27th May, morning; with wagons

"You'm welcome to him, Maggie." Cotton gratefully relinquished the mule's halter. "Thin he don't like me, though I got no idea why not." He chuckled. "How 'bout, when we get back to England, I look after the ferrets an' you look after the fowls? Though, don't go tellin' folks 'bout the ferrets - the gentry don't take too kindly to folks like me havin' 'em, see." He moved his arm from around her shoulders and offered her the crook of it, as the gentlemen did for their ladies.

Pye thanked Maggie with a small grin, and at the mention of provosts seemed to agree that they were better of quickly moving ahead. He glanced at the mule to see where he could tie the chick safely and keep it out of the way, did so quickly and moved back alongside the others. "..Do ferrets eat chicks?" They probably did, and he thought that Cotton would get in trouble for owning them unless he served under the gentry which would be lenient to his wishes and wants.

"Better be pacing our step, look."At a distance a trio of provosts could be seen, riding on their tamed horses and gazing about, clear as they, looking for those who did not abide to the rules.

By now they had caught up with the baggage train at the back of the column, and soon they were abreast with the wagon that Newbury had been riding. The driver gave them a wry look. He addressed Newbury. "It's you again, is it? Ain't got nothin' against you, but get your rubbish outta my cart now. Don't want no more trouble with them provosts. Kin come back another day, mate, but not today. Find someone else's cart."

"Y'can leave your stuff in with the Captain's if you like," Cotton offered. "They ain't likely to go rootin' through it all over again, not now they've thrown it all over the floor." he shrugged. "If there's anythin' you don't want to go carryin', anyhow." He glanced down at his fellow rifleman's leg. "How's the knee doin', mate?"

What? Newbury stared at the cart driver in disbelief. More trouble with the provosts? What had they done, gone tearing through the cart before coming looking for him? Those rat bastards...

"What d'you mean, more trouble?" He asked, moving as quickly as he could to gather up his kit. It would have to be carried. Dammit. "What was they after?"

He glanced at Cotton and managed a grateful nod. Or maybe he wouldn't have to drag his pack around. "Cheers," he said. "It's holdin' up. Better than it was, anyway."

The back of the cart was in some disarray, but everything seemed to be present. "Dunno what they was after," the driver grumbled before he spat on the ground. "Went pokin' their noses in all of it and took sommat away with that woman. Don't think they took nothin' o yours, but like I said, don't want no more trouble."

That woman. A frown creased Newbury's brow. "What woman?"

It was a stupid question. He knew only one person - after the driver, of course - who would have reason to be near the back of the wagon.

"Yellow haired woman. You know. She comes 'n goes," he said with significant grin.

Newbury didn't even realise he was blushing. "They took her off too?"

"Aye."

Maggie had been helping with the mule while they strapped Joe's pack into place and she had not been listening to the driver until now. "What? What about a woman? What's the matter, Joe?"

Shaking his head, Newbury offered a brief, bleak smile. "It's them provosts again. Come and pawed through the wagon, my kit too, and dragged Jenny off when they was done."

He couldn't decide then who was more worth being angry at. The provosts, or Jenny Ross.

"What? I'll go and stop them!" Maggie exclaimed, looking around to see where they were. She might be afraid of the provosts on Cotton's account, but she had a strange friendship and loyalty to Jenny Ross. They had never been good friends before Coimbra, but now she held herself to be greatly in her debt. There was no sign of Jenny, but she saw three of the provosts ahead on horseback. She surprised Cotton by shoving the mule's rope into his hand and taking off at a run in the provosts' direction.

"No - ah, dammit." Newbury forgot, momentarily, about his knee and tried to follow her. It was not his knee that brought him down within five paces however, but rather the uneven road. Cursing, he staggered to his feet again and resumed his slightly-hobbling pursuit.

She would not have listened to protests from the riflemen, not even Gabe, but Joe's unexpected curse was enough to catch her attention. She had forgotten about his injury, poor lamb, and she felt an anguished guilt when she looked back and saw him in pursuit. She came back. "Joe, your knee! Ride in a cart or sommat and I'll go and talk to the provosts."

"Here, you be careful," Cotton said, hurrying to Newbury's side to offer him a steadying hand. "You ain't so hale an' hearty as all that, are you?"

If only there was some way to get a message to the Captain to come back up here and give those provosts what for! They'd soon change their tune if he did.

Newbury was not currently in a state where he was too proud to accept the offered hand. Once on his feet again, however, he didn't hesitate to resume his forward progress. "This madness's gotta stop," he grunted, stepping as quickly as he could over another rut in the road.

"Too damn right it oughta," Cotton muttered, and paused. "Hey, Joe. You seen Jestel lately?" He hadn't given the other Rifleman much thought, being too concerned with the trouble the provosts had been causing, but now that he came to think of it, he hadn't seen his fellow batman since... Well, not in a while, anyway.

That question gave him pause and he thought a moment. "Saw him a bit, I think, last night. Keepin' to himself, like. Over near the Twenty-seventh's sawbones."

Cotton groaned. That was all they needed - for Jestel to be in trouble as well. Though if he hadn't been seen since last night, where had he got to? He opened his mouth to ask Newbury if he was sure, and heard a horse approaching. He glanced up, ready to step aside if necessary, and blinked in surprise as he saw who the rider was.

Hell, Newbury thought as he caught his balance again - bloody road! - and straightened up to attention. "Sir," he said, offering the horseman a salute. What a sight he must look, he thought next. Still missing his shako, lacking his rifle, and covered nearly head to foot in dust. And once again dashing off headlong toward trouble.

If Vickery didn't roast him alive...

Vickery reined in, returning their salutes before dismounting. "You might at least put your forage hat on, Newbury," he said mildly, ignoring the fact that the Rifleman seemed to have been rolling in the road - which was the only explanation he could come up with for why he was covered head-to-toe in dust.

"What is all this I hear about trouble with the provosts again?" he asked. There weren't any provosts hanging around, which would make him doubt the veracity of Jestel's report, but Brady's man was generally trustworthy and was not given to exaggerating things, so that Vickery was inclined to trust him.

Cotton swallowed at Vickery's approach, giving the officer a slightly nervous salute as he reined in. He didn't look angry, which was something, at least. 'Puzzled' was the best word he could come up with to describe the expression on the officer's face.

Forage hat. Right. That was... somewhere in his pack. Not to be worried over at that moment.

"Yes sir," Newbury said, managing to suppress a shudder. "They been hauntin' us some, sir," he explained. "Turned up this mornin', while lads was exercisin' just off the road, swearin' sure there was stolen kit or somethin' stashed away in the mule's packs. Tore right through it all, they done."

He glanced back toward the wagon that, until some minutes before, had been his lodgings. "They been through that wagon there, too, where I been sleepin'. An'... they took Jenny Ross off, too."

Vickery frowned, even as Cotton nodded in agreement. "Turned out all your things, they done, sir," his batman added, in support of Newbury's words.

"Was there any reason for them to believe any of you had stolen goods?" he asked, though he couldn't believe that there would be, notwithstanding the fact that Cotton had been deemed guilty of theft and flogged for it. That had been an ill-judged act, to be sure, but he did not and never had believed that Cotton had intended to steal the watch.

And they had hold of Jenny Ross, too? She was her own woman, as much as any of the British camp followers were. More, maybe, because she did not draw rations and fended for herself. Though he would do what he could for her, of course. Any gentleman worthy of the name would, after all.