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

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.