JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 187 из 244Thepriest was now lying on the mound of excavated soil where his body jerked twice and then, with a sigh, lay still.
Sharpe stood up from behind the hedge and crossed to the grave to see that his bullet had gone plumb where he had aimed it, straight through the dead man's heart. He stared down at the, priest, noting how dark the blood looked on the soutane's cloth. A fly had already settled there. "I liked him," he told Hogan.
"It's allowed, Richard," Hogan said. The Major was upset and pale, so pale that for a moment he looked as if he might be sick. "One of mankind's higher authorities enjoins us to love our enemies and He said nothing about them ceasing to be enemies just because we love them. Nor can I recall any specific injunction in Holy Scripture against shooting our enemies through the heart." Hogan paused and suddenly all his usual flippancy seemed to drain out of him. "I liked him too," he said simply.
"But he was going to shoot you," Sharpe said. Hogan, talking privately with Sharpe on their way to the burial, had warned the rifleman what might happen and Sharpe, disbelieving the prediction, had nevertheless watched it happen and then done his part.
"He deserved a better death," Hogan said, then he pushed the corpse with his foot and thus toppled it into the grave. The priest's body landed awkwardly so that it seemed as if he was sitting on the shrouded head of Kiely's corpse. Hogan tossed the counterfeit newspaper after the body, then took a small round box from his pocket. "Shooting Sarsfield doesn't fetch you any favours, Richard," Hogan said sternly as he prised the lid off the box. "Let's just say I now forgive you for letting Juanita go. That damage has been contained. But you still might need to be sacrificed for the happiness of Spain."
"Yes, sir," Sharpe said resentfully.
Hogan caught the resentment in the rifleman's voice. "Of course life isn't fair, Richard. Ask him." He nodded down at the dead, white-haired priest then sprinkled the contents of his small box onto the corpse's faded and bloodied soutane.
"What's that?" Sharpe asked.
"Just soil, Richard, just soil. Nothing important." Hogan tossed the empty pillbox onto the two bodies, then summoned the grave-diggers. "He was a Frenchman," he told them in Portuguese, certain that such an explanation would make them sympathize with the murder they had just witnessed. He gave each man a coin, then watched as the double grave was filled with earth.
Hogan walked back with Sharpe towards Fuentes de Onoro. "Where's Patrick?" the Major asked.
"I told him to wait in Vilar Formoso.
Sharpe stood up from behind the hedge and crossed to the grave to see that his bullet had gone plumb where he had aimed it, straight through the dead man's heart. He stared down at the, priest, noting how dark the blood looked on the soutane's cloth. A fly had already settled there. "I liked him," he told Hogan.
"It's allowed, Richard," Hogan said. The Major was upset and pale, so pale that for a moment he looked as if he might be sick. "One of mankind's higher authorities enjoins us to love our enemies and He said nothing about them ceasing to be enemies just because we love them. Nor can I recall any specific injunction in Holy Scripture against shooting our enemies through the heart." Hogan paused and suddenly all his usual flippancy seemed to drain out of him. "I liked him too," he said simply.
"But he was going to shoot you," Sharpe said. Hogan, talking privately with Sharpe on their way to the burial, had warned the rifleman what might happen and Sharpe, disbelieving the prediction, had nevertheless watched it happen and then done his part.
"He deserved a better death," Hogan said, then he pushed the corpse with his foot and thus toppled it into the grave. The priest's body landed awkwardly so that it seemed as if he was sitting on the shrouded head of Kiely's corpse. Hogan tossed the counterfeit newspaper after the body, then took a small round box from his pocket. "Shooting Sarsfield doesn't fetch you any favours, Richard," Hogan said sternly as he prised the lid off the box. "Let's just say I now forgive you for letting Juanita go. That damage has been contained. But you still might need to be sacrificed for the happiness of Spain."
"Yes, sir," Sharpe said resentfully.
Hogan caught the resentment in the rifleman's voice. "Of course life isn't fair, Richard. Ask him." He nodded down at the dead, white-haired priest then sprinkled the contents of his small box onto the corpse's faded and bloodied soutane.
"What's that?" Sharpe asked.
"Just soil, Richard, just soil. Nothing important." Hogan tossed the empty pillbox onto the two bodies, then summoned the grave-diggers. "He was a Frenchman," he told them in Portuguese, certain that such an explanation would make them sympathize with the murder they had just witnessed. He gave each man a coin, then watched as the double grave was filled with earth.
Hogan walked back with Sharpe towards Fuentes de Onoro. "Where's Patrick?" the Major asked.
"I told him to wait in Vilar Formoso.