Day 6 - Sunday morning

The night had been cold and sleep showed its reluctance to grant the shivering Hussar by the campire some relief. When he was able to make with the dying flame and felt his pellisse begin to grant him warmth it was near morning. He was awoken by a small rabbit that strayed into the camp unawares of the danger. It hopped past the churned remains of wooden logs and raised itself to it's back feet. Sniffing at the air, its nose wiggled gently and it stood so for a moment. Few hops further the tiny fluff of furr touched its nose to the sleeping lump on the floor. With a good strong hop it landed atop the lump believing it a good outpost strangely.

When Willoughby had felt something land atop his chest he jerked awake his hand reaching quick for his damaged sabre, and he'd near dropped it as something wild had bolted for the safety of the forest.
He yawned and stared at the sky for a moment and then hefted himself to his feet gazing around with a vision still much affected by sleep. As the blurr subsided and his eyes began to be less reluctant to open he knelt and picked the damaged blade from where he'd left it.

His leg felt better than a day before, and so a short walk back towards town left him refreshed rather than burdened. Bella was left at the stables where most of the other horses had been sent, most ofcourse belonging to the Scot Greys. There was a puppy that chased his tail around to the left, and few drunken red coats who had been unable to find their way back, for they've drunk more than their share. There was one in whose lap a lady slept, dishaveled in looks as much as the man whose breeches seemed barely buttoned. Further on a beggar sat and counted the things that he'd stolen from the drunk, quick to hide his prises when he saw the lone man.

Waldegrave rode in front of the patrol, six men and a corporal, charged with finding and returning any of the 62nd's men who had spent the night in the town, and would be in danger of missing the start of the day's march. Earlier patrols had cleared the bars, and dragged back half a dozen men who were too drunk to avoid them. But in the main the sound of the drum had reminded those who had been enjoying themselves to leave the town and return to the camp without encountering the patrol. This last ride through was a formality, although Waldegrave, still smarting from the events of the previous day, was hopeful of finding at least one soldier who had slept out of bounds. His mood was such that he did not much mind whether the potential culprit were from the 62nd or its attached rifles companies.

And there might have been few. Fewer than the amount that had departed, willing or unwilling. Some had been missed, not because the patrol was not doing it's job properly, but because they have not been in sight, neither in the bars, nor at the street to which they now appeared to be in.

Two, three perhaps in the whole of that street. One had been fortunate that in time of his sleep hay has fallen upon him, toppled by another man, too drunk to notice it in his way. He was covered at most and still clutched a half drunk bottle, asleep. Covered by a lasses's apron, the girl no longer in sight, for she woke and she left, he hadn't heared the drum.

There was another who'd lain in a side alley, a dirty small place with a donkey for company. It was mayhep his fortune that he was not found, or perhaps his misfortune that he still slept deep.

Willoughby had seen the first, for he was about to retrieve some hay for Bella. He near tripped over a leg protruding now from the straw but it did not stirr the lad at all. He lifted an eyebrow and knelt at the man's side waving a hand before his face. A redcoat that this man was obviously, might soon need a wakening. Still first, more of sleepy curiosity the Hussar picked the bottle from his hold and sniffed it.

It was no surprise that there was alcohol inside, for it rank strongly of it. Cheap drink, but good to bring any man of his feet.

Waldegrave sat watching as the men made a more thorough search of the town. Two men, found in a makeshift brothel in a shed at the back of one of the bars were already sitting quietly under the trees, guarded by one of his men. They would not give any trouble. In the dull predawn light the Sergeant directed them into an alley and two emerged dragging a third, completely unconscious with drink. One of theirs, Waldegrave noted, but it was impossible to get a name from him in this state.

The sight of a cavalryman - that damned Hussar! - crouched over an unconscious man, holding a bottle brought Waldegrave's head up. He gestured to the Sergeant who marched over to him.

Hearing footsteps the young Hussar lowered his occupied hand some and glanced over his shoulder. He nudged the unconscious man on the ground as if willing to wake him, but the later still slept on, sprawled as he was. The redcoat actually might have looked dead if not for the constant rise and fall of his chest and the few straws that trembled above his mouth.

The Hussar straightened, the half drunk glass bottle still held in his hand, forgotten for a moment too long there. He saluted to the man and caught sight of the small group of soldiers, few on horse back and some on foot. His attention was smoothly returned to the approaching figure who'd by then gotten very close.

The lad on the floor was still as motionless as before, though his hand twitched once, missing the soothing feel of smooth glass to which it had clutched much like one to a loved lady.

Sgt. Grey shouted his troopers out of their billets and onto their horses long before dawn.

He grinned as he saddled his horse. The captain hated church parade with a passion and usually volunteered his troop for the earliest patrols on Sundays. Grey didn’t mind. Gallopping into dawn on a good strong horse was enough of a religious experience for him.

Before he led his Baldr out of the smithy’s stable, he checked the hussars mare again. She had taken no harm from all the drama yesterday.

Yes, he was happy to get out of this town.

Sergeant Davies looked from the Hussar with the bottle to the drunken redcoat on the ground. The facings, soiled as they were with vomit, showed that he was from the 62nd, and Davies gestured to the men to drag him across to join the others they had detained. The Hussar was not, strictly speaking, the 62nd's problem, but Davies had seen him riding with the Colonel, which probably meant that they couldn't leave him behind, muich as the Lieutenant would like to. "Did you drink any of that, boy?" he asked, in a soft Welsh voice

A short reply of : "No, sargeant." , was given and the Hussar stole a glance to the man that was being dragged away. The man did not stirr at all for most of the way to his f ellow detainees, but just as he was released he uttered a frail groan and blinked it's beady red eyes around with confusion and discomfort of a man who's head was throbbing worse than if he had been struck with a cannon ball several times over.

The march would not favour him. Poor man. He caught sight of the lieutenant briefly, and recognised him. His hand that held the bottle flexed some, but only as it was not at ease with holding the contained alcohol as if he'd meant to drink it.

Down a side street Grey spotted a infantry patrol searching for stray men. Well, anyone who was not roused by the squad's hoofbeats deserved all the trouble he got. There was a war going on, even if they hadn't had any enemy contact.

They headed north, towards Pombal.

Davies shrugged at the Hussar's answer. "Then you'll be needing to get your horse and join the rest of us, or you'll be left behind. We'll handle this one." He took another look at the bottle and grinned. "Best be pouring it out, boy, or you'll end up like him. Drunk as a lord, and lined up for punishment. Drunk and late on parade. Now get going."

"Yes, sergeant!" He sounded excited, and looked not to pretend that he was eager either, still of course saluting. He couldn't help but wonder if all of the filth had gotten out of Waldegrave's uniform or whether he had done something different about it. Hussars were known for their love for drink as they were for the love of ladies and danger, but the youth debated placing the bottle down for another civilian to find and drink it, or pouring it clean. A pay with a bottle of alcohol for an artefact he might have needed, was also a suggestion coming to mind, so that he didn't tip it right there before all eyes but held in palm when he began his way towards the small group on patrol, for the stables were to the left and further a few, behind them.

He halted a moment when he'd come close enough to see the lieutenant, and his gaze was placed with curiosity upon his person, but more so the uniform. Was it clean? It certainly no longer smelt as awfull as a day before, which brought a grin subconsciously to his face, till he had to will it down. Clean as day, of course! It was after all an officer, and whomever had cleaned the uniform for him, would have done such a great job that one would wonder if it weren't new.

Waldegrave rode Acorn past the smirking Hussar, and felt a desire to slash him across the face. Or have him placed under arrest. But neither of those would be as satisfying as seeing him punished.

He had heard about the football match in the 95th's camp. Officers playing football with their men was, in his view, tantamount to encouraging over-familiarity between the ranks. For a senior officer to play was unthinkable, and he was still shocked that their own Colonel had taken part - he had not yet worked out the implications of this: did it show his lordship's sympathies lay with the Riflemen, not with his own battalion? But what he had also learned was that the Hussar, who only two days before had been so badly incapacitated at to require himself to be carried like a baby by a Portuguese, and who claimed to be too weak to return to his own unit, just a couple of days further north - that same Hussar had spent the day on horseback, and then taken part in a violent game of football, even scoring the final goal. He could try explaining that to anyone who wanted to know why his first object had not been to return to the 15th Hussars.

With the lieutenant out of sight, the youth spared little time more, to retrieve Bella. Cleaning her he saw that she had been fed earlier a few and that she had been watered too. He saddled her and bridled her, checked more on her well being and temper, and with a moment to avoid a bite, he knew that she was again quite well.

Leading her from the stables he pulled himself onto her back, the bottle resting tied at the side of his saddle. He was about to ride off in the direction of camp when he saw a few youngesters play with slings that they've must have made. They've been picking up small pebbles placing them on the broad leather square piece and then took aim and pulled. He remembered one of the boys, who had been so mesmerized with his bent sabre and slowed the horse before the youth to greet him.

The boy looked startled at first, recognising the Hussar he grinned and waved, calling to others, he pointed at the man. The young ones surrounded the rider and Bella rose and dropped her head in irritation, for she wished to be on her way. Timothy hadn't right known what he was doing but he still extended his hand, pointing at one of slings. At first the boy did not understand but then with a small cry of excitement he snatched it and he brought it over. The rider studied the craftmanship of the toy and found it was simple yet effective, for one such hit had left a fair indent where it'd hit.

He nodded with a smile as if commenting that it was good and leant down to return it when the boy shook his head. He pointed to the Hussar and then to his sabre and to the sling as if it was so obvious to him. Willoughby looked startled, for he'd only wished to see it, but the boy again insisted with a light push of his hand against the one holding the sling. He mentioned what must've been the word for the French and then grinned. Still somewhat confused the Hussar held the sling and pointed to himself and the boy nodded vigiourously. Not to disappoint the child with his gift, the man smiled and thanked the youth with a proper cavalry's salute, which made all of the young ones squeel with joy and excitement.

He waved to them then and left of. When he was leaving the town the bottle was no longer with him. And he hurried to join with the marching men.

(Double post, sorry!)

They were marching for about an hour by then, and he had gone exchanging several messages back and forth down the line. Bella was as right as day and had no protests in the run, even if so she had covered twice as much distance as the walking men. He was just sent ahead with the message for the riflemen. Slow down a little, for the line could go only at it's own given pace and the green coats had theirs a deal faster.

Once the message had been delievered he stayed ahead. His horse was in a fair walk, while the youth found time to observe the lovely landscape not hidden behind the sound and body of marching men. He could still hear them at a distance and were he to look behind him, he would probably see the beginning of the line. With small amusement, though his eyes still on his surroundings, glancing to the trees every so often he was turning the sling in his hand. The child was so eager to have him have it and without even understanding each other's language they were able to come to this.

With Bella in a simple walk, he were able to lower her reins and tuck them over one arm so that his hand was free. Out of sight of the red coats he felt he was able to afford himself this act and so he placed the stone at the leather, aimed the sling and with a grin he released it so that the stone had flown forward, and struk a small mushroom along the path and had it spring into the air, make a turn, of many pieces and drop to the ground again, while the stone bounced ahead.

The General had been up quite early that morning, since about a quarter to five. Having an abhorrance of laying in bed awake, it had been with an absolute certainty that no one would seek to trouble him with any sort of business at that time of day that he had dressed and taken a turn outside his tent whilst waiting for Hercules to be saddled. The horse was brough round to him, he had mounted up and set out alone in the morning mist.

It was a truly beautiful morning; still and calm. He had rode to the outlying picquets and, as he was in such a good mood, had bid them good morning, and even stopped to exchange a few words with a sergeant. The men - a mix of 27th and Vickery's 60th - had been very surprised to see him, yet he had been correctly challenged and was satisfied to their alertness. He questioned them as to whether there had been any incidents last night. None, your honour, he was told. Save Private Williams getting a little jumpy and having shot a deer, only by mistake-like, sir, and would he like to see the carcass?

Ten minutes later and an even bigger smile on his face, Sir Arthur galloped his horse back through the woods towards the camp, revelling in the stallion's strength and the freedom to move for once at such a pace. Once back in the camp he had to slow again, picking his way through the few tents and soldiers sleeping on the ground, a few bleary-eyed men and women waking to gaze at him stupidly, the odd salute thrown his way by those awake enough to recognise him.

"A fine morning, Beckerman!" he had exclaimed, dismounting and handing the reigns to his orderly, who swiftly passed them onto the groom. "A fine morning! You'll find a cut of venison in the saddlebags - give it to Thornton, and tell him it is for dinner tonight."

With which he expressed his hope that breakfast would be served soon, the exercise having worked up an appetite for once, and went back into his tent to begin setting things in order for the day.

Three hours later they were on the march again, and four hours found the General contemplating the events of last night, reflecting on his discussion with Sharpe.

He trusted the rifleman. He knew he did; but he was not certain how much he could trust his judgement of this affair. His view was jandiced by his dealings with Hakeswill in the past, and that would not do, else there was a great danger of injustice. Yet the suggestion that Padstowe had suspicions about Hakeswill as well might add weight to Sharpe's case, but even so...

His more immediate worry was that in his haste to dicuss the matter further with Sharpe he had probably offended Edrington beyond reconcilliation. He had not asked the colonel back to complete their conversation, and he knew that there were few men of rank who would not be slighted by their dismissal in such a manner. He would seek Edrington out at the next halt and take a turn with him. He would know the colonel's mind then one way or another.

Robert, as was his want, had stepped from his place in line and wondered a little distant, looking for anything to augment his stores. He wasna a fussy eater, but there were some things a man craved, and they seemed always the ones which were hard to get. For some reason, oats here were not the oats he was used to, and for this reason he had stopped his morning bowl of them.
He was going to examine some mushrooms, for ediblility or special interest, when one detached itself, landing near in his path.
He grumbled and picked it up, wondering if another would soon follow, and who would be doing it.

He lifted the sling again, with another pebble placed on it's leather patch ready to take aim. He was confident with the riflemen up ahead, though he could no longer see them.

He hadn't payed much attention before thus and then saw movement to his left. None of the men would have been permitted to detach themselves from the line as they marched ahead, and the riflemen were not so slow , for he'd seen them disappear with their green coats. He reached for his sabre, dropping the sling to his side, eyes narrowed to the spot where earlier a flown mushroom had still rested.

He'd caught sound, muffled a great deal by the marching feet behind, but still there. And movement drew his attention so that he'd charged. If it were an enemy, they might've been distracted with the reaction, but if it was friend... well, better safe then sorry.

The hooves thudded sharply against the ground, and then he saw the coat of the man, and was startled, pulling at the reins to stop the horse and veer him to the side. "..Hey!" He spoke sharply.

(if that's the mushroom that Sinclair saw flying into his hands )

Startled, Rob looked up at the sound of hooves, dropping to one side and settling himself into a position ready to spring. "Hey yourself." he answered, "and why are ye attacking me, much though I appreciate yer diligence."
Carefully clutching the fungus, he stood warily. "Did ye mean to hit this?" He held the offending fungi, all brown and grey, with an interesting base, given it's encounter, "For if ye did, well done. If ye were aiming at me, however..."He paused, then took a small step closer, "I see ye sit straight now. How are ye?"

" You could have had yourself killed, if someone mistook you for a Frog in hiding!" He spoke relieved it was only the surgeon and that he had not struck first and asked questions of a bleeding , blind soon to be dead man, later.
He looked at the fungi, recognising it. "..'twas merely good luck." He was humbly replying, though he had aimed right at the mushroom and was sure enough he would strike it. Bella tipped her head forward inspecting the strange man that rose out of the earth, as if he were a ghost, or a magical being. She was about to take a bite at the man, or atleast threaten him so, when she felt her reins tighten, her rider knowing full well of her intentions.

She made a disapproving sound, and stomped her left front foot against the ground, flicking her tail in annoyance, but atleast kept herself from attempting. "I am well thank you." He held no qualms to be fairly honest with the surgeon, for he was the only man who's speciality was solely health and could aid if the one was compromised.
"My ankle does still ache, but I keep weight from it, as much as I am able." No need to shed light of the foodball game's abuse of the leg.

He held the right leg out of it's stirrup, so that there was little pressure given to it, not being forced into a position in which his ankle would be strained. Only when there was need did he slip it in, and right now was not the case.

robert, who had moved away from the horse a little, now carefully placed a hand on her, gently, and came round to the offending ankle. "I am sure yer too modest" he smiled, looking up at the man, "here, take a look at what ye got, if ye like." He held it up, "ye can keep it as a trophy, or add it t'the pot. I'm certain if there is something wrogn with ye I'd be able ter fix it."

robert gestured with a hand, "May I touch yer ankle, now?" and waited for the horse to be standing still too before doing so. His strong fingers gently ran down both sides of the calf before setlling near the ankle joint, probing it very gently and making a quick, almost unconsious measuremtn with his thumbs and forefingers. "still swollen, though slightly more'n I'd expect."

the doctor looked up sharply, "I'm sure ye have been keeping it in its strapping, lad, but have ye been keeping all yer weight off it too?"
The horse- who seemed to have taken a dislike to him- swung its ehad towards this new man, and Rob placed his left hand on her neck. "Come now, ye, settle, I ain't going ta hurt him no more than he deserves."

He pulled a face at the rider, "So long as ye continue to keep weight off it I shall be pleased."

He smiled humbly at the man and solely shrugged as if to confirm his previous statement and feel embarrassed about it.

"If you wish, you may keep it. One would do no good to me, and you have been the first to pick it so it is rightfully yours."

He kept his tongue and kept his sound in check when fingers probed and prodded at his ankle, sliding first along his calf. When the hands had been higher, he felt no pain, and his expression was blank, yet relaxed, for he expected the doctor to reach the other area soon enough.
A blank face was kept in place still when the hands have reached the swollen part, while his lips were slightly more pressed and tense.


"I was." He spoke, and felt relieved that the hands left his ankle, near thanking Bella for the distraction. Though the mare had done it with all the different reasons, it still felt better that way. ".. Most of the time.. It is on the mend though, yes?" He looked sheepish at the doctor, feeling as a child who has eaten the biscuits from the jar, when he should not have. And he was a grown man, though young!

Keeping a light hand on the mount, the doctor eyed the ankle once more, "all of the time would be better, as no doubt ye ken, but it's yer own ankle, ay."
Suddenly he looked up and smiled, "No need fer ye ter look so unhappy, ye ken. I'm not telling ye off, am I? Just, warning ye, ye unnerstand." Again he patted the horse. "I thank ye fer the mushroom- no doubt I'll find some more- but I wouldna say I picked it first." he smiled broader, trying to check the mans possible discomfiture. "No doubt we should rejoin the rest, ay? and what are ye doing now, anyway?"

"Rejoin them, yes." Bella jerked her head back trying to land a bite at the man, who's hand was petting her. She lifted the upper lip and dropped her lower, showing of her healthy and well formed teeth. Her head was then steadied to look ahead by the reins and she succumbed to the rider's demand, at last. He was lost in thought for just a moment when he remembered that he had to ask the doctor for that report on his injuries. Having a more proper check up then, wouldn't hurt either, and would shed light to how much time he needed still to glare his way at his ankle.

"Mostly I carry messages from front to back, centre to flank and anywhere it is needed." He mused glancing down to the doctor:" But at present, unless you have a message to give, I am quite free to ride along solely." He heard the marching feet becoming louder as they did with each passing moment. The line will soon be there and passing them. He scanned their left and right side of the path briefly and then turned to the surgeon again.

"There is something I need to ask of you." He spoke. "It should not take long." He meant for it to be done during their break or else when the time was right for it, but if anything he really needed that paper written and signed by the surgeon.

Rob raised on eyebrow, bemused slightly. "Shouldna take long, ay? Wouldna be the firs time I'd heard that...though I don't have a message for ye, I'll appropriate ye fer a wee while, so ye can ask away ter yer hearts content."

He turned his head upwards more, straining slightly to see him, "Ye willnae be gettin down, I'm guessing?" he smiled, not particularly helpfull. "But I don't think yer horse like me much... and if I have ter examine ye more than yer ankle..." the DOctor looked down again, "What were ye ter ask me, then?"

"I'll come down, if you need me to. last I remember I may still deatch myself from my horse." He smiled and leaned down to pet Bella's neck gently:" Don't mind the lass. She doesn't take to anyone just yet. Jus' a young one, still a bit unused to her present predicament, I believe. But she's learning."

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the men still marching. They'd have a little, short while till they'd reach them. "Oh, I did need to ask you. I need your bill, sir.. a medical evaluation which you had first made of me, when I joined the second. Would it be possible that you write one for me. And a present one too, of course." He smiled sheepish.