JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 126 из 213To guard El Mirador meant telling the chosen guard who their ward was and why he was important, yet with Leroux at liberty it was the only course left. Lord Spears, his arm mending, but not yet fully fit for normal duties, had been given the task. At first he had been reluctant, but when told that El Mirador was not to be close-guarded at home, only out in public places, he relented. He would still have time, it seemed, for his relentless gambling. Then he was told El Mirador’s identity and he shook his head, disbelieving. “Bless my soul, sir! One would never have guessed!” No one at Headquarters, apart from Wellington himself and Hogan, knew what Lord Spears’ new duties were. Hogan was mindful that Leroux had a source within the British Headquarters.
All had been done, then, that could be done, and it had been done heavily, reluctantly, because Hogan still had not fully understood that Sharpe was dead. Twice that morning he had seen Rifle Officers walking in the streets and both times his heart had leapt because he thought he saw Sharpe, and then he remembered. Richard Sharpe was dead, and the army would march on without him, and Hogan let the crowds disperse and walked slowly, disconsolately through the streets.
“Sir! Sir!” The voice shouted at him from down the hill. “Major Hogan!”
Hogan looked down the steep street he had been passing. A group of chained prisoners were being led by Provosts, one of whom clubbed with reversed musket at a shackled man. Hogan had recognised the voice. He ran. “Stop it! Stop it!”
The Provosts turned round. They were the police force of the army, universally disliked, and they watched Hogan’s approach with silent truculence. Sergeant Harper, who had shouted, was still on the ground. He looked up at Hogan. “Would you be telling this scum to let me go, sir?”
Hogan felt an immense relief when he saw Patrick Harper. There was something intensely reassuring about his fellow Irishman, and Harper was so inseparable from Sharpe that Hogan felt a sudden, crazy hope that if Harper lived, then Sharpe must, too. He crouched beside the Sergeant who was rubbing his shoulder where the Provost had clubbed him. “I thought you were in the hospital.”
“So I was. I got the hell out.” Harper was angry. He spat on the ground. “I woke up this morning, sir, early, with a head like the very devil. I went to look for the Captain.”
Hogan wondered if Harper did not know yet. He wondered how the big Sergeant came to be arrested. The Provosts stirred sullenly and one suggested to the other that he go and find their own Captain. The man left.
All had been done, then, that could be done, and it had been done heavily, reluctantly, because Hogan still had not fully understood that Sharpe was dead. Twice that morning he had seen Rifle Officers walking in the streets and both times his heart had leapt because he thought he saw Sharpe, and then he remembered. Richard Sharpe was dead, and the army would march on without him, and Hogan let the crowds disperse and walked slowly, disconsolately through the streets.
“Sir! Sir!” The voice shouted at him from down the hill. “Major Hogan!”
Hogan looked down the steep street he had been passing. A group of chained prisoners were being led by Provosts, one of whom clubbed with reversed musket at a shackled man. Hogan had recognised the voice. He ran. “Stop it! Stop it!”
The Provosts turned round. They were the police force of the army, universally disliked, and they watched Hogan’s approach with silent truculence. Sergeant Harper, who had shouted, was still on the ground. He looked up at Hogan. “Would you be telling this scum to let me go, sir?”
Hogan felt an immense relief when he saw Patrick Harper. There was something intensely reassuring about his fellow Irishman, and Harper was so inseparable from Sharpe that Hogan felt a sudden, crazy hope that if Harper lived, then Sharpe must, too. He crouched beside the Sergeant who was rubbing his shoulder where the Provost had clubbed him. “I thought you were in the hospital.”
“So I was. I got the hell out.” Harper was angry. He spat on the ground. “I woke up this morning, sir, early, with a head like the very devil. I went to look for the Captain.”
Hogan wondered if Harper did not know yet. He wondered how the big Sergeant came to be arrested. The Provosts stirred sullenly and one suggested to the other that he go and find their own Captain. The man left.