JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 151 из 242„Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he exulted, „but they’re going!”
But why? Was it peace? Had the horsemen, whom Sharpe had feared were escorting a mortar, brought a message instead? An order to retreat? Or was it a trick? Were the French hoping he would go down to the village and so give the dragoons a chance to attack his men on level ground? He was as confused as ever.
„I’m going down,” he said. „Me, Cooper, Harris, Perkins, Cresacre and Sims.” He deliberately named the last two because they had been friends of Williamson and if any men were likely to follow the deserter it was those two and he wanted to show them he still trusted them. „The rest of you stay here.”
„I would like to come,” Vicente said and, when he saw Sharpe was about to refuse, he explained. „The village, senhor. I want to see the village. I want to see what happened to our people.” Vicente, like Sharpe, took five men; Sergeant Harper and Sergeant Macedo were left in charge on the hilltop, and Sharpe’s patrol set off down the hill. They went past the great fanshaped scorch mark which showed where the howitzer had been fired and Sharpe half expected a volley to blast from the wood, but no gun sounded and then he was under the shade of the trees. He and Cooper led, going stealthily, watching for an ambush among the laurels, birch and oak, but they were undisturbed. They followed the path to the Quinta which had its blue shutters closed against the sun and looked quite undamaged. A tabby cat washed itself on the sun-warmed cobbles beneath the stable arch and paused to stare indignantly at the soldiers, then went back to its ablutions. Sharpe tried the kitchen door, but it was locked. He thought of breaking it down, then decided to leave it and led the men round to the front of the house instead. The front door was locked, the driveway deserted. He backed slowly away from the Quinta, watching the shutters, almost expecting them to be thrown open to loose a blast of musketry, but the big house slept on in the early-afternoon warmth.
„I think it’s empty, sir,” Harris said, though he sounded nervous.
„I reckon you’re right,” Sharpe agreed and he turned and walked on down the drive. The gravel crunched under his boots so he moved to the verge and signaled that his men should do the same. The day was hot and still, even the birds were silent.
And then he smelt it. And immediately he thought of India and even imagined, for a wild second, that he was back in that mysterious country for it was there that he had experienced this smell so often. It was thick and rank and somehow honey-sweet.
But why? Was it peace? Had the horsemen, whom Sharpe had feared were escorting a mortar, brought a message instead? An order to retreat? Or was it a trick? Were the French hoping he would go down to the village and so give the dragoons a chance to attack his men on level ground? He was as confused as ever.
„I’m going down,” he said. „Me, Cooper, Harris, Perkins, Cresacre and Sims.” He deliberately named the last two because they had been friends of Williamson and if any men were likely to follow the deserter it was those two and he wanted to show them he still trusted them. „The rest of you stay here.”
„I would like to come,” Vicente said and, when he saw Sharpe was about to refuse, he explained. „The village, senhor. I want to see the village. I want to see what happened to our people.” Vicente, like Sharpe, took five men; Sergeant Harper and Sergeant Macedo were left in charge on the hilltop, and Sharpe’s patrol set off down the hill. They went past the great fanshaped scorch mark which showed where the howitzer had been fired and Sharpe half expected a volley to blast from the wood, but no gun sounded and then he was under the shade of the trees. He and Cooper led, going stealthily, watching for an ambush among the laurels, birch and oak, but they were undisturbed. They followed the path to the Quinta which had its blue shutters closed against the sun and looked quite undamaged. A tabby cat washed itself on the sun-warmed cobbles beneath the stable arch and paused to stare indignantly at the soldiers, then went back to its ablutions. Sharpe tried the kitchen door, but it was locked. He thought of breaking it down, then decided to leave it and led the men round to the front of the house instead. The front door was locked, the driveway deserted. He backed slowly away from the Quinta, watching the shutters, almost expecting them to be thrown open to loose a blast of musketry, but the big house slept on in the early-afternoon warmth.
„I think it’s empty, sir,” Harris said, though he sounded nervous.
„I reckon you’re right,” Sharpe agreed and he turned and walked on down the drive. The gravel crunched under his boots so he moved to the verge and signaled that his men should do the same. The day was hot and still, even the birds were silent.
And then he smelt it. And immediately he thought of India and even imagined, for a wild second, that he was back in that mysterious country for it was there that he had experienced this smell so often. It was thick and rank and somehow honey-sweet.