JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 80 из 242There was a valley north of Vila Real de Zedes that carried a road leading east toward Amarante and enemy irtillery, infantry and supply wagons traveled the road each day and, to keep them safe, large squadrons of dragoons patrolled the valley. Some days there were outbreaks of firing, distant, faint, half heard, and Sharpe guessed that the country people were ambushing the invaders and he would stare through his telescope, trying to see where the actions took place, but he never saw the ambushes and none of the partisans came near Sharpe and nor did the French, though he was certain they must have known that a stranded squad of British riflemen were at Vila Real de Zedes. Once he even saw some dragoons trot to within a mile of the Quinta and two of their officers stared at the elegant house through telescopes, yet they made no move against it. Had Christopher arranged that?
Nine days after Christopher had left, the headman of the village brought Vicente a newspaper from Oporto. It was an ill-printed sheet and Vicente was puzzled by it. „I’ve never heard of the Diario do Porto,” he told Sharpe, „and it is nonsense.”
„Nonsense?”
„It says Soult should declare himself king of Northern Lusitania! It says there are many Portuguese people who support the idea. Who? Why would they? We have a king already.”
„The French must be paying the newspaper,” Sharpe guessed, though what else the French were doing was a mystery for they left him alone.
The doctor who came to see Hagman thought Marshal Soult was gathering his forces in readiness to strike south and did not want to fritter men away in bitter little skirmishes across the northern mountains. „Once he possesses all Portugal,” the doctor said, „then he will scour you away.” He wrinkled his nose as he lifted the stinking compress from Hagman’s chest, then he shook his head in amazement for the wound was clean. Hagman’s breathing was easier, he could sit up in bed now and was eating better.
Vicente left the next day. The doctor had brought news of General Silveira’s army in Amarante and how it was valiantly defending the bridge across the Tamega, and Vicente decided his duty lay in helping that defense, but after three days he returned because there were too many dragoons patrolling the countryside between Vila Real de Zedes and Amarante. The failure made him dejected. „I am wasting my time,” he told Sharpe.
„How good are your men?” Sharpe asked.
The question puzzled Vicente. „Good? As good as any, I suppose.”
„Are they?” Sharpe asked, and that afternoon he paraded every man, rifleman and Portuguese alike, and made them all fire three rounds in a minute from the Portuguese muskets. He did it in front of the house and timed the shots with the big grandfather clock.
Nine days after Christopher had left, the headman of the village brought Vicente a newspaper from Oporto. It was an ill-printed sheet and Vicente was puzzled by it. „I’ve never heard of the Diario do Porto,” he told Sharpe, „and it is nonsense.”
„Nonsense?”
„It says Soult should declare himself king of Northern Lusitania! It says there are many Portuguese people who support the idea. Who? Why would they? We have a king already.”
„The French must be paying the newspaper,” Sharpe guessed, though what else the French were doing was a mystery for they left him alone.
The doctor who came to see Hagman thought Marshal Soult was gathering his forces in readiness to strike south and did not want to fritter men away in bitter little skirmishes across the northern mountains. „Once he possesses all Portugal,” the doctor said, „then he will scour you away.” He wrinkled his nose as he lifted the stinking compress from Hagman’s chest, then he shook his head in amazement for the wound was clean. Hagman’s breathing was easier, he could sit up in bed now and was eating better.
Vicente left the next day. The doctor had brought news of General Silveira’s army in Amarante and how it was valiantly defending the bridge across the Tamega, and Vicente decided his duty lay in helping that defense, but after three days he returned because there were too many dragoons patrolling the countryside between Vila Real de Zedes and Amarante. The failure made him dejected. „I am wasting my time,” he told Sharpe.
„How good are your men?” Sharpe asked.
The question puzzled Vicente. „Good? As good as any, I suppose.”
„Are they?” Sharpe asked, and that afternoon he paraded every man, rifleman and Portuguese alike, and made them all fire three rounds in a minute from the Portuguese muskets. He did it in front of the house and timed the shots with the big grandfather clock.