JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 161 из 242But one thing was certain, he would never know what the guns were doing unless he got closer.
He ran back to the village, followed by the shambling Ronnie who was bellowing his inarticulate achievement to the world. Sharpe found Vicente. „The ferry’s still here,” Sharpe said, „he showed me.” He pointed to Ronnie.
„But the guns?” Vicente was bemused.
„We’re going to find out what they’re doing,” Sharpe said, „but ask the villagers to raise the ferry. We might yet need it. But we’ll go toward the city.”
„All of us?” Vicente asked.
„All of us. But tell them I want that boat floating by mid-morning.”
Ronnie’s mother, a shrunken and bent woman swathed in black, retrieved her son from Sharpe’s side and berated him in a shrill voice. Sharpe gave her the last chunk of cheese from Harper’s pack, explained that Ronnie was a hero, then led his motley group westward along the river bank.
There was plenty of cover. Orchards, olive groves, cattle sheds and small vineyards were crowded on the narrow piece of level land beside the Douro’s northern bank. The cannons, hidden by the loom of the great hill on which the flat-roofed building stood, were sporadic. Their firing would swell to a battle intensity then fade away. For minutes at a time there would be no shots, or just a single gun would fire and the sound of it would echo off the southern hills, rebound from the northern and bounce its way down the valley.
„Perhaps,” Vicente suggested, pointing up to the great white building, „we should go to the seminary.”
„Frogs will be there,” Sharpe said. He was crouching beside a hedge and for some reason kept his voice very low. It seemed extraordinary that there were no French picquets, not one, but he was certain the French must have put men into the big building that dominated the river east of the city as effectively as a castle. „What did you say it was?”
„A seminary.” Vicente saw Sharpe was puzzled. „A place where priests are trained. I thought of becoming a priest once.”
„Good God,” Sharpe said, surprised, „you wanted to be a priest?”
„I thought of it,” Vicente said defensively. „Do you not like priests?”
„Not much.”
„Then I’m glad I became a lawyer,” Vicente said with a smile.
„You’re no lawyer, Jorge,” Sharpe said, „you’re a bloody soldier like the rest of us.” He offered that compliment and then turned as the last of his men came across the small meadow to crouch behind the hedge.
He ran back to the village, followed by the shambling Ronnie who was bellowing his inarticulate achievement to the world. Sharpe found Vicente. „The ferry’s still here,” Sharpe said, „he showed me.” He pointed to Ronnie.
„But the guns?” Vicente was bemused.
„We’re going to find out what they’re doing,” Sharpe said, „but ask the villagers to raise the ferry. We might yet need it. But we’ll go toward the city.”
„All of us?” Vicente asked.
„All of us. But tell them I want that boat floating by mid-morning.”
Ronnie’s mother, a shrunken and bent woman swathed in black, retrieved her son from Sharpe’s side and berated him in a shrill voice. Sharpe gave her the last chunk of cheese from Harper’s pack, explained that Ronnie was a hero, then led his motley group westward along the river bank.
There was plenty of cover. Orchards, olive groves, cattle sheds and small vineyards were crowded on the narrow piece of level land beside the Douro’s northern bank. The cannons, hidden by the loom of the great hill on which the flat-roofed building stood, were sporadic. Their firing would swell to a battle intensity then fade away. For minutes at a time there would be no shots, or just a single gun would fire and the sound of it would echo off the southern hills, rebound from the northern and bounce its way down the valley.
„Perhaps,” Vicente suggested, pointing up to the great white building, „we should go to the seminary.”
„Frogs will be there,” Sharpe said. He was crouching beside a hedge and for some reason kept his voice very low. It seemed extraordinary that there were no French picquets, not one, but he was certain the French must have put men into the big building that dominated the river east of the city as effectively as a castle. „What did you say it was?”
„A seminary.” Vicente saw Sharpe was puzzled. „A place where priests are trained. I thought of becoming a priest once.”
„Good God,” Sharpe said, surprised, „you wanted to be a priest?”
„I thought of it,” Vicente said defensively. „Do you not like priests?”
„Not much.”
„Then I’m glad I became a lawyer,” Vicente said with a smile.
„You’re no lawyer, Jorge,” Sharpe said, „you’re a bloody soldier like the rest of us.” He offered that compliment and then turned as the last of his men came across the small meadow to crouch behind the hedge.