JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 108 из 242It had started to rain, the drops pounding on the stable roof and cascading off the tiles into the cobbled yard. Daniel Hagman watched the rain from the stable door. „I feel just fine, sir,” he reassured Sharpe.
„We can make a stretcher, Dan, if you feel poorly.”
„Lord, no, sir! I’m right as rain, right as rain.”
No one wanted to leave in this downpour, but Sharpe was determined to use every hour of darkness to make his way toward the Douro. There was a chance, he thought, of reaching the river by midday tomorrow and he would let the men rest while he scouted the river bank for a means to cross. „Packs on!” he ordered. „Ready yourselves.” He watched Williamson for any sign of reluctance, but the man got a move on with the rest. Vicente had distributed wine corks and the men pushed them into the muzzles of their rifles or muskets. The weapons were not loaded because in this rain the priming would turn to gray slush. There was more grumbling when Sharpe ordered them out of the stables, but they hunched their shoulders and followed him out of the courtyard and up into the wood where the oaks and silver birches thrashed under the assault of wind and rain. Sharpe was soaked to the skin before they had gone a quarter-mile, but he consoled himself that no one else was likely to be out in this vile weather. The evening light was fading fast and early, stolen by the black, thick-bellied clouds that scraped against the jagged outcrop of the ruined watchtower. Sharpe was following a path that would lead around the western side of the watchtower’s hill and he glanced up at the old masonry as they emerged from the trees and thought ruefully of all that work.
He called a halt to let the rear of the line catch up. Daniel Hagman was evidently holding up well. Harper, two smoked legs of goat hanging from his belt, climbed up to join Sharpe, who was watching the arriving men from a vantage point a few feet higher than the path. „Bloody rain,” Harper said.
„It’ll stop eventually.”
„Is that so?” Harper asked innocently.
It was then Sharpe saw the gleam of light in the vineyards. It was not lightning, it was too dull, too small and too close to the ground, but he knew he had not imagined it and he cursed Christopher for stealing his telescope. He gazed at the spot where the light had shown so briefly, but saw nothing.
„What is it?” Vicente had climbed to join him.
„Thought I saw a flash of light,” Sharpe said.
„Just rain,” Harper said dismissively.
„Perhaps it was a piece of broken glass,” Vicente suggested. „I once found some Roman glass in a field near Entre-os-Rios.
„We can make a stretcher, Dan, if you feel poorly.”
„Lord, no, sir! I’m right as rain, right as rain.”
No one wanted to leave in this downpour, but Sharpe was determined to use every hour of darkness to make his way toward the Douro. There was a chance, he thought, of reaching the river by midday tomorrow and he would let the men rest while he scouted the river bank for a means to cross. „Packs on!” he ordered. „Ready yourselves.” He watched Williamson for any sign of reluctance, but the man got a move on with the rest. Vicente had distributed wine corks and the men pushed them into the muzzles of their rifles or muskets. The weapons were not loaded because in this rain the priming would turn to gray slush. There was more grumbling when Sharpe ordered them out of the stables, but they hunched their shoulders and followed him out of the courtyard and up into the wood where the oaks and silver birches thrashed under the assault of wind and rain. Sharpe was soaked to the skin before they had gone a quarter-mile, but he consoled himself that no one else was likely to be out in this vile weather. The evening light was fading fast and early, stolen by the black, thick-bellied clouds that scraped against the jagged outcrop of the ruined watchtower. Sharpe was following a path that would lead around the western side of the watchtower’s hill and he glanced up at the old masonry as they emerged from the trees and thought ruefully of all that work.
He called a halt to let the rear of the line catch up. Daniel Hagman was evidently holding up well. Harper, two smoked legs of goat hanging from his belt, climbed up to join Sharpe, who was watching the arriving men from a vantage point a few feet higher than the path. „Bloody rain,” Harper said.
„It’ll stop eventually.”
„Is that so?” Harper asked innocently.
It was then Sharpe saw the gleam of light in the vineyards. It was not lightning, it was too dull, too small and too close to the ground, but he knew he had not imagined it and he cursed Christopher for stealing his telescope. He gazed at the spot where the light had shown so briefly, but saw nothing.
„What is it?” Vicente had climbed to join him.
„Thought I saw a flash of light,” Sharpe said.
„Just rain,” Harper said dismissively.
„Perhaps it was a piece of broken glass,” Vicente suggested. „I once found some Roman glass in a field near Entre-os-Rios.