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

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."

The news was answered at first with a silence that stretched for nearly a minute. Mayden was staring unblinkingly into the dark past Captain Vickery's shoulder, his face devoid of expression. It almost seemed that he had not even heard.

"Am I under arrest then, sir?" He asked slowly. Stupid question, that. He was the only one of the two still alive to face court-martial for desertion and the inevitable outcome of such a trial. Arrest was really the least of his worries.

"No. Well, not officially, not yet. You were with the army still, after all. Even if you weren't precisely where you were supposed to be." The last was spoken very dryly.

Any trial would have to prove the intent to desert - probably not hard, seeing as the men had 'lost' their uniforms in someone's wagon somewhere. But it would be a much harder thing to prove because they had never actually gone anywhere.

There wasn't a whole lot to say in response to that, was there? "Yes, sir," said Mayden, tonelessly. Mister Sharpe was going to kill him when he found out about this. Of course, the army was likely going to beat him him to it. Maybe that was for the best.