JК
Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 35 из 283Sharpe was confused, first by the sudden change of tone and then by the statement, which seemed strange after Hogan's earlier reproof. "I hope so, my lord," he answered carefully.
"Can't leave food for the French," the General said, turning back to the modeled breasts, "and I would have thought I had made that stratagem entirely clear." The last few words were said harshly and left the other officers silent. Then Wellington smiled and gestured at the votive breasts. "Can't quite imagine these things in Saint Paul's," he went on, "can you, Hogan?"
"They might improve the place, my lord."
"Indeed they might. I shall advert the matter to the Dean." He gave his horse neigh of a laugh, then abruptly looked at Hogan again. "Any news from Trant?"
"None, my lord."
"Let us hope that is good news." The General nodded at Hogan, ignored Sharpe again and led his guests back to wherever they were having supper.
"Trant?" Sharpe asked.
"There's a road round the top of the ridge," Hogan said, "and we have a cavalry vedette there and, I trust, some Portuguese militia under Colonel Trant. They are under orders to alert us if they see any sign of the enemy, but no word has come, so we must hope Massena is ignorant of the route. If he thinks his only road to Lisbon is up this hill, then up this hill he must come. I must say, unlikely as it seems, that he probably will attack."
"And maybe at dawn," Sharpe said, "so I must get some sleep." He grinned at Hogan. "So I was right about bloody Ferragus and you were wrong?"
Hogan returned the grin. "It is very ungentlemanly to gloat, Richard."
"How did Wellington know?"
"I suppose Major Ferreira complained to him. He said he didn't, but… " Hogan shrugged.
"You can't trust that Portuguese bugger," Sharpe said. "Get one of your nasties to slit his throat."
"You're the only nasty I know," Hogan said, "and it's past your bedtime. So good night, Richard."
It was not late yet, probably no more than nine o'clock, but the sky was black dark and the temperature had fallen sharply. A wind had come from the west to bring cold air from the distant sea and a mist was forming among the trees as Sharpe climbed back to the path where the strange statues were housed in their brick huts. The path was deserted now. The bulk of the army was up on the ridge and any troops bivouacking behind the line were encamped around the monastery where their fires offered some small light that filtered through the wood to throw Sharpe's monstrous shadow flickering across tree trunks, but that small light faded as Sharpe climbed higher.
"Can't leave food for the French," the General said, turning back to the modeled breasts, "and I would have thought I had made that stratagem entirely clear." The last few words were said harshly and left the other officers silent. Then Wellington smiled and gestured at the votive breasts. "Can't quite imagine these things in Saint Paul's," he went on, "can you, Hogan?"
"They might improve the place, my lord."
"Indeed they might. I shall advert the matter to the Dean." He gave his horse neigh of a laugh, then abruptly looked at Hogan again. "Any news from Trant?"
"None, my lord."
"Let us hope that is good news." The General nodded at Hogan, ignored Sharpe again and led his guests back to wherever they were having supper.
"Trant?" Sharpe asked.
"There's a road round the top of the ridge," Hogan said, "and we have a cavalry vedette there and, I trust, some Portuguese militia under Colonel Trant. They are under orders to alert us if they see any sign of the enemy, but no word has come, so we must hope Massena is ignorant of the route. If he thinks his only road to Lisbon is up this hill, then up this hill he must come. I must say, unlikely as it seems, that he probably will attack."
"And maybe at dawn," Sharpe said, "so I must get some sleep." He grinned at Hogan. "So I was right about bloody Ferragus and you were wrong?"
Hogan returned the grin. "It is very ungentlemanly to gloat, Richard."
"How did Wellington know?"
"I suppose Major Ferreira complained to him. He said he didn't, but… " Hogan shrugged.
"You can't trust that Portuguese bugger," Sharpe said. "Get one of your nasties to slit his throat."
"You're the only nasty I know," Hogan said, "and it's past your bedtime. So good night, Richard."
It was not late yet, probably no more than nine o'clock, but the sky was black dark and the temperature had fallen sharply. A wind had come from the west to bring cold air from the distant sea and a mist was forming among the trees as Sharpe climbed back to the path where the strange statues were housed in their brick huts. The path was deserted now. The bulk of the army was up on the ridge and any troops bivouacking behind the line were encamped around the monastery where their fires offered some small light that filtered through the wood to throw Sharpe's monstrous shadow flickering across tree trunks, but that small light faded as Sharpe climbed higher.