Yet another tavern in Lisbon

"I'm just glad we were here. He seems a proper bully, and they only pick on those who can't fight back. Soon as he saw there were three of us, that's when he scarpered." He topped Williams' cup up, thoughtfully.

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to be keeping well away from the 33rd while he's around."

"Let's hope we can do that. But you never know how they'll line you up on the day." He stared sombrely at the wall. "How come no one's ever shot him in battle? I wouldn't go asking about the type of ball if that one ended up a corpse. Poor bloody 33rd must be too scared to stand up to him."

"There's plenty of them about, but few as nasty as that. I'll be watching my back. You watch yours. Next time he'll come prepared."

Cotton couldn't help agreeing with Williams' assessment. "Hope somebody gets him afore too long. I'll get a crick in my neck, else, watchin' for him. Can't believe nobody in the Havercakes hasn't tried to get him before now."

He took a mouthful of his own drink. "Makes you wonder what the officers think, though. They probably reckon he's a good solder and don't see what he's really like."

"That's the truth. But that's what we signed up for - and more fool us if we thought it wouldn't apply to us."

He leaned back, setting the cup down, and looking at the cooling dinner on his plate. "And what sort of sergeants do you think we'd make? The kind we'd like to have - or the kind that drives men forward when they'd rather sit the next battle out. What with the officers screeching in one ear and the guns in the other, I think... Maybe the Rifles is different, though. Less formal. Would that be it?"

"Aye, the Rifles are different. We have to rely on each other. And our officers have to do the same training we do before they're allowed to even take a squad on the parade square. Someone like him?" He made a rude gesture in the direction of the door. "He wouldn't last five minutes in the 60th or the 95th."

He leaned back in his seat. "The Rifles have a lot more freedom than you poor redcoats. It all comes down to trust, and other officers ain't learned how to trust the poor old soldiers yet."

"I didn't sign up for freedom. I could have had that back home."

He picked up a piece of fish, and then returned to the question of the Sergeant.

"But no matter whether we're trusted or not, it's not something we can lay a complaint about now, is it? 'Please Sir, one of your sergeants came into a bar and tried to buy one of the women. And when we said he couldn't have her, he left.' Hardly a hanging offence. Could be we're just over-reacting. The man may have meant no harm -" No. Every instinct said that was not so. "And perhaps his mother loves him!"

"It's the same everywhere in this Army. If a man's got stripes on his sleeve, or a bit of gold or silver lace on his coat, you can talk till you're blue in the face and they'd still take his word over yours." He shook his head, surprised he sounded so bitter. It wasn't like him to complain about something that had always been that way, and would never change.

"His mother might love him but she'll be the only woman who does if that was anything to judge by."

Williams looked round. The locals had returned to their talk, low-voiced in the corner. Clearly they had summed up the situation, and realized that he and the Riflemen were not the threat. But they hadn't seen the look in the Sergeant's eye, nor that insane twitch.

The man had gone, and would be wary now, with two of them armed with rifles. But they could not spend the night here, and he found himself worrying about the walk back to his billet. Duw, a fine soldier he made, frightened of walking through a friendly town in the dark.

He had lost his appetite, too, but he watched as the others ate, and drank more of the thin wine. When that was gone, he would have to make a move, get back among his own. But he'd make sure he kept in touch with these Riflemen. You could always use friends like that, particularly once you had a close, personal enemy.

Hagman ate his dinner and listened to the two younger men going on about Sergeants in general and this nasty one in particular. He didn't say much but occasionally nodded his agreement or added a consenting "Aye, t'is so."
He smiled warmly at Cottons description of the riflemen - that boy really was made of the same wood as him. He was wondering if they'd meet again when the action would finally get going. He wouldn't mind at all to have someone like him watch his back and vice versa.
That Williams still had some strange air about him but his kind behaviour towards Maria showed that he too had his heart in the right place.
Soon they would all be back with their regiments and own Sergeants and what not to worry about. But he dearly hoped that this truly mad one would never cross either of their paths again.

He pushed his empty plate aside and took a decent gulp of the wine to get the rest of the fish down.
"Guess we better get a move on soon, lads. If it's true that the General has landed here there'll be more than lazy afternoons in dim taverns in store for us."
He held his mug out to Williams. "But before we head back let us first finish that wine. It's no good to let it go down the drain."

Williams poured some wine into Hagman's mug, and topped up his own. He looked round the bar, with its peeling plaster, the old ornamented ceiling and the cracked marble counter that spoke of its past prosperity. It would be well not to come back here, just in case.

"That tavern where we met," he said. "Popular with the Rifles, is it, now? I'm thinking it would be good - if we do get a few moments' peace before the Generals have us off on our travels again - to go somewhere where there are other lads. Yours or mine, no matter."

Williams' suggestion sounded good to Cotton. Somehow, this old place no longer felt as friendly as it had earlier, and what had happened had soured the day for him.

Though Williams had shown that he was the sort of soldier Cotton would willingly back up, as he hoped he had done.

"Yes, there's a few of us drink in there. And you'll be welcome to stop by. Not like some people."

"That's very kind. And I'll probably be accepting the invitation. If they let us run loose, now there are all these other units in the town. That's where trouble breaks out. And not always settled by a nice friendly competition, and a few drinks afterwards."

It seemed odd to refer to their evening like that. The cold feeling was still there, at the back of his neck.

"We'll meet again - that's the way the Army goes. It's been good to have new faces to look at. But now, I think it's time to be gone. Will you be walking back into the lower town?"

"Yes, my billet's back that way. Though I'm not sure about Dan, here."

"Then I'll walk down with you. It was a good day - for the most part. If nothing worse happens..." He glanced at the two riflemen. "You will watch your backs, now. Just until we can be sure it was just a bully looking for easy targets." He could not get those eyes out of his mind. "It's me that started it, and you did what any friend would do, backing me. I'd hate to see anything happen to you because of it."

"I don't like bullies. I never have. It's why I ended up in the Army in the first place. And you'd have done the same for me. But watch your own back, too."

Hagman could only agree with the two soldiers. He didn't like bullies and this fella had sent a shiver down his spine on first sight. They needed to watch out over the next days not to run into him again. They wouldn't be able to escape serious trouble one more time, of that he was certain. The Sergeant's eyes betrayed a madness he didn't want to encounter more closely.

"Let's be going, lads. We should walk to town together. You can never be sure what awaits you once you step outside. Guess we're lucky that we ran into each other, eh? And the lass was lucky we were around."

He stood up and made for the door. "Now to somewhere with more friendly company."