26 May; With the baggage

"Now," the Provost said, noting Giles' return with the runaway Portuguese woman. "No more of this foolishness. You are both under arrest, to be dealt with by the Provost Marshal. Smith. Carry on."

Newbury came to a slightly-stumbling halt, as much due to the condition of the road as Pye's remarks. "Nothin' is ever good with them provosts," he returned, frowning.

What if it was about those things Jenny had put in the wagon? It occurred to him suddenly that he would be wiser to hide them, before the provosts came to search the wagon, which they would inevitably do. Grimacing, Newbury turned abruptly and started back the way he had originally come. He had to get back to the wagon before the provosts could.

"What's eatin' you?" Cotton asked at Newbury stopped, then turned and passed him, heading in the other direction. Whatever it was, had something to do with those provosts, and judging by the look on Newbury's face, it wasn't good. As if the provosts ever brought anything good.

Pye looked relieved as Newbury turned about. He wouldn't get himself in trouble, and that was very good. If he had done it this time, Vickery's patience was bound to run thin. Not to mention, the provosts being the worst sort of crowd to hang out with. Especially, if you had been seen picking away at wild chickens, at the riches neatly found on the ground, or similar.

He didn't go back, aproaching slowly to hear and see better as what was going on. There was Jenny, but she wasn't addressed. The Man talked funny, not English at all. Must've been Portuguese.

Maria turned about, her eyes puffy and red, her cheeks wet. She caught sight of the rifleman, and called something to him. She spoke in that odd language again, and Pye didn't understand at all. It seemed to dishearten the girl, as she hugged Dores and looked at the provosts. The tears hadn't worked on them. She had frowned, and wiped them gently. Dores bowed her head, ready to go ahead as ordered, even if unhappily so.

"Nothin'," Newbury answered, aware that it was unwise to let either of the other riflemen know what was going on. "Gotta get back up to the sawbones. Forgot they was expectin' me."

With his back turned, he couldn't see the three provosts begin herding their two prisoners away.

Something didn't ring quite true with Newbury's words but with the way the other Rifleman had been lately, Cotton wasn't inclined to push things.

"Wonder what-all's bin goin' on down there," Cotton said instead, wishing there was something he could do to help Newbury out of whatever black modd he seemed to have wandered into.

Pye neared the provosts thoughtfully. They didn't take Jenny or her other friend, which was fine. Joe would be glad to hear that. Later. They still took the pair of girls, of which one looked as if she was taken to the gallows, so distressed she had acted. She caught him watching and covered her eyes with her hands. He was naive enough to believe that all of those tears were true. Sure, Maria was distressed, but she could have acted differently if she had wanted.

He felt resentful towards the provosts. They never did much but try to round as many soldiers, whose only crime had been, picking something of the floor, or taking a chicken which would've starved anyway. They didn't fight, not with the real enemy.

Bugger. Where was the wagon he'd been riding in? Newbury looked up the road and felt a sudden spike of panic. He couldn't remember. From this side of them, they all looked the same. Damn. His pack was in that wagon. If the provosts found it and searched it...

"Hey! Greenjacket!" A man called. "You lost?"

It was the driver who had offered him free use of his wagon. Relieved, Newbury headed toward him. "Not yet," he replied, trying to sound cheerful.

"Here, c'mon, Zack," Cotton said, noticing the younger lad looking towards the Provosts in concern. "They ain't goin' to do anythin' to 'em - not with those girls bein' Portugee. They won't want to risk gettin' their menfolk riled up and wantin' to treat us like they do the Frogs."

He was still concerned about what Newbury was up to, though it might just be that his side or his leg were hurting.

The three mounted provosts, their two prisoners between them, were making their way past the motley train of wagons, carts, and mules. Their direction of travel would take them past the two riflemen and it was inevitable that the attention given to them by one of the greenjackets would be noticed.

"You there!" The provost officer called, pointing. "What is your business here?"

Pye was about to turn, with a scowl when the provost officer called and he froze. Not on intention or because he did something bad, but just as a natural reaction to being yelled at by an officer, brought on out of his past experience. He looked at the officer, bit his lip. He hated them as much perhaps as one of the sergeants. "...We's..." He stared silently for a few moments. "here on.. Captain Vickery's orders." He finally said, lying his hand protectively over his bread bag. The bloody provosts were well known to take chickens. Well deserved chickens!

Cotton fumbled his right hand free from the mule's rope halter so he could salute. "He'm here with me, sir, with permission." He nudged Pye. "You got a ticket from him, same's I did." He fumbled in his pocket for the bit of paper, and held it out for the provost to see.

"Hm." The Provost took care reading the two offered tickets, as if expecting to find something amiss with either of them. "These appear to be in order. What of your... comrade? I assume he is away from his regiment with permission as well?"

"..we are all with permission, sir." He had stammered. He had nearly panicked when he couldn't find the paper. Upon the delivery of it, he looked at the horse. How he wished that something would've bit the animal in the bum right then and threw the provost officer off.

"Yes, sir - he was wounded at Oporto, sir." Though quite why he'd gone off in such a hurry, Cotton wasn't sure. He wasn't about to say anything, though.

The Provost twitched his shoulders in a shrug. It mattered nothing to him where a soldier was wounded, or when. "I shall need to see his ticket as well."

Oh, for...! He hoped Newbury hadn't done anything the Provost was likely to get suspicious about - though quite what he could have done, Cotton didn't know. "He's with the surgeon, sir, back there somewhere." The mule took it into its head to stop dead and snap its teeth at the provost's horse and Cotton scowled at it.

Newbury was in a hurry going back after he had seen the provosts. It very well meant he needed more time for his business. If he did anything like what Pye would've, he certainly needed time without the provosts snooping about.

"Sir. What have these women done?" He asked and pointed at Maria and Dores. He glanced at Cotton, as if hoping the man would go and retrieve that paper without any questions, even prepared to take hold of that mule for him. That, or he would've gone fetch it himself.

"Giles," the officer said, sending the big trooper off to retrieve the missing rifleman. "They were caught at looting. A most grievous offence, you know."

Cotton frowned. "Beg parding, sir, but I don't see what you've got to see his ticket for, 'cause he's with us an' you know we'm here with permish'n."

Only if one got caught was looting an offense, but you didn't say that to a provost, so Pye kept his mouth descreetly shut. He just nodded like he meant it, and knew the provost spoke nothing but reasonable, sensible things.

"Would be stupid if he weren't. .." He held the rest of his opinion to himself. If he had meant to desert, good man Newbury would not tag along in the area most infected with provosts.

"Only, he is not presently with you," the Provost replied. "I will see his ticket." Rather pointedly, he refrained from mentioning what might happen if the third rifleman could not produce his ticket.

One of these days, Cotton was going to tie himself and Newbury together. He hoped the other Rifleman wasn't up to anything that would arouse the Provost's suspicions. Though quite what Newbury could be up to, he had no idea.

"He just was, sir, on'y the surgeon wanted to see him." He thought, and gave the mule's rope halter another tug. "Willow, will you bloody well be'ave, you damn creature?"

"He can't be runnin' 'round much. 'couse of his injury n'all." Pye kept his hand resting comfortably on his bread bag. As long as its contents were quiet, it would be safe. "'s why he needs a surgeon. N' why he ain't with us.. sir. " Common sense.

"Thank you," the Provost snapped at the younger rifleman. In truth, he disliked the swaggering greenjackets, who considered themselves above the law of the army. It had become his goal to show them that they were not.

~

Trooper Giles was on the hunt. It had been a short journey to the surgeons' wagons and an equally short search for the surgeons responsible for the Rifle companies. The round-faced Mister Todd, apparently the surgeon for the 60th, had professed not to have seen the rifleman that Giles was looking for, not since the morning. That was interesting.

A perfunctory search of the baggage train closest to the surgeons turned up nothing. Giles cantered back toward where his officer was waited. "Surgeon ain't seen the fellow, sir," he reported. "Not since the mornin' time."