Thursday morning before the march

"I will do my best for him, you can be sure of that." Cotton was his batman, after all - even after all that business about Captain Padstowe's watch, he still had faith in the man, enough to keep him on. He couldn't send Cotton back to Coimbra, though, and he suddenly wondered if Newbury's absence this morning was connected with this in some way.

If it was, and he got picked up and brought back by the Provosts, he was going to make any excuse possible on his behalf. He wished he'd known about all this sooner and could have given Cotton a ticket to stay longer.

It was becoming more complicated by the moment. Who was against whom, and who had to watch his back and why, and how the sergeant was in relation to miss Maggie. Pye looked to the redcoat, the captain and the rifleman private.

"..'s goin' t' be alright." He murmured to Cotton, trying to sound encouraging. He knew the sergeant though and so did they, in part big enough to worry.

After the 60th had moved off, Williams stood by the side of the road, his musket at his side, and looking alert enough, he thought, not to attract any attention. A couple of officers from the 62nd gave him a quick second glance, including the young one who had prosecuted Cotton - and who had apparently wanted Maggie in the dock too. But he could not be made to fit into any story with Hakeswill, and if he had been involved, he'd have done it by the book...

He was still thinking htis as the last two companies of the 2/62nd passed and the new regiment in their Division - though the oldest of them in reality - passed him. He watched them with rather more interest, though he had known them of course from last year. He had had few dealings with the priest who was attached to them, but he harboured no ill-feelings towards Papists, and this one was well spoken of, by those in his battalion who had slipped off to confession or mass. So when he saw him approach, leading his cream mule, he hesitated only a second before stepping out in front on him.

"Father O'Dwyer," he said, "Williams, 3/27th. I wonder - they say you'll do good for any one - even if he isn't pa... of your church?"

Father O'Dwyer stopped, regarding him with some amusement. "And what good can I do for you, my son?"

"Not for me," Williams blushed. "But there's a man in the 60th - in Captain Vickery's company up front ... I won't say what the trouble is - that's for him, and he may curse me for even telling you, but I don't know what else to do for him, and that's the truth. Rifleman Cotton, and the Captain knows about it, or something of it, so ..."

"It must be serious, if you stop me to ask for help for your friend. Is Rifleman Cotton a Catholic?"

Williams shook his head, and the Father smiled. "Well, it's a fine day, and I always like to make new acquaintances. Good day to you, Private Williams."

After he had gone, now riding the mule, Williams stared forward, worrying about whether it was the right thing to have done. His good deeds had a habit of getting him into trouble... If someone had not leaned out and grabbed, he would have missed his chance to rejoin the battalion.

Father O'Dwyer, jogging along on Patience, kept his curiosity in check. Family trouble - some men still brought their families along, or were worried about them being left back in England, or Lisbon, or wherever fate had abandoned them. In the absence of chaplains, the priests, travelling voluntarily with the army, were seen as an unofficial source of information. But the redcoat had said that the officer knew.

He rode across the gap between the 62nd and the small company of Riflemen and went towards the Captain.

"Captain Vickery? I don't think we have spoken. Dominic O'Dwyer: I travel with the 5th."

Vickery turned as someone called his name. He saw a Catholic priest riding a cream mule, and a slight frown crossed his face as he tried to think what would bring a Catholic priest up to the 60th. The best thing, of course, would be to ask.

"How can I help you, Father?" he said, recognising the man suddenly as the priest who accompanied the 5th.

"I don't know that you can - or that I can help you, which seemed to be the thought in the mind of the young redcoat who sent me up here. But since he would not tell me what the trouble was - only that it concerned a Rifleman Cotton..." Father O'Dwyer smiled, and continued: "who I do not think is one of my congregation. But that does not matter, if there is anything I can do." He looked at the Captain. "But if you - or he - does not wish to speak, I will fall back again."

"You may be the answer to his prayers, Father, though a surprising one," Vickery said. He thought for a moment and then nodded. "It concerns Rifleman Cotton, as you say. Though I think that if you were to speak to him, you might raise his hopes too much. He is my batman, you see, so I know a little of what has transpired." He sighed. "He has been walking out with a young woman of late. As far as I can ascertain, his intentions towards her are completely honourable, but the fact remains that she slipped away from him last night and did not return. She left her possessions behind - she is somewhat in the way of being a sutler to my men, you see - and said nothing to him. He has just received a note from her saying that she has remained behind and he is not to worry. Though, as you can imagine, he is worrying himself sick, the more so as there is a sergeant in another regiment who has taken against him and will not hesitate to harm another if it will hurt him."

He looked up at the priest. "It would take a deal of weight off his mind if you could find out what has happened to her - her name is Maggie Evans." He took out his notebook and pencil and scribbled a couple of short notes before tearing out the pages. "You may find another one of my men looking for her. Would you give him this?" he said, writing Rfn Newbury on the outside of one note. "The other is for Miss Evans." He put her name on the outside of the second note and handed them both to the priest. "And thank you, Father."

Father O'Dwyer took the two notes, and stowed them between the pages of a well-thumbed missal. "If she stayed in Coimbra ... You do not think she would have ..." He thought for another moment. "No, for if she decided to sell herself, rather than sell goods as a sutler, she would be more likely to stay with the Army. With the soldiers gone from Coimbra, there will be girls setting off in pursuit, not giving up their place."

He put the missal back in a pocket under his soutane. "If she has chosen to hide, then I may not be able to find her. Even if not, it may take longer than I can spend away from my tasks here. But there are people to ask - a community of priests and convents knows much of what goes on within the walls. If I cannot find her, I will arrange to be told when she is found. I will tell her of his concern, but it will be for her to make up her own mind."

The priest did not scan the ranks behind the Captain, to try to identify the Rifleman of whom they spoke. "If there is any reason to explain, you can say that I wondered if your Company had any Roman Catholics... Drumming up trade, as it were."

"Thank you again, Father. And if my soldier is with her, I very much doubt that they have decided to desert together. Newbury is as loyal a friend as any you will find and I think Maggie cares a great deal for Cotton. That note is Newbury's ticket. I don't want him to get into trouble with the Provosts for trying to help a friend." He smiled. "If it is business you are after, there are some good Catholics among Lieutenant Sharpe's men of the 95th. His Sergeant, for one. And one of the younger lads, a Rifleman Carty."

"I will make myself known to them, as soon as I may, then. For good Catholics are difficult to find ... I shall try to find your soldier, and give him his ticket, and your Rifleman's young woman." Father O'Dwyer returned the smile. "And I should be off, Captain. I will find you at camp, since it is doubtful if I shall return before then." He stepped to the side, with Patience's reins in his hand.

"God bless you, Father. And thank you." He could only hope he had done the right thing in confiding in Father O'Dwyer, but the priest would be used to keeping a confidence, and if anything had happened to Maggie, maybe she would find it easier to talk to a priest than to anyone else. He hoped that Maggie would come back and set Cotton's mind at rest, and allow him to reassure her and set her mind at rest, too.

The priest smiled. "And God bless you, also, my son. I shall pray that this has a happy outcome. And for you and your men." And for all the men, of whatever religion or none, who were going to bear arms against the ungodly Bonaparte. He mounted Patience, and turned her head back to the north. He would tell the 5th of Foot that he had to return to Coimbra, out of courtesy, but he was free to come and go as he pleased. That there was some mystery behind the young woman's disappearance, beyond a quarrel or a better offer, made his mission more urgent, and he pushed the willing mule into a trot.

Pye fell in step with Cotton, pulling his rifle further up on his shoulder. "Cotton?" He murmured, glancing at the man.

Cotton had seen the Catholic priest stopping to talk with the Captain, but couldn't even be curious about it, he was so worried.

Pye fell into step beside him, and murmured his name, breaking his reverie. "Aye?" he said, a little glad of the distraction.

"...um.." He reached into his pocket and brought from it a small round flat stone. "...So's.. you won't have a dry mouth.." He murmured and held it out to the man. He smiled a friendly smile, and hoped it was well enough.

Cotton took the pebble, not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, his feelings were so mixed up.

He managed a wan smile. "Thanks, mate," he said,slipping it into his pocket.

Pye gave Cotton a warm smile and nodded. "'s.. alright."

He was quiet while he studied the ragged terrain beneath their feet.
"... " His hand was laid on Cotton's shoulder, a gentle pat followed twice or three times.

"You'um.. ..it won't rain today." He didn't want to bring up something that would upset Cotton and yet it lingered on his mind, and it was there and he had wanted to say everything would be ok, that Maggie was ok. But how could he? " 's.. warmer."

The other lad was certainly full of surprises, Cotton thought. He glanced up at the sky. "Aye, it's goin' to be a fair day, I think," he said. It would be, weather-wise, but that was the only way it would be a nice day as far as Cotton was concerned. "Not like summer, though. Gets awful hot in summer," he continued, thinking that his first answer might have been a little short.

" Is good not to be hot..." He smiled sideways at the rifleman. "...Today ..there might still be somwhat of t' clouds...there's some over there." He pointed at the sky. "But...sure tomorrow t' skies will clear." He hoped it would mean for it both. Skies and more so, Maggie's predicament. A daft man would not see how much it pained Cotton and how worried he'd been. His sergeant... no, his former sergeant only did worse.

"Aye, I think so." He hoped that somehow he could get a message to Maggie. If... if Hakeswill had done anything to her - his mind shied away from the thought he might have raped her or worse - he needed to tell her he loved and nothing would change that. Though he would always regret not waking properly in the night and going with her.

He looked at the lad next to him. He probably didn't understand what had happened, and why Cotton wasn't the same cheerful person who'd welcomed him to the 60th. He had to admit he was putting on a poor showing, and right now there was nothing he could do for Maggie. Best try to talk with Pye. "Bin in the Army long?" he asked, unable to think of a better question.

Pye shrugged. It was good, good for Cotton not to dwell in feeling so down and he hoped that he could do something to help. He hoped Hakeswill wouldn't do more ill for Cotton. But best not to bring that up either way!

"Been not too long but..'while." He smiled: "You? .. n'.. n' where ye liked it better?" That was, not whether in the army or no, but in the army, which of the places.

"Bin in since the year afore Trafalgar," Cotton said, remembering telling Maggie a little of his story. "I 'listed into the 22nd. It was all right. I joined the Rifles three years afterwards, and I've bin here ever since. It's a fine life, wearin' the green jacket. Mostly it is, anyways."

He wondered what could be so bad that Maggie hadn't been able to face telling him about it, and found that he'd raised his hand to where her locket was tucked away inside his shirt. He shrugged self-consciously, putting his hand down. "I've never had anythin' to complain of, so it's a fine enough life."

"It is. Very nice lot in t' rifles." He nodded. A safe heaven for any lass, wasn't it? He kept a smile on his face, somewhat comforting or so he hoped it was.

" You know.. after every rain there's sun... so.. so ..that's how it is." It sounded so right and smart when he thought of it, but now he felt like a daft fool, and it probably didn't do well to say it to Cotton either.

"That's true enough," Cotton said, and hoped that there would be some sort of happy ending to everything that had happened in the past few hours. And it had only been a few short hours that had changed everything. "D'you... is there someone waitin' for you, back home?" he asked. He hadn't seen that Pye had a girl out here, but he might have some lass at home.

"No. " He shook his head with a small and subtle grin. " But I'm walkin' with me home right now." He paused then shrugged. "Is a nice one, always changes, always goes places."

His grin faltered a little then. Cotton had a home but that Maggie girl was nowhere to be seen. ".. You've got any brothers or sisters?" He strayed smartly - a surprise there - away from asking the same question. It would've possibly been like adding salt to an open wound.