Afternoon, Sixth Day

He felt sympathy for the rifleman. With so much in hand, and the uniform which would pass inspection only on doom's day, or even then not, he was a brave man to stand so, even if his cheeks betrayed him.

He noticed the rifle and was glad that the man found it after all. Good job, Newbury! Or good job atleast to whomever have found it for him. He adjusted a grip on his own set of buttonless garments and shook his head lightly. The Frenchmen had to be laughing at this now.

"No sir," Newbury answered quickly, mortified that he should be so unpresentable. He couldn't even begin to explain this.

"Then why are you bent over like that? Can you not find it in yourself to stand up straight, sir?"

His face was burning hot enough to be actually afire. Why did it have to be General Wellesley? Why had Captain Vickery called him over? Why had he bothered to go rabbit hunting in the first place? Why why why...

"You don't want me standin' up, sir," was the Rifleman's nervous reply. "Them French, sir, they... cut off... eh... me trouser buttons..." His voice slipped slowly down into a near-whisper until it failed completely.

He shifted in his spot a little, so that his ear would have an easier time catching sound from the men. He couldn't catch all that the rifleman said, but it was obvious enough and he felt sorry for the lad to be in such a predicament, not envying him the situation at all. He could have sat, but that would be rather as if waving a hand and saying he was there listening. So instead he looked on, as if judging the path before him.

Perkins skidded and scrambled down the slope to the hussar. "C'mon, Willoughby," he murmured, taking his arm. "Poor old Joe... C'mon, let's get you down to the road." He avoided looking at the general and the rifleman, not wanting to add to Newbury's embarrassment.

"..Wait.. just a little Perkins." He smiled to see the youth arrive. Perhaps he had passed judgement too soon earlier. Well, no need to consider it now, he was still catching his breath and was more willing to sit than to negotiate any paths yet. Still, he looked embarrassed and added: " ..Sorry for not waiting for you. Thought you've been called with the rest to scout ahead for the French."

Wellesley schooled his face to remain blank as Picton burst out laughing behind him.

"Be grateful they didn't cut off anything else, boyo!"

"That's enough thank you, Picton," Wellesly said flatly. "Newbury, how did was it that you came across the French?"

It helped his present mood none at all when one of the officers behind Wellesley broke into laughter. If anything, it made him want to crawl into a hole and disappear even more.

"I was huntin'... rabbit... sir..."


OOC - Elmer Fudd!

Perkins was far too close for comfort, even many yards away as he was. Hunting rabbit? "No, c'mon Willoughby. Before they decide to question you too, trust me. C'mon."

Sir Arthur fixed Newbury with a very cold gaze.

"Go on."

"..Question me?" He looked at Perkins then with a slow nod." Allright, allright. I'm coming. Just.. give me a second.." He placed an arm over the lad's shoulders, his other gripping at his trousers keeping them up and in place. He wondered if it was smarter for Newbury to have said he was solely scouting ahead and that he thought he saw something and then came across the French, rather than say he was after the rabbits.

He breathed in, torn between being the curious feline to hear what was said and in part to know, or to follow a more sensible way down the slope, and stray from earshot before it was too late. Curiosity vs sensibility. Wonder which he had more.

That wasn't promising.

"Got one rabbit, sir, for the company's stew pot and thought we was stalkin' another one, except it was the cap from one of the Frogs, so it was a nasty surprise to both of us, sir, and we couldn't get away from 'em quick enough." The story, or at least the summary of it, had escaped in a single long babble. Newbury stopped, took a breath, and then held it, dead sure he was in for the blowing up of his life.

Then, irrationally perhaps, he wondered what had happened to the rabbit he'd shot.

Such an admission could have the rifleman put on a charge and Newbury knew it; but Wellesley had far better things to worry about than the origins of a rifleman's dinner. Such a petty issue he would leave to the man's commanding officer.

"And what were they doing when you discovered them?"

"Just sitting I think, sir."

Now that he thought about that a bit, he realised how odd it sounded. Yet that was exactly what the Frogs had been doing. Now why would that be?

The General frowned.

"Only sitting? Nothing else at all?"

It was an odd thing for grenadiers to come this far from their lines and just sit.

"Did you see any of their officers - or were they just sitting as well?"

Perhaps it was time to go. With great luck Newbury hadn't been questioned on the 'we'. He glanced at Perkins and slowly took a step forward. He'd learnt enough.

"..Hey." He whispered:".. Might you be able to look for a rabbit later? Dropped it somewhere up there." He nodded in the direction of the slope. "A fine plump one. Hope the French left it be."

The Colonel scowled at the young grenadier and told Harris: "Stay here with him. Be on your guard, but I think the French have left the area. Clearly they didn't think he was worth coming back for."

Harris watched the Colonel leave then gestured to Carty to let the Frenchman sit down, and sat down next to him. "Officers," he said in quiet French. "They exist only to make life difficult. We'll get you down to the surgeons as soon as we can. How are you feeling?"

Rabbit hunting. What the devil was Newbury thinking?! Vickery managed to control his features to not give away what he was thinking, but inside, he was furious with the Rifleman. Rabbit hunting, of all things. At least he hadn't been so absorbed in chasing the blasted creatures that he hadn't reacted when he'd realised what - or, more appropriately, who - he had stumbled across.

He was going to keep Newbury under close observation for a damn long time, the way he was feeling right now.

Newbury shook his head after a long moment's thought. "No sir."

Perkins stopped in his tracks and stared at Willoughby. "You... Are you joking?" He shook his head and was speechless for a few moments as he helped the hussar down from the rocks. "A rabbit. You want your rabbit. Fine, I'll look around. I doubt the French took it with them mate, but..." Again, he just shook his head and kept going. It wasn't his place to question or reprimand a fellow soldier, and perhaps hussars lived by different rules than the riflemen. And Willoughby might not even get in trouble for it. Newbury, on the other hand... Perkins had to fight the urge to turn around and see how Newbury was doing with the general. Poor bastard.

The French-speaking rifleman had asked him how he felt. Strange, these English. Shoot you or club you on the head one minute, then ask you how you're feeling the next. "I'm fine," he answered automatically. What difference did that make?

At least the officer was gone now. That was a bit of a relief. But perhaps he should not have been relieved to see him go. Men often behaved more honorably when their officers were watching. No pity from the enemy... It made no difference that the lad beside him was smaller and probably younger. There were two of them and only one of him, and his hands were tied and he was defenseless. There were dozens, scores more of them swarming over the hillside like ants These two could easily shoot him now and claim that he had been trying to escape. Such things had been done before. Eugène had told him stories.

Harris produced his water bottle and offered it to the prisoner. "If you promise not to escape, I'll untie you," he offered. "It was just - we were a bit busy at the time." He looked at him. Scared, which was foolish. He was in less danger as a prisoner of the British... He remembered the Hussars dead in the gulley, and tried to keep the thought from his face. There had been no more firing. "The others will be back soon, and you can walk down with us."

A drink, a drink. How could he escape, with riflemen everywhere? He nodded, eyeing the bottle eagerly.

It was difficult to untie the crossbelts, and Harris regretted that they had tightened on the boy's arms. Eventually he took his sword-bayonet and cut through the leather. He uncorked the water bottle and handed it to the young Grenadier. "Here. It's hot work, fighting."