In bivouac with the 60th, 18th May

Cotton had slipped into a sort of numb despair by the time the Division arrived at today's camping ground. He wanted to run back to help Maggie with her things, only she wasn't there to help.

He sat by the fire, staring into its dancing orange flames, with his hands wrapped around a slowly-cooling mug of tea, wishing that he'd woken earlier and praying that Maggie was all right. He almost got her shawl out of his pack to wrap around him, but decided against it. Doing that would just reinforce the fact that she wasn't here, and he should have been there for her when she needed him. And now she was in hospital, suffering who knew what pain, while he was out here without her.

Several lads were singing a lively song, and a few had started to dance with their women.

"Is it taken'?" The young voice of the new lad was heard from behind the somber faced rifleman. It didn't look as if Cotton's troubles have been resolved. Not with his face looking grayer and darker than a storm cloud, when the promise of bad weather was very much foreboding.

"Want to dance?" Cotton had asked Maggie, the last time there had been music to be heard in camp, and she had run off, her face a-swim with tears, and he had gone after her and fetched her back.

And now she had run off again - or stayed away, which was almost worse - and he couldn't go and fetch her back. He wondered vaguely if this was how people died of a broken heart.

He realised with a start that his tea was cold, and turned to throw it away. He narrowly missed drenching Rifleman Pye who was standing behind him.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't see you."

It was up to the others to invite Pye to sit down, which they did without hesitation, welcoming him into their circle as though he'd been a Rifleman for years.

"Is alright. ...needed a bath anyhow." He answered warmly, but a smile didn't reach high, not with Cotton's own upside down.

He did share one more grateful for the men and sat himself down slowly. He glanced at Cotton and frowned. He didn't know how to help him, but the man.. he just looked so sad, so lost and his girl wasn't there either. She must've still been missing. Why didn't she come? Didn't she love her man? He looked at Cotton again then held his hand out to have some of the tea poured into his mug.

Once with a mugful he held it inbetween his palms, since the night was slowly becoming less of a warmest ordeal. How he wanted to help, but he didn't know how and talking,.. talking couldn't help because he'd say stupid things that would only have Cotton worry more. "....Want... want some more tea, Gabe?" Though asking that couldn't hurt.

Cotton blinked, becoming aware of his surroundings. Someone was offering tea and he held his mug out, thinking stupidly that it should be him doing the offering.

"I... I'm sorry I ain't good comp'ny tonight," he said, aware that Pye probably didn't have a clue what was going on, or why he was so miserable.

"I'd like some tea. Can I?" It was young Joe Cavender, grinning at them with shy hopefulness. "I thought Jenny was going to come and give me tea tonight," he added. "I knew she'd forget me, I just knew it!"

"..is..is'm there something ..that..." He was at loss of words, he just knew he didn't want the man sad, because he was a good man, and good men didn't deserve to be sad, shouldn't be. Not too often anyway.

".?"

He smiled at Joe and nodded to him. "Aye, here with the mug!" He looked at Cotton back too and took his, but only to have it refilled and then he held it back almost as a kind of gift of good will.

He looked up at the man in silence and knew only enough to know... he knew little. Almost as if to find some cheer, he looked at the boy with a small smile.

"No, there ain't anythin' you can do, but thanks for askin'."

Cotton didn't see the figure of the 5th's Irish priest asking for him, and nor did he see the man pointing towards his fire. He looked up as someone said his name, only to realise it wasn't who he wanted, and slump down again.

Joe was nattering away, cheerfully oblivious. "Tess McPheeters give me this for helping her boy. He nearly fell in the drink when we was filling the kettles! Shoulda seen it. Oh, Gable, hey, Gabe! Chaplain man wants to see you!" He gave the rifleman a nudge with his elbow.

Cotton blinked and looked up. "Who? What?" he said, stupidly, not realising quite what was going on.

The boy nodded his head in the priest's direction.

A priest? He wasn't dying, and even if he was, he certainly wasn't Catholic. He must've got confused and come to the wrong place - it was easily done, after all, and it was getting dark now, which would only make it harder.

He nodded. He didn't want to press and he was just new here, sure other men would know how to help their old friend. And then there was a priest and when priests came to talk to people... well he didn't really have a set rule about that, but Cotton needed talking to him anyway.

He looked at Joe, blinking: "Fell in drink? What was 'e doin'?"And he shuffled closer to the boy to hear that story.

Cavender launched into his account with loud enthusiasm, and no one paid heed to Cotton or his visitor.

Zachary grinned, listening to the boy with the attention of a young pup that was in awe of the world. When Cavender was done, he'd found himself seating cross legged, with his rifle resting neatly at his lap, a cloth in hand, rubbing along it's side.

"Ye sure are a hero!"

It was a pity that he had been directed straight towards Cotton, Father O'Dwyer thought. He would have preferred to speak to the Captain first, in view of Miss Evans' own request that certain information should be withheld from her man. But the desolate look on the Rifleman's face killed his doubts. The man deserved to know that his woman was alive, and to be given her letter. He crossed over and crouched down to Cotton's level.

"Rifleman Cotton?" he asked, though he recognized him from his earlier visit to the Company.

"Yes?" He looked up. "Oh. Yes, sir, that's me." Why would a priest come to see him? It didn't make any sense, and the only thing he could think of... "Please. Oh, please. She ain't dead, please, God."

"No, she is not dead. She is in Coimbra, and I have just come from there." It had been a long road, and at the end he and Patience had both been exhausted. "She sent you a letter." He had it in the pocket of his soutane, and held it where the Rifleman could see it. "She has been hurt, and is being cared for by the Sisters of the Poor Clares. But with God's blessing she will make a full recovery." He held the letter out for Cotton. "She wrote, I believe, what she thought you would be able to read. But if you wish, I can read it to you." He glanced round. There were interested faces around. Of course, everyone in the Company would know of his troubles. "Away from here, if you wish."

Not dead. Not dead, but in hospital, with people - women - looking after her. He nodded and got to his feet. "Dunno... dunno if there is anywhere quieter 'round here," he said, his mind in a whirl. "But I'll come with you, if you can find somewhere."

It was not easy - the Regiments each had their own camping ground, but there was little space between them, with the officers taking any space that offered privacy, if not a roof. But Captain Vickery's company was at least at the edge of the village of Avelãs. Father O'Dwyer led the Rifleman along the road slightly towards the first sentries. "Miss Evans - I think you should read her letter. Or shall I?"

He followed the priest along the road a little. "I... Could you? I ain't so good at readin' as all that, not yet."

Fortunately Miss Evans had written in clear print, easier for the Rifleman, but easier now for Father O'Dwyer to read in the half-light of dusk.

"Dear Gabe,
I am sorry that you have been worrying over me. I am well and in a convent hospital in Coimbra with Jenny Ross and Joe Newbury and Father O'Dwyer. He says he will take this letter for me and read it to you."

He paused, and interrupted his reading. "Captain Vickery agreed that I should go, to carry a message to Miss Evans if I could find her, and a note authorising Rifleman Newbury to remain behind."

"Oh." At least Newbury had his ticket, which was something, though he might still get into trouble for stopping behind. And Maggie had someone with her, which was another blessing. He didn't understand quite how the priest had come to be mixed up in all of this, but he was grateful, very grateful.

"The next part is not going to be easy for you," Father O'Dwyer said, hoping to lessen the impact. "It was not easy for her to write, nor for me to say."

I am sorry I did not tell you when I went to the hospital. Jenny helped me. A man hurt me and I was scared and hurt and sad. I never wanted him and I tried to make him stop but I could not. I tried to shout but he would not let me. Father O'Dwyer can tell you what happened. I am very sorry.