JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 153 из 244"Why don't you have a servant?"
"Can't afford one. Besides, I've always looked after myself."
"And cut your own hair?"
"There's a pretty girl among the battalion wives who usually cuts it," Sharpe said. But Sally Clayton, like the rest of the South Essex, was far away. The South Essex was too shrunken by war to serve in the battle line and now was doing guard duty on the army's Portuguese depots and thus would be spared Marshal Massйna's battle to relieve Almeida and cut the British retreat across the Goa.
"Father Sarsfield is burying Kiely tomorrow," Donaju said.
"Father Sarsfield might be burying a lot of us tomorrow," Sharpe said. "If they bury us at all. Have you ever seen a battlefield a year after the fighting? It's like a boneyard. Skulls lying about like boulders, and fox-chewed bones everywhere. Bugger this," he said savagely as he gave his hair a last forlorn chop.
"Kiely can't even be buried in a churchyard" — Donaju did not want to think about battlefields on this ominous morning—"because it was suicide."
"There aren't many soldiers who get a proper grave," Sharpe said, "so I wouldn't grieve for Kiely. We'll be lucky if any of us get a proper hole, let alone a stone on top. Dan!" he shouted to Hagman.
"Sir?"
"Your bloody scissors are blunt."
"Sharpened them last night, sir," Hagman said stoically. "It's like my father always said, sir, only a bad workman blames his tools, sir."
Sharpe tossed the scissors across to Hagman, then brushed the cut strands of hair from his shirt. "You're better off without Kiely," he told Donaju.
"To guard the ammunition park?" Donaju said bitterly. "We would have done better to stay in Madrid."
"To be thought of as traitors?" Sharpe asked as he pulled on his jacket. "Listen, Donaju, you're alive and Kiely isn't. You've got yourself a good company to command. So what if you're guarding the ammunition? You think that isn't important? What happens if the Crapauds break through?"
Donaju did not seem cheered by Sharpe's opinions. "We're orphans," he said self-pityingly. "No one cares what happens to us."
"Why do you want someone to care?" Sharpe asked bluntly. "You're a soldier, Donaju, not a child. They issued you with a sword and a gun so you could take care of yourself, not have others take care of you. But as it happens, they do care. They care enough to send the whole lot of you to Cadiz, and I care enough to tell you that you've got two choices.
"Can't afford one. Besides, I've always looked after myself."
"And cut your own hair?"
"There's a pretty girl among the battalion wives who usually cuts it," Sharpe said. But Sally Clayton, like the rest of the South Essex, was far away. The South Essex was too shrunken by war to serve in the battle line and now was doing guard duty on the army's Portuguese depots and thus would be spared Marshal Massйna's battle to relieve Almeida and cut the British retreat across the Goa.
"Father Sarsfield is burying Kiely tomorrow," Donaju said.
"Father Sarsfield might be burying a lot of us tomorrow," Sharpe said. "If they bury us at all. Have you ever seen a battlefield a year after the fighting? It's like a boneyard. Skulls lying about like boulders, and fox-chewed bones everywhere. Bugger this," he said savagely as he gave his hair a last forlorn chop.
"Kiely can't even be buried in a churchyard" — Donaju did not want to think about battlefields on this ominous morning—"because it was suicide."
"There aren't many soldiers who get a proper grave," Sharpe said, "so I wouldn't grieve for Kiely. We'll be lucky if any of us get a proper hole, let alone a stone on top. Dan!" he shouted to Hagman.
"Sir?"
"Your bloody scissors are blunt."
"Sharpened them last night, sir," Hagman said stoically. "It's like my father always said, sir, only a bad workman blames his tools, sir."
Sharpe tossed the scissors across to Hagman, then brushed the cut strands of hair from his shirt. "You're better off without Kiely," he told Donaju.
"To guard the ammunition park?" Donaju said bitterly. "We would have done better to stay in Madrid."
"To be thought of as traitors?" Sharpe asked as he pulled on his jacket. "Listen, Donaju, you're alive and Kiely isn't. You've got yourself a good company to command. So what if you're guarding the ammunition? You think that isn't important? What happens if the Crapauds break through?"
Donaju did not seem cheered by Sharpe's opinions. "We're orphans," he said self-pityingly. "No one cares what happens to us."
"Why do you want someone to care?" Sharpe asked bluntly. "You're a soldier, Donaju, not a child. They issued you with a sword and a gun so you could take care of yourself, not have others take care of you. But as it happens, they do care. They care enough to send the whole lot of you to Cadiz, and I care enough to tell you that you've got two choices.