JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 146 из 203There were a handful of men left in the grove, others were being driven back by the Spanish cavalry, but Sharpe guessed it would take the horsemen all night to round up the fugitives and force them back to the breastworks, and even then thousands would escape to spread rumours of a great French victory outside Talavera. Sharpe stood up. “Come on, Sergeant, time we were getting back to the Battalion.”
A voice called up from the street. “Captain Sharpe! Sir!”
One of the Riflemen was gesticulating and, next to him, stood Agostino, Josefina’s servant. Sharpe felt his carefree mood disappear to be replaced with an awful dread. He scrambled down the broken stonework, Harper and Hogan behind him, and strode across to the two men. “What is it?”
Agostino burst into Portuguese. He was a tiny man who normally said little but watched all from his wide, brown eyes. Sharpe held up his hand for quiet. “What’s he saying?”
Hogan knew enough Portuguese. The Engineer licked his lips. “It’s Josefina.”
“What about her?” Sharpe had the inklings of disaster, a cold feeling of evil. He let Hogan take his elbow and walk him, with Agostino, away from the listening Riflemen. Hogan asked more questions, let the small servant talk, and finally turned to Sharpe. His voice was low. “She’s been attacked. They locked Agostino in a cupboard.”
“They?” He already knew the answer. Gibbons and Berry.
Sergeant Harper crossed to them, his manner formal and correct. “Sir!”
“Sergeant?” Sharpe forced the hundreds of jostling fears down so that he could listen to Harper.
“I’ll take the men back, sir.”
Sharpe nodded. It occurred to him that Patrick Harper knew more of what was going on than Sharpe had assumed. Behind the careful words there was a concern that made Sharpe regret that he had not taken Harper more into his confidence. There was also a controlled anger in the Irishman. Your enemies, he was saying, are mine.
“Carry on, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir. And sir?” Harper’s face was bleak. “You will let me know what happens?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Sharpe and Hogan ran into the dark streets, slipping on the filth, pushing their way through the fugitives who were forcing the doors of wine-shops and private houses. Hogan panted to keep up with the Rifleman. It would be a bad night in Talavera, a night of looting, destruction, and rape.
A voice called up from the street. “Captain Sharpe! Sir!”
One of the Riflemen was gesticulating and, next to him, stood Agostino, Josefina’s servant. Sharpe felt his carefree mood disappear to be replaced with an awful dread. He scrambled down the broken stonework, Harper and Hogan behind him, and strode across to the two men. “What is it?”
Agostino burst into Portuguese. He was a tiny man who normally said little but watched all from his wide, brown eyes. Sharpe held up his hand for quiet. “What’s he saying?”
Hogan knew enough Portuguese. The Engineer licked his lips. “It’s Josefina.”
“What about her?” Sharpe had the inklings of disaster, a cold feeling of evil. He let Hogan take his elbow and walk him, with Agostino, away from the listening Riflemen. Hogan asked more questions, let the small servant talk, and finally turned to Sharpe. His voice was low. “She’s been attacked. They locked Agostino in a cupboard.”
“They?” He already knew the answer. Gibbons and Berry.
Sergeant Harper crossed to them, his manner formal and correct. “Sir!”
“Sergeant?” Sharpe forced the hundreds of jostling fears down so that he could listen to Harper.
“I’ll take the men back, sir.”
Sharpe nodded. It occurred to him that Patrick Harper knew more of what was going on than Sharpe had assumed. Behind the careful words there was a concern that made Sharpe regret that he had not taken Harper more into his confidence. There was also a controlled anger in the Irishman. Your enemies, he was saying, are mine.
“Carry on, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir. And sir?” Harper’s face was bleak. “You will let me know what happens?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Sharpe and Hogan ran into the dark streets, slipping on the filth, pushing their way through the fugitives who were forcing the doors of wine-shops and private houses. Hogan panted to keep up with the Rifleman. It would be a bad night in Talavera, a night of looting, destruction, and rape.