Afternoon, 5th day

[Second correction XD]

"That is an order - your horse made them dirty, so you can clean them. Or do you refuse, Trooper?"

He was barely, just barely able to contain himself and the look on his face that was calm, composed and not glaring. Trying not to give the officer his piece of mind, even when in there he had seen him have another long spurge bath granted by his horse.

"..." He looked on ahead, and instead of replying with a no, even if it were as obvious as day, that he was thinking it, he stayed stubbornly quiet.

Waldegrave kept his face calm, with a quiet smile. The cavalry always got above themselves - young men he had known as boys, who had joined cavalry regiments, looked down on those whose ambitions (and means) were more limited. This sprig, whoever he thought he was, had not purchased a commission - a black sheep, probably from some tradesman's family, who had run away to avoid scandal, and signed up as a ranker. But up here, he could not buy himself privileges.

"I could have you flogged for that," he said softly. "But why should I bother our Colonel about it? When you return to your regiment, they will flog you far harder. For desertion and cowardice - in the face of the enemy? Possibly worse than a flogging."

He smiled again at the sergeant, and bent down with the damp cloth he had used on his breeches, to wipe the worst of the muck of the once-bright leather of his boots.

He felt his cheeks grow hot at Waldegrave's words. The man had just overstepped the invisible boundary of good spirits. He could have demanded that he should clean his shoes again, be angry that the trooper's horse had stained him so, but he should not have dared to imply that he was a coward. That he deserted his men. He felt the sudden urge to challenge him to a duel, and before he were to shout the demand he stilled himself into complete silence. He could not. A private to an officer.

"SIR..." Still he lost his nerve. Coward? He was not a coward, damn that officer! He had not wanted to wake up deserted in the middle of nowhere with no knowledge of where the rest of his regiment was! His hands were held in fists, tight so that the knuckles turned as white as the freshly fallen snow.

"I.. did not desert. SIR." He spoke, his voice heavy, hard. "Nor am I a coward. .."He gave a moment and then the last sir could as well have been an insult for it was spoken with such spite.

Willoughby's anger did not worry him - the boy was a trooper, not an officer, and no threats would be made against him. This was not one of the men he wanted to fight.

"Your regiment is to the north," Waldegrave said, rubbing at one of the stains. Would Portuguese brandy be useful for cleaning them? "You were heading south, I understand, no doubt hoping to get to Lisbon and a ship. What cavalryman would walk away from his regiment and mounts?" He shrugged. "But it is not for me to decide, although I will ensure that the information is available to your colonel..." He nodded to the sergeant. "Good day, sergeant." He hoped the man would remember his words - he would not make friends so easily with a man accused of cowardice.

[OOC And now I must go to dinner- back later]

Sgt. Grey had been quieting and soothing the mare, but had watched the exchange with growing astonishment.

He had expected the officer to blow up and do a bit of shouting then to have Willoughby do the laundry. Some wiping him down before going to the billet, yes, but asking the trooper to get down to his knees and practically lick his boots was too much.

And he rather doubted one could get flogged for ones horses bowel movements. Put on punishment duty, possibly, but flogged?

Then the officer accused Willoughby of cowardice. And Willoughby came this colse to challenging him to a duel. Well, the sergeant had the hussar pegged as a gentleman ranker as well, but the maliciousness of the accusation struck deeply. Making the information available to his colonel? How did he propose to do that? Write a letter? Dear sir, today I met one of your troopers. His non-cavalry issue horse shat on me, therefore I am sure he is a coward. Yours truely, Lt. Royal-Pain

Then again, judging by the despiteful look the little bleeder gave as he turned and then strutted away, they better sit down and get Willoughbys story strait. Better safe than sorry.

"Willoughby! Come on, let's get Bella out of here. I'll put her up with our greys tonight. And then we have to sit down and talk."

He waited until the younger man was looking at him and added quietly:"And no one who refuses to lick some infantry officers boots can be accused of cowardice."

"Hey Corporal, look there!"

Grogan rubbed at his slightly-blurry eyes and peered in the direction Private Nolan was pointing. A red-coat officer was striding angrily away from a pair of cavalrymen with an expression like curdled milk. That in itself was nothing out of the ordinary, really. Cavalrymen were notoriously prideful and loved looking down their noses at the infantry.

Then the red-coat officer passed close by where the group of 27th men were lounging. Nolan pinched his nose at the terrible smell that hung around the officer, while Grogan felt himself start to grin. He could guess easily enough what had happened to the man.

"Poor bugger," Grogan said, not feeling any bit of sympathy now. Anybody fool enough to stand behind a horse deserved what he got. The others smirked. This would make a good story around the campfire later that night.

The words that the officer had used were as untrue as would the statement be, that the sky is green and the grass itself is yellow. And one would not be thinking of any flowers when saying it. It angered the youth who's sole intention was to serve in his regiment, to do a damn good job of it and to prove to himself, his grandpapa and to anyone out there that he could do it, and do better. To be accused of desertion and cowardice was not on his list of possibilities and yet it had accured. The lieutenant who stank, but it was due to the horse's own bodily excrements, was still in sight and range that the unpleasant smell could be sensed.

He looked to the sergeant and stiffened somewhat, as a private coming to attention. He feared the man would believe the lieutenant's words and for a moment he had not dared face him, as if expecting that those eyes would confirm it. When he did, he felt relieved for as words too his face did not yet hold suspicion and disapproval. he was no coward nor deserter, and he would prove it to that blasted lieutenant. Why else would he have sought the army and be asked to be brought to it, if he were fleeing from it?

He managed a smile at the half whispered compliment and nodded:".. Thank you sarg'nt." He looked almost amused. He hadn't known he'd dare to tell an officer no, even if that of the infantry. Didn't feel as proud about it now, though he knew he'd done it the very same way again if he was faced with Waldegrave. Only perhaps with less hesitation.

"Talk?" He asked though, for he wondered what of. Certainly not of this?.. or would they?

And there were those soldiers from before. He'd noticed them earlier and some must have joined them while others have passed. They did smell the lieutenant too. His smile broke into a small grin and he patted Bella's side and spoke softly to her:".. You will get a treat, my lass. You've done finely today." He did spoke the last a bit more quietly for he wasn't sure if a sergeant would agree as much to the little action against an officer.

Sgt. Grey still had charge of Bella's reins and he set a brisk pace on their way to the smithy and its adjacent stables.

Inside he was cursing. Cursing young fools who didn't know their station, young fools who abused their station and old fools who got involved with young fools in the first place.

When they reached the stables it was not the jovial and laughing farrier who had set out for an afternoons entertainment in town with the Hussar, but the stern sergeant who kept his troopers in line who turned to Willoughby.

"Put your mare next to the large dappled gelding over there. Clean her up, wash her tail and sponge down her rear, I will check later. Offer her some hay, but no corn. When you are done, see me in the kitchen."

He waited just long enough for the hussar to acknowledge the orders before striding off.

"Yes sir!" He answered sharply and took the reins of his mare, whose interests were peaked at the sight of the horses, but she too was as restless at seeing them as any animal is of new others. He saluted the man and went to his duties. First he took the animal into the stable space as directed and placed a halter on her and tied her in place while he went on to tend to her needs. Unsaddled and brushed she looked a deal better than before. He went and brought with him a bucket of water which helped him to work on the much less pleasant a task.

The mare didn't try to bite and seemed to be satisfied with the pampering that she was being given, gulping the water that had also been supplied to her. She peered at the gelding that she could see from where she stood, but flicked her ears and was back with attention to the water.

She did have a good piss then, and with her tail damp and clean, smacked her rider with little dignity. He'd left his coat hanging a bit further away, as he hadn't right the one he could use in the stables on. But that would do. With the horse fed as well, the youth parted with her. He'd dumped the water from the bucket and had his hands washed in some fresh one, placing all that he'd used in the same spot that he'd gotten, he snatched his coat from it's hanger and dressed it back on, looking smartly.

He went for the kitchen where he waited to be aknowledged and so invited in further. A salute again in order.

Grey had used the large kitchen table to spred his paperwork and was filling in the duty roster when he saw Willoughby approach. He shoved his ledgers into a bag and chased out the maid, then waved the hussar in.

"Sit down."

He checked again that there were no eavesdroppers. This was a private conversation.

"Now listen. While you are not a coward, you are a fool."

Grey raised a hand to stall any protest the hussar might make at that.

"Yes, a fool. Because regardless of who you were before you joined, right now you are a private, the lowest rank there is in the army. And that little twat you almost challenged to a duel is an officer. Who should form your lowly point of view be an almost divine being. No matter what he says, does or orders."

He paused and gave Willoughby a hard look.

"Judging from the way you speak and behave, you are not some farmboy who joined because his family just couln't feed him any more. You joined below your station because you have something to prove.
But that doesen't matter any more, because you joined in the ranks. And in every rankers live there are points where he has to swallow all his pride and honour and sense of justice and all he shall say will be Yes sir, indeed sir, at once sir.
And then you can delay, distract and generally be politic about not doing as asked.

Well, too late now."

Sergant Grey went to the table and pushed some paper, quills and ink toward the hussar.

"And the lieutenant does have a point. While you are not a coward, you are not with your troop. I want you to write a nice report about how you got here. Nothing fancy. Stick to the facts. I don't even want to read it, this is just to be safe from accusations. Put down your troop, commanding officer, the date your patrol set out, how you got separated, the date you were found, who found you, which officers you reported to, that kind of thing. Has anyone done anything to let your troop know you are attached to the rifles?
And you should see the surgeon again and get him to write a note about the injuries you sustained. Even get your rifles officer to write a note how you were found and what happened then. That would be good, too."

"Now you write that report, and think about what I told you. Dismissed."

Grey left the hussar sitting in front of the blank papers. It yould do no good to talk further, the young man had to think now.

He felt greatly humbled, though he knew the man's words were true, correct and his pride should not have mattered earlier, when he was ordered to clean the officer's boots. He should've delayed at very worst, or done it with a smile on his face at very best. Quick and efficient like. His youth had gotten the better of him and his raising had taken it's toll. Duel, how close he had been to that and how greatly he knew, he'd have regretted voicing it. A private challenging. It was unheared of! And if one did consider the two ranks, impossible. If a private harmed an officer, they were flogged or shot. But in a duel men fought and men injured each other. And pride now did not matter.

A cold shower that he received from the sergeant was needed and was better than if he found himself committing to the wrong.

"Right away, sir." He spoke hastly and saw the man leave. He looked at the piece of paper and the quills. He hadn't thought about the need to write that report. Not yet. Not when he didn't think himself a deserter. Yet the meeting with Waldegrave, the wise words of the sergeant put it all in perspective. A rather unpleasant one. So much paperwork had to be done, and he reckoned that there were privates who would have been lost at the task. Not even able to write, let alone know to obtain all this.

With a small frown he went to work. The first paper written he had discarted and regretted that he'd wasted one. But then it flowed, and the manner of writing was easy, to the point yet with a word of a gentleman, not those crude of the common farmer boys. He wasn't one though he still tried to hold back and wondered what lord Edrington would think of it. The report was formed with names, dates, and recollections of the events. He had struggled to remember the very event that unhorsed him. Still his memories were hazy, for he'd struck his head against the hard grounds and he had lost his consciousness that day. Perhaps he'd suffered a mild concussion.

Collecting the information to his very best efforts he placed the quill to the left of him again, and reread what he'd written. Word by word to be sure it carried the message and that it would not be understood wrongly, or be able to be twisted against him. He wasn't a lawyer so he didn't know all of the tricks that could follow with that, but it sounded and read well enough.

A simple yet data filled report. He had to collect a confirmation from Vickery, had to address lord Edrington to sign the part, and then the doctor to write up a medical report that he could give. It felt as if he were already at court and collecting his defense and that made him less sure. If only they were days, weeks from meeting with his regiment and the rest of the army. He missed the other Hussar troopers yes, yet not the officers even if they might not have been half bad.

Pride though kept him from worrying more than was needed, and he nodded with confidence. The first part done. He stood and collected the papers that were written over in fine hand writing. Even there he had hoped to keep it simple. Not too over the top. No need to attract the attention, even so it was finer than most.

And then he left, for he knew that the sergeant did not wish to be disturbed any longer. A short stop was made at the stables, where he greeted Bella, saw that she was well tended and had nothing that she would want or need. Once he was sure it was so, with the papers folded and placed into his coat, he left to find the surgeon.

He had gotten the papers confirming and describing his injuries , though just barely, for the surgeon seemed busy and more interested in taking care of a soldier whose foot had been badly infected. But one paper was now added, and two more at least in wait. He just hoped that they would then not try and claim that he was gathering his defence because he knew he'd done something wrong. Cursed be all, if one was to be damned, they'd be damned. So he hoped nobody wished that.

Sgt. Grey left Willoughby sitting in the kitchen and strode back to the stable.
The warm smell of horses, hay and leather cheered him. His large gelding greeted him with a soft wicker and started to investigate his pockets for treats. With a laugh the sergeant produced an apple he had, er, requisitioned in the kitchen. While Baldr messily devoured the apple, the sergeant decided to find his captain and tell him of the incident. Before gossip reached him, if possible.

He wiped his hands on some straw and headed out, back into town. The officers would be there, visiting the sights. There was supposed to be a royal palace within the walls of the castle of Leiria. That palace, with elegant gothic galleries that were said to offer wonderful views of the town and surrounding landscape would draw officers like flies. Well, that and the local brothels, he thought.