Horseless horseman hampered

"Timothy Willoughby, at your service." He made a mock bow from where he was sitting. It was elegeant still, and seemed to come naturally.

"And the rest you already know." He grinned reaching up, and shaking the man's hand. "This here is..."He looked at Jose and remembered that the man only gave him his first name, so he looked to him awkwardly.

His interest was once again perked at the mention of the French cavalry and so it did not take much more than a moment that he was asking about it:"..How many?.. You say you found them.. so it means that none of your men did it?" He waited for a sign of aknowledgement and then continued:".. Do you know who did? Probably the Portguese, no? Wasn't any of us.. that's for sure." He looked at Jose.

(OOC - Adieu and have fun!)

Calderón suppressed a shiver. Dead French hussars... he remembered Esteban's accusation and felt horribly low. The young trooper Willoughby - it was a relief to know the boy's name at last - seemed greatly interested by the green-jacket's mention of French cavalry and questions were immediately forthcoming. Then, awfully, Willoughby looked at him as if to accuse him in much the same way as Esteban had. He returned the trooper's glance without expression and shrugged.

"I could not say who is responsible," he said blandly, though he knew very well who was. "Many things happen in open country."

He realised that his look was of done at an appropriate time to side with his words, for he could not feel this man could have been the culprit or the willing. His nature, as much of it as he had seen, just did not lean to the art of killing but rather picking away at what was left behind. A follower and to him, a kind humble aide.

His thoughts were confirmed by the man, and so he showed just recognition of his words, and no surprise. He nodded: "Not a pleasant place to be for a Frenchman." No matter which land, it was the civilians, the members of a village that a soldier of the enemy had to fear. The mob could do with a man, what no sane soldier would wish even on his worst enemy.

He felt that he needed to speak for himself, feeling guilt that he had made the man feel as if he were the accused:".. Jose.."For it was the name he knew, and wished to know it in full:"..Were I to offend you earlier with my poorly made timing, 'twas not at all my intention. Please, .. forgive me." He smiled, the green of his eyes brighter now, that he has regained his hope and his strength.

Cotton stood there, enjoying the sunshine, though clouds were gathering to the west, threatening rain again. It had been a strange day weatherwise; rain overnight followed by a brighter morning, but it looked to Cotton as though there was more rain on the way. He wished it'd make up its mind what it wanted to do.

"You've hurt your leg," he said to Willoughby, amused a little by the man's bow. He was obviously not of labouring stock like the Rifleman. Probably a tradesman's son or something, fallen on hard times and listed into the cavalry rather than the infantry as an attempt not to be thought of as scum, such as soldiers were generally considered in England.

"How did you hurt it? And have you looked at it since?" It must still be hurting enough to give him trouble walking, judging from the fact was being carried by the Portuguese man when Cotton had caught sight of them.

The look that greeted Cotton was, to say the least, haunted. The question brought back the memory of his fall and the injury his horse had sustained and then also of his death. So that he had to look from the man for a moment, to gather his thoughts and rein in his emotions. When he looked to the rifleman again, he seemed composed, if slightly tense.

"My horse had been injured and fell."He was curt."..It so happened I've had my leg in the least appropriate place at the time... though the mud may just have saved it from being shattered.." He touched his sabre, that was bent slightly and shrugged."...Bayard..."The horse whom he had ridden:"...his own was .."He breathed in sharply and steadied himself.

"..I woke later to see that others have left. And so, I have gotten my leg free."And with his horse's own broken and the horse close to death himself, there was little more that he could do.. but to aid him to his end.

"I haven't much had a chance to see it proper. ..Since the Frenchmen could have returned."He shrugged lightly. "My duty.. was to locate you.. or the First...So, here I am."

"Horses are wonderful things, and it's never easy to have to let them go like that," Cotton said, remembering how one of the cart-horses back home had once speared itself on a fencepost. Rusty had worked on the home farm longer than Cotton had, since before he was born even, and it had upset him immensely at the time.

He hoped the column would come up soon; he could take a look but he didn't have anything to splint or bandage the lad's leg with if that's what was needed.

"Indeed." He was mildly surprised that a rifleman could cherish the importance and beauty of horses. But it was clear that the statement had warmed Cotton up to the lad.

"..To us.. horses are.. more than just horses."He murmured, his smile faint and humourless.

"He was a fine creature, a true noble among his kind.." He looked flustered as he spoke, for it was something intimate to reveal one's feelings so openly over an animal that has just passed.
"..But I probably bore you..."He winced when he shifted his leg, the pressure always an enemy to the damaged. "..with the sentimentalities of a stranded Hussar." He shifted again, and leaned back gazing in the direction in which Cotton has pointed the troops to be.

"Are they far still?" His mind was forced to consider the present and with it the next set of events, which ever they may be.

"Shouldn't be too far off now." He glanced down at the road. "Looks like the Rifles are in sight already, so the rest won't be too far behind."

He looked back at the lad. "I worked on a farm afore I 'listed, though I wasn't a wagoner - y'know, lookin' after the horses - but I did work with them. Beautiful things, though not quite like your cavalry mounts." He grinned. "Blossom had a back as wide as a barn door; you couldn't sit astride her for long if'n you valued your manhood."

"I wondered where your affinity to them creatures has come from." He felt more glad, for the man understood without the need to explain. He glanced briefly to Jose and smiled. His 'human horse' as he could've been called in an endearing manner, but not out loud.. just in thought, was still there and his company as pleasant as it had been when he was carried across the land.

He hoped that he would not feel affronted by that look, that had been not meant as it was given. "And you have yet ridden her, as much as your.. "He hesitated:".. body allowed it?" Returning to the talk of horses and their pasts.

"Only tried the once. After that, I walked. Or sat up on top of the hay, goin' down to where they was buildin' the stack. But I like horses, a'right. After folks, they're the cleverest creatures in the world. Can't talk back and tell you they'm bored now, neither. But they'm good, clean, beautiful things." He shook his head, smiling. "I 'member Blossom used to put her head down so's you could get her collar on her. She knew, all right."

"Oh they may be unable to speak about their boredom, but they can surely show it." He smiled remembering how the impatient horses tried to move before they were told to, or stomped a front hoof right at the ground and shifted their weight pulling at the reins. No, they could not complain in word, but if they did iit in motion the officers were just as unwilling to understand who's fault it was.

"Horses know, and they are sure to feel if you are confident in their saddle or if you are afraid and unlearnt. If they are kind in spirit they will lead you and guide you through, but if they are in mind of mischief..."He chuckled at the memory of one lad who had tried to mount a horse, and was hopping about with a leg in the stirrup looking right silly.

"They'll make certain that your officers grant you with the darkest looks. "He shrugged softly, more animated than he had been before. What other topic would liven a horseman, but that of the horses.

"Bayard.. he was into mischief sometimes, yet it was just this spirit that endeared him to me. No ol' horse with the slowness of an old man." He spoke so proudly of his horse, and remembered the one he had had at home. One of them that he most enjoyed riding. He was safe and sound still, and alive.

"Had Blossom act on tricks of her own, when she was in your keep?"

Cotton grinned. "Blossom di'n't. She was as good as gold. Diamond, on the other hand, was as bad as if 'e had to make up for her. You'd be ploughin' with him, and he'd do his damnedest to walk caterwise. Y'know, crabwise, up the field, so's the whole field would get ploughed crooked. Made the older men laugh to see it. 'There's a lad what don't know to put Blossom on the left,' they'd say, cause he'd allus pull left and if she were there instead, she wouldn't have none of it."

He had good memories of home. More good than bad, not like some men he knew. He was glad Maggie had persuaded him to write home. First letter they'd have, it would be, and he was happy it was good news.

"Ah, horses n' their ways."He grinned in turn."I've never had trouble with mine that way.. but.. I've not quite needed to plough a field, so I guess, I'd be exempt from commenting on such an experience." The pain was nearly forgotten, and the time passed swiftly when conversation and good company was offered. A good company of three, for he had considered Jose , the Portuguese man as one also.

"Richard now, he was a lively one as well. Had me thrown off a couple of times, and by God, I believe he enjoyed it. But 'twas lucky.. always. Landed on softer places than I would have hoped for." He shook his head lightly. That horse had been a handful ever since they've gotten him.

"They have funny minds sometimes.. the horses, and were I not to know better, I'd think they can right laugh at you, if they have you gotten in a humbling situation!"

"They can that. But I ain't no good ridin' them, like, not even round the yrad really, so shank's pony it is f'r me. They need the foot as well as the horse an' artillery. Can't win the battles without us, after all."

He looked back down to the column. A couple of the greenjackets were making their way up the hillside to them and he grinned.

"Soon have you home with the Army, lad," he said. "Though I dunno what they'll do about gettin' you back to your regiment, like."

"Well, I'll trust that to the officers. They should know best." He followed Cotton's gaze towards the approaching men. Green jackets, with it's design identified the riflemen easily amongst the rest. "You will be coming with us?" He asked Cotton motioned towards the men below, wondering if he was right to believe that there was an officer amongst them. He wondered if this was a goodbye with Jose, inwardly hoping that perhaps the man would also acompany them back.

"Aye, I will." Cotton glanced from one man to the other and back again. The young cavalryman had been carried by the Portuguese civilian, so it was probably safe to say that he could not walk very far, if at all. Which, if his horse had rolled on him, was pretty much to be expected.

"Will you be needin' a hand to get down there?" he asked, trying to judge the other's weight in case he needed carrying rather than merely a hand, or a shoulder to lean on.

A considerably even ground was easy to cross, a steeper land took time and effort. He considered the question and chose not to risk a broken leg and a tumble down the slope just because he wanted to know better. ".. Assistance would be greatly appreciated. I'd not trust myself on those rocks .. with the steepness of the slope in mind."

The greencoats looked closer now, Though he had little reason to see who they were.

"That's my company in front," Cotton said. "They've got red facings, see. And the 95th behind them've got black facings. I'm 60th Rifles, y'see."

He glanced at the ground between their position and the road, looking for a safe way down. Being country-bred had given him an eye for things like that, which he was thankful for now.

"Red for the 60th and black for the 95th. I'll mark that." He observed the small figures moving easily across the uneven ground. They would probably stop then and wait for them to descend. He wondered if there was a notable difference between the men belonging to the first or the second mentioned riflemen. A fair impact on their demanour could already be the officers who lead them. And in that, Cotton's own must've been good, if it was anything to judge by how Cotton had turned out.

The sides were quite steep and where the stones were not slippery on their own, they were small and could slide from under one's feet. Then there were the areas of grass, which had become just as possibly dangerous as the rest of the alternatives. Well then, good thing they were going down. After all.. no matter what they'd do.. they would certainly end up at the bottom.

"You can lean on me if'n you need to, or you think you'm goin' to slide." Cotton paused and showed the sole of his shoe. "Infantry have hobbed shoes, not like you cavalry lads and your boots."

The grass would be easier and would give a much surer footing for both of them than the loose scree of stones, especially with Cotton's hobnailed shoes. "I can take your weight, don't need to be a-feared I can't."

"I've not the fear that you could not." Quite sure that one of the green-jackets could bring him down safetly. He compared the two soles in mind and shook his head lightly, for the difference was fair obvious. He thought a horse could have helped him easily, for one such animal could keep some control over the steep path. And ofcours it was one creature that would keep him fully off his feet and have him not worry about it at all.

"s' these few hours that I learn I have had luck in the men I have met.."For he could not complain about them at all, but delight in the manner of their helpfullness.

Calderón had held his silence throughout the conversation, for the topic revolved around horses and he had little interest in discussing such things. It was only when he noticed a column of green-jackets steadily approaching from the base of the hill that he stirred even a little from his comfortable sitting position. The hussar and this newly-met green-jacket were moving toward departure and, for a short distance, Calderón would accompany them.

"Luck often finds those in need of help," he said. The first words he'd spoken in a few minutes sounded excessively philosphical, but he was feeling particularly pensive. "Come," the scout added. "We will both help you."

Quite against his expectations, he found himself smiling at Jose's offer. "Thank you Jose ."He spoke softly, more certain that they could all come down in a considerably safe state. Not that he had doubt In Cotton, for the man did seem able enough, by how he had observed the slope. A trained eye, used to nature more than the high and long staircases of court.

"I do not consider myself a man born under quite a lucky star." He spoke amused. "But I shall have faith that sometimes even a blind hen may find its grain. Shall we then?" He asked, feeling more like a burden to the two, but glad for the company.

The company had halted, neat as can be, and the men were now peering up the hill toward the three dark shapes near the top. One of them wore green and another the distinctive uniform of a cavalryman. Newbury couldn't really see the third man, but he didn't look like a soldier at all. He fell out of his rank when Sergeant Roper called for two volunteers to go up and help, as much to help the other Rifleman as to satisfy his curiosity.

Together, Newbury and Ben Jacklin scrambled up the rock-strewn slope, their shoes slipping occasionally on loose stones. "Need a hand or two, Cotton?" Newbury called up as he got closer.

The riflemen were beginning to multiply. A notion that was atleast more calming than it was worrying. The green of the uniforms blended well with its surroundings so that the figures looked to disappear a couple of times, just to reappear a little higher.

Wasn't right the best way to meet them, looking like some damsel in distress. Those of the 15th Hussars would certainly not let him forget it, and laugh they would, quite a few weeks. Well, first impressions aside, the two men were here to help and not to pass judgement on anyone of the company.


He smiled.