JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 200 из 242„You do know,” Hogan said with considerable irritation, „that Lord Pumphrey is a molly?”
„Of course I know he’s a molly.”
„He can be hanged for that,” Hogan observed with indecent satisfaction.
„I still like him,” Sharpe said.
„He’s a serpent. All diplomats are. Worse than lawyers.”
„He ain’t stuck up,” Sharpe said.
„There is nothing,” Hogan said, „nothing in all the world that Lord Pumphrey wants more than to be stuck up with you, Richard.” He laughed, his spirits restored. „And how the hell are we to find that poor wee girl and her rotten husband, eh?”
„We?” Sharpe asked. „You’re coming too?”
„This is far too important to be left to some lowly English lieutenant,” Hogan said. „This is an errand that needs the sagacity of the Irish.”
Once in the schoolhouse, Sharpe and Hogan settled in the kitchen where the French occupiers of the city had left an undamaged table and, because Hogan had left his good map at the General’s headquarters, he used a piece of charcoal to draw a cruder version on the table’s scrubbed top. From the main schoolroom, where Sharpe’s men had spread their blankets, came the sound of women’s laughter. His men, Sharpe reflected, had been in the city less than a day yet they had already found a dozen girls. „Best way to learn the language, sir,” Harper had assured him, „and we’re all very short on education, sir, as you doubtless know.”
„Right!” Hogan kicked the kitchen door shut. „Look at the map, Richard.” He showed how the British had come up the coast of Portugal and dislodged the French from Oporto and how, at the same time, the Portuguese army had attacked in the east. „They’ve retaken Amarante,” Hogan said, „which is good because it means Soult can’t cross that bridge. He’s stuck, Richard, stuck, so he’s got no choice. He’ll have to strike north through the hills to find a wee road up here”-the charcoal scratched as he traced a wiggly line on the table-”and it’s a bastard of a road, and if the Portuguese can keep going in this God-awful weather then they’re going to cut the road here.” The charcoal made a cross. „It’s a bridge called Ponte Nova. Do you remember it?”
Sharpe shook his head. He had seen so many bridges and mountain roads with Hogan that he could no longer remember which was which.
„Of course I know he’s a molly.”
„He can be hanged for that,” Hogan observed with indecent satisfaction.
„I still like him,” Sharpe said.
„He’s a serpent. All diplomats are. Worse than lawyers.”
„He ain’t stuck up,” Sharpe said.
„There is nothing,” Hogan said, „nothing in all the world that Lord Pumphrey wants more than to be stuck up with you, Richard.” He laughed, his spirits restored. „And how the hell are we to find that poor wee girl and her rotten husband, eh?”
„We?” Sharpe asked. „You’re coming too?”
„This is far too important to be left to some lowly English lieutenant,” Hogan said. „This is an errand that needs the sagacity of the Irish.”
Once in the schoolhouse, Sharpe and Hogan settled in the kitchen where the French occupiers of the city had left an undamaged table and, because Hogan had left his good map at the General’s headquarters, he used a piece of charcoal to draw a cruder version on the table’s scrubbed top. From the main schoolroom, where Sharpe’s men had spread their blankets, came the sound of women’s laughter. His men, Sharpe reflected, had been in the city less than a day yet they had already found a dozen girls. „Best way to learn the language, sir,” Harper had assured him, „and we’re all very short on education, sir, as you doubtless know.”
„Right!” Hogan kicked the kitchen door shut. „Look at the map, Richard.” He showed how the British had come up the coast of Portugal and dislodged the French from Oporto and how, at the same time, the Portuguese army had attacked in the east. „They’ve retaken Amarante,” Hogan said, „which is good because it means Soult can’t cross that bridge. He’s stuck, Richard, stuck, so he’s got no choice. He’ll have to strike north through the hills to find a wee road up here”-the charcoal scratched as he traced a wiggly line on the table-”and it’s a bastard of a road, and if the Portuguese can keep going in this God-awful weather then they’re going to cut the road here.” The charcoal made a cross. „It’s a bridge called Ponte Nova. Do you remember it?”
Sharpe shook his head. He had seen so many bridges and mountain roads with Hogan that he could no longer remember which was which.