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Sharpes Devil :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 122 из 209He welcomed the reinforcements aboard the Espiritu Santo, hurrahed as their new pumps began spewing water overboard, and insisted on sending obscenely cheerful messages to his own flagship. When he became bored with that occupation he paced the quarterdeck with a bottle of wine in one hand and a cigar in the other. "You never told me, Sharpe," he hospitably offered a drink from the bottle, "just why Bautista threw you out of Chile. Surely not because you wanted to filch Vivar's corpse?"
"It was because I was carrying a message for a rebel."
"Who?"
"A man called Charles. Do you know him?"
"Of course I know him. He's my friend. My God, he's the only man in Santiago I can really trust. What did the message say?"
"I don't know. It was in code."
Cochrane's face had gone pale. "So who was it from?" He asked the question in a voice that suggested he was afraid of hearing the answer.
"Napoleon."
"Oh, dear God." Cochrane paused. "And Bautista has the message now?"
"Yes."
Cochrane swore. "How in hell's name did you become Boney's messenger?"
"He tricked me into carrying it." Sharpe explained as best he could, though the explanation sounded lame.
Cochrane, who had seemed appalled when he first heard of the intercepted message, now appeared more interested in the Emperor. "How was he?" he asked eagerly.
"He was bored," Sharpe said. "Bored and fat."
"But alert? Energetic? Quick?" The one-word questions were fierce.
"No. He looked terrible."
"How?" Cochrane asked.
"He's out of condition. He's fat and pale."
"But he made sense to you?" Cochrane asked urgently. "His brain is still working? He's not lunatic?"
"Christ, no! He made perfect sense!"
Cochrane paused, drawing on his cigar. "You liked him?"
"Yes, I did."
"Funny, isn't it? You fight a man most of your life and end up liking the bugger."
"You met him?" Sharpe asked.
Cochrane shook his head. "I wanted to. When I was on my way here I wanted to call at Saint Helena, but the winds were wrong and we were already late." Cochrane had crossed to the rail where he stopped to gaze at the O'Higgins. She was a handsome ship, a fifty-gun battleship that had once sailed in the Spanish Navy and had been renamed by her captors. Her solidity looked wonderfully reassuring compared to the fragility of the half-sinking Espiritu Santo. 'They should have killed Bonaparte," Cochrane said suddenly. 'They should have stood him against a wall and shot him.
"It was because I was carrying a message for a rebel."
"Who?"
"A man called Charles. Do you know him?"
"Of course I know him. He's my friend. My God, he's the only man in Santiago I can really trust. What did the message say?"
"I don't know. It was in code."
Cochrane's face had gone pale. "So who was it from?" He asked the question in a voice that suggested he was afraid of hearing the answer.
"Napoleon."
"Oh, dear God." Cochrane paused. "And Bautista has the message now?"
"Yes."
Cochrane swore. "How in hell's name did you become Boney's messenger?"
"He tricked me into carrying it." Sharpe explained as best he could, though the explanation sounded lame.
Cochrane, who had seemed appalled when he first heard of the intercepted message, now appeared more interested in the Emperor. "How was he?" he asked eagerly.
"He was bored," Sharpe said. "Bored and fat."
"But alert? Energetic? Quick?" The one-word questions were fierce.
"No. He looked terrible."
"How?" Cochrane asked.
"He's out of condition. He's fat and pale."
"But he made sense to you?" Cochrane asked urgently. "His brain is still working? He's not lunatic?"
"Christ, no! He made perfect sense!"
Cochrane paused, drawing on his cigar. "You liked him?"
"Yes, I did."
"Funny, isn't it? You fight a man most of your life and end up liking the bugger."
"You met him?" Sharpe asked.
Cochrane shook his head. "I wanted to. When I was on my way here I wanted to call at Saint Helena, but the winds were wrong and we were already late." Cochrane had crossed to the rail where he stopped to gaze at the O'Higgins. She was a handsome ship, a fifty-gun battleship that had once sailed in the Spanish Navy and had been renamed by her captors. Her solidity looked wonderfully reassuring compared to the fragility of the half-sinking Espiritu Santo. 'They should have killed Bonaparte," Cochrane said suddenly. 'They should have stood him against a wall and shot him.