JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 36 из 203Gibbons was the envy of all the officers, Josefina the jewel in his crown, and Sharpe shivered on the bridge and wondered if she would ever go back to the flatlands of Essex and to a big house built on the profits of salted fish.
Seven chimed, and there was a stir of excitement as a group of horsemen appeared from the houses and spurred towards the waiting Battalion. The riders turned out to be British and the ranks relaxed again. Hogan and Sharpe walked back to their men paraded next to Lennox’s Light Company at the left of the Battalion and watched the newcomers ride to join Simmerson. All the riders but one were in uniform, and the exception wore blue trousers under a grey cloak and on his head a plain bicorne hat. Ensign Denny, sixteen years old and full of barely suppressed excitement, was standing near the Riflemen, and Sharpe asked him if he knew who the apparent civilian was.
“No, sir.”
“Sergeant Harper! Tell Mr Denny who the gentleman in the grey cloak is.”
“That’s the General, Mr Denny. Sir Arthur Wellesley himself. Born in Ireland like all the best soldiers!”
A ripple of laughter went through the ranks, but they all straightened up and stared at the man who would lead them towards Madrid. They saw him take out a watch and look towards the town from where the Spanish should be coming but there was still no sign of the Regimienta even though the sun was well over the horizon and the dew fading fast from the grass. One of the staff officers with Wellesley broke away from the group and trotted his horse towards Hogan. Sharpe supposed he wanted to talk to the Engineer, and he walked away, back to the bridge, to give Hogan some privacy.
“Sharpe! Richard!”
The voice was familiar, from the past. He turned to see the staff officer, a Lieutenant Colonel, waving to him, but the face was hidden beneath the ornate cocked hat.
“Richard! You’ve forgotten me!”
Lawford! Sharpe’s face broke into a smile. “Sir! I didn’t even know you were here!”
Lawford swung easily out of the saddle, took off his hat, and shook his head. “You look dreadful! You must really buy yourself a uniform one of these days.” He smiled and shook Sharpe’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Richard.”
“And to see you, sir. A Lieutenant Colonel? You’re doing well!”
“It cost me three thousand, five hundred pounds, Richard, and well you know it. Thank God for money.”
Lawford. Sharpe remembered when the Honourable William Lawford was a frightened Lieutenant and a Sergeant called Sharpe had guided him through the heat of India. Then Lawford had repaid the debt.
Seven chimed, and there was a stir of excitement as a group of horsemen appeared from the houses and spurred towards the waiting Battalion. The riders turned out to be British and the ranks relaxed again. Hogan and Sharpe walked back to their men paraded next to Lennox’s Light Company at the left of the Battalion and watched the newcomers ride to join Simmerson. All the riders but one were in uniform, and the exception wore blue trousers under a grey cloak and on his head a plain bicorne hat. Ensign Denny, sixteen years old and full of barely suppressed excitement, was standing near the Riflemen, and Sharpe asked him if he knew who the apparent civilian was.
“No, sir.”
“Sergeant Harper! Tell Mr Denny who the gentleman in the grey cloak is.”
“That’s the General, Mr Denny. Sir Arthur Wellesley himself. Born in Ireland like all the best soldiers!”
A ripple of laughter went through the ranks, but they all straightened up and stared at the man who would lead them towards Madrid. They saw him take out a watch and look towards the town from where the Spanish should be coming but there was still no sign of the Regimienta even though the sun was well over the horizon and the dew fading fast from the grass. One of the staff officers with Wellesley broke away from the group and trotted his horse towards Hogan. Sharpe supposed he wanted to talk to the Engineer, and he walked away, back to the bridge, to give Hogan some privacy.
“Sharpe! Richard!”
The voice was familiar, from the past. He turned to see the staff officer, a Lieutenant Colonel, waving to him, but the face was hidden beneath the ornate cocked hat.
“Richard! You’ve forgotten me!”
Lawford! Sharpe’s face broke into a smile. “Sir! I didn’t even know you were here!”
Lawford swung easily out of the saddle, took off his hat, and shook his head. “You look dreadful! You must really buy yourself a uniform one of these days.” He smiled and shook Sharpe’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Richard.”
“And to see you, sir. A Lieutenant Colonel? You’re doing well!”
“It cost me three thousand, five hundred pounds, Richard, and well you know it. Thank God for money.”
Lawford. Sharpe remembered when the Honourable William Lawford was a frightened Lieutenant and a Sergeant called Sharpe had guided him through the heat of India. Then Lawford had repaid the debt.