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Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 186 из 213“Why didn’t you just lie? Why did you have to give them the book? They didn’t know about it!”
“I thought they’d reward me.” Lord Spears was pathetic.
“Reward you! More blood money?”
“No.” Blood was dark on his cheek. “I wanted her body just once. Just once.” He made a choking sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “I didn’t get it. Leroux gave me back my parole instead. He returned me my honour.” The bitterness was rank in his voice.
The dark bulk of the Greater Arapile was topped by two small fires. It blocked Sharpe’s view of the lights of Salamanca. “Where’s Leroux now?”
“He’s riding for Paris.”
“Which way?”
“He’s going to Alba de Tormes.”
Sharpe looked at Spears, dying on the ground. “You didn’t tell him the Spanish were there?”
“He didn’t seem to care.”
Sharpe swore softly. He must go. He swore again, louder, because he liked Spears and he hated this sudden weakness, this collapse of a man, this sale of honour. “You sold all our agents for one parole?”
No. There had been money, too, Spears said, but the money was to be paid when Leroux reached Paris and it would go to Dorothy in England. A dowry, Spears’ last treacherous gift, and he pleaded with Sharpe, told Sharpe he could not understand; family was all, and Sharpe stood up. “I’m going.”
Spears lay on the ground, defeated, broken. “One last promise?”
“What?”
“If you find him she won’t get the money.”
“No.”
“Then keep my honour for her.” The voice was husky, close to breaking. “Tell her I was a hero.”
Sharpe lifted the sword, put the point in the scabbard, and drove it home. “I’ll tell her you died a hero. Your wounds in front.”
Spears rolled onto his side because it was easier to void the blood. “And one thing more.”
“I’m in a hurry.” Sharpe had to find Hogan. He would rouse Harper first, because the Sergeant would want to join this final hunt, this last chance against their enemy. Leroux had killed Windham, killed McDonald, he had come close to killing Sharpe, he had tortured Spanish priests, and he had taken the honour of Lord Spears. Sharpe had been given one more chance in the wreckage after the battle.
“I’m in a hurry, too.” Spears waved a feeble hand towards the battlefield. “I don’t want those bloody looters to kill me, Richard. Do that much for me.” He blinked. “It hurts, Richard, it hurts.”
Sharpe remembered Connelley. Die well, lad, die well. “You want me to kill you?”
“The last office of a friend?” It was a plea.
“I thought they’d reward me.” Lord Spears was pathetic.
“Reward you! More blood money?”
“No.” Blood was dark on his cheek. “I wanted her body just once. Just once.” He made a choking sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “I didn’t get it. Leroux gave me back my parole instead. He returned me my honour.” The bitterness was rank in his voice.
The dark bulk of the Greater Arapile was topped by two small fires. It blocked Sharpe’s view of the lights of Salamanca. “Where’s Leroux now?”
“He’s riding for Paris.”
“Which way?”
“He’s going to Alba de Tormes.”
Sharpe looked at Spears, dying on the ground. “You didn’t tell him the Spanish were there?”
“He didn’t seem to care.”
Sharpe swore softly. He must go. He swore again, louder, because he liked Spears and he hated this sudden weakness, this collapse of a man, this sale of honour. “You sold all our agents for one parole?”
No. There had been money, too, Spears said, but the money was to be paid when Leroux reached Paris and it would go to Dorothy in England. A dowry, Spears’ last treacherous gift, and he pleaded with Sharpe, told Sharpe he could not understand; family was all, and Sharpe stood up. “I’m going.”
Spears lay on the ground, defeated, broken. “One last promise?”
“What?”
“If you find him she won’t get the money.”
“No.”
“Then keep my honour for her.” The voice was husky, close to breaking. “Tell her I was a hero.”
Sharpe lifted the sword, put the point in the scabbard, and drove it home. “I’ll tell her you died a hero. Your wounds in front.”
Spears rolled onto his side because it was easier to void the blood. “And one thing more.”
“I’m in a hurry.” Sharpe had to find Hogan. He would rouse Harper first, because the Sergeant would want to join this final hunt, this last chance against their enemy. Leroux had killed Windham, killed McDonald, he had come close to killing Sharpe, he had tortured Spanish priests, and he had taken the honour of Lord Spears. Sharpe had been given one more chance in the wreckage after the battle.
“I’m in a hurry, too.” Spears waved a feeble hand towards the battlefield. “I don’t want those bloody looters to kill me, Richard. Do that much for me.” He blinked. “It hurts, Richard, it hurts.”
Sharpe remembered Connelley. Die well, lad, die well. “You want me to kill you?”
“The last office of a friend?” It was a plea.