JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 112 из 213Then it seemed as if everything was happening at only half the speed of ordained time. The door closed on his enemy. Sharpe was still running, the rifle falling, clattering, bouncing, and the pain was filling all the world, yet still he tried to run. There was a scream of pure agony, a scream that slashed round the I courtyard, and Sharpe did not know it was his own scream, but he was still trying to run and then a knee struck the flagstones, and still he tried, and his hands clutched at warm fresh blood, bright red, and he was screaming, falling, and he slid on the stones, scrabbling still, and the blood spurted behind him, was fanned and smeared by his flailing legs, and the scream still went on.
He slid to a stop at the foot of the door, curled up, clenched against a world of pain that he could never have imagined, and he pumped the scream futilely, and the blood welled between his fingers that clutched into his stomach as if they could reach inside him and pluck the horror that tore at him. Then, blessedly, he stopped screaming and was still.
The Cathedral clock struck three.
CHAPTER 13
Private Batten was annoyed, and let the rest of the Company know it. “Doesn’t give a bugger, does he? Know what I mean?” No one answered. They waited on the glacis of the San Vincente fort and Lieutenant Price looked at his watch and kept glancing at the empty San Cayetano fort. Batten waited for a response. He scratched his armpit. “Used to be a bleedin‘ private, he did, and that’s what he bloody should be now. Keeping us waiting.” Still no one answered and Batten was encouraged by their silence. “Always buggering off, have you noticed? Our company’s not good enough for him, no, not Mr. Bloody Sharpe. Know what I mean?” He looked round for support.
Sergeant Huckfield had gone to look for Sharpe. The men could see his red coat climbing up the ravine’s side towards the San Cayetano. One or two of the men slept. Price sat down on a huge masonry block and folded Sharpe’s coat beside him. He was worried.
Private Batten picked his nose and licked the result off his fingernail. “We could sit here all bleedin‘ night for all he bleedin’ cares.”
Daniel Hagman opened one eye. “He kept you from swinging by your bloody neck two years ago. He shouldn’t have bothered.”
Batten laughed. “They couldn’t have hung me. I was innocent. He don’t care, Sharpe. He’s forgotten us, till he bleedin‘ needs us again. He’s probably sitting with Harps getting drunk. T’ain’t fair.
He slid to a stop at the foot of the door, curled up, clenched against a world of pain that he could never have imagined, and he pumped the scream futilely, and the blood welled between his fingers that clutched into his stomach as if they could reach inside him and pluck the horror that tore at him. Then, blessedly, he stopped screaming and was still.
The Cathedral clock struck three.
CHAPTER 13
Private Batten was annoyed, and let the rest of the Company know it. “Doesn’t give a bugger, does he? Know what I mean?” No one answered. They waited on the glacis of the San Vincente fort and Lieutenant Price looked at his watch and kept glancing at the empty San Cayetano fort. Batten waited for a response. He scratched his armpit. “Used to be a bleedin‘ private, he did, and that’s what he bloody should be now. Keeping us waiting.” Still no one answered and Batten was encouraged by their silence. “Always buggering off, have you noticed? Our company’s not good enough for him, no, not Mr. Bloody Sharpe. Know what I mean?” He looked round for support.
Sergeant Huckfield had gone to look for Sharpe. The men could see his red coat climbing up the ravine’s side towards the San Cayetano. One or two of the men slept. Price sat down on a huge masonry block and folded Sharpe’s coat beside him. He was worried.
Private Batten picked his nose and licked the result off his fingernail. “We could sit here all bleedin‘ night for all he bleedin’ cares.”
Daniel Hagman opened one eye. “He kept you from swinging by your bloody neck two years ago. He shouldn’t have bothered.”
Batten laughed. “They couldn’t have hung me. I was innocent. He don’t care, Sharpe. He’s forgotten us, till he bleedin‘ needs us again. He’s probably sitting with Harps getting drunk. T’ain’t fair.