JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 121 из 244You and me, eh? We can do business."
"I'm too busy to do business," Sharpe said, hiding his distaste. "Besides, we only take French teeth."
"And the French take British teeth to sell in Paris, yes? So the French bite with your teeth and you bite with theirs, and neither of you will bite with your own." El Castrador laughed as he straightened from the corpse. "Maybe they will buy teeth in Madrid," he said speculatively.
"Where's San Cristobal?" Sharpe changed the subject.
"Over the hills," El Castrador said vaguely.
"Show me." Sharpe pulled the big man towards the eastern ramparts. "Show me," he said again as they reached the firestep.
El Castrador indicated the track that twisted up into the hills on the valley's far side, the same track down which Juanita de Elia had fled from the pursuing dragoons. "You follow that path for five miles," El Castrador said, "and you will come to San Cristobal. It is not a big place, but it is the only place you can reach by that road."
"And how do you know Loup is there?" Sharpe asked.
"Because my cousin saw him arrive there this morning. My cousin said he was carrying wounded men with him."
Sharpe gazed eastwards. Five miles. Say two hours if the moon was unclouded or six hours if it was jet dark. "What was your cousin doing there?" he asked.
"He once lived in the village, seсor. He goes to watch it from time to time."
A pity, Sharpe thought, that no one had been watching Loup the previous evening. "Tell me about San Cristobal," he said.
It was a village, the Spaniard said, high in the hills. Not a large village, but prosperous with a fine church, a plaza, and a number of substantial stone houses. The place had once been famous for rearing bulls destined for the fighting rings of the small frontier towns. "But no more," El Castrador said. "The French stewed the last bulls."
"Is it a hill-top village?" Sharpe asked.
El Castrador shook his head. "It sits in a valley like that one" — he waved at the eastern valley—"but not so deep. No trees grow there, seсor , and a man cannot get close to San Cristobal without being seen. And El Lobo has built walls across all the gaps between the houses and he keeps watchmen in the church's bell tower. You cannot get close." El Castrador issued the warning in a worried voice. "You are thinking of going there?"
Sharpe did not answer for a long time. Of course he was thinking of going there, but to what purpose? Loup had a brigade of men while Sharpe had half a company. "How close can I get without being seen?" he asked.
"I'm too busy to do business," Sharpe said, hiding his distaste. "Besides, we only take French teeth."
"And the French take British teeth to sell in Paris, yes? So the French bite with your teeth and you bite with theirs, and neither of you will bite with your own." El Castrador laughed as he straightened from the corpse. "Maybe they will buy teeth in Madrid," he said speculatively.
"Where's San Cristobal?" Sharpe changed the subject.
"Over the hills," El Castrador said vaguely.
"Show me." Sharpe pulled the big man towards the eastern ramparts. "Show me," he said again as they reached the firestep.
El Castrador indicated the track that twisted up into the hills on the valley's far side, the same track down which Juanita de Elia had fled from the pursuing dragoons. "You follow that path for five miles," El Castrador said, "and you will come to San Cristobal. It is not a big place, but it is the only place you can reach by that road."
"And how do you know Loup is there?" Sharpe asked.
"Because my cousin saw him arrive there this morning. My cousin said he was carrying wounded men with him."
Sharpe gazed eastwards. Five miles. Say two hours if the moon was unclouded or six hours if it was jet dark. "What was your cousin doing there?" he asked.
"He once lived in the village, seсor. He goes to watch it from time to time."
A pity, Sharpe thought, that no one had been watching Loup the previous evening. "Tell me about San Cristobal," he said.
It was a village, the Spaniard said, high in the hills. Not a large village, but prosperous with a fine church, a plaza, and a number of substantial stone houses. The place had once been famous for rearing bulls destined for the fighting rings of the small frontier towns. "But no more," El Castrador said. "The French stewed the last bulls."
"Is it a hill-top village?" Sharpe asked.
El Castrador shook his head. "It sits in a valley like that one" — he waved at the eastern valley—"but not so deep. No trees grow there, seсor , and a man cannot get close to San Cristobal without being seen. And El Lobo has built walls across all the gaps between the houses and he keeps watchmen in the church's bell tower. You cannot get close." El Castrador issued the warning in a worried voice. "You are thinking of going there?"
Sharpe did not answer for a long time. Of course he was thinking of going there, but to what purpose? Loup had a brigade of men while Sharpe had half a company. "How close can I get without being seen?" he asked.