JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 22 из 244"
"How the hell did they get here?"
"According to my correspondent, my Lord, by ship. Our ships." Hogan put a pinch of snuff on his left hand, then sniffed the powder up each nostril. He paused for a second, his eyes suddenly streaming, then sneezed. His horse's ears flicked back at the noise. "The commander of the Real Companпa Irlandesa claims he marched his men to Spain's east coast, my Lord," Hogan went on, "then took ship to Menorca where our Royal Navy collected them."
Wellington snorted his derision. "And the French just let that happen? King Joseph just watched half the royal guard march away?" Joseph was Bonaparte's brother and had been elevated to the throne of Spain, though it was taking three hundred thousand French bayonets to keep him there.
"A fifth of the royal guard, my Lord," Hogan gently corrected the General. "And yes, that's exactly what Lord Kiely says. Kiely, of course, being their comandante ."
"Kiely?"
"Irish peer, my Lord."
"Damn it, Hogan, I know the Irish peerage. Kiely. Earl of Kiely. An exile, right? And his mother, I remember, gave money to Tone back in the nineties." Wolfe Tone had been an Irish patriot who had tried to raise money and men in Europe and America to lead a rebellion against the British in his native Ireland. The rebellion had flared into open war in 1798 when Tone had invaded Donegal with a small French army that had been roundly defeated and Tone himself had committed suicide in his Dublin prison rather than hang from a British rope. "I don't suppose Kiely's any better than his mother," Wellington said grimly, "and she's a witch who should have been smothered at birth. Is his Lordship to be trusted, Hogan?"
"So far as I hear, my Lord, he's a drunk and a wastrel," Hogan said. "He was given command of the Real Companпa Irlandesa because he's the only Irish aristocrat in Madrid and because his mother had influence over the King. She's dead now, God rest her soul." He watched a soldier try to fork up the spilt French officer's intestines with his bayonet. The guts kept slipping off the blade and finally a sergeant yelled at the man to either pick the offal up with his bare hands or else leave it for the crows.
"What has this Irish guard been doing since Ferdinand left Madrid?" Wellington asked.
"Living on sufferance, my Lord. Guarding the Escorial, polishing their boots, staying out of trouble, breeding, whoring, drinking and saluting the French."
"But not fighting the French."
"Indeed not." Hogan paused. "It's all too convenient, my Lord," he went on.
"How the hell did they get here?"
"According to my correspondent, my Lord, by ship. Our ships." Hogan put a pinch of snuff on his left hand, then sniffed the powder up each nostril. He paused for a second, his eyes suddenly streaming, then sneezed. His horse's ears flicked back at the noise. "The commander of the Real Companпa Irlandesa claims he marched his men to Spain's east coast, my Lord," Hogan went on, "then took ship to Menorca where our Royal Navy collected them."
Wellington snorted his derision. "And the French just let that happen? King Joseph just watched half the royal guard march away?" Joseph was Bonaparte's brother and had been elevated to the throne of Spain, though it was taking three hundred thousand French bayonets to keep him there.
"A fifth of the royal guard, my Lord," Hogan gently corrected the General. "And yes, that's exactly what Lord Kiely says. Kiely, of course, being their comandante ."
"Kiely?"
"Irish peer, my Lord."
"Damn it, Hogan, I know the Irish peerage. Kiely. Earl of Kiely. An exile, right? And his mother, I remember, gave money to Tone back in the nineties." Wolfe Tone had been an Irish patriot who had tried to raise money and men in Europe and America to lead a rebellion against the British in his native Ireland. The rebellion had flared into open war in 1798 when Tone had invaded Donegal with a small French army that had been roundly defeated and Tone himself had committed suicide in his Dublin prison rather than hang from a British rope. "I don't suppose Kiely's any better than his mother," Wellington said grimly, "and she's a witch who should have been smothered at birth. Is his Lordship to be trusted, Hogan?"
"So far as I hear, my Lord, he's a drunk and a wastrel," Hogan said. "He was given command of the Real Companпa Irlandesa because he's the only Irish aristocrat in Madrid and because his mother had influence over the King. She's dead now, God rest her soul." He watched a soldier try to fork up the spilt French officer's intestines with his bayonet. The guts kept slipping off the blade and finally a sergeant yelled at the man to either pick the offal up with his bare hands or else leave it for the crows.
"What has this Irish guard been doing since Ferdinand left Madrid?" Wellington asked.
"Living on sufferance, my Lord. Guarding the Escorial, polishing their boots, staying out of trouble, breeding, whoring, drinking and saluting the French."
"But not fighting the French."
"Indeed not." Hogan paused. "It's all too convenient, my Lord," he went on.