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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 18 Gilly
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Date: Sat, 17 Apr 2004 15:10:06 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 18.txt" begin>

Rebel 18 (Old Bill)  (MF hist) 

Gilly

	I remember telling Lieutenant Foster that I needed a woman.

	"Don' you always," he said, completely unconcerned as I made 
my report.  I told him that we had brought down a half-dozen 
Redcoated officers and twice that many dragoons in our fortnight of 
scouting, and he seemed pleased but still unsympathetic to my 
needs, just happy to have his good rifle back.

	"Try to find Gilly," he said after I asked again.  "She's probably 
around somewhere, poor woman.  A good lay, she was."

	"Who?"

	"One of the camp followers," he explained.  "Her man was 
killed a month or so ago, and she's gone from hand to hand and 
straight down to the gutter since then, gin some say.  She'll swive 
anybody, even you, for a shilling.  Now get out a'here."

	A few questions led me to the river where several women 
were washing clothes.  Off by herself and dressed in rags, a lean 
female stood knee-deep in the fast-moving stream and pounded a 
pair of britches on the rocks.  Her dark hair was a tangle as thick as 
any berry patch and her skin was brown from the sun.  She had 
done the wash for several men judging by the clothes spread on 
nearby bushes and was about finished her chores for a while.  When 
she came to sit on the bank, I let myself down beside her.

	"Gilly?" I asked and she nodded.  "I'm in need of comfort."

	"Ye mus' be desperate indeed to come to me," she said, biting 
off a bit of tobacco and offering me the twist.

	"I do need a woman," I said, edging closer to her. She did not 
smell very good, but then in all likelyhood, neither did I. "Would you 
like a bath then, first, I mean?"

	"I ain't so dirty.  Are you?" She turned and looked at me, 
raising an eyebrow.  "You could use a shave.  Now?" she said.  Her 
eyes were green and rather bloodshot.

	"And why not?" said I with a smile, perhaps a bit wolfish.

	She nodded at the other women working along the stream 
bank.  "Bit of an audience," she said.

	"We could go upstream," I suggested.  "I see you've got some 
soap."

	She spat and considered.  "Why not. It's been a while," she 
said and stood, pulling me to my feet.  We walked a hundred yards 
north, past a stone outcropping and a sharp bend, pulled off our 
well-worn clothes and waded into the chilly water, trying not to 
look at each other too much.  I got down on my knees and she 
washed my hair and back, and then I did the same for her, working 
hard at the many tangles in her long tresses.  Her body was lean 
and hard, but her breasts jutted like a much younger girl's and her 
hips were surely womanly.  She dunked her head to rinse out the 
soap and I admired her long muscles and stringy sinews. The 
processes of her spine showed clearly as did her pelvic bones.  The 
water was deep enough to cover her privates when she stood.  We 
finished our bath and sat on the rocky bank, waiting for the air to 
dry us.

	"You surely are the hairiest man I ever saw," she said, shaking 
her head and making water droplets fly.

	"Thank you, ma'm," I said, hoping it was a compliment as she 
rubbed my back with my old shirt.  "You're kind of pretty yourself," 
I said, "in a skinny way."

	"I ain't been eatin' regular," she admitted, still working on her 
chaw.

	"You got a man now?"

	She shook her head and spat.  "Don't need one."

	"I'm back and forth, out scouting most of the time, so I can't 
really . . ."

	"I understand," she said, raking out her long hair with her 
fingers, a Scotch combing some called it.  She pulled it out so it 
covered her face and hung like a veil.  After a while, she tossed it 
back and tied or braided it together somehow so it hung down her 
back like a long queue.  Then she did my hair and tied it with the old 
black ribbon I got from someplace.

	We dressed, our skin still damp and went in search of a meal.  
I had a good purse, taken mainly from the bodies of men I'd shot, so 
even tavern prices did not bother me.  On the way we found a man 
selling women's clothes out of the back of a wagon, his late wife's he 
said, and I bought Gilly a good woolen skirt and a hunting shirt, a 
plain linsey-woolsey shift and a fancy corset covered with 
embroidered flowers.  She went behind a shed and changed her 
clothes, giving me back the stays. "Too big," she said, "but a pretty 
thing." I gave it to the first plump woman I saw.  Then we visited the 
shoemaker, and he traced her feet on some brown paper and 
promised her some stout boots in a week or so, pull-ups.  I paid him.

	We dined well, and I do not think I have ever seen a woman 
eat so fast and so heartily.  She liked everything and devoured the 
food with gusto if not grace, sucking on her fingers from time to 
time and smiling at me to show she knew she should not.  I just sat 
back and watched, pleased and a bit saddened that someone so 
hard-working should be so hungry.  She even gnawed the bones 
and sucked out the marrow.  Her face bore the faint scars of 
smallpox and her cheeks were gaunt, but she gained both charm and 
life as she ate and drank. Her eyes sparkled with good humor.  She 
finally sat back, poured the last of the ale down her gullet, sighed 
with contentment and said, "I'd enjoy a pipe."

	I leaned forward.  "And I'd enjoy a good rogering."

	"Not on a full stomach, surely," she said with a grin.

	I fetched her a clay pipe like my own, and we sat and smoked 
for a while as she cleaned the plates and trenchers with bits of 
bread.  Then we went up to our room, and she took care of my 
needs as well as she could.  She was bony but did her best to satisfy 
me several times.  I tried to keep my weight off of her and not hurt 
her.  It was good enough for a pipe clearing.

	"I've got to get back out in the field and kill some more Brits," I 
said.  I dropped a purse on her flat stomach where it sat like a 
toadstool.  "Will you be all right?"

	She felt the leather bag and jingled the coins.  She smiled and 
nodded.

	"In a week, I'll want to see your new shoes and at least a stone 
more of suet on your lean bones."

	"So you like the big ones, do you?" she asked with a chuckle, 
scratching at my belly.

	"I like all women," I said, truthfully.

	That week George and I were teamed for the first time in the 
long war.  We ambushed several foraging parties and almost 
captured one well-mounted captain who was relieving himself when 
we shot down his teamsters and drove off his squad leaving him to 
run for it with his britches in his hand and his bare arse hanging out.  
We laughed so hard, he got away.  George drove the supply wagon 
and I managed to capture the officer's riding horse so we made a 
triumphal entry back in camp, and then went our separate ways to 
celebrate our survival and accomplishments.  George had an off-and-
on woman among the camp followers, one who was generally loyal 
to him, a small imp with a constant grin that he called an apple-
dumpling.

	Gilly was a bit plumper and looking much happier. The boots, 
she assured me as she pulled them off, would be fine once she had 
broken them in and gotten used to wearing such good shoes.  Her 
dark hair was now held back by two combs stuck in behind her 
ears, and a bit of lace showed at the edge of her bodice.

	I took her as gently as I could, and we enjoyed an afternoon in 
bed before we dined downstairs in the smoky inn.  She still ate as if 
she had been starved for a week, but I also enjoyed getting away 
from corn mush and sausage, hard bread and air-dried or long-
cooked meat.  The army, I had decided, was determined to wear 
down my teeth.

	Back in the bed, she mounted me, getting comfortable astride 
my hips with her knees up on my ribs.  "How old are you, Gilly?" I 
asked, admiring her taut breasts.

	"None a'your business," she said with a smile, her brow 
furrowed in concentration.

	"You can't be thirty," I said.

	She smiled, grunted and grimaced as she rogered me, 
exhausted me and then collapsed upon me with a loud splat.  We 
slept in each others arm, warm and secure although I still jumped 
convulsively at almost every random sound and kept my big knife 
where I could touch it.

	The next time I went out scouting with George was just about 
the closest I got to being killed in the whole war.  We walked right 
into a trap on the third day, both of us carrying two muskets and a 
lot of buck and ball.  We ran for the woods throwing away 
everything while shots just flew around us, whizzing by or thunking 
into tree trunks.  We did not stop when we got into the trees 
because the Redcoats were still coming on, yelling like banshees. We 
separated hoping to confuse them and kept on running.   I galloped 
until my lungs were on fire and then climbed up into the leaves of a 
big maple tree.  I came down when it was dark and started walking 
back to camp.  By the time I got there, foot-sore and hungry, 
George had already made his report, put the blame right on my 
head and was out somewhere enjoying himself.

	The lieutenant chewed me up both sides and took my stripes 
away.  He said it was going to take the price of the lost weapons out 
of my pay, but since we did not get paid much that did not worry 
me.  He said I was a disgrace, and I believed him.  My clothes were 
torn, face and arms scratched, and boots falling apart.  When he 
finished with me, I got something to eat and went looking for Gilly, 
much in the need of comfort and consolation.

	I found her back in the stream where I had met her, her new 
skirt hiked up and her hard boobies just about falling out of her 
gaping bodice as she washed somebody's clothes.  A sergeant in 
English knee-britches sat on the bank watching her work and 
smoking a pipe.  Gilly looked up, squinted at me and then shook her 
head.  She had a black eye and a swollen lip.  The sergeant saw 
where she was looking and stood, his hand on the butt of his short 
sword and his pipe set aside.

	"Who the hell are you?" he asked, pushing out his beard-blue 
jaw.  He was a big man, wide through the chest and heavy in the 
thighs, and he had piggy little eyes and a mean look about him.

	I told him who I was and said I was a friend of the lady's.

	"Lady!" he roared.  "That's a good `un.  That fustilugs, that 
sewer?"

	I stepped a bit closer, told him I did not appreciate his tone or 
words, and he pulled his hanger.  I got my big knife in my hand, but 
he had nearly a yard in reach on me so I did not want to meet him 
with steel if I could avoid it.  We circled each other with hands each 
other's blade wrists, him spitting curses at me and foul labels on 
Gilly, and me blocking his slashes and lunges as best I could after he 
tore loose.  He said she was his bitch and nobody but him was 
allowed to touch her without his say so.

	The girl stood in the knee-deep water with her hands covering 
her face, her back shaking.  When the sergeant's foot slipped on the 
muddy bank, I shouldered him into the creek.  He dropped his 
sword and I sheathed my blade and went for him with both hands.  
We grappled and punched at each other, wrestling and fighting in 
and out of the water.  He hit me a couple of solid blows that rattled 
my brain and nearly cost me a tooth, and I opened up one of his 
eyebrows and stopped him with punches to the belly.  It was a 
better-than-average fight that ended when I held his head under 
water until he stopped struggling and then dragged him ashore and 
kicked him few times to get the water out of him.

	He rolled over, spitting blood and creek water, and reached 
for his empty scabbard.  I smiled and kicked him in the face, crushing 
his nose.  He crawled off, and I never saw the man again.

	I pulled Gilly out of the water and tossed in the clothes she 
had been working on.  We held each other and watched them float 
down the stream.

	"He came jus' after you left, `bout a week ago," she said when 
her mouth was free.

	"It's all right," I told her, rubbing her back.

	"He took me, after he hit me a few times."  She touched her 
swollen eye.

	"I'm sorry," I said, touching her hair.

	"Then he started bringing other men, from his company, one 
or two every day."

	"Damn him," I said, feeling her tremble.  I took her back to the 
tavern and we had a good meal.  Then I left her alone in bed and 
we slept peacefully.  I went and saw about a new pair of boots, and 
we enjoyed a peaceful day.  By the time I got back from my next 
foray among the enemy, the army had moved on north, and I lost 
track of her for a while.  She was a good woman.






<1st attachment end>


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