JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 192 из 213”
One of the French squares opened its ranks, Leroux walked his horse inside, and for all Sharpe couldhave done Leroux might as well be in Paris already.
Patrick Harper flexed his borrowed sabre and shook his head. “I was just beginning to look forward to a cavalry charge.”
“Not today.” Hogan stretched his arms, yawned.
Further eastwards, perhaps three miles away, the road was filled with retreating troops. Going east to safety. Leroux had reached the rearguard, was safe, and would soon be escorted by this infantry to the rest of the French army. Lossow had just a hundred and fifty men. The French rearguard was at least two and a half thousand men, infantry and cavalry, and Sharpe’s last hope vanished like the mist that faded from the landscape.
It promised to be another beautiful day. The meadows of the gentle hills were lush with pasture, lavish with wild flowers, and the first warmth of the climbing sun was on Sharpe’s face. He hated to give up this pursuit, yet what else was there to do? They could ride back to Alba de Tormes, sit by the river’s edge, and drink harsh red wine till all the disappointment was drowned in the vintage of last year’s comet. There would be other days to fight, other enemies, and Curtis’ men were not the only brave people who sent messages to England. There was hope, and if the hope was not bright then there was always wine in Alba de Tormes.
It was pointless, of course, to deal in what might have been, yet Sharpe cursed because they had not left the battlefield an hour earlier. He imagined what he could do if he had just a single battery of nine-pounder guns. He could open those squares with shot after shot, and if he had just two good British Battalions he could finish them off! Hogan must have thought the same for he looked gloomily at the three French squares. “We’ll have no guns or infantry till this afternoon. At the earliest!”
“They’ll be long gone by then, sir.”
“Aye.”
This rearguard would stay just long enough to hold up the cavalry pursuit while the rest of Marmont’s army stole a march on the British. Without guns or infantry the squares could not be broken. Leroux was safe.
Lossow’s men rested their horses. They were north of the enemy now, on a hillside that gave them a wide view of the countryside. The enemy cavalry were on another hill a half mile to the south, the infantry closer, in the small hidden valley, while to Sharpe’s right stretched the wide valley where the two roads met from the river.
One of the French squares opened its ranks, Leroux walked his horse inside, and for all Sharpe couldhave done Leroux might as well be in Paris already.
Patrick Harper flexed his borrowed sabre and shook his head. “I was just beginning to look forward to a cavalry charge.”
“Not today.” Hogan stretched his arms, yawned.
Further eastwards, perhaps three miles away, the road was filled with retreating troops. Going east to safety. Leroux had reached the rearguard, was safe, and would soon be escorted by this infantry to the rest of the French army. Lossow had just a hundred and fifty men. The French rearguard was at least two and a half thousand men, infantry and cavalry, and Sharpe’s last hope vanished like the mist that faded from the landscape.
It promised to be another beautiful day. The meadows of the gentle hills were lush with pasture, lavish with wild flowers, and the first warmth of the climbing sun was on Sharpe’s face. He hated to give up this pursuit, yet what else was there to do? They could ride back to Alba de Tormes, sit by the river’s edge, and drink harsh red wine till all the disappointment was drowned in the vintage of last year’s comet. There would be other days to fight, other enemies, and Curtis’ men were not the only brave people who sent messages to England. There was hope, and if the hope was not bright then there was always wine in Alba de Tormes.
It was pointless, of course, to deal in what might have been, yet Sharpe cursed because they had not left the battlefield an hour earlier. He imagined what he could do if he had just a single battery of nine-pounder guns. He could open those squares with shot after shot, and if he had just two good British Battalions he could finish them off! Hogan must have thought the same for he looked gloomily at the three French squares. “We’ll have no guns or infantry till this afternoon. At the earliest!”
“They’ll be long gone by then, sir.”
“Aye.”
This rearguard would stay just long enough to hold up the cavalry pursuit while the rest of Marmont’s army stole a march on the British. Without guns or infantry the squares could not be broken. Leroux was safe.
Lossow’s men rested their horses. They were north of the enemy now, on a hillside that gave them a wide view of the countryside. The enemy cavalry were on another hill a half mile to the south, the infantry closer, in the small hidden valley, while to Sharpe’s right stretched the wide valley where the two roads met from the river.