26 May, evening; by the river

His horse was thirsty. He had learned over time that the mare had a habit of tossing her head when she wanted a drink. So, after being dismissed from his duty for the day, Trooper Giles made his way toward the river. Truth to be told, he could do with a dipper or two of water himself.

The mare paced forward without hesitation once Giles had dismounted and he let her go, while keeping hold of the reins in one hand. He tugged his cloak tighter about him with the other hand and tried not to shiver. Now that the sun had gone down, it was becoming rather chilly.

His intention had been to refill his canteen, which had become rather dry ever since he'd tried to use the water from it to water his chick. So the way lead him to the river, which was by all means the most logical of places to go , when one sought water. He was thirsty as well, the efforts of the day taking an equal toll. Running back and forth, being a guide, albeit for a short while, to the damn provost.

No, all that was actually a lie. He hadn't just happened to mean to go to the river at that point of evening. His canteen had been full since before they all ate by the camp fire. He wasn't even leaving the camp with the meaning to relieve himself, for the nature's most common calls. Here he was though, ever since he caught sight of the trooper on his own. He saw heading off, parting ways with his company, and that was something the young man had waited for. Sure, he had doubts earlier, even when everything was prepared. Doubts, whether it would work. Whether the trooper would ever go as a solitary man. Slowly he moved closer and then stopped, crouching in the undergrowth, concealed by a thorny bush. He nearly urged the man to kneel down, to take a sip of the cool water, dared him to, in his mind. He crouched there as alert and as concentrated as a cat hunting its prey.

Newbury had managed, somehow, to make it through the remainder of the day without incident. He had scarcely left his wagon, except to relieve himself along the roadside. Now, with the army stopped for the night, he thought it was safe enough to ease himself out of the wagon and stretch his legs.

Despite the darkness, he felt keen for a quick wash and possibly a shave. He never had been able to tolerate the scratchy feeling of stubble on his face. Whistling to himself as he limped toward the river, Newbury wondered how best he could manage to shave without a mirror and light to see by.

Whistling? The young rifleman halted in his position and averted his gaze from the provost for a moment. It was very faint, and could have been, at this distance , confused for a bird or a whisper of the wind. It was picking up anyhow, the wind, and rustling the leaves up in the trees adding the noise which could conceal much more than reveal.

He couldn't miss the opportunity, but whoever it was could wreck it if he saw something he shouldn't have. The lad stood torn, and slowly began to shift closer. He had to hurry up then. If what he had heard announced an approach of a man, the said man might draw attention of the shivering provost from the river. The said man also, could serve as a witness. A little bit closer and he would reach the clearing, the part where the bank of the river was more open and bore no trees. The sleek silhuette crawled closer, ready to strike and give his opponent a hefty strong shove into the rushing river.

Finally. His horse had drunk her fill and was slopping her mouth against his shoulder. Giles smirked. Since when was he a towel for this beast? He knotted the reins and left them draped over the mare's neck, confident that she would not wander away.

Then, reluctantly sweeping the ends of his cloak back so they wouldn't drag in the river, he knelt down to fill his cupped hands with the icy water.

It was just the moment he was waiting for. The right position with little balance, facing away. The trooper would not have known what hit him. He would not have heard it coming either.

Pye crossed the remaining distance quickly, barely making a sound, which was drowned by the soft humming of the fast running water. When he reached the trooper he hadn't stopped. Instead he used the momentum and channeled it with all its force into the man's back. It almost seemed as if he had tried to give him first a slight lift and then send him splashing into the water. He didn't cry out, but rather uttered a barely audible grunt.

The only warning Giles had of anything untoward was the snort from his horse, then something heavy crashed into him from behind. He put his hands out to brace himself up but the impact was too great for him to stop himself falling.

He gasped as the frigid water slapped against his front, then he was half underwater and soaked all over. "Hell!" Giles croaked, instinctively tucking into a ball even as he tried to drag himself back out of the river.

The cursed man was holding up, he was going to manage to come out! Pye stared in alarm. But then he slipped, and then the water current seemed too strong to let him hold on for long, and the bank was luckily rather muddy and where it had stones, it was just as slippery.

He whirled around and moved quickly to the horse's side. It took him very little time, to check the various bags that the animal carried on its back. What he found he stuffed into his bag to discard later. "Bite me n' your next. " He whispered harshly to the horse, and then struck its flank. He had what he wanted, the horse could run.

Ahead, in the general direction of the river, Newbury heard somebody cry out. He stopped whistling in mid-tune and lurched forward, attempting to run despite his protesting knee. His approach was interrupted by a riderless horse cantering away from the river, which nearly bowled him over.

Newbury stumbled onto the scene seconds later and couldn't quite suppress a curse. "Pye!" He hissed, surprised. "The hell - "

"..." Pye froze. He'd stopped just as he was about to run, and felt the chill of fear, when he heard footsteps running towards him rather than following the damn provost. He stared at Newbury, finding his throat dry. He jerked his bag around, so that it hung mostly behind him, just the strap visible. But the weight of it was clear, as was the volume, or had been when it was in view.

"Joe. The..." He began:" Quickly!.. the provost slipped in..n' his horse got spooked." Which sounded just as convincing as the poor lad, not having expected to see Newbury there.

Newbury stared. "What?"

There was somebody in the water, thrashing his way toward the nearest bank with plenty of sputtering curses. It was a provost...? How did Pye... what... oh Lord. Bad. Bad bad bad.

"Leg it," he snapped, noting that the half-drowned provost had finally made it to the slimy riverbank. He wasn't sure of the actual circumstances, but being caught anywhere near a bloody provost who'd just had a dunking was not a good idea.

Pye cursed silently. The provost had gotten out too soon. Truthfully, he had hoped that the current would've carried him so far that he would have been found drowned. The bastard had the luck he didn't deserve though. He looked at Newbury, and decided to have faith that the rifleman would be found in the camp when the drenched provost managed to reach his men.

He bolted back up the bank and past Newbury. "..wagon." He uttered and ran ahead, ducking under a branch.

Somehow, the fact that Pye had been right on the edge of the river made Newbury uneasy. He watched the younger rifleman vanish into the dark and, knowing he was about to do something he'd regret later, he picked his way carefully to the water's edge.

The sopping wet provost was a good hundred yards or so downstream, which hopefully would work in Newbury's favour. He began whistling again, softly, as he filled up his canteen. No sense in taking off without getting some fresh water, if only to give credence to his presence in that spot.

The horse, out of habit, cantered back to the fire around which other provosts were gathered. Her arrival without her master roused them at once. Three troopers were mounted and moving within minutes, leaving the riderless mare behind. It was remembered that Giles had made mention of going off to the river.

Pye hadn't turned to see where the wagons were. He had a bag to empty, and he was best to do it quickly before any inquiries would be made. Walking at an easy pace when he passed a few of the camp fires, his pace quickened the moment he was yet again entering the forest on the other side. The alarm wasn't yet raised. He heard the horse, without its rider, neigh and run past. After a few moments he heard several horses with riders, come from the opposite direction and thus he ducked low, thankful that his coat was no longer red.

Pye moved further and ducked by a bush starting to empty his bag onto the floor there. He dug at the earth fervently with his bare hands, and t hen showed the things in, broke a branch filled with leaves and dropped it over, not caring if he cut his hand on the thorny bush there.

Casual. Act casual. Newbury eased himself down onto his good knee, managing not to curse as he forced the bad one to bend. He'd have to be quick, or he'd have a hell of a time getting up again.

There were horses coming and fast. Great. He stuffed the cork back into his canteen and tried to push himself back onto his feet. Despite having his rifle as a crutch, he made it only halfway up before his knee buckled and he sagged gracelessly down again. Definitely wonderful.

On his second attempt at rising, he was successful. Just in time for several horsemen to appear on the scene. Pye better have gotten well away by now.

There was a greenjacket just walking away from the riverbank. The provosts drew rein and blocked his path, staring down at him suspiciously. Trooper Smith in particular was wary. He remembered the brief trouble with greenjackets earlier in the day.

"What do you do here?" Smith snapped, while two of his comrades spurred off abruptly to retrieve the sodden Giles.

A pair of women yelped as the provosts finally came too close. They were clothed in their chemises. One of them spoke. "Mind yer own bloody damn business and get away from here! We ain't puttin' on a show for no bloody soldiers!" She offered a few coarse suggestions of what they might do instead of spying on women who chose to bathe occasionally. Her friend simply laughed.

Newbury grimaced to cover a chuckle at the sudden noise from the women. Where had they come from?

"Just fetchin' some water, sir," he replied innocently. "Ain't that what the river's for?"

The provosts scowled at the darkness, annoyed first by the women's outburst, then by the greenjacket's answer.

"What happened here?" Smith demanded.

Giles, finally returned, spat out some mud-tinged water. "I was pushed," he snarled. "Some bastard tried doin' me in."

All eyes were on the greenjacket.

"Serves ye right!" one of the women cackled.

It was all Newbury could do to keep a straight face, despite the deadly seriousness of the situation. "I'm just fetchin' water, sir," he repeated. "Didn't see anybody bein' pushed or nothin'."

First part of his plan had been executed if not perfectly, then pretty well. Now if his second were to be successful, then the provosts had to be for the most part if not all, on the trail of mister Giles and his misfortunes. He hoped Newbury's injury was great enough to make them believe he was innocent. Which of course he was.

Slowly he approached the site that he knew belonged to the provosts, keeping himself well out of sight as he sought to figure out how many men were there and if any were left at all. His hands had again been full, or rather his bag, but this time he was carrying something altogether different.

"It was a damn greenjacket," Giles spat, sounding dead certain even though in truth he was not. "I saw him."

None of the others doubted his statement. The circumstances were, to them, obvious. "Surrender your musket," Smith snapped at the greenjacket. "You are under arrest."

"Rifle," Newbury corrected. One of the provosts who had dismounted to help Giles scoffed and stepped forward to snatch the rifle out of his hand. There were hands on his shoulders next, belonging to a second provost, and his sword-bayonet was gone next.

If he got out of this somehow, he was going to thrash Pye but good.