JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 58 из 244The only serviceable parts of San Isidro were the old barracks buildings that had been kept in a state of crude repair thanks to the infrequent visits of Portuguese regiments which had been stationed therein times of political crisis. During those crises the men would block the holes in the barracks walls to protect themselves from the cold winds, while the officers took up quarters in the twin-towered gatehouse that had somehow survived the years of neglect. There were even gates that Runciman solemnly ordered closed and barred each night, though employing such a precaution against desertion was like stopping up one earth of a mighty rabbit warren.
Yet, for all its decay, the fort still held a mouldering grandeur. The impressive twin-towered gateway was embellished with royal escutcheons and approached by a four-arched causeway that spanned the only section of the dry moat still capable of checking an assault. The chapel ruins were laced with delicate carved stonework while the gun platforms were still hugely massive. Most impressive of all was the fort's location for its ramparts offered sky-born views deep across shadowy peaks to horizons unimaginable distances away. The eastern walls looked deep into Spain and it was on those eastern battlements, beneath the flags of Spain and Britain, that Lord Kiely discovered Sharpe on the third morning of the guard's stay in the fort. It seemed that even Kiely had become worried about the rate of desertion. "We didn't come here to be destroyed by desertion," Kiely snapped at Sharpe. The wind quivered the waxed tips of his moustaches.
Sharpe fought back the comment that Kiely was responsible for his men, not Sharpe, and instead asked his Lordship just why he had come to join the British forces.
And, to Sharpe's surprise, the young Lord Kiely took the question seriously. "I want to fight, Sharpe. That's why I wrote to His Majesty."
"So you're in the right place, my Lord," Sharpe said sourly. "The Crapauds are just the other side of that valley." He gestured towards the deep, bare glen that separated the San Isidro from the nearest hills. Sharpe suspected that French scouts must be active on the valley's far side and would already have seen the movement in the old fort.
"We're not in the right place, Sharpe," Kiely said. "I asked King Ferdinand to order us to Cadiz, to be in our own army and among our own kind, but he sent us to Wellington instead. We don't want to be here, but we have royal orders and we obey those orders."
"Then give your men a royal order not to desert," Sharpe said glibly.
"They're bored! They're worried! They feel betrayed!" Kiely shuddered, not with emotion, but because he had just risen from his bed and was still trying to shake off his morning hangover.
Yet, for all its decay, the fort still held a mouldering grandeur. The impressive twin-towered gateway was embellished with royal escutcheons and approached by a four-arched causeway that spanned the only section of the dry moat still capable of checking an assault. The chapel ruins were laced with delicate carved stonework while the gun platforms were still hugely massive. Most impressive of all was the fort's location for its ramparts offered sky-born views deep across shadowy peaks to horizons unimaginable distances away. The eastern walls looked deep into Spain and it was on those eastern battlements, beneath the flags of Spain and Britain, that Lord Kiely discovered Sharpe on the third morning of the guard's stay in the fort. It seemed that even Kiely had become worried about the rate of desertion. "We didn't come here to be destroyed by desertion," Kiely snapped at Sharpe. The wind quivered the waxed tips of his moustaches.
Sharpe fought back the comment that Kiely was responsible for his men, not Sharpe, and instead asked his Lordship just why he had come to join the British forces.
And, to Sharpe's surprise, the young Lord Kiely took the question seriously. "I want to fight, Sharpe. That's why I wrote to His Majesty."
"So you're in the right place, my Lord," Sharpe said sourly. "The Crapauds are just the other side of that valley." He gestured towards the deep, bare glen that separated the San Isidro from the nearest hills. Sharpe suspected that French scouts must be active on the valley's far side and would already have seen the movement in the old fort.
"We're not in the right place, Sharpe," Kiely said. "I asked King Ferdinand to order us to Cadiz, to be in our own army and among our own kind, but he sent us to Wellington instead. We don't want to be here, but we have royal orders and we obey those orders."
"Then give your men a royal order not to desert," Sharpe said glibly.
"They're bored! They're worried! They feel betrayed!" Kiely shuddered, not with emotion, but because he had just risen from his bed and was still trying to shake off his morning hangover.