Third night in camp

As soon as she realized they were stopping, Maggie rushed up the column, abandoning her donkey to one of the other women and running along the road, running all the way to where the 60th were. She was out of breath and spattered with mud all over when she finally saw their green jackets, and then she was suddenly afraid. What would Cotton say to her? Maybe he wouldn't even want to speak to her. It was all her fault, and he would probably be punished for it. He would have every right to be angry.

But she had run all this way desperate to see him, and she couldn't turn back now because there he was, looking at her.

Cotton was looking back along the road. He didn't know why he was looking for Maggie, only that he needed to see her. And there she was, muddy, breathless and looking nervous.

Why's she looking so a-feared? he wondered, before realising with a jolt that she was nervous of him, of what he would say to her.

"Maggie, lass," he said, feeling tired.

She felt sick. "Oh Gabe. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" She covered her mouth with her hands and shook her head, her eyes filling with tears now that she was face to face with him. Although she wanted to rush to him and hold him, she held herself back. She knew she wouldn't be able to bear it if he pulled away in disgust.

"Oh -" He didn't know what to say to her. "Don'... don' cry, Maggie. Please."

He took a step forwards, not knowing what to do or say, and gathered her in his arms. "It'll be all right, only don' cry."

He held her while she cried herself out. "I... Oh, Maggie. I don't know why you want me, I really don't, lass. I ain't good enough for you."

She hadn't even realized she was crying, but yes of course she was. The sobs came in quick and desperate gasps, so much so that she felt lightheaded from the upset breathing. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she kept repeating, holding him tight.

"Oh, Maggie. Don't be sorry, please."

He held her tight, stroking her hair. "I was... I was a-feared you wouldn't want me any more. That you'd go off and find yourself someone else, who wasn't going to get in trouble a-cause some sergeant in another regiment's took a set agin him."

She was scarcely hearing a word he said, but she did realize that he didn't blame her even though she still blamed herself. She clung to him, perfectly desperate with relief. He had feared she wouldn't want him anymore? "No, no no," she muttered into his shoulder, shaking her head.

"Maggie, sweeting, why d'you want me? I ain't no good for you, not if'n they flog me. An' they will." He looked up to see Vickery approaching. The officer looked distracted but seeing them together, he shook his head and paused, smiling slightly before turning away again.

Cotton was still holding Maggie, who was clinging to him as if she was drowning. He sighed, smoothing her hair and rocking her slightly. "I dunno why you took up with me, but I'm glad you did. And if'n you want to go an' find another man, I won't blame you f'r it, lass, I promise." Though it would fair break his heart if she did.

"Flog you?" she cried, looking up at his face. She shook her head soberly, firmly. "No. No, they won't. They will not flog you." She held him even tighter against her pounding heart, as if to prevent them from prying him away. She was barely listening to the rest of what he said. It didn't seem important right now. "You're my man," she said simply.

Rumours about the incident had filtered back through the column all day, distracting the men from the discomfort of their wet boots and trousers, and the ache in every back that increased as the rain soaked into coats and blankets.

Williams heard it first before the midday break, but it was about a lad in the 62nd being done for robbery. Not something for him to worry about. It was not until they reached the night's camping ground that various different versions began to coalesce, and he heard a name he recognized. "Vickery?" he asked. "This is Vickery's servant who's due a flogging?"

"What's it to you, Williams? He's a rifleman, not one of ours."

But Williams remembered a mug with brandy, when he needed it, and got back up to his feet. "I'll probably eat out tonight, lads," he said to the rest of his mess. "You can have my share."

He headed for the area set aside for the single company of the 5/60th that marched with them. When he arrived he looked round for his friend Cotton and saw him easily enough, with that pretty young thing Maggie wrapped round him as if to shield him from harm. Aware that just at the moment his red coat made him unpopular he was just about to leave again.

Cotton had his arms wrapped round Maggie tight, almost afraid to let go of her. "Oh, Maggie, my girl. My woman, sweeting. It'll be all right, it will."

He saw a movement from the corner of his eye and looked up to see Private Williams, of the 27th. The Private looked unsure of himself, as if he was about to leave.

"Maggie, lass, would you 'scuse me for a moment? Looks like I've got a friend come to see me."

She reluctantly unwrapped her arms and let him step away to speak to Williams. She remembered Williams from the tavern in Lisbon, and she gave him an acknowledging nod. She didn't have the fortitude to muster a smile. A little ways off she spotted Vickery who also seemed to be waiting to speak to Cotton.

She felt a sense of dread wondering what he would decide - or what he may have already decided based on his talk with Waldegrave.

Cotton had seen him though and had released Maggie. She looked desperately unhappy. It looked as if it was true then. "What's up, Cotton? They can't be serious, can they?"

Cotton nodded. "Some bastard planted a watch in Captain Vickery's baggage, an' I found it. And o' course they think I took the thing." He didn't think he needed to mention the name of the bastard in question.

This was something he and Cotton had half-expected - an attempt to frame Cotton just as Hakeswill had framed him. And it was going to court martial, but Cotton wouldn't have Captain Padstowe to defend him. "Does your officer believe you took it? Or will he really put his heart into defending you? Because ... One of the officers' watches, I suppose. What does he say about it?"

"Not just any officer's watch. Captain Padstowe's watch. And me officer knows I didn't take it. It's just that, well, we got to convince a bunch of redcoat officers I didn't take it. No offence meant, o' course, mate."

He shrugged. "Looks like they want to do me for takin' it out o' where I found it, even though I wanted to tell the Captain. And i weren't even me they found holdin' it, but Maggie." He shook his head. "It's a bloody mess, is what it is, mate."

While they were talking, Maggie cautiously approached Captain Vickery, quickly wiping the tears and the mud from her face as best she could. "Captain Vickery, sir? What's going to happen to Gabe - to Rifleman Cotton, sir?"

Vickery looked at her, a sad look in his grey eyes.

"He's in trouble, Maggie. Colonel Edrington wants him court-martialed for having stolen goods in his possession, and that will mean a flogging, although I will do my best for him. It doesn't look good, though."

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. Court-martialed? Colonel Edrington being involved now? And a flogging? Her voice was almost a whisper. "But - he didn't steal it. Someone else did. Sir. Why, he said that Captain Padstowe isn't even here on the march. How could he have stolen his watch?"

Vickery sighed. "Captain Padstowe was mugged the night before we left Lisbon, and whoever did it took his watch. I don't believe Cotton did it, but I have to convince a group of redcoat officers that he is neither a thief, nor a liar, and would not dream of attacking an officer in the dark like that."

This was news that Maggie had not heard before. She was still processing the information in shock when Vickery abruptly turned away.

Vickery did not want to do this, but felt he owed it to the man to do this himself instead of delegating it to one of his Lieutenants, or even to a Sergeant. He was a little annoyed to realise that this would be witnessed by a redcoat Private. Thankfully, the man was wearing the facings of the 27th, not those of the 62nd.

"Rifleman Cotton," he said.

Cotton turned, frowning at the unaccustomed mode of address Vickery had used. "Sir?"

"I am placing you under arrest for stealing an officer's pocket watch. You are due on trial in an hour at Battalion Headquarters of the 62nd." He sighed. "You will give me your rifle and swordbelt, please."

Cotton blinked, swallowed and numbly unclasped his waist-belt with the sword-bayonet for his Baker rifle, passing them, belt, sword, rifle and all to the officer, whose eyes gave away nothing of what he was feeling.

Maggie choked out a sound between a gasp and a sob and she stood frozen to the spot for a moment, staring at Vickery and Cotton. But when Cotton handed off his belt and bayonet, she rushed to him and grasped his hand. "Oh Gabe, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped, kissing him urgently on his cheek and refusing to release him.

"Would you... would you give us a moment, please, sir?" Cotton asked. Vickery nodded and withdrew a couple of paces.

"Maggie, lass," he began, feeling wretched. "Please, be brave for me, sweeting. I forgive you, but it weren't your fault, lass, I promise."

She nodded, unable to speak. She looked down at his hand still held in both of her own, and she kissed it too before he finally, reluctantly pulled it away.

"Gabe!" she cried out, just once as he walked away.