JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 40 из 242The other sheds were too well alight, but at least this one boat was saved and Sharpe reckoned it could hold about half a dozen men safely, which meant that it would take the rest of the day to ferry everyone across the wide river. Sharpe was about to ask Vicente to look for oars or paddles when he saw that the young man’s face was white and shaken, almost as if the Lieutenant was on the point of tears. „What is it?” Sharpe asked.
Vicente did not answer, but merely pointed back to the village.
„The French were having games with the ladies, eh?” Sharpe asked, setting off for the houses.
„I would not call it games,” Vicente said bitterly, „and there is also a prisoner.”
„Only one?”
„There are two others,” Vicente said, frowning, „but this one is a lieutenant. He had no breeches which is why he was slow to run.”
Sharpe did not ask why the captured dragoon had no breeches. He knew why. „What have you done with him?”
„He must go on trial,” Vicente said.
Sharpe stopped and stared at the Lieutenant. „He must what?” he asked, astonished. „Go on trial?”
„Of course.”
„In my country,” Sharpe said, „they hang a man for rape.”
„Not without a trial,” Vicente protested and Sharpe guessed that the Portuguese soldiers had wanted to kill the prisoner straight away and that Vicente had stopped them out of some high-minded idea that a trial was necessary.
„Bloody hell,” Sharpe said, „you’re a soldier now, not a lawyer. You don’t give them a trial. You chop their hearts out.”
Most of Barca d’Avintas’s inhabitants had fled the dragoons, but some had stayed and most of them were now crowded about a house guarded by a half-dozen of Vicente’s men. A dead dragoon, stripped of shirt, coat, boots and breeches, lay face down in front of the church. He must have been leaning against the church wall when he was shot for he had left a smear of blood down the limewashed stones. Now a dog sniffed at his toes. The soldiers and villagers parted to let Sharpe and Vicente into the house where the young dragoon officer, fair-haired, thin and sullen-faced, was being guarded by Sergeant Macedo and another Portuguese soldier. The Lieutenant had managed to pull on his breeches, but had not had time to button them and he was now holding them up by the waist. As soon as he saw Sharpe he began gabbling in French. „You speak French?” Sharpe asked Vicente.
„Of course,” Vicente said.
Vicente did not answer, but merely pointed back to the village.
„The French were having games with the ladies, eh?” Sharpe asked, setting off for the houses.
„I would not call it games,” Vicente said bitterly, „and there is also a prisoner.”
„Only one?”
„There are two others,” Vicente said, frowning, „but this one is a lieutenant. He had no breeches which is why he was slow to run.”
Sharpe did not ask why the captured dragoon had no breeches. He knew why. „What have you done with him?”
„He must go on trial,” Vicente said.
Sharpe stopped and stared at the Lieutenant. „He must what?” he asked, astonished. „Go on trial?”
„Of course.”
„In my country,” Sharpe said, „they hang a man for rape.”
„Not without a trial,” Vicente protested and Sharpe guessed that the Portuguese soldiers had wanted to kill the prisoner straight away and that Vicente had stopped them out of some high-minded idea that a trial was necessary.
„Bloody hell,” Sharpe said, „you’re a soldier now, not a lawyer. You don’t give them a trial. You chop their hearts out.”
Most of Barca d’Avintas’s inhabitants had fled the dragoons, but some had stayed and most of them were now crowded about a house guarded by a half-dozen of Vicente’s men. A dead dragoon, stripped of shirt, coat, boots and breeches, lay face down in front of the church. He must have been leaning against the church wall when he was shot for he had left a smear of blood down the limewashed stones. Now a dog sniffed at his toes. The soldiers and villagers parted to let Sharpe and Vicente into the house where the young dragoon officer, fair-haired, thin and sullen-faced, was being guarded by Sergeant Macedo and another Portuguese soldier. The Lieutenant had managed to pull on his breeches, but had not had time to button them and he was now holding them up by the waist. As soon as he saw Sharpe he began gabbling in French. „You speak French?” Sharpe asked Vicente.
„Of course,” Vicente said.