JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 127 из 203Because of your behaviour this afternoon Sir Henry has asked me to cancel the punishment parade. I don’t think I agree with him but I’m going to let him have his way. So there will be no floggings.” There was a sigh of relief. Hill took another deep breath. “Tomorrow we march with our Spanish allies towards the French! We’re going to Talavera and there’s going to be a battle! I’m proud to have you in my division. Together we’re going to show the French just what being a soldier means!” He waved a benign hand at them. “Good luck, lads, good luck!”
They cheered him till they were hoarse, took off their shakoes and waved them at «the General, who beamed back at them like an indulgent parent. When the noise died down he turned to Simmerson.
“Dismiss them, Colonel, dismiss them. They’ve done well!”
Simmerson had no alternative but to obey. The parade was dismissed; the men streamed off the field in a buzz of talk and laughter. Hill trotted back towards the castle and Sharpe watched Simmerson and his group of officers ride after him. The man had been made to look foolish and he, Sharpe, would be blamed. The tall Rifleman walked slowly back towards the town, head down to discourage conversation. It was true that he had enjoyed discomfiting Simmerson, but the Colonel had asked for the treatment; he had not even bothered to check whether the men would refuse an order, he had simply screamed for the cavalry. Sharpe knew he had heaped too many insults on the Colonel and his nephew. Sharpe doubted now that Simmerson would be content with the letter that would be in Lisbon by now, waiting for a ship and a fair wind to carry the mail to London. The letter would blight Sharpe’s career, and unless he could perform a miracle in the battle that was coming nearer by the hour, then Simmerson would have the satisfaction of seeing Sharpe broken. But there was more to it now. There was honour and pride and a woman. He doubted if Gibbons would seek an honourable solution, he doubted if the Lieutenant would be satisfied by the letter his uncle had written, and he felt a shiver of apprehension at what might happen. The girl would be Gibbons’ target.
A man ran up behind him. “Sir?”
Sharpe turned. It was the burly man who had tried to stop the Battalion parading in the timber yard. “Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you, sir.”
“Thank me? For what?” Sharpe spoke harshly. The man was embarrassed. “We would have been shot, sir.”
“I would happily have given the order myself.”
“Then thank you, sir.”
Sharpe was impressed.
They cheered him till they were hoarse, took off their shakoes and waved them at «the General, who beamed back at them like an indulgent parent. When the noise died down he turned to Simmerson.
“Dismiss them, Colonel, dismiss them. They’ve done well!”
Simmerson had no alternative but to obey. The parade was dismissed; the men streamed off the field in a buzz of talk and laughter. Hill trotted back towards the castle and Sharpe watched Simmerson and his group of officers ride after him. The man had been made to look foolish and he, Sharpe, would be blamed. The tall Rifleman walked slowly back towards the town, head down to discourage conversation. It was true that he had enjoyed discomfiting Simmerson, but the Colonel had asked for the treatment; he had not even bothered to check whether the men would refuse an order, he had simply screamed for the cavalry. Sharpe knew he had heaped too many insults on the Colonel and his nephew. Sharpe doubted now that Simmerson would be content with the letter that would be in Lisbon by now, waiting for a ship and a fair wind to carry the mail to London. The letter would blight Sharpe’s career, and unless he could perform a miracle in the battle that was coming nearer by the hour, then Simmerson would have the satisfaction of seeing Sharpe broken. But there was more to it now. There was honour and pride and a woman. He doubted if Gibbons would seek an honourable solution, he doubted if the Lieutenant would be satisfied by the letter his uncle had written, and he felt a shiver of apprehension at what might happen. The girl would be Gibbons’ target.
A man ran up behind him. “Sir?”
Sharpe turned. It was the burly man who had tried to stop the Battalion parading in the timber yard. “Yes?”
“I wanted to thank you, sir.”
“Thank me? For what?” Sharpe spoke harshly. The man was embarrassed. “We would have been shot, sir.”
“I would happily have given the order myself.”
“Then thank you, sir.”
Sharpe was impressed.