Sharpes Havoc   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

But Vicente, Sharpe reflected, wanted to give this fair-haired Frenchman a trial and Sharpe suspected that if Vicente interrogated the man he would not learn the real truth, merely hear the excuses, so Sharpe went to the house door. „Harper!” He waited till the Sergeant appeared. „Get me Tongue or Harris,” he ordered.

„I will talk to the man,” Vicente protested.

„I need you to talk to someone else,” Sharpe said and he went to the back room where a girl-she could not have been a day over fourteen-was weeping. Her face was red, eyes swollen and her breath came in fitful jerks interspersed with grizzling moans and cries of despair. She was wrapped in a blanket and had a bruise on her left cheek. An older woman, dressed all in black, was trying to comfort the girl who began to cry even louder the moment she saw Sharpe, making him back out of the room in embarrassment. „Find out from her what happened,” he told Vicente, then turned as Harris came through the door. Harris and Tongue were Sharpe’s two educated men. Tongue had been doomed to the army by drink, while the red-haired, ever cheerful Harris claimed to be a volunteer who wanted adventure. He was getting plenty now, Sharpe reflected. „This piece of shit,” Sharpe told Harris, jerking his head at the fair-haired Frenchman, „was caught with his knickers round his ankles and a young girl under him. Find out what his excuse is before we kill the bastard.”

He went back to the street and took a long drink from his canteen. The water was warm and brackish. Harper was waiting by a horse trough in the center of the street and Sharpe joined him. „All well?”

„There’s two more Frogs in there.” Harper flicked a thumb toward the church behind him. „Live ones, I mean.” The church door was guarded by four of Vicente’s men.

„What are they doing in there?” Sharpe asked. „Praying?”

The tall Ulsterman shrugged. „Looking for sanctuary, I’d guess.”

„We can’t take the bastards with us,” Sharpe said, „so why don’t we just shoot them?”

„Because Mister Vicente says we mustn’t,” Harper said. „He’s very particular about prisoners is Mister Vicente. He’s a lawyer, isn’t he?”

„He seems halfway decent for a lawyer,” Sharpe admitted grudgingly.

„The best lawyers are six feet under the daisies, so they are,” Harper said, „and this one won’t let me go and shoot those two bastards. He says they’re just drunks, which is true. They are. Skewed to the skies, they are.”

„We can’t cope with prisoners,” Sharpe said. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then pulled his shako back on. The visor was coming away from the crown, but there was nothing he could do about that here.