JК
Sharpes Devil :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 88 из 209There weretwelve of the massive guns, each capable of plunging a vicious fire down onto any ship that dared attack Puerto Crucero's harbor.
Yet Bautista had not invited Sharpe and Harper to see the guns, but rather the man who was shackled to a wooden post at the very edge of one of the embrasures. That man was Ferdinand, the Indian guide who had brought them through the misted mountains ahead of Dregara's pursuit. Now, stripped of his tattered uniform and dressed only in a short brown kilt, Ferdinand was manacled just seven or eight feet from the muzzle of one of the giant cannons. Dregara, who was clearly an intimate of Bautista's, stood holding a smoking linstock beside the loaded gun. Sharpe, understanding what he was about to see, turned in horror on Bautista. "What in Christ's name are you doing?"
"This is an execution," Bautista said in a tone of voice he might use to explain something to a small child, "a means of imposing order on an imperfect world."
"You can't do this!" Sharpe protested so strongly that one of the infantrymen stepped in front of him with a musket and bayonet.
"Of course I can do this!" Bautista mocked. "I am the King's plenipotentiary. I can have men killed, I can have them imprisoned, I can even have them broken down to the ranks, like Private Morillo who is being sent to the mines to learn the virtues of loyalty."
"What has this man done?" Sharpe gestured at Ferdinand.
"He has displeased me, Mister Sharpe," Bautista said, then he beckoned the other men in the room forward so they could watch the execution from the other windows. Bautista's eyes were greedy. "Are you watching?" Bautista asked Sharpe.
"You bastard," Sharpe said.
"Why? This is a quick and painless death, though admittedly messy. You have to understand that the savages believe their souls will not reach paradise unless their bodies are intact for the funeral rites. They consequently have a morbid fear of dismemberment, which is why I devised this punishment as a means of discouraging rebellion among the Indian slaves. It works remarkably well."
"But this man has done nothing! Morillo did nothing!"
"They displeased me," Bautista hissed the words, then he looked down to the gun battery and held up a hand.
Ferdinand, his lips drawn back from his filed teeth, seemed to be praying. His eyes were closed. "God bless you!" Sharpe shouted, though the Indian showed no signs of hearing.
"You think God cares about scum?" Bautista chuckled, then dropped his hand.
Dregara reached forward and the linstock touched the firing hole.
Yet Bautista had not invited Sharpe and Harper to see the guns, but rather the man who was shackled to a wooden post at the very edge of one of the embrasures. That man was Ferdinand, the Indian guide who had brought them through the misted mountains ahead of Dregara's pursuit. Now, stripped of his tattered uniform and dressed only in a short brown kilt, Ferdinand was manacled just seven or eight feet from the muzzle of one of the giant cannons. Dregara, who was clearly an intimate of Bautista's, stood holding a smoking linstock beside the loaded gun. Sharpe, understanding what he was about to see, turned in horror on Bautista. "What in Christ's name are you doing?"
"This is an execution," Bautista said in a tone of voice he might use to explain something to a small child, "a means of imposing order on an imperfect world."
"You can't do this!" Sharpe protested so strongly that one of the infantrymen stepped in front of him with a musket and bayonet.
"Of course I can do this!" Bautista mocked. "I am the King's plenipotentiary. I can have men killed, I can have them imprisoned, I can even have them broken down to the ranks, like Private Morillo who is being sent to the mines to learn the virtues of loyalty."
"What has this man done?" Sharpe gestured at Ferdinand.
"He has displeased me, Mister Sharpe," Bautista said, then he beckoned the other men in the room forward so they could watch the execution from the other windows. Bautista's eyes were greedy. "Are you watching?" Bautista asked Sharpe.
"You bastard," Sharpe said.
"Why? This is a quick and painless death, though admittedly messy. You have to understand that the savages believe their souls will not reach paradise unless their bodies are intact for the funeral rites. They consequently have a morbid fear of dismemberment, which is why I devised this punishment as a means of discouraging rebellion among the Indian slaves. It works remarkably well."
"But this man has done nothing! Morillo did nothing!"
"They displeased me," Bautista hissed the words, then he looked down to the gun battery and held up a hand.
Ferdinand, his lips drawn back from his filed teeth, seemed to be praying. His eyes were closed. "God bless you!" Sharpe shouted, though the Indian showed no signs of hearing.
"You think God cares about scum?" Bautista chuckled, then dropped his hand.
Dregara reached forward and the linstock touched the firing hole.