JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 34 из 242”
„I think,” Sharpe said, „that despite being a bloody lawyer you’re a remarkable bloody soldier.”
„I am?” The young Portuguese sounded amazed, but Sharpe knew it must have taken a natural leader to bring men out of a tavern to ambush a party of dragoons.
‘So did all your philosophers and poets join the army?” Sharpe asked.
Vicente looked embarrassed. „Some joined the French, alas.”
„The French!”
The Lieutenant shrugged. „There is a belief, senhor, that the future of mankind is prophesied in French thought. In French ideas. In Portugal, I think, we are old-fashioned and in response many of us are inspired by the French philosophers. They reject the church and the old ways. They dislike the monarchy and despise unearned privilege. Their ideas are very exciting. You have read them?”
„No,” Sharpe said.
„But I love my country more than I love Monsieur Rousseau,” Vicente said sadly, „so I shall be a soldier before I am a poet.”
„Quite right,” Sharpe said, „best choose something useful to do with your life.” They crossed a small rise in the ground and Sharpe saw the river ahead and a small village beside it and he checked Vicente with an upraised hand. „Is that Barca d’Avintas?”
„It is,” Vicente said.
„God damn it,” Sharpe said bitterly, because the French were there already.
The river curled gently at the foot of some blue-tinged hills, and between Sharpe and the river were meadows, vineyards, the small village, a stream flowing to the river and the goddamned bloody French. More dragoons. The green-coated cavalrymen had dismounted and now strolled about the village as if they did not have a care in the world and Sharpe, dropping back behind some gorse bushes, waved his men down. „Sergeant! Skirmish order along the crest.” He left Harper to get on with deploying the rifles while he took out his telescope and stared at the enemy.
„What do I do?” Vicente asked.
„Just wait,” Sharpe said. He focused the glass, marveling at the clarity of its magnified image. He could see the buckle holes in the girth straps on the dragoons’ horses which were picketed in a small field just to the west of the village. He counted the horses. Forty-six. Maybe forty-eight. It was hard to tell because some of the beasts were bunched together. Call it fifty men. He edged the telescope left and saw smoke rising from beyond the village, maybe from the river bank. A small stone bridge crossed the stream which flowed from the north. He could see no villagers.
„I think,” Sharpe said, „that despite being a bloody lawyer you’re a remarkable bloody soldier.”
„I am?” The young Portuguese sounded amazed, but Sharpe knew it must have taken a natural leader to bring men out of a tavern to ambush a party of dragoons.
‘So did all your philosophers and poets join the army?” Sharpe asked.
Vicente looked embarrassed. „Some joined the French, alas.”
„The French!”
The Lieutenant shrugged. „There is a belief, senhor, that the future of mankind is prophesied in French thought. In French ideas. In Portugal, I think, we are old-fashioned and in response many of us are inspired by the French philosophers. They reject the church and the old ways. They dislike the monarchy and despise unearned privilege. Their ideas are very exciting. You have read them?”
„No,” Sharpe said.
„But I love my country more than I love Monsieur Rousseau,” Vicente said sadly, „so I shall be a soldier before I am a poet.”
„Quite right,” Sharpe said, „best choose something useful to do with your life.” They crossed a small rise in the ground and Sharpe saw the river ahead and a small village beside it and he checked Vicente with an upraised hand. „Is that Barca d’Avintas?”
„It is,” Vicente said.
„God damn it,” Sharpe said bitterly, because the French were there already.
The river curled gently at the foot of some blue-tinged hills, and between Sharpe and the river were meadows, vineyards, the small village, a stream flowing to the river and the goddamned bloody French. More dragoons. The green-coated cavalrymen had dismounted and now strolled about the village as if they did not have a care in the world and Sharpe, dropping back behind some gorse bushes, waved his men down. „Sergeant! Skirmish order along the crest.” He left Harper to get on with deploying the rifles while he took out his telescope and stared at the enemy.
„What do I do?” Vicente asked.
„Just wait,” Sharpe said. He focused the glass, marveling at the clarity of its magnified image. He could see the buckle holes in the girth straps on the dragoons’ horses which were picketed in a small field just to the west of the village. He counted the horses. Forty-six. Maybe forty-eight. It was hard to tell because some of the beasts were bunched together. Call it fifty men. He edged the telescope left and saw smoke rising from beyond the village, maybe from the river bank. A small stone bridge crossed the stream which flowed from the north. He could see no villagers.