife wound or similar would be most likely. "Did you know there was a third man involved?" he added, wishing it was not so dark and that he could see Mister Todd's face a little better.

This was an easier question to answer. Barely. "A wound under the armpit, most likely from a bayonet, as the weapon used was sufficiently long enough to pierce his heart." Todd sighed. "Unless that lad there is being completely mistruthful, I should indeed expect a third man to be involved."

"A bayonet? Not a sword-bayonet?" If it was one of the triangular-sectioned bayonets carried by the Line, that confirmed it.

"I don't suppose the perpetrator hung about for long after inflicting that, though," he added, a little sourly. Why did it keep coming down to the Rifles against the Line infantry?

"Isn't it enough that we have to fight the French without having enemies among our own army?" he said, more to himself than the surgeon.

Todd hesitated, then shrugged. "I could not speak to what sort of bayonet it was, but it could only have been a long blade to cause such an injury. Not a sword as officers carry, however."

He thought it best to pretend not to hear Vickery's other remarks and accordingly gave no sign that he had.

"What makes you say it was not something like an officer's sword?" Vickery asked curiously, adjusting the hang of his own as he spoke.

"It would have gone a good deal deeper than a bayonet," Todd explained, his voice still lowered. "Likely would have exited the opposite side, I should think."

"What about a sword bayonet? They're a good two feet long," he indicated the length with his hands as he spoke. "Would that have done likewise?"

This caused Todd to think for a moment, before shaking his head. "It's possible, but that would be the longest likely weapon used. Anyone with a sword would not have needed to strike under the armpit - indeed, it would have been a difficult thing to manage."

"It would surely be hard to conceal a sword-bayonet long enough to make such a thrust. And, in drawing it from its scabbard, the most logical trajectory would have been much lower down." He sighed. "That is, of course, if they were both standing, facing one another. Was he injured in any other way, at all?"

"No, he was not. Aside from his broken wrist, that is." Todd let out a long breath. "I would surmise that the unlucky fellow was on his feet, or at least above his opponent, when the fatal blow was struck."

Vickery nodded. "I shall arrange a burial party for tomorrow morning. Now, have you seen to Mayden - apart from letting him use one of your blankets? I presume he is carrying injuries of his own - he mentioned being kicked rather heavily, several times."

"I have. He's got some bruises about his torso and head, as well as the two slashes, but he'll recover well enough from those."

It might be that Mayden would recover from his wounds only to end up with an appointment with the hangman's noose, Vickery thought sourly, wishing that the man had had the sense either to get well away from the Army, or - (preferably) that he'd stayed with the Rifles and not got himself into this scrape in the first place.

"I need to speak with him again. Has he eaten since he turned up here with his... companion?"

Todd shook his head. "He's refused."

Somehow, Vickery wasn't surprised. "Would you be kind enough to have someone make him something? If I can't persuade him to eat, I daresay someone else will eat it." He smiled. "You have been very helpful, Mister Todd, and I thank you. Now, if you will excuse me again, I think I have a few more questions for him."

"Of course," said Todd, inclining his head. He was sure the lads from the Twenty-seventh wouldn't object to a meal, or at least sharing one, should the Rifleman again refuse to eat.

"Thank you," Vickery said again, unnecessarily, and went to find Mayden again.

"Right," he said, crouching down beside him again, and hoping that he wouldn't end up with cramp or something before he had an idea of how to proceed after this. "I am very sorry to have to tell you that Kirridge did not make it, although you did the best for him that you could, in the circumstances."