JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 209 из 242The cobbler had greased the seams with sheep fat to make the covers waterproof and Sharpe, like his men, was absurdly pleased with the gift. They were given so much food that they ended up giving most of it to a priest who promised to distribute it among the poor, and then, in the rain-lashed dawn, they marched. Hogan rode because the mayor of Braga had presented him with a mule, a sure-footed beast with a vile temper and a wall eye, which Hogan saddled with a blanket and then rode with his feet almost touching the ground. He suggested using the mule to carry their weapons, but of all the party he was the oldest and the least spry, and so Sharpe insisted he ride. „I’ve no idea what we’ll find,” Hogan told Sharpe as they climbed into the rock-strewn hills. „If the bridge at Ponte Nova has been blown, as it should have been by now, then the French will scatter. They’ll just be running for their lives and we’ll be hard put to find Mister Christopher in all that chaos. Still, we must try.”
„And if it hasn’t been blown?”
„We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Hogan said, and laughed. „Ah, Jesus, I do hate this rain. Have you ever tried taking snuff in the rain, Richard? It’s like sniffing up cat vomit.”
They walked eastward through a wide valley edged by high, pale hills that were crowned with gray boulders. The road lay to the south of the River Cavado which ran clear and deep through rich pastureland that had been plundered by the French so that no cattle or sheep grazed the spring grass. The villages had once been prosperous, but were now almost deserted and the few folk who remained were wary. Hogan, like Vicente and his men, wore blue and that was also the color of the enemy’s coats, while the riflemen’s green jackets could be mistaken for the uniforms of dismounted French dragoons. Most people, if they expected anything, thought the British wore red and so Sergeant Macedo, anticipating the confusion, had found a Portuguese flag in Braga that he carried on a pole hacked from an ash tree. The flag showed a wreathed crest of Portugal surmounted by a great golden crown and it reassured those folk who recognized the emblem. Not all did, but once the villagers had spoken with Vicente they could not do enough for the soldiers. „For God’s sake,” Sharpe told Vicente, „tell them to hide their wine.”
„They’re friendly, sure enough,” Harper said as they left another small settlement where the dungheaps were bigger than the cottages. „Not like the Spanish. They could be cold. Not all of them, but some were bastards.”
„The Spanish don’t like the English,” Hogan told him.
„They don’t like the English?” Harper asked, surprised.
„And if it hasn’t been blown?”
„We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Hogan said, and laughed. „Ah, Jesus, I do hate this rain. Have you ever tried taking snuff in the rain, Richard? It’s like sniffing up cat vomit.”
They walked eastward through a wide valley edged by high, pale hills that were crowned with gray boulders. The road lay to the south of the River Cavado which ran clear and deep through rich pastureland that had been plundered by the French so that no cattle or sheep grazed the spring grass. The villages had once been prosperous, but were now almost deserted and the few folk who remained were wary. Hogan, like Vicente and his men, wore blue and that was also the color of the enemy’s coats, while the riflemen’s green jackets could be mistaken for the uniforms of dismounted French dragoons. Most people, if they expected anything, thought the British wore red and so Sergeant Macedo, anticipating the confusion, had found a Portuguese flag in Braga that he carried on a pole hacked from an ash tree. The flag showed a wreathed crest of Portugal surmounted by a great golden crown and it reassured those folk who recognized the emblem. Not all did, but once the villagers had spoken with Vicente they could not do enough for the soldiers. „For God’s sake,” Sharpe told Vicente, „tell them to hide their wine.”
„They’re friendly, sure enough,” Harper said as they left another small settlement where the dungheaps were bigger than the cottages. „Not like the Spanish. They could be cold. Not all of them, but some were bastards.”
„The Spanish don’t like the English,” Hogan told him.
„They don’t like the English?” Harper asked, surprised.