25th May Coming early

Roper reached to untie the gag from the older man's mouth, reassuring him in English the whole time.

Cotton un-gagged the younger man before cutting the ropes holding him and stood up, instinctively moving away from them to show he meant no harm. Bergmann came in to say there was nothing else to be found, no sign of the French, and Roper nodded. The Riflemen smiled at the three Portuguese peasants before moving to the door, obviously intending to leave them in peace.

"Wait." The younger man spoke as he stood and dusted his clothes. The girl stood behind him and gazed at the men, more grateful now that she was sure they meant no harm. She held on her skirt and pressed out the wrinkles more frequent and jerkily like that it was certain it wasn't done out of worry for her appearance, but rather to ease her own mind and her fear that had made her heart beat fast.

"Thank you." He said, and motioned towards himself and towards the girl who now hurried to the wounded man, to tend to him. "...The French came. " He spoke, though he saw less need to. The riflemen were at the door after all. " Ten of them. They did this."

"Ten?" Roper said, and slung his rifle so he could have both hands free. He held them up, all his finger spread. "Ten. Franceses, sim? When?" He frowned, trying to think of how to ask that in Portuguese, or a sort of sign language they could understand. "Quantos dias?" he tried, hopefully.

"Today. " The man spoke in Portuguese then pointed at the floor then paused. "Today.." He repeated while he held both hands up to show that yes, he had meant ten men. "Franceses." He nodded again. "Gone..there." He pointed at the door. "With another man. His friend. Our friend. " He motioned towards the wounded man. "Said they use him for.. maps." He paused and made a motion in the ground as if to draw a map. "Show the way to other French. Hunter, the man that was taken with them."

(here I am assuming that as friends, they know his name too!)

"He was... helping them?" Roper stumbled over the Portuguese words. Cotton paused. "I'll get Captain Vickery, Tom. He knows the language, I think."

He turned to the younger of the two Portuguese men. "I fetch...mi capitao, sim?" He was out of the door before they could really understand what had been said.

The man shook his head abruptly. In a way it was help, but it had not been a willing sort. He paused watched as Cotton dashed out the door and nodded , just then understanding. Their captain would come and hopefully he would have an interpreter which would enable them a better form of conversation.

While the man was gone he turned towards Roper. "..help the wounded man,have.. doctor?" He motioned to the injured man, to whom the girl was now tending.

"Doctor. Sim." Cotton had enough sense to get a doctor as well as Captain Vickery, after all. Roper indicated the man's wrists. "You fight? Struggle?" he asked, miming what he meant.

"No, rope." He pointed at the cut cords that now lay scattered where they have been loosened and sliced of the limbs of the Portuguese. "Did fight." He murmured calling the girl to him. He gently lifted her hair on the side of her face where a blow must've been given to knock her senseless. "Here. They did." He spoke, and though he was too proud to show his bruises, some were quite obvious. He gazed at the door again. "Far.. the army?" He asked and pointed at Roper then made an indication of distance with his hands, which then parted a good deal. He was not sure whether Cotton understood, but the question simply related to him wanting to know how long they would still need to wait.

Pye leant against the wall outside. He saw Cotton pass earlier, and now observed the path that lead away from the cottage. The footsteps lead in that direction, what little of them he could make out.

Roper sucked in a breath when he saw the bruises on the girl. It could have been much, much worse, of course, but the reality was bad enough. He shook his head at the man's question. "Nao. Mi capitao..." He brought his hands close together, then pointed towards the road and moved the first two fingers of his hand to mime walking, trying to convey just how close they were.

It really wasn't long at all before Cotton and Vickery came up to the house. Cotton was still explaining what had happened as they approached the building. Vickery shook his head, disbelievingly. "All right, let's go and see the poor souls," he said, and nodded to Pye, who was standing outside. "I hope you're finding things all right?" he said, pausing by the lad.

Zachary held his hand up and saluted to the captain at the moment that Vickery approached him, straightening up as much as he could. "Very fine, sir." He spoke soft and quickly, smiling. The man that had listened and talked with Roper, was quieter now as if noticing that the said captain was very close.

"They're al'right sir." He murmured and dropped his gaze a little, shuffling uncomfortably where he stood and inched backward to give more space for the captain to pass evenif the man had enough already. He still managed to take a glimpse at the direction in which he had seen the steps disappear. No man was seen there, none returning and probably none would be, still it was a direction good to keep under attention.

Inside the younger man turned towards the door, greeting the captain with a small nod. He saw no interpreter and now worried that their conversation would've been as poorly exchanged as earlier. Poorly, for it was slow and needed much work of the hands, and hoping that what he believed was understood was indeed understood by the other party as well. Never would he have been able to be certain though.

There was still hope if the Captain knew Portuguese. Seeing as the longer that they spent solely standing, and thus not hunting down the enemy, he advanced towards the captain. "Senhor." He spoke and then waited. If the man would speak in Portuguese, then they might yet earn themselves some time and the French would be caught and pay. If not the English army, the militia could still have them, but certainty in the matter was something the man wanted. Yes, they had not hurt the girl, but they nearly had and they have stolen from them, wounded a friend, and taken another and they were the enemy which destroyed and did crime, and made Portugal what it was at present, a war infested land.

"Good, good. Carry on," Vickery said, and turned to the Portuguese man, noticing the raw skin of his wrists. "Ah, senhor," he said, thankful that his time in Lisbon, combined with his skill for languages, had enabled him to become familiar with the Portuguese language, enough that he could hold a conversation without resorting to sign language. "How can I help you?" he asked, speaking in the man's own language. The look of relief on his face didn't escape the Rifles officer.

The man looked surprised for a moment and then felt very relieved which showed, but he did not care. The man spoke Portuguese. A smile spread on his face, his hands pressed together and he nodded again. At last.

The captain looked young, but his skill already offered promise even if the uniform that he wore was not as commonly known as that of the redcoats. Their weapons too, he noticed, were different, shorter, more like a sort of hunting firearms rather than muskets. "By ridding us of them French." He talked civil even if he had been moments from uttering an insult to the name of the French. He motioned to the other room, which would have been better to talk with the captain with and if he so chose, he could have himself seated.

"There are two things that you need to know, senhor .. capitao." He spoke as he raised his hand so that a pair of fingers was shown. An action not needed, but he wished to make sure that the Englishman understood everything that he said. "..10 French soldiers have come through here, they have stolen our food and our weapons. They were poorly armed before, didn't have a musket between two of them.." He gazed at the window. "They caught us by surprise. There is no way that we'd have wanted to have anything to do with them, you should know, senhor!" He made that clear with a thump of his fist against his chest.

"They were not of one regiment. This I am certain of." He looked at Vickery again seriously."Just today they have come. Today! But... a while ago. " He shook his head. "They were lost.. I gathered as much. Needed a way to find their way to their army." He lifted his gaze. "This brings me to the second thing, that might convince you even more to pursue these men, individually." It was no surprise that the man wished for revenge. He doubted that he would have his food returned, as it would either have been eaten or taken by the riflemen as reward.

"Los armas? They... found... weapons here?" Vickery queried, raising an eyebrow. Surely these folks wouldn't have any sort of weapons that the French could want? "And more than one regiment?" That might complicate matters. Could they be deserters, he wondered. It was always possible of course, especially with the French army in flight.

"And what else can you tell me, senhor?" he asked, pulling his hip-flask out and offering it to the man. A nip of brandy might help settle his nerves a little.

"Yes.. not many.. not much in terms of weapons. They took what could be used as one, not only a firearm sir. A knife, if they could find it." The man responded. These weapons had not given an advantage to the French, but it was enough that the common folk was now wholly without.

"More than one.. I think. Though men of different, not the number. They were just ten, capitao. One commanding officer what I could understand. ..The men called him sous-lieutenant....Tenente. " He accepted the flask with gratitude and gave it a small sip to test what the brew inside was. The second was a normal sort, and then he lowered it and spoke again.

"They took an Englishman with them. By force, that is. He offered his life and his knowledge of the area in exchange that they leave us here, alive. " He hesitated. "I do not know if his name shall be of any use to you, but he is called Hunter. Do not hold it against him, capitao." He looked thoughtful as if to try remembering any other information that could be of use. "...They were tired, they've gotten discovered since they've slept when they ought to have been on guard." Something he had said with glee and contempt." "... their equipment was far from adequate. Poor shoes, some could've been wounded, I do not know. They've certainly been hungry... and filthy. Covered in mud and drenched."

"Ten men from different regiments? With a sous-lieutenant in charge?" He wasn't sure of the Portuguese for 'in command' and had to re-phrase it. "Capitao Hunter?" He remembered the man, slightly. It had been dark when they had met, when Hunter had brought Maggie up to where the 60th were marching, only a few days ago. And the man had offered to go with them, as a prisoner, to help them, rather than see these poor Portuguese folks murdered.

"We will find him. Obrigado, senhor. Thank you, for your help." He smiled and felt in his pocket, bringing out a couple of silver coins. "They must have taken things from you. This might help you," he said, and offered them to the other man.

"Yes, he was in command." The man replied and then smiled. He would have gone with them, but he was still a mere commoner, and he had the girl to protect and her and the wounded man to take care off, till the latter was well enough. With the food now lost, and with it much of their things, those had to be replaced as well.

"...I urge you to find them.. save that man, and have them suffer what they deserve." He looked at the coins and opened his mouth to decline the offer then stopped. "I will be in your debt, capitao." He said respectfully. "Thank you." He hesitated again before he added. "Call on me, should you need it." And with a smile: "Thank you again."

"We will do our best. I hope they didn't treat your wife too badly? And I sent a man to find a doctor to look after your friend as well." He smiled. "It's little enough, after all. And you are welcome to it." The French would hopefully treat Hunter better than they treated any Portuguese who were unfortunate enough to fall into their hands.

The young man and his wife had obviously had a lucky escape; it was a good thing for them that Hunter had been here, or they might not be alive to worry about the French and what they had taken.

It would have to be raining, Newbury thought sourly. Wasn't like being back on the march was miserable enough. He had to be wet and cold too. Shivering, he adjusted his rifle where it hung muzzle-down from his shoulder and tried to squash a grimace of pain.

And it seemed that the column was drawing close to some cottage that the captain had gone wandering off to. He hadn't seen the horse that was the cause for such distraction, for he'd had his head canted down slightly to keep the rain off his face. Were they going to stop soon?

"Thank you, capitao. I wish you fair roads and victorious battles." The man said in earnest, and straightened. "And when you find our man, please send our thanks to him as well." With that he looked to the girl. She had not looked too worried, so it seemed that the wounded man was not at least, getting worse. She observed a few of the riflemen that were stationed inside of their house and then walked carefully to the door of it and out of sight of the pair. She blinked as she saw more of the green coated men there. Young and older, though none that she could exactly call old.

"If you should need any water, sir.. though you will know that already, the road that comes further from here.. should come near the stream. It is also in the direction.." He motioned with his hand. "That the French must've gone. " He did not mention the reason for their going on the exact way though, for he did not wish to reveal that he had before been more eager to hide the food, from whichever army. It was not a crime, yet nor was it in good faith now.

"I wish you luck." He nodded.

Pye listened and could hear the repetitive sound of men's feet sloshing against the wet grounds. The army was nearing them, and if he looked in the direction he could see them already too. He smiled and nudged Schroeder. "...there they are."

"Ja. They are," Schroeder replied. He glanced at Pye and nodded. "You are learning. Sehr gut." He nodded, and glanced at the Captain before pulling his shako off and digging for his pipe.

Vickery nodded. "You have been most helpful. We won't take up any more of your time." He called his riflemen over to send them back down to the rest of the Company. "I will wish you good day. Adios, senhor," he said, and turned to follow them down, pulling out his watch as he went. They had enough time, he decided.

"Rifles! Halt! Ten minutes!" he called as soon as he was close enough to be heard by the nearest Sergeant, who would relay the message.

The order to halt was shouted over the column. Newbury was only too glad for the respite and fell out with others, seeking out a comfortable-looking spot on the ground to flop down. Ten minutes wasn't especially long, but it would do.

Cotton grinned at Newbury. He hadn't fallen back in, unsure of what he should do, but the reappearance of Vickery settled things. He slipped back into his place, causing a bit of reshuffling. "I think there might be doin's afoot, Joe, mate," he said, gesturing in Vickery's direction with a thumb, before pulling his canteen round and uncorking it. "He was natterin' in Portugee ten to the dozen up there!

"Was he?"

Officers and their languages. Newbury couldn't imagine how they managed it. The prospect of something to do, other than marching, had him interested, though. "What sorta doin's?" He asked.

"Well, there's a cottage up thataway, see, with a couple of Portugee livin' there. They was all tied up when we got there, an' we had to cut 'em loose. An' I'm sure one of 'em was sayin' there a bunch of Frogs who've got Captain Hunter with 'em. So... think we might be goin' after 'em, like." He took another mouthful of tepid water and re-corked his canteen, tugging the strap to shift it back round to sit on his hip again.