JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 5 из 213The British officer held the sword and feltthe perfect balance. He wanted it. “Ask what his name is.”
The question was asked and answered. “Paul Delmas, sir. Captain in the Fifth Dragoons.”
Leroux saw the dark eyes rest on him. The scar on the Rifleman’s face gave him a mocking look. Leroux could recognise the man’s competence and hardness, he recognised too the temptation that the Rifleman had to kill him at this moment and take the sword for himself. Leroux looked about the clearing. The other Riflemen seemed just as pitiless, just as tough. Leroux spoke again.
“He wants to give his parole, sir.” The Rifleman translated.
The Rifle Officer said nothing for a moment. He walked slowly about the prisoner, the beautiful sword still in his hand, and when he spoke he did so slowly and clearly. “So what’s Captain Delmas doing on his own? French officers don’t travel alone, they’re too frightened of the Partisans.” He had come in front of Leroux again, and the Frenchman’s pale eyes watched the scarred officer. “And you’re too bloody cocky, Delmas. You should be more scared. You’re up to no bloody good.” He was behind Leroux now. “I think I’ll bloody kill you.”
Leroux did not react. He did not blink, did not move, but just waited until the Rifle Officer was in front of him again.
The tall Rifle Officer stared at the pale eyes as if they would give him a clue to the riddle of the officer’s sudden appearance. “Bring him along, Sergeant. But watch the bastard.”
“Yes, sir!” Sergeant Patrick Harper pushed the Frenchman towards the path and followed Captain Richard Sharpe out of the wood.
Leroux relaxed. The moment of capture was always the moment of greatest danger, but the tall Rifleman was taking him to safety, and with him went the secret Napoleon wanted. El Mirador.
CHAPTER 1
“God damn it, Sharpe! Hurry, man!”
“Yes, sir.” Sharpe made no attempt to hurry. He painstakingly read the piece of paper, knowing that his slowness irritated Lieutenant Colonel Windham. The Colonel slapped a booted leg with his riding crop.
“We haven’t got all day, Sharpe! There’s a war to win.”
“Yes, sir.” Sharpe repeated the words in a patient, stubborn tone. He would not hurry. This was his revenge on Windham for allowing Captain Delmas to have parole. He tipped the paper so that the firelight illuminated the black ink.
The question was asked and answered. “Paul Delmas, sir. Captain in the Fifth Dragoons.”
Leroux saw the dark eyes rest on him. The scar on the Rifleman’s face gave him a mocking look. Leroux could recognise the man’s competence and hardness, he recognised too the temptation that the Rifleman had to kill him at this moment and take the sword for himself. Leroux looked about the clearing. The other Riflemen seemed just as pitiless, just as tough. Leroux spoke again.
“He wants to give his parole, sir.” The Rifleman translated.
The Rifle Officer said nothing for a moment. He walked slowly about the prisoner, the beautiful sword still in his hand, and when he spoke he did so slowly and clearly. “So what’s Captain Delmas doing on his own? French officers don’t travel alone, they’re too frightened of the Partisans.” He had come in front of Leroux again, and the Frenchman’s pale eyes watched the scarred officer. “And you’re too bloody cocky, Delmas. You should be more scared. You’re up to no bloody good.” He was behind Leroux now. “I think I’ll bloody kill you.”
Leroux did not react. He did not blink, did not move, but just waited until the Rifle Officer was in front of him again.
The tall Rifle Officer stared at the pale eyes as if they would give him a clue to the riddle of the officer’s sudden appearance. “Bring him along, Sergeant. But watch the bastard.”
“Yes, sir!” Sergeant Patrick Harper pushed the Frenchman towards the path and followed Captain Richard Sharpe out of the wood.
Leroux relaxed. The moment of capture was always the moment of greatest danger, but the tall Rifleman was taking him to safety, and with him went the secret Napoleon wanted. El Mirador.
CHAPTER 1
“God damn it, Sharpe! Hurry, man!”
“Yes, sir.” Sharpe made no attempt to hurry. He painstakingly read the piece of paper, knowing that his slowness irritated Lieutenant Colonel Windham. The Colonel slapped a booted leg with his riding crop.
“We haven’t got all day, Sharpe! There’s a war to win.”
“Yes, sir.” Sharpe repeated the words in a patient, stubborn tone. He would not hurry. This was his revenge on Windham for allowing Captain Delmas to have parole. He tipped the paper so that the firelight illuminated the black ink.