In bivouac with the 60th, 18th May

"Did she teach you about Capital letters and small ones? Or .... I is always a capital, like that..." O'Dwyer wrote "I love you" in clear print on a sheet of paper, and then handed the letter he had written for Cotton to him. "You can copy that at the foot, and then - can you write Gabe? Or would you like me to..."

"No, I can do that, thanks." He took the letter and carefully printed at the bottom of it in pencil, his letters still slightly shaky, Maggie, I love you. Gabriel..

"Was only on the slate, afore," he said. He indicated the parcel. "That's the first time I used proper pencil, you see. An', thank you. It means... well, more'n I can say, to be able to tell her all that."

"It is my pleasure," the priest said. "Love is greater than faith, we are told, and so it seems right that I should give time to helping lovers, not just those of my faith. I hope and pray that all will work out for the best for both of you, though whicever choice your Maggie makes will not be easy for either of you. But you know that. If you need anything more that I can provide - whether she comes back or goes to England - then .... You will know where to find me."

"Thank you. It means a lot to me to.. to be able to tell her, a bit. At least she'll know I won't throw her over, see." He took a breath and looked up. "See, she come to see me the night afore I was flogged. And I was so worried that she wouldn't want me any more - she come out here with one of our lads, a Corporal, y'see, and she'd set up in business after he was killed. And I didn't think she'd want to stay with me after... after I was flogged, 'cause, well, I thought she could do better than me. She could have a sergeant, even, if she wanted. So I know, a little bit, how she's prob'ly feelin' now, about us bein' together.

The priest listened with interest. Floggings were frequent enough. Some men bore the stripes almost as marks of distinction, and had been heard to boast of how many lashes they took without showing pain. Or remorse. Others felt that their whole lives had been destroyed. Floggings might be inflicted for almost any offence. Although the Rifles had the reputation of not being given to flogging for petty misdemeanours, that did not mean it did not happen. Cotton, however seemed too gentle and respectful - and he was still employed as the Captain's servant.

"You may be right - that sense of guilt, and ... that she has let you down. And you know for yourself, now, how she felt then."

"I'd do anythin' for her," the Rifleman said simply. His hand strayed unconsciously to the ring in his pocket again. If there was a baby born out of this horror, he could offer it a name, at least, and save Maggie the shame of bearing a child out of wedlock. But that was something he couldn't even tell this priest, he thought. And if Maggie did leave for England, he couldn't bear to think how she would support herself.

"Did she... did she tell you what happened? Could you tell me?"

"She did tell me, and said that I should tell you, if you asked." Though not everything, of course. Not that she was convinced her assailant had worn a Sergeant's stripes... "She went down to the privy: I understand there was one in the courtyard, of the house you shared with the officers. And while there she heard a disturbance, in the stables. She went to find out what was causing it. Her donkey was there."

Cotton nodded. He thought he'd heard some sort of disturbance among the animals, but he was so used to hearing mules and donkeys braying at all sorts of hours that he'd tuned it out and gone back to sleep. "It was in the stables, then?"

Within yards of where he'd been, and he'd been blithely oblivious to it all.

O'Dwyer nodded. She should have roused the sentry, of course. Not gone herself - horse thieves were not unknown, even between different regiments. "There was a soldier there - he dragged her out and.... She tried to fight him, but he was too strong." He hesitated before saying. "She is certain he was a soldier, not a local man. In uniform, but it was of course too dark to see details."

A soldier. No wonder she wanted to go away, back to England.

"There's a sergeant of the 33rd's took agin me," he said, slowly. "He's the one as got me flogged, though I can't prove it. It'll be summat to do with him, though I can't say that to anyone, him bein' a Sergeant an' me not even bein'a Corp'ral."

"It was very dark," Father O'Dwyer repeated. "Although your Captain Vickery did say that there was a Sergeant who bore a grudge, I ... I think you are right. Even if Miss Evans was able to swear it was him, it would be hard to prove it, her word against that of a Sergeant."

"So he... jumped her, outside of the stables. An' she tried to fight him off. Poor Maggie. She's only up to me shoulder, you know. And if it was him, he's taller'n me. She never had a chance."

And his arms ached to hold her, to comfort her. And he might never see her again, and that hurt almost more than anything else.

Father O'Dwyer nodded. She had seemed small in the bed in the hospital. There were women who marched with the army who could have felled an assailant with one blow of a hard hand at the end of a beefy arm. But not Miss Evans. "Whoever he was, she fought him, be assured of that. And she is not to be blamed for losing that fight. Only one person should bear the guilt for the crime and it is not the victim."

"I know. How... how bad did he hurt her?" She was still able to write, and to think what he would be able to read, which meant that she couldn't be as badly hurt as they'd said Captain Padstowe had been after he'd been jumped. But that didn't mean very much; it wasn't the physical harm, necessarily, that was the worst pain.

"She thought he would kill her - he half choked her, dragging her from the stables, punched her in the face, and the body - I understand that she will have bruises - you can see the swelling and the grazing where ... But her life is not endangered, and she will recover from her injuries, in time, with the care of hte sisters and God's blessing."

"Oh, Maggie," Cotton said. It wouldn't be the outward injuries so much as what she would think - and what others would think. "She must feel awful, though. And if she thinks I'd give her up because some... bastard made her do summat she never wanted to, and fought against, I couldn't do it. She means too much to me to do that to her."

It was what Father O'Dwyer expected Cotton to say: whether he could do it would be something only time would show. This was not an uncommon story, and the men - husbands or lovers - knew rape happened, and knew that the woman would have had no choice. They would tell him that they knew she was innocent, that it was no different from being knocked down by a cart, not a problem.... but it was not possible for the man to forget, and there would always be someone who pointed the finger, and talked behind their backs. One day - months afterwards - the man would return. Some admitted that it was their own feelings that they could not ignore. Others turned on the woman, saying that they always knew ... And almost as often, or so it seemed to him, it was the woman, tired of always seeking forgiveness for a crime of which she was the victim, of being humiliated and slandered, who gave up ...

But Sufficient unto the day... "When she gets your letter, she will surely know that is not so, and she will be able to make up her mind knowing that. It will be a difficult choice for her, Rifleman. And what ever she chooses will be difficult."

Cotton nodded soberly. "I know. I jus'.. I jus' wish I could make it easier for her."

He had seen it before, where the woman had ended up becoming exactly what the malicious gossipers had said she was. He could only hope that Maggie was strong enough not to give in.

The priest smiled ruefully. "No, you don't want to do that, because that would be to decide for her. She must make her own hard decision."

"No, I just meant, if there was some way of making it not so hard for her to choose. I mean, oh I dunno." He picked at the knot of the string holding the parcel together before realising what he was doing. "I wouldn't want her to be unhappy if'n she come back here, that's all, I s'pose. Only, I don't want to... to make her think she've got no choice and that I was only tryin' to help out of duty, 'cause, well, it's more'n that. Lots more."

He looked up. "I never said... I'd send her stuff on to her, if she wanted it, and I knew where to send it."

"She said that you should keep her things, or sell them. That ... If you sold them, you could send the money to her, which would be of use whatever decision she takes." The priest wondered about that. "Do you have her donkey? And her goods for sale, loaded on it? I do not imagine that you led it yourself, while marching... "

"I wouldn't want to sell her things if she's comin' back, though. She'd have to get all new stock in, and that'd take time and energy, an' she prob'ly won't have the energy or the... the willin'ness t'do it. If she does decide to go to England, it won't be for a bit, I don't s'pose - till she's bodily better, anyways, an' she'll mebbe be able to let me know, and I can do it then and send the money to her. Though I reckon she'll want the donkey. Might make it easier for her, if she has a donkey she can ride some of the way.."

And how it hurt inside, talking about how best to help Maggie leave him.

He held the parcel out. "I... please, don't tell whoever takes it that it's got her locket in. I don't want 'em seein' if it's worth pinchin'." He glanced down. "I don't mean to say that I don't trust 'em, just... you never know what folks might try an' do when there ain't anyone lookin', y'see."

"If I gave it to that sort of carrier, they would look in the parcel regardless of what I said... No, I am sure it will be safe." The priest scratched his head.

"I di'n't mean to suggest that..." he trailed off, unsure what he had meant to say, too. "Thanks for your help, though. I, well, it was real good of you to write for me."

"I will pray," he said again. "For her, for her recovery, and for her to make the right decision. For you, that you may accept that decision."