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Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 180 из 283Now he said nothing as the girl spat on the man she had killed, then went to the second, who was lying on his back and breathing with a hoarse sound from his broken jaw. She stood over him, poising the bayonet above his twisted mouth.
"I never did like rapists," Sharpe said mildly.
"Scum," Harper agreed, "pure bloody scum."
Sarah watched, not wanting to watch, but unable to take her eyes off the bayonet that the girl held two-handed. The girl paused, reveling in the moment, then stabbed down. "Get yourselves dressed," Sharpe told Vicente and Harper. The dying man gurgled behind him and his heels briefly drummed against the floor. "Ask her name," Sharpe told Sarah.
"She's called Joana Jacinto," Sarah said after a short conversation. "She lives here. Her father worked on the river, but she doesn't know where he is now. And she says to thank you."
"Pretty name, Joana," Harper said, dressed now as a French sergeant, "and she's a useful sort of girl, eh? Knows how to use a bayonet."
Sharpe helped Vicente put on the blue jacket, letting it hang from the left shoulder rather than force Vicente's arm into the sleeve. "She says," Sarah had held another conversation with Joana "that she wants to stay with us."
"Of course she must," Harper said before Sharpe could offer an opinion. Joana's dark brown dress had been torn at the breasts when the soldiers stripped her, and the remnants had been splashed with blood when she killed the second soldier, and so she buttoned one of the dead men's shirts over it, then picked up a musket. Sarah, not wanting to appear less belligerent, shouldered another.
It was not much of a force. Two riflemen, two women and a wounded Portuguese cazador. But Sharpe reckoned it should be enough to break a French dream.
So he slung his rifle, hitched the sword belt higher, and led them downstairs.
Most of the French infantry in Coimbra were from the 8th Corps, a newly raised unit of young men fresh from the depots of France, and they were half trained, ill disciplined, resentful of an Emperor who had marched them to a war they mostly did not understand and, above all, hungry. Hundreds broke ranks to explore the university, but, finding little that they wanted, they took out their frustration by smashing, mangling and shattering whatever could be broken. Coimbra was renowned for its work on optics, but microscopes were of small use to soldiers and so they hammered the beautiful instruments with muskets, then wrenched apart the fine sextants.
"I never did like rapists," Sharpe said mildly.
"Scum," Harper agreed, "pure bloody scum."
Sarah watched, not wanting to watch, but unable to take her eyes off the bayonet that the girl held two-handed. The girl paused, reveling in the moment, then stabbed down. "Get yourselves dressed," Sharpe told Vicente and Harper. The dying man gurgled behind him and his heels briefly drummed against the floor. "Ask her name," Sharpe told Sarah.
"She's called Joana Jacinto," Sarah said after a short conversation. "She lives here. Her father worked on the river, but she doesn't know where he is now. And she says to thank you."
"Pretty name, Joana," Harper said, dressed now as a French sergeant, "and she's a useful sort of girl, eh? Knows how to use a bayonet."
Sharpe helped Vicente put on the blue jacket, letting it hang from the left shoulder rather than force Vicente's arm into the sleeve. "She says," Sarah had held another conversation with Joana "that she wants to stay with us."
"Of course she must," Harper said before Sharpe could offer an opinion. Joana's dark brown dress had been torn at the breasts when the soldiers stripped her, and the remnants had been splashed with blood when she killed the second soldier, and so she buttoned one of the dead men's shirts over it, then picked up a musket. Sarah, not wanting to appear less belligerent, shouldered another.
It was not much of a force. Two riflemen, two women and a wounded Portuguese cazador. But Sharpe reckoned it should be enough to break a French dream.
So he slung his rifle, hitched the sword belt higher, and led them downstairs.
Most of the French infantry in Coimbra were from the 8th Corps, a newly raised unit of young men fresh from the depots of France, and they were half trained, ill disciplined, resentful of an Emperor who had marched them to a war they mostly did not understand and, above all, hungry. Hundreds broke ranks to explore the university, but, finding little that they wanted, they took out their frustration by smashing, mangling and shattering whatever could be broken. Coimbra was renowned for its work on optics, but microscopes were of small use to soldiers and so they hammered the beautiful instruments with muskets, then wrenched apart the fine sextants.