JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 119 из 203Sharpe turned down the hill towards the timber yard and the billets ofthe men. There was only one chance of averting a disaster and that was to get the Battalion on parade as soon as possible, before Simmerson had time to react to the threat of mutiny. There was a clatter of hooves behind him and he turned to see a rider waving at him. It was Captain Sterritt, the officer of the day, and he looked understandably nervous.
“Sharpe!”
“Sterritt?”
Sterritt pulled up his horse. “There’s an officers’ call at the Castle. Now. Everyone.”
“What’s happening?”
Sterritt looked frantically round the deserted street as though someone might overhear the further disaster that had overtaken Simmerson’s Battalion. Sharpe had hardly seen Sterritt since the fight at the bridge. The man was patently frightened of Simmerson, of the men, of Sharpe, of everyone, and deliberately made himself insignificant so as to escape notice. He sketched in the events at the timber yard. Sharpe interrupted him. “I know about that. What’s happening at the castle?”
“The Colonel’s asked to see General Hill.”
There was still time. He looked up at the frightened Captain. “Listen. You haven’t seen me. Understand, Sterritt? You have not seen me.”
“But… “
“No buts. Do you want to see those sixty men shot?”
Sterritt’s mouth dropped open. He looked round the street again and back to Sharpe. “The Colonel’s orders are that no-one is to go near the timber yard.”
“You haven’t seen me so how could I have heard the order?”
“Oh.” Sterritt did not know how to react. He watched Sharpe go on down the street and wished again that he had been born four years earlier; then he would have been the eldest and would now be a gentleman farmer. As it was he felt like a rag doll swept away in a flood. He turned sadly away towards the casde and wondered what would become of it all.
In front of the timber yard was a huge open space like an English village green, except that the grass here was bleached yellow and grew thinly on the shallow soil. The space was used for a weekly market but today it was a football ground for soldiers from a dozen Battalions. Sharpe could see troops from the 48th, the 29th, and a company of Royal American Rifles whose green jackets reminded him of happier days. The men cheered and jeered the players; soon, thought Sharpe, they would have a more interesting spectacle to watch.
He turned left, beside the wall of the timber yard, and down toward the orchard.
“Sharpe!”
“Sterritt?”
Sterritt pulled up his horse. “There’s an officers’ call at the Castle. Now. Everyone.”
“What’s happening?”
Sterritt looked frantically round the deserted street as though someone might overhear the further disaster that had overtaken Simmerson’s Battalion. Sharpe had hardly seen Sterritt since the fight at the bridge. The man was patently frightened of Simmerson, of the men, of Sharpe, of everyone, and deliberately made himself insignificant so as to escape notice. He sketched in the events at the timber yard. Sharpe interrupted him. “I know about that. What’s happening at the castle?”
“The Colonel’s asked to see General Hill.”
There was still time. He looked up at the frightened Captain. “Listen. You haven’t seen me. Understand, Sterritt? You have not seen me.”
“But… “
“No buts. Do you want to see those sixty men shot?”
Sterritt’s mouth dropped open. He looked round the street again and back to Sharpe. “The Colonel’s orders are that no-one is to go near the timber yard.”
“You haven’t seen me so how could I have heard the order?”
“Oh.” Sterritt did not know how to react. He watched Sharpe go on down the street and wished again that he had been born four years earlier; then he would have been the eldest and would now be a gentleman farmer. As it was he felt like a rag doll swept away in a flood. He turned sadly away towards the casde and wondered what would become of it all.
In front of the timber yard was a huge open space like an English village green, except that the grass here was bleached yellow and grew thinly on the shallow soil. The space was used for a weekly market but today it was a football ground for soldiers from a dozen Battalions. Sharpe could see troops from the 48th, the 29th, and a company of Royal American Rifles whose green jackets reminded him of happier days. The men cheered and jeered the players; soon, thought Sharpe, they would have a more interesting spectacle to watch.
He turned left, beside the wall of the timber yard, and down toward the orchard.