Thursday morning before the march

Cotton had barely noticed the arrival of Colonel Edrington. He glanced over at the two officers without showing the least bit of curiosity because he was far too wrapped up in his own problems. He was walking without really taking anything in, just going through the motions.

He hoped, so far he was conscious of thinking at all, that they would stop soon for a break so he could go and see if she had joined the column and he'd simply missed her in the pre-dawn darkness.

"Stop worrying," Roper muttered, easily reading his thoughts as they marched next to each other. "It'll turn out all right. She's probably with the other women now and you'll see her when we stop for a rest."

"Easy for you to say, seein' as it ain't your girl who've gone off. And it ain't like her to do it, neither, Tom."

He should have stayed behind himself; Newbury was injured after all, and it was asking a lot of him. But they would be stopping soon, and then he'd find her and be able to put his mind at rest.

John Vickery wrote:~"I wouldn't want to deprive you of your entire Light Company, should they all decide they would rather wear green, though, sir. I believe we have an unfair advantage in recruiting because of how unusual we are - and I include the 95th in that as well, of course."

He expected their attrition rate to be high and wasn't sure quite how the 60th's senior officers planned to gain new recruits. In the meantime, if men were willing to volunteer from the Line regiments, he wasn't about to turn them away - as long as they had the support of their own company officers in making the exchange.

Edrington thought of saying they could have the 8th Company - including Captain Simmonds and Lieutenant Waldegrave - with his compliments, but merely grinned. "We shall see. But I think that whether they join or not, they are far more receptive to the idea that Rifles are a good thing... Your Training Day did that at least."

Edrington stepped to one side. "I am glad to know your men, and Sharpe's, are out there, and you can fall back on us - or call on us - if you need support. The Light company are ready for it. In fact, I think they rather relish the idea of being the first Line Regiment to stand the shock." He smiled and looked questioningly at Vickery. "Is there anything more you would like to discuss?"

Lt. Jaeger paused his ascend to look back at the marching column. Downhill, on the road the marching men looked like a huge red centipede with uneven dots of brown or black, the officers horses. The end of the column disappeared in a cloud of dust that hid the last regiments, the carts, bullocks and baggage. Jaeger was glad he was out on the flank and up in the hills and not marching somewhere in line in the body of that cumbersome monster.

He turned his attention to the front and spotted a dismounted redcoat officer walking next to Captain Vickery. It was probably Colonel Edrington, he thought, they were under his command after all. Smiling he remembered shooting the colonels air gun. It had been a treat for him and the Colonel had been kind when he talked to him, really interested in his opinion. A great man their Colonel.

Farther front he percieved movement among the trees. That would be the men of the 95th. Jaeger watched a moment to make sure he was really seeing green coats, not blue. Never take anything for granted, his father had warned him often enough. But it was green he saw, with a flash of bright orange between uniform and shako. Pt. Harris, who had competed against Cotton. Who had won the match, of course.

Jaeger hid his smile and turned his attention back to the business at hand. Carefully he peeked over the crest of the hill, and only stood up and marched on when he was sure there was no enemy in sight.

Roper and Cotton had been marching a few minutes in silence when Roper suddenly exclaimed, "I know what it is! She took sick in the night, nothing bad, but she went to see the ol' sawbones. She's probably in that padded wagon of his now, fast asleep on some medicament. I heard some people took sick on the water in Coimbra. Some of that water's filthy."

Pye jumped a little hearing the not too silent exclamation of a man further back. He glanced over his shoulder and then ahead, spotting the lieutenant somewhere further up. This was the man he had not met yet from up close but would answer to as much as captain Vickery! Well, it would do to remember his face.

He smiled and looked at his rifle. He was so proud of that lass, his girl, the chosen one that would have him through thick and thin. She'll get cleaned before he ate in the evening, and be carried free of water, mud, dirt and the like even if it meant himself to be dirtied to protect her from such a fate. She was sturdy of course, but a properly clean rifle was a difference between life and death. And then there was the tapping 'sword' at his side. He glanced at it cheerfully. Good for cutting and all those other things, so he was told!

That sounded... well, it could be right, he supposed.

And then Captain Vickery was calling out for them to halt for a ten-minute break to allow the redcoats to catch up, or something.

All Cotton knew was that they were stopping, and it probably wouldn't be long enough for him to get back to the surgeon and the baggage to check if Maggie was there.

"She'd have said somethin' to me, Tom, I'm sure she would've," he said doubtfully, taking his shako off and running a hand distractedly through his hair.

Williams had managed to have a word with the Sergeant, asking for permission to go forward during the break, and wait there until his company caught up with them. The Sergeant had been pleased to be amused, and to comment on the fact that at least he wasn't going to the back of the train, to see that 'pretty wench that you was talking to earlier.'

So as soon as word was passed back that they would be stopping as soon as they closed up the column, Williams fell out, collected his ticket and started to lope forward, past the 5th, and then the 62nd and then, picking up speed, across the gap to the 60th. At least it was a small company, and they recognised him as a friend of Cotton, and pointed him out. At the front, of course.

"Gabe," he said, rather breathlessly. "Got a note for you - Jenny gave it to me. For heaven's sake boy, what have you been up to with the likes of her?"

Cotton looked up. "Jenny? Ain't done anythin' with Jenny, and nor I wouldn't want to, neither." He sighed. "It's my Maggie I'm worried about. Ain't seen her since last night. She wasn't there when I woke up, though she'd left her good shawl be'ind."

A note? Why in the world would Jenny want to send him a note - she knew he was walking out with Maggie.

He produced the note, and handed it over. "Here, then. It was definitely Jenny though..." Williams caught the sound of worry in Cotton's voice, and his brows drew together. "Maggie isn't with you. That's ... " He turned to look back at Coimbra. "I wish I'd brought you this sooner..."

He took the piece of paper held out and looked at it. He couldn't make the words mean anything and held it out to Williams. "Don't s'pose you can read," he said, and frowned. "She slipped out in the night for summat, and didn't come back, though she left her good shawl behind, and all her other stuff. It looks like she meant to come back, anyhow."

Williams took the note back, rather doubtfully. "You sure you want me to do this?"

He read it out, in as soft a voice as he could manage, which made him sound even more Welsh than usual: Gabe,
I'm staying here. I'm fine. Please don't worry. I'm sorry.
Maggie

He stared at the Welshman in bewilderment. "That's it? No... no reason why? Nothin'?"

He was worried sick already, and that didn't answer anything. If anything had happened to her... And why else would she stay behind, unless something had happened to her and she couldn't tell him?

"That's all it says - you can see how short it is. Jenny didn't say anything else. The ... " Williams bit off what else he was going to say, about both the women. "Just to bring it to you. And we was already mustered, and you were moving off, or had gone. I'm sorry, Gabe. If I'd known..."

"It ain't... it ain't your fault. I should've stayed, kept lookin'. I knew there was summat wrong, and left her be'ind."

He hoped she was fine, but if she was, she'd have come with them. She'd come this far, after all. And it wasn't like her to leave her things behind.

"If anyone's hurt her, I'm goin' to kill him, I swear I am."

"Anyone? Who'd want to hurt Maggie? But if it is, and you want a hand, you know I'm with you..." Williams forced a grin, distressed by the look on Cotton's normally cheerful face. He had had more than enough grief so far on this campaign... "You couldn't have stayed behind - that's desertion, at worst. Specially as we'll be up with the Frenchies in a couple of days. She wrote that, didn't she? So it's not so bad." Or it's worse, and she had just left him.

Zachary had settled down as they stopped, and watched as the redcoat was pointed out by the other men. At first it looked rather odd to see one come, not an officer especially, but with the murmur of his neighbour he understood it was one that the riflemen knew by name. And so did Cotton. He meant to approach the later just after he'd had a sip of water, but seeing the two men, frowning faces and deep in conversation he decided to give them the probably desired privacy.

Instead he sat down by the road and lay his rifle across his knees. First Newbury was not about and Cotton was late - which he was assured, was not something of a regularity - then a redcoat came and there were no merry looks on the men's faces. Perhaps he was just being too observant and too curious about what the others were or were not to do. He wondered a moment about the 33rd and some of the men he knew. They were further back, a part of the red snake that wound behind it's tiny green head. He yawned and glanced at Williams and Cotton again. Still there.

He met Williams' eyes. "She left her things be'ind. I've got her shawl in me pack, her green one. She wouldn't do summat like that unless there was summat very wrong some'eres, I know she wouldn't."

He felt almost torn in half. He knew that to have stayed behind would have meant trouble, yet Maggie was his girl. And Newbury had stayed behind. He had no idea how they were going to explain that to the Captain.

"She wouldn't have left her things behind," Williams agreed. "Not if she meant to have stayed. But what could have happened to her? She'd have been among your lads, and there's not one of them would have harmed her. And what would make her go walking about, in the middle of the night?"

"Your mate lost something 'as he, Davvie?" an all-too familiar voice crooned softly behind them.

Williams span round, his mouth falling open. "What ... " Sight confirmed what sound had told him, and he lunged forward. "You bastard!"

Sergeant Obediah Hakeswill? What had he lost up at the front? Zachary straightened a little where he sat then pushed himself to his feet. The man was of the 33rd and not giving them a favourable reputation. He slowly began to approach.

Hakeswill took a surprised couple of steps back as Williams suddenly lunged forward, though he was held back by his mates. The sergeant recovered his composure swiftly enough and smiled nastily at the private.

"Now, now - wouldn't want to be hitting a superior rank would you, Davvie? Get you in all sorts of trouble that would..."

Williams shrugged off the hands. "It might be worth it, to do for you. And one day I will ..." He scowled, somewhat regretting that instictive reaction to the hated voice. The question was, what was Hakeswill doing here, at the front of the column. It was almost certain that he knew something, and was here to gloat.

Williams suspected that he was Hakeswill's primary target, and that Cotton - and Maggie? - was suffering because of him. But there was nothing he could do, at the moment, to stop that.