Horsing Around

Cotton had a lot to think about. He wasn't sure what was going to happen with Pye at the Company court martial, but know that Roper would do his best to be fair and impartial, which was only right. He was glad that it wasn't up to him; he wasn't sure how fair he could be after everything that had happened.

Phoenix nickered as Cotton rubbed the animal down. He'd done a lot of walking recently, between the Rifles and the baggage, and the Rifleman hoped that Vickery would give him a bit of a rest. Not that that would mean Cotton would get any rest, of course, but that was part and parcel of being a batman: you had to look after your officer's things as well as your own, and if the officer had a horse, well, that was just another thing to add to the list of chores.

He finished curry-combing the horse and moved down to see to his legs, careful not to do anything to startle the animal.

He frowned. "That ain't right," he said, dropping the brush he was using to run his hand down the horse's leg. "I'm sure that ain't right." He straightened up, thinking, and moved around to check Phoenix's other legs. "Definitely ain't right, that. Best get you checked over. You'm too valuable for me to risk it."

The problem was, where could he take Phoenix? The answer came to him almost immediately: the horse doctor with the 15th, who had that friendly little dog. He'd seemed a nice sort of gentleman, and probably wouldn't mind being interrupted for what was likely to be nothing much.

"Come on 'long of me," Cotton said, finally making his mind up. Captain Vickery's horses were far more delicate than the big farm horses he was used to, and there was no sense at all in risking it being worse than he thought. Anyway, if it really was nothing, he could take a scolding for wasting someone's time.

He reached for Phoenix's bridle, to lead him to the 15th's lines.

Young Madame Bellot looked up from the garment she was mending and saw that a strange man was heading her way - not one of the hussars, for he wore a different uniform, and not a redcoat either. Maybe one of those Germans she had heard about? She eyed him warily. But he was leading a horse, and since he was not one of the quinzième, he must be coming to see the horseleech.

"Meester Broderique," she called, looking over her shoulder for the veterinarian.

Things had begun badly that day when Lizzy, from the 5th company, had foundered again; she had been suffering from a bad episode when Matthew first came to the regiment, but he had thought that she was on the mend. This latest relapse, however, had been so bad that he had not really had any other options left. Lizzy was barely able to stand, and she could no longer continue with the regiment on the move. He had to resort to the pistol to put her out of her misery.

There was nothing that he could have done. Lizzy's trooper had followed his directions to the letter; he'd looked after the mare's treatment and diet with admirable devotion for a cavalryman. Many of the British troopers were less than steadfast in their care of their mounts - on the whole he preferred the German cavalrymen he had met, on that score. But the fact that he had done everything humanly possible to help her did not make it any easier to put a bullet in her head.

Since then it seemed to have been all bad news; St Yves was limping, and Matthew thought he had injured his collateral, Hannibal's shoulder had dehisced, and Schweinehund had gotten into the store of feed; it was fifty-fifty whether or not he was going to colic from it. When one thing went wrong, everything else seemed to follow. Matthew had laid out the mineral oil and a stomach tube, but he did not want to have to pass the tube if he did not have to. Schweinehund was a damned difficult creature at the best of times. Fortunately, he also seemed to have a cast-iron digestive system, and so far Matthew could hear his gut moving along normally.

Halfway to his tent, intending to have a little bread and cheese for his luncheon, he was stopped by a call from the young Frenchwoman. She pronounced his name in a distinctly Gallic fashion. Turning his direction towards her, he was about to ask what was the matter, when he looked past her to see a man in the green of the 5/60th Rifles leading a horse towards him.

Well, Madame Bellot was closer, and the Rifleman was not yet in earshot. "Yes, Madame?" he inquired, speaking to her first.

She realized that they did not share any words to communicate the situation effectively, so she simply pointed at the man approaching. "Là."

Phoenix didn't seem to be in any pain or anything, and Cotton didn't think he was limping, although he couldn't be sure, not leading him the way he was.

He was approaching the 15th's bivouac, and had to ask where their veterinary surgeon was. There was a woman outside his tent, who turned, obviously alerting the officer to Cotton's presence.

He nearly turned around; it probably wasn't worth bothering the man with. There was nothing very wrong, just a bit of swelling and heat. Though... this was a proper gentleman's horse and it might mean a lot worse than with one of the big old Suffolk Punches they'd had on the farm at home.

He wished for a moment that he knew a bit more about horses; old Jem Taylor, back home, had known pretty much everything there was to know about horses and what he didn't know wasn't worth knowing. He could charm even the most stubborn beast, he could, with a few words and whatever it was he kept in that bottle in his waistcoat pocket.

Cotton wondered if Mister Broderick would mind the interruption, if it was nothing. But if it wasn't... he didn't want to be the one to risk ruining a fine horse like Phoenix.

She'd been alerting him to the rifleman with the horse, as it turned out; she gestured towards the approaching man and called his attention that direction. Over the last few days, she had spent a considerable amount of time around his bivouac, but Matthew found it awkward to talk to her. Principally because he could not talk to her. Matthew supposed he ought to make more effort to learn French. As it was, although most of the significant developments in his field were published in French, he read it with very great difficulty, and only with the aid of a grammar and a dictionary. As far as speaking it went, he had a very few words, and he had no doubt his pronunciation was atrocious.

He had too much to do, however, to really focus on changing that deficiency. At the moment, he apparently had a patient. Once in a while he would see a horse belonging to an officer from one of the other regiments; it seemed fairly likely that this was one of those. The private leading him was undoubtedly the officer's batman. Matthew glanced over the gelding's clean lines - a beautifully well-proportioned creature, certainly of Spanish blood, with a bay colouring so dark it was practically black except where it glowed copper in the light. The eyes were bright, the head flexed and alert, and the coat in fine condition.

Secondarily, he looked at the man holding his halter; he seemed ill at ease for some reason. He also looked faintly familiar, though Matthew could not for the life of him have said where he had seen him before.

"What seems to be the trouble, Rifleman?" he inquired in an easy, friendly tone; if the batman was nervous, he might communicate that to the horse - and Matthew could see that the sensitive gelding was picking up the other man's mood; the horse shifted a little restlessly to one side, and seemed like he wanted to circle away. Evidently he was a little highly strung. It was in Matthew's best interests to put them both at ease.

He was trying not to let Phoenix pick up on his mood. The trouble was, he was nervous about approaching anyone about a problem that might not even be a problem, and didn't know what the horse-doctor would think, or say, if it wasn't the problem he thought it might be.

The officer addressed him, but it was a moment before he could reply because Phoenix shifted behind him, tugging a little at the halter, and he had to turn to calm him, stroking his neck and trying to soothe him.

"It's his off-fore, sir," he said, getting a firmer grip on the halter, and continuing to stroke the animal's neck with his other hand. "I thought it looks a bit... a bit swollen, sir, an' it seems hot to touch." He shrugged apologetically. "I don't want to bother you if ain't anythin' to worry about, but then, I don't want to leave it if I ought to worry about it."

He hoped that the man would understand. "It ain't like I never worked with horses, y'see, sir. It's just I ain't used to... to gentlemen's ridin' horses. A farm horse is a whole different beast, y'see, sir."

Despite the darker mood that had been hanging over Matthew until just a moment ago, he'd completely shifted his demeanour. Letting yourself be controlled by any emotion was liable to make a great deal more trouble for yourself when you were dealing with animals, and so he'd learned to let it all wash away from him during these moments when he was working with a patient. It would all come back later, but for now, he was focused here, as the rifleman explained what he'd noticed.

His off fore leg was warm and swollen? The gelding had not displayed a hint of lameness at the walk, but the earliest signs of an injury could often be found before a horse displayed any hint of pain...if the caretaker was observant and careful enough. Matthew nodded with approval at the rifleman. "Best thing not to wait whenever there's a question like that," he said, quietly. He'd already dropped his voice to the timbre that horses tended to like best, a warm, even, and friendly note that usually helped to calm them down. "If it's nothing, then all to the good, no harm done; if not, then you may have caught a problem early on, in time to prevent something much more serious."

"Stay on the same side of him as I am, Rifleman, if you please," he added as he approached the gelding's left shoulder, moving slowly and evenly. Initially, the horse threw his head a little high, uncertain about this new arrival - not quite alarmed - but Matthew murmured to him in the same soft tone and placed his hand over his withers, and the ears pricked forward curiously and the head came down as he rubbed the coat reassuringly in circles. Matthew moved up to the neck, then the muzzle, letting the gelding smell him while his fingers brushed the transverse facial artery, sensing the pulse underneath. He glanced at the sclera of the eye, and a quick look at the teeth, gums, and nasal passages; if it was done carefully and gently enough, the horse wouldn't be able to tell the difference between an examination and his ordinary grooming sessions. "There you go, then, lad," he said, calmly. "Nothing much to worry about, eh?"

"What's his name?" he inquired of the rifleman, as he kept his body nestled in close to the horse and began to palpate down the left forelimb, the one closest to him; it wasn't this leg that the rifleman had identified as having a problem, of course, but he'd give attention to all the points of the animal as part of the examination. "- and yours?" By now, the gelding was standing there calmly. "Good lad," he added in, not letting a pause in the soothing chatter to the horse.

Well, the gentleman didn't think Cotton had done the wrong thing - seemed to think he'd done the right thing, in fact, which was a relief. The Rifleman shifted around as asked, though he was a little confused when the horse-doctor bent to check Phoenix's near-fore leg. Still, the man ought to know what he was doing, and Cotton muttered soothing nonsense to the beast, stroking his neck to calm him as he tossed his head nervously.

"His name's Phoenix, sir. He's Captain Vick'ry's horse, ain't above two year old." He shifted his hand a little to hold the bridle with his right hand and stroked the horse's soft nose with his left. "An' I'm Cotton, Captain Vick'ry's batman, sir."

Phoenix seemed to be a little calmer now, and Cotton smiled. This horse-doctor certainly seemed to know what he was doing, unlike some men Cotton had known who followed that profession. He didn't know how any man could profess to know about the doctoring of horses and not like them - Squire had thrown one such out in no uncertain terms after he'd spooked the Squire's prized gelding Flash.

"Right, then, Phoenix; let's have a look at your legs, lad." Matthew's fingers felt over each joint in turn, from stifle, to hock, to fetlock; applying gentle pressure to the tendons and then he passed down to feel the digital pulse. The hoof felt normal from the outside; he leaned slightly into the horse and clicked at him to bring up his foot, then inspected the foot, brushing his fingers over the surface of that as well. It was in good condition; he let Phoenix put it down again.

Matthew moved along the flank towards the hindquarters, keeping his hand and arm in contact over Phoenix' back so that if he decided to give him a cow-kick he could feel the muscles tense. In the same tone, still meant to calm the horse, he added, "Pleased to meet the both of you. You're in the 60th, aye, Rifleman Cotton? ... Do you know a Rifleman Pye? Young fellow, skinny, with a scar clear across his face - and a chick?"

"Aye, I am that, sir," Cotton said. "Young Zack Pye? Aye, I know him, sir." Why would this horse-doctor know Pye? Well, stupid question - it had been his dog who'd tracked Pye down after that stupid, crazy assault on that provost the other day. But how did he know that Pye had a chick?

He carried on stroking Phoenix soothingly, even as he turned the question over in his mind. The horse-doctor had looked as though he'd recognised Cotton, but couldn't place it, and if Cotton were to ask after his dog, he'd know... and probably remember the trouble Pye was in, or could be in. But then, he'd asked after Pye without mentioning that, so maybe he didn't know?

"How is the lad's chick, then? Is she doing any better than she was?" Matthew continued around with Phoenix's near hind, the same way he'd checked his near fore. "Mind moving to his right?" he asked Cotton, while he passed behind the horse's hindquarters; he kept in close, so Phoenix couldn't take a whack at him, but the horse didn't try; he stayed calm, though he turned his head around to look curiously at Matthew. "Hold still there, Phoenix; you don't need to worry," Matthew told him with a grin, as he went over the off hind, then stepped forward to the off fore. This was the one that Cotton had pointed out.

"Rest of his legs look fine," Matthew said as he began to work his way down the limb. His fingers passed downwards over the knee, then he paused at the fetlock. Sure enough, it was warmer to the touch than it ought to have been, and ever so slightly swollen under his fingers. He prodded at it, gently, but the horse did not show much pain. The inflammation seemed more pronounced toward the inside of the fetlock - medial collateral, he expected.

"He's got a bit of a strain in this one, though, I should say," Matthew said at last, straightening. "It's not too bad, and you've caught it early. Well done, that; you said you've worked with horses before?"

"Oh, she's doin' grand, sir. Keeps us all in line an' don't let us forget it when it's time for her t'be fed," Cotton said with a grin, as he moved in front of Phoenix to hold the bridle on the other side. The horse whickered gently, blowing air into his ear, which made him chuckle.

"He's a fine beast, he is, sir," Cotton said, as though the gentleman couldn't see that for himself. "And how's your dog, sir?" The question was a bit of a risk, because asking it would probably remind the man of the trouble Pye had got himself into, but he seemed nice enough.

Phoenix blew another stream of air into his ear, and he put his hand up to stroke the horse's nose. "Was a farm labourer, sir, afore I 'listed. Only the farm horses we had was Suffolk Punches. Not so big as the Shires, but big enough. An', well, they ain't so refined as a gentleman's horses, them, sir." And that probably explained his nervousness of earlier. Or at least, he hoped it did.

"My dog - Lavinia?" Matthew was confounded for a moment as to how the Rifleman even knew he had a dog, before he realized where he'd seen the man before. "Oh, I say, we have met before, haven't we? Apologies, I hadn't recollected. Lavvie, well..." He grinned. "Have to keep her tied up these days." The spaniel had come into heat, and he didn't want her to go wandering off to find a lover somewhere else in the camp. "She's fine, though."

"How is the lad himself, Pye?" he added. The boy had looked in a fair way to be in trouble; Matthew hoped he had come out clean.

Cotton chuckled. "No, that's all right. We both had other things on our minds, sir." He took a breath, sobering up slightly. "Pye's... Well, you was there, sir. The Captain got him off from bein' put on a charge, but he's wanting to have him up on a Company court martial for bringin' us inta... inta disrepute, sir."

The procedure of Company courts martial was peculiar to the rifle regiments, and Cotton hastened to explain. "It just means that he'll be tried by three of us Riflemen, it ain't nothin' like so serious as a regular Regimental court martial, sir."

The gentleman was still feeling Phoenix's leg and foot. "Will he be alright, sir? Is there summat I should've done, to stop it?"

Matthew paused, and turned to look at Cotton with a raised eyebrow. "Bringing you into disrepute?" he said, in honest surprise. "But the lad had nothing to do with the matter, surely?" He had been convinced that was the case; to think that the lad he'd met had viciously assaulted a man already in the care of the surgeons...he couldn't credit that.

"Phoenix must not be ridden for some weeks," he answered Cotton's second question, preferring this line of conversation to an answer he might rather not have heard. After all, Matthew had stood up for the boy - he'd rather not think he had been mistaken in doing that. "He'll need to be rested as much as possible, and his movement kept restricted; I'll give you a liniment to apply to the injury that will help it to heal. You've not done anything wrong," he assured the rifleman, "it's Captain Vickery who's done this horse a mischief."

His brows drew down on his forehead into a frown. "This horse is just a young fellow, and he's not conditioned for riding over this kind of terrain. He needs to be worked up to it gradually."

"No, it..." Cotton shrugged helplessly. "I dunno, sir, I really don't." He frowned. "Um, sorry, sir, but I dunno how I'm goin' to see he's rested if we'm on the march, sir. Though he does have another horse - older, that he brought out from England, sir. An' he don't ride all the time anyhow. It's just, the last couple of days..." He trailed off, with another shrug, as Phoenix nickered and pawed at the ground.

"I don't s'pose he meant to do no harm, sir," he said looking up, anxious that this man should not think the worst of the Captain.

"He'll need to be rested as much as possible," Matthew replied. "If he's over-exerted, or if Vickery keeps on riding him, this slight strain may turn into something much worse. As it is, this will take some weeks to heal; if it is damaged further, he could be lame for months. He will have to ride his other horse."

Matthew didn't suppose that Vickery had meant any harm. But all the same, he'd done it. He wondered if the man had tried to hunt on Phoenix. He'd already seen a fair bit of that; the young officers would try to hunt on untrained, unconditioned young horses and the result was a number of very fine horses spoiled for work.

"I'll tell the Captain so," Cotton said. "He... it's these roads, sir. He spent yesterday headin' up an' down the road 'tween us an' the baggage - an' that warn't the first time, neither." Phoenix tossed his head and turned to look curiously at the man who'd been feeling his legs and feet.

"I'll do what it takes to get him better, sir," Cotton assured the man. "Mebbe... Mebbe I could take him back up to the baggage train? They walk slower back there." And with Phoenix out of the way for a time, Captain Vickery wouldn't be able to ride him... not that Cotton thought he would do so. "I'd lead him o' course." He shrugged apologetically. "I don't ride, see. Not that I would after what you've bin sayin', sir."

Matthew's irritation was slightly reduced at hearing Cotton's explanation. The batman couldn't have known what was going through Matthew's head, but this was a good deal more excuseable than what he had been thinking. He felt a little badly for leaping to conclusions, at that; only he had seen so many of these sorts of things lately, and the morning had put him in a bad humour to begin with. It only went to show that he oughtn't to let it get to him like that. He was apt to put his foot in his mouth if he let his emotions get the better of him.

"I daresay that's one possibility. I'm afraid I don't know the best solution to your problem," Matthew said apologetically to Cotton. The Riflemen were of course on the front lines, and so they saw a great deal more movement and action than the rest. "Having him with the baggage may be the best option."

"You've done well with him already," Matthew added. "Might be you've only worked with the big drafts before now, but you've a quick eye and a good hand - there's plenty of men that would have missed a strain this early on, before the horse went lame."

Cotton smiled, grateful for the veterinary's good opinion. "I, well, sir, I'm a country lad, me, sir. Can't abide people who don't look after their animals. An' Phoenix here is a beauty." And worth several times the cost of a farm horse, probably.

"Is there anythin' I can put on it, to help it get better quicker?" he asked, and frowned, fumbling in his breadbag for an apple, which he offered the horse. "Sorry, lad, I know they ain't the best, this time o' year, seein' as they've bin stored over winter," he said as Phoenix sniffed at it.

"He certainly is," Matthew agreed as he stepped back, to look at the horse from a little more distance again. Phoenix did need conditioning, but he was a beautifully made creature, and his fineness of feature combined with his colouring made him truly striking.

"Just a moment," he added, stepping aside to duck into his tent. He re-emerged a moment later, holding some winding bandage under his arm, a dark glass bottle in one hand, and a bucket with a mess of clay-covered poulticing cloths in the other that smelled strongly of wintergreen, mint, and cloves; he set the aromatic bucket and bandage materials down, and handed the bottle to Cotton. "This is a liniment you can apply to his fetlock just as often as you like. It's the same as what's in this poultice I'm going to put on, if you'll hold him for me while I do it."

Cotton took the offered bottle and checked it was sealed tightly before slipping it into his bread-bag, which enabled him to hold Phoenix's bridle in both hands. The horse munched contentedly on the apple and Cotton smiled. "You like them apples, don't you, lad?" Phoenix merely blew into his face and the Rifleman chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes, then. Here, the doctor's goin' to see to your leg now, an' you'll be gettin' a bit o' rest for the next week or so. You'll like that, won't you?"

He glanced down at the bucket, which smelled strongly, but sweetly. "You'll be all right with doin' that, with me holdin' him, sir?" he asked. "He'm... he'm excitable, but he don't kick that I've seen. Good temper, he've got."

"I should think so," Matthew answered. "I don't think he'll make a fuss. This shouldn't hurt him at all, after all. After I've put the poultice on, Cotton, leave it on until tomorrow morning. Then be sure to clean his leg off well, though, before you apply the liniment, alright?" He came to Phoenix from the left again, before he moved in front to the right; and rubbed at the horse's shoulder for a moment before he moved his hands down the leg toward the fetlock. He didn't want to just pop down and grab the horse's foot; that could spook him.

"There now, Phoenix," he said mildly, while he took out the strips of poultice from the bucket and began layering them over the fetlock. "There's not a bit of harm in this, so hold still for me, lad."

"A'right, sir," Cotton said, and watched the doctor go to work. Phoenix didn't move, apart from to look down as if to see what the man was doing to his leg. He blew in Cotton's ear and the Rifleman chuckled, moving his hand to stroke the horse's nose. "You got to stop doin' that, Phoenix. It tickles."