JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 151 из 244He was being crucified too, he told himself, and by smaller men who did not understand his noble aims. He took a flask from his pocket and tipped it to his lips, sucking at the fierce Spanish brandy as though it would save his life.
"Are you well, my son?" A priest had come soft-footed to Kiely's side.
"Go away," Kiely said.
"The hat, my son," the priest said nervously. "This is God's house."
Kiely snatched the plumed hat from his head. "Go away," he said again.
"God preserve you," the priest said and walked back into the shadows. The women waiting to make their confessions glanced nervously at the finely uniformed officer and wondered if he was praying for victory over the approaching French. Everyone knew the blue-coated enemy was coming again and householders were burying their valuables in their gardens in case Massйna's dreaded veterans beat the British aside and came back to sack the town.
Kiely finished the flask. His head spun with liquor, shame and anger. Behind the silver rood in a niche above the high altar was a statue of Our Lady. She wore a diadem of stars, a blue robe, and carried lilies in her hands. It had been a long time since Kiely had stared at such an image. His mother had loved such things. She had forced him to confession and to the sacrament, and had chided him for failing her. She had used to pray to the Virgin, claiming a special kinship with Our Lady as another disappointed woman who had known a mother's sadness. "Bitch," Kiely said aloud, staring at the blue-robed statue, "bitch!" He had hated his mother, just as he hated the church. Juanita had shared Kiely's contempt for the church, but Juanita was another man's lover. Maybe she had always been another man's lover. She had lain with Loup and God knows how many other men and all the while Kiely had been planning to make her a countess and to show off her beauty in all the great capitals of Europe. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he thought of her betrayal and as he remembered his humiliation at the hands of Captain Sharpe. That last memory filled him with a sudden fury. "Bitch!" he shouted at the Virgin Mary. He stood up and hurled the empty flask at her statue behind the altar. "Whore bitch!" he cried as the flask bounced harmlessly off the Virgin's blue robe.
The women screamed. The priest ran towards his Lordship, then stopped in terror because Kiely had drawn the pistol from his holster. The click of the gun's lock echoed loud in the cavernous church as Kiely thumbed back the heavy hammer.
"Bitch!" Kiely spat the word at the statue.
"Are you well, my son?" A priest had come soft-footed to Kiely's side.
"Go away," Kiely said.
"The hat, my son," the priest said nervously. "This is God's house."
Kiely snatched the plumed hat from his head. "Go away," he said again.
"God preserve you," the priest said and walked back into the shadows. The women waiting to make their confessions glanced nervously at the finely uniformed officer and wondered if he was praying for victory over the approaching French. Everyone knew the blue-coated enemy was coming again and householders were burying their valuables in their gardens in case Massйna's dreaded veterans beat the British aside and came back to sack the town.
Kiely finished the flask. His head spun with liquor, shame and anger. Behind the silver rood in a niche above the high altar was a statue of Our Lady. She wore a diadem of stars, a blue robe, and carried lilies in her hands. It had been a long time since Kiely had stared at such an image. His mother had loved such things. She had forced him to confession and to the sacrament, and had chided him for failing her. She had used to pray to the Virgin, claiming a special kinship with Our Lady as another disappointed woman who had known a mother's sadness. "Bitch," Kiely said aloud, staring at the blue-robed statue, "bitch!" He had hated his mother, just as he hated the church. Juanita had shared Kiely's contempt for the church, but Juanita was another man's lover. Maybe she had always been another man's lover. She had lain with Loup and God knows how many other men and all the while Kiely had been planning to make her a countess and to show off her beauty in all the great capitals of Europe. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he thought of her betrayal and as he remembered his humiliation at the hands of Captain Sharpe. That last memory filled him with a sudden fury. "Bitch!" he shouted at the Virgin Mary. He stood up and hurled the empty flask at her statue behind the altar. "Whore bitch!" he cried as the flask bounced harmlessly off the Virgin's blue robe.
The women screamed. The priest ran towards his Lordship, then stopped in terror because Kiely had drawn the pistol from his holster. The click of the gun's lock echoed loud in the cavernous church as Kiely thumbed back the heavy hammer.
"Bitch!" Kiely spat the word at the statue.