Third night in camp

Carty nodded, hiccuping in his anguish. "Y-yes. Dun' steal 'less from enemy or you be dying of the hunger. Dun' get drunk 'less you say. Fight like an diabhal."

"Well, you keep those rules, and you won't get in trouble. And if anyone thinks they can have you flogged, he'll have to get through me first, like I said. And I won't have any one of my men flogged. All right?"

He smiled sadly. "Not, drink your tea, like Perkins said. And promise you'll tell me if this Lieutenant comes nosing round here, bothering any of you."

Vickery would have said that, Harris thought. But he did not say it, just looked from Sharpe to the boy who seemed to have attracted the redcoat's malice.

Carty nodded, clutching his cup of tea like a drowning man clutched at driftwood. He sniffed. "Thank you, Mister Sharpe."

Perkins grinned at his friend, relieved that Mister Sharpe had been so reassuring. Hopefully that would be that.

He turned around when he heard a woman telling another rifleman that she was looking for Lieutenant Sharpe. It was Cotton's Maggie. "Sir," he said, nodding in her direction.

Maggie, Cotton's girl. He wondered what it was she wanted from him now. He'd done his best, in speaking to the Colonel, and wasn't entirely sure that his best had worked, although Edrington had given him some reason to hope he'd let the lad off early.

He shook his head a little, brushed off his trousers and stood.

"You lookin' for me, lass?" he asked.

She nodded hesitantly.

"So, what can I do for you now, then?" he asked gently. This afternoon's trial must have taken a lot out of her, and tomorrow morning would probably be worse.

She took a shaky breath. "I wanted to ask you about... Sergeant Hakeswill, sir."

"Hakeswill?" He sighed and shook his head. "He's a nasty piece of work, lass. You want to keep as far away from him as you can."

"Do you think he's the one behind all of this? Gabe - my Cotton, you know - said something about a sergeant who disliked him, but I don't know why he would."

"I don't know the whole story, but as I understand it, Cotton went for a drink with some of his mates, and one of them was sweet on a barmaid in the tavern they went to. And when Sergeant Hakeswill showed up and started on her, the one who was sweet on her asked him not to, and Cotton backed him up. He don't like bein' thwarted, Hakeswill don't, so he got a down on both of 'em. And summat like this looks to me like it was done by Hakeswill. And there won't be no proof of it, 'cause there never is."

He sighed. "He's cunning, is what he is. Cunning and evil. Keep away from him if you can, lass. You and Cotton both."

She shifted her feet and looked down for a moment. "Well... I wondered if maybe I went to talk to him..."

"Hakeswill? No. Worst thing you could do, lass. He likes cusing men pain, and if he knows you'd do anything to stop your man bein' hurt, Hakeswill will make you do the 'anything'. And maybe still hurt your man. Best thing you can do is keep away from him and not let him know it hurts you."

He sighed. "I know. I've known him for nigh on sixteen years, and he's allus been like it. Don't risk any chance of being happy, because his demands'll only get worse if he knows you'll give in to 'em. And two hundred ain't so bad. It could be a lot worse, lass."

Her face was crumpling while he spoke, but she did her best to fight back the tears, looking down so he wouldn't see. "I just wish there was something I could do. It's my fault he's there and I just wish I could help!" Or endure some sort of physical suffering in his place as penance, instead of the anguished emotional suffering of guilt.

"Be brave for him, lass. Just be brave for him. He'll be all right, and you can't blame yourself for it." He looked at her, kindly, and untied his neckcloth to offer her, not having a handkerchief. "You might have made the suggestion, but he chose to follow it, and you can't blame yourself for that. I'm sure he doesn't."

She hung her head but accepted the neckcloth to wipe her eyes. "That's what they keep telling me. Be brave, and it's not my fault. But neither one-- I wish he'd never met me. I'm not brave and I only bring trouble to him, when he's so--" Here she was interrupted by a gasping sob, much to her shame. After a moment she regained her composure, though not her sense of dignity. "I'm sorry, lieutenant."

"It seems to me, lass, that f he thought you were trouble, or meant to get him in trouble, then you'd've been on trial right alongside him. But you weren't. He wants to protect you, and this is the only way he can. And would you really want for him to see you, a woman, get whipped? It might make you feel better, but it wouldn't make him feel anything but what you're feeling now, on top of what he's already feeling."

Sharpe wasn't good at comforting people, but he tried. He honestly thought, from what Stephen had said and the evidence of his own eyes, that Cotton cared deeply for Maggie, and he wondered that Maggie couldn't see how deep that care went.

She was silent for a long moment, staring at one of the fires nearby. Finally, she sighed and said, "He shouldn't." He shouldn't care for her, he shouldn't protect her, he shouldn't trust her. She calculated in her mind just how bad it could be trying to reason - or bargain - with Hakeswill, and just how bad it would feel to be whipped, and whether the perceived guilt of theft would be transferred to her if she ran away from the column tonight and never came back - or if she were found dead in the morning with a note of confession pinned to her skirt.

"Thank you for talking to me, lieutenant."

"I'm sorry, lass. I hope things work out between you. And if there's anything else I can do, let me know." He sighed, looking at her. So sad, she looked. "Cotton's strong, and healthy. He will be fine."

She lost control then, her face contracting painfully as she ducked her head down, down so he wouldn't see, and she finally turned completely away, giving him a vague wave of her hand.

He hadn't meant to make her cry.

"Here, lass," he said, awkwardly, putting an arm round her shoulders.

Her muscles tensed as he touched her. She refused to be comforted by a lieutenant, even one who seemed as decent a man as this. Private Williams' words had stung when he left her, and she had decided it would be better to cry alone than be comforted by another man if it made her look like a hussy. Cotton deserved better than that - better than her. She was not so rude as to pull away from Sharpe's arm, but she managed to regain control enough to tell him, "I'm fine - I'll be fine. I'm sorry."

"Good, I'm glad. You should try to get some sleep, if you can, before tomorrow."

Though whether she would be able to was doubtful.

She nodded wordlessly and gave him an attempted smile before turning away.