Afternoon, Sixth Day

He flexed his wrists and fingers and rubbed at the sore spots for a moment before accepting the water bottle and drinking eagerly. But then he found that he was not so thirsty as he had thought. He was mortified to remember that he had been sick - some of the vomit was still on his uniform - but his stomach was still not quite settled. Any sudden movement of his head brought waves of nausea washing over him again. He froze for a moment as he was overcome again, closing his eyes and raising his hand to his head. When he opened his eyes again, there were tears slipping down his face, but he was far too nauseated to care.

"I need..." Without waiting for words, he crawled onto the ground and lay down on his side, clutching his sore head in his hands.

Harris watched him dispassionately, but keeping a careful eye on Carty. Once the battle was over, the boy's tender heart might revive, and although quite what conversation would be possible between them...

After a moment, the nausea was gone. It was strange. Bézayrie sat up, his head still throbbing, but pain was more bearable than that unrelenting sick feeling. He realized that he was still holding the rifleman's bottle, though he was glad that at least he had corked it. He handed it back to its owner.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling confused and childish. "Thank you." He hastily wiped the tears from his face, quite wondering at them. Tears. Everything seemed so very strange. He rubbed at the back of his head again and was surprised to find blood when he looked at his fingers. He stared at his hand with mild interest.

"My head's bleeding," he told the younger rifleman, like a child sharing news of a curious discovery.

[Continued here]

Ben Perkins wrote: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.

"It isn't mine, and it isn't for me, Perkins. But if we have gone up there for it.. atleast it should not go to waste." Just keep it from the officers in question. He sighed and glanced back to where they were still in deep.. 'interrogation'. He stopped, to steady himself.
"Perkins.. I hope Newbury'll be allright."

He smiled kindly: "..Glad he got his rifle back."

If the French had taken it, he would be in more trouble . Well, let's hope that they'd think of how he found the French for them, and realise that that was a good thing. He grinned to himself at the thought of those. That lad, kneed right where it counted. Served him right.

Confound it, they must have been doing something!

"You said 'we'. Who was the other scout with you?"

He might have seen something else...

Damn.

"Trooper Willoughby, sir," Newbury answered, feeling miserable.

The General raised his eyebrows.

"Trooper? You mean..."

He turned to see the hussar being helped away by one of the rifleman, limping very badly indeed.

"Trooper Williughby! Halt!" he snapped, his voice carrying easily over the short distance. "About-turn!"

He froze halting in half step. He straightened as much as he could and moved his arm from his support turning around briskly, with as much grace as his injured leg allowed. Unsupported, he still held a hand to his front to keep his breeches from falling, and weight most on one leg.

Sir Arthur Wellesley. Damn.

Wellesley walked Hercules over to the hussar and stopped just next to him.

"I shall not ask," he said, his voice lowered more back down to the usual level. "What you were doing this far in front of the column with a rifleman. Instead I shall ask you to to describe to me what exactly you saw of the grenadiers' disposition and activity before and when you were captured."

Upon the man's approach he saluted, more than grateful that he was not needed to climb that bloody hill again. " Sir. " He began looking slight past the Wellesley, his eyes not focused at anything in particular.

"There were six of them when we first came across. They were seated, as if resting. Sir." He had to pick his words carefully, fearful that any speculations unconfirmed my rouse the man.

"Two.. were corporals. One a sergeant. Sir." He took a short breath and a moment to pause.

"They didn't expect us, else they wouldn't have.. "Trying to find the right words and feeling he should've been quiet a long while ago:".. Wouldn't have gone and looked so stunned." He omitted the reason, the rabbit thrown right in the middle of them. It could only amuse the general. The first part said he shifted and winced, quickly adjusting his stance.

"They must've been a walking distance from their.... officers sir. Their residence.. sir. " Using the exact words, told to him by Javert. "Thought to bring us there, before... before they came." There was something nagging at his mind but he knew he'd spoken a good deal already. best not to test the man's patience. So he turned quiet.

(jForgot Javert. )

He had been right in supposing he would get more sense out of Willoughby than Newbury, for all riflemen were said to be a more intelligent lot.

"Did they have any officers with them that you could see?"

"Yes sir. When they were retreating, with.. us as their ..." And he was having an able way to see behind them as he was carried. ".. A captain, sir.. and a lieutenant. I'm sure. They were behind us, covering the retreat."

He was pleased that his injured leg had enabled him such a view, which sounded useful, now that he considered it.

He considered a moment and then added:" We were later joined by an ensign.. as well sir."

"Sounds at least like a full company to me, Wellesley," Picton growled.

Sir Arthur nodded. It was unlikely that a captain and a lieutenant would turn out with anything less than a company, so it didn't sound like alost band of grenadiers. Willoughby's leg was clearly giving him grief, but Wellesley had not entirely finished with him yet.

"Their 'residence'. Was that just where they were bivuoaced or was there any mention of a regiment? Or more troops?"

He tried to remember whether there was any further mention of the residence. Javert only replied to his question, which they later decided they were not need to be taken to. Perhaps due to the riflemen coming onto them a good deal too fast.

"...Don't think so sir...." There it was. A mention of troops, although dead. "Sir, the French, when they were deciding what to do with us,... they mentioned something."

Ob...Obidos? That must've been it.

"There was a cavalry sir, near Obidos, said to have harmed a priest. Said that thirty.. hmm.. yes, thirty went, and only five came back. They said the Portuguese were to blame and mentioned torture sir. Though I'm not sure if it was just used to scare the man.. into obeying." Was that helpful? He hoped it was. Still he searched his mind for a mention, any bloody mention of the number of troops or the wherabouts of that camp.

The General kept his face impassive as Hogan shifted in his saddle slightly.

"Thank you, Willoughby. Dismissed. And get a surgeon to look to your leg."

He turned Hercules and walked back over to the Colonel and Vickery.

"The column shall continue its present route and speed of march, seeing as our Gallic friends have disappeared for the timebeing. The moment they appear again, should they reappear, I am to be informed. A better idea of their strength and numbers would not go amiss either."

He had a good mind to send out a cavalry patrol ahead of the Rifles to see if they could find which way the grenadiers had gone.

"Yes, sir."

Vickery looked at the Colonel. "With your permission then, sir, I will take the Rifles back down to the road."

He saluted, watching the horse.. and his man go. A fine animal it was, by the looks of it. Well muscled, and structured, strong legs and a smooth back.

Slowly he turned to look at Perkins, and he near slumped agains the youth's shoulder, so eager he was to get any weight from his leg.

"...that, out of the way.." He murmured, glad and hopeful that Newbury, and he too, would not get in trouble for what they have done. After all, they had found the French before the French found them. Glancing in the direction of Vickery he hoped the man understood that and would care to take it into account when he were to speak with his fellow rifleman.

"To the surgeon's.. eh?" He smiled more cheerfuly to young Perkins.

Perkins sighed with relief at the general's departure. "Yes. Come on, this way. The column will be marching this way soon, so we won't have to walk far."

" Thanks." He looked at the lad helping him walk, and guessed that he could've chosen to find himself a different task, if earlier he'd wanted. After all, it was he, who went ahead, and thus Perkins would pretend he could not find him.

"I was.. wondering to ask.." He murmured as he stepped over a small rock."..Forgot to ask Newbury.. but.. you both can .. Well, would it be possible that either of you could show me how to shoot one of your rifles? I know they mean a lot to you..I'm sure. So I'll understand .. if you say no." He felt oddest and most vulnerable when requesting something that was more a favour than anything.

"Oh." Perkins looked awkward. "I don't know if... I've never... I think I might have to ask Mister Sharpe for permission. I've never taught another person how to fire a rifle. I think I'd be nervous." He kicked at a pebble and watched it bounce down the slope. "But I bet one of the others would show you. They're used to training and giving advice..." He hoped it didn't sound unkind, but the prospect of teaching a hussar, someone older than himself, how to do anything was intimidating.

"..Ah, Alright." He couldn't hide the slight disappointment. Not with Perkins, but more that he would still need to ask. Newbury could have been a choice, he wondered if he were willing. "Thanks still." He smiled to show that he didn't feel offended nor thought Perkins to be unkind by what he'd said.

"If you change your mind, I'll still be asking." He spoke gently and smiled :" N' Perkins.. you needn't be feeling nervous around me. Ok?.. I'm a private just as you are. Perhaps only less able to walk at such a great distance and speed. Which would make you the better one here." He grinned.

"Oh, I'm not nervous," Perkins replied hastily. "I just... it's only that I've never been someone's teacher, like. That's all." He cleared his throat and looked down the road. "Here they come now... We'll just wait and the surgeon's wagon will pass us. They'll be way back at the end."

When Wellesley had ridden away, Newbury was hard-pressed to hide his relief. He looked up at Captain Vickery and hoped that he wouldn't have anything more to say or ask.

"Permission to... fall in with the company, sir?" The sooner he got away from all these officers, the better.

"Can we sit then?..I wish not to seem less able but.. my leg is trying to make its displeasure known." He had much of his weight on Perkins own shoulders and last that he wished was to be his burden , anybody's burden, for longer than needed. He wasn't the kind that wished to be pampered and carried around, contrary to any popular belief.

"There's always somethin' ter be your first." He smiled at that but didn't press further. Perkins was becoming, what he hoped, a friend, but as with any, hospitality was only given as long as the guest knew his bounds as well to take it.

"Carry on, Rifleman Newbury," Vickery said. There was dirty laundry to be washed where the scouts were concerned, but he was damned if he'd do it in public - in front of the General, no less! It could wait until that evening.

"If you - or one of the other lads - has a spare pair of trousers, I suggest you change as quickly as possible, and find someone to sew those buttons back on," he said dryly. "You've got ten minutes before we march."