JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 46 из 242”
„Who have now given it to us,” Argenton said, „much to Marshal Soult’s delight.”
„Then it is time, perhaps,” Christopher suggested, „that we made the Marshal unhappy.”
„Indeed,” Argenton said, „indeed,” and then fell silent because they had reached the purpose of their meeting.
It was a strange purpose, but an exciting one. The two men were plotting mutiny. Or rebellion. Or a coup against Marshal Soult’s army. But however it was described it was a ploy that might end the war.
There was, Argenton now explained, a great deal of dissatisfaction in Marshal Soult’s army. Christopher had heard all this before from his guest, but he did not interrupt as Argenton rehearsed the arguments that would justify his disloyalty. He described how some officers, all devout Catholics, were mortally offended by their army’s behavior in Spain and Portugal. Churches had been desecrated, nuns raped. „Even the holy sacraments have been defiled,” Argenton said in a horrified tone.
„I can hardly believe it,” Christopher said.
Other officers, a few, were simply opposed to Bonaparte. Argenton was a Catholic monarchist, but he was willing to make common cause with those men who still held Jacobin sympathies and believed that Bonaparte had betrayed the revolution. „They cannot be trusted, of course,” Argenton said, „not in the long run, but they will join us in resisting Bonaparte’s tyranny.”
„I pray they do,” Christopher said. The British government had long known that there was a shadowy league of French officers who opposed Bonaparte. They called themselves the Philadelphes and London had once sent agents in search of their elusive brotherhood, but had finally concluded that their numbers were too few, their ideals too vague and their supporters too ideologically divided for the Philadelphes ever to succeed.
Yet here, in remote northern Portugal, the various opponents of Bonaparte had found a common cause. Christopher had first got wind of that cause when he talked with a French officer who had been taken prisoner on Portugal’s northern border and who had been living in Braga where, having given his parole, his only restriction was to remain within the barracks for his own protection. Christopher had drunk with the unhappy officer and heard a tale of French unrest that sprang from one man’s absurd ambition.
„Who have now given it to us,” Argenton said, „much to Marshal Soult’s delight.”
„Then it is time, perhaps,” Christopher suggested, „that we made the Marshal unhappy.”
„Indeed,” Argenton said, „indeed,” and then fell silent because they had reached the purpose of their meeting.
It was a strange purpose, but an exciting one. The two men were plotting mutiny. Or rebellion. Or a coup against Marshal Soult’s army. But however it was described it was a ploy that might end the war.
There was, Argenton now explained, a great deal of dissatisfaction in Marshal Soult’s army. Christopher had heard all this before from his guest, but he did not interrupt as Argenton rehearsed the arguments that would justify his disloyalty. He described how some officers, all devout Catholics, were mortally offended by their army’s behavior in Spain and Portugal. Churches had been desecrated, nuns raped. „Even the holy sacraments have been defiled,” Argenton said in a horrified tone.
„I can hardly believe it,” Christopher said.
Other officers, a few, were simply opposed to Bonaparte. Argenton was a Catholic monarchist, but he was willing to make common cause with those men who still held Jacobin sympathies and believed that Bonaparte had betrayed the revolution. „They cannot be trusted, of course,” Argenton said, „not in the long run, but they will join us in resisting Bonaparte’s tyranny.”
„I pray they do,” Christopher said. The British government had long known that there was a shadowy league of French officers who opposed Bonaparte. They called themselves the Philadelphes and London had once sent agents in search of their elusive brotherhood, but had finally concluded that their numbers were too few, their ideals too vague and their supporters too ideologically divided for the Philadelphes ever to succeed.
Yet here, in remote northern Portugal, the various opponents of Bonaparte had found a common cause. Christopher had first got wind of that cause when he talked with a French officer who had been taken prisoner on Portugal’s northern border and who had been living in Braga where, having given his parole, his only restriction was to remain within the barracks for his own protection. Christopher had drunk with the unhappy officer and heard a tale of French unrest that sprang from one man’s absurd ambition.