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Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 101 из 203Sharpepushed the money away. “I need all my bullets.”
Hogan laughed. “That’s true. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” He put a hand on Sharpe’s belt, opened the ammunition pouch, and poured in the gold. Sharpe protested and pulled away but Hogan forced the money inside. “You’ll need it, Richard. She’ll expect a decent room in Oropesa, and in Talavera, and God knows how much it will all cost you. Don’t worry. There’ll be a battle soon and you’ll shoot a rich man and then give me the money back.”
They walked on in silence. Hogan could feel the excitement in Sharpe and knew that if he had offered him ten times ten guineas then he could not have stopped the Rifleman sleeping with the girl that night or, if Josefina said no, then Sharpe would have stayed in the room as her faithful protector, the Baker rifle across his knees. They skirted Berry and Gibbons, one of them doubled over and groaning, and splashed through the stream and back into the lights of the inn’s courtyard. Hogan looked up at Sharpe, at the eyes that were alive with anticipation, and cuffed him gently on the arm. “Sleep well, Richard.”
Sharpe grinned back. “Don’t worry.” He took the stairs three at a time, his boots squelching on the wooden steps, and Hogan watched him go. “Tis brief, my Lord.” He was speaking to himself. “As woman’s love.”
“What’s that, sir?” Lieutenant Knowles was standing beside him.
“Do you never read Shakespeare, lad?”
“Shakespeare, sir?”
“A famous Irish poet,” Hogan said.
Knowles laughed. “And what play was that from, sir?”
“Hamlet.”
“Oh him.” Knowles grinned. “The famous Irish Prince?”
Hogan grinned at him. “Oh no. Hamlet was no Irishman. He was a fool. Goodnight, Lieutenant. Time for bed.”
Hogan looked up at Sharpe’s room. He would trust Sharpe with his life, trust the Rifleman against almost any odds, but with a woman? He would be disarmed, defeated; one girl could do what a Battalion of French could never hope to achieve. Hogan muttered under his breath as he walked away, his voice quiet in the empty courtyard, repeating the line over and over as though, perhaps, repetition would rob it of truth. “Beauty provoketh fools sooner than gold.”
CHAPTER 12
“Officer of the day?”
Sharpe nodded. “Come on in.”
The Commissary officer, a plump Lieutenant, grinned cheerfully and closed the door behind him. “Good afternoon, sir.
Hogan laughed. “That’s true. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.” He put a hand on Sharpe’s belt, opened the ammunition pouch, and poured in the gold. Sharpe protested and pulled away but Hogan forced the money inside. “You’ll need it, Richard. She’ll expect a decent room in Oropesa, and in Talavera, and God knows how much it will all cost you. Don’t worry. There’ll be a battle soon and you’ll shoot a rich man and then give me the money back.”
They walked on in silence. Hogan could feel the excitement in Sharpe and knew that if he had offered him ten times ten guineas then he could not have stopped the Rifleman sleeping with the girl that night or, if Josefina said no, then Sharpe would have stayed in the room as her faithful protector, the Baker rifle across his knees. They skirted Berry and Gibbons, one of them doubled over and groaning, and splashed through the stream and back into the lights of the inn’s courtyard. Hogan looked up at Sharpe, at the eyes that were alive with anticipation, and cuffed him gently on the arm. “Sleep well, Richard.”
Sharpe grinned back. “Don’t worry.” He took the stairs three at a time, his boots squelching on the wooden steps, and Hogan watched him go. “Tis brief, my Lord.” He was speaking to himself. “As woman’s love.”
“What’s that, sir?” Lieutenant Knowles was standing beside him.
“Do you never read Shakespeare, lad?”
“Shakespeare, sir?”
“A famous Irish poet,” Hogan said.
Knowles laughed. “And what play was that from, sir?”
“Hamlet.”
“Oh him.” Knowles grinned. “The famous Irish Prince?”
Hogan grinned at him. “Oh no. Hamlet was no Irishman. He was a fool. Goodnight, Lieutenant. Time for bed.”
Hogan looked up at Sharpe’s room. He would trust Sharpe with his life, trust the Rifleman against almost any odds, but with a woman? He would be disarmed, defeated; one girl could do what a Battalion of French could never hope to achieve. Hogan muttered under his breath as he walked away, his voice quiet in the empty courtyard, repeating the line over and over as though, perhaps, repetition would rob it of truth. “Beauty provoketh fools sooner than gold.”
CHAPTER 12
“Officer of the day?”
Sharpe nodded. “Come on in.”
The Commissary officer, a plump Lieutenant, grinned cheerfully and closed the door behind him. “Good afternoon, sir.