Sharpes Havoc   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

The Portuguese royal family had fled to Brazil, leaving the country leaderless, and after theirdeparture there had been riots in Lisbon, and many of Portugal’s aristocrats were now more concerned with protecting themselves from the mob than defending their country against the French. Scores of the army’s officers had already defected, joining the Portuguese Legion that fought for the enemy, and what officers remained were largely untrained, their men were a rabble and armed with ancient weapons if they possessed weapons at all. In some places, like Oporto itself, all civil rule had collapsed and the streets were governed by the whims of the ordenanqa who, lacking proper weapons, patrolled the streets with pikes, spears, axes and mattocks. Before the French had come the ordenanqa had massacred half of Oporto’s gentry and forced the other half to flee or barricade their houses though they had left the English residents alone.

So Portugal was in a state of collapse, but Sharpe had also seen how the common people hated the French, and how the soldiers had slowed as they passed the gate of the House Beautiful. Oporto might be falling to the enemy, but there was plenty of fight left in Portugal, though it was hard to believe that as yet more soldiers followed the retreating six-pounder gun down to the river. Lieutenant Colonel Christopher glanced at the fugitives, then looked back at Sharpe. „What on earth was Captain Hogan thinking of?” he asked, evidently expecting no answer. „What possible use could you be to me? Your presence can only slow me down. I suppose Hogan was being chivalrous,” Christopher went on, „but the man plainly has no more common sense than a pickled onion. You can go back to him, Sharpe, and tell him that I don’t need assistance in rescuing one damned silly little girl.” The Colonel had to raise his voice because the sound of cannons and musketry was suddenly loud.

„He gave me an order, sir,” Sharpe said stubbornly.

„And I’m giving you another,” Christopher said in the indulgent tone he might have used to address a very small child. The pommel of his saddle was broad and flat to make a small writing surface and now he laid a notebook on that makeshift desk and took out a pencil, and just then another of the red-blossomed trees on the crest was struck by a cannonball so that the air was filled with drifting petals. „The French are at war with the cherries,” Christopher said lightly.

„With Judas,” Sharpe said.

Christopher gave him a look of astonishment and outrage. „What did you say?”

„It’s a Judas tree,” Sharpe said.

Christopher still looked outraged, then Sergeant Harper chimed in.