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Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 38 из 283Ferragus smiled at his weakness, stepped towards him and Sharpe staggered again, thistime half falling sideways, and he put his hand down to steady himself and there was a stone there, a big stone, the size of a ration biscuit, and he picked it up just as Ferragus threw a right fist intended to knock Sharpe down for ever. Sharpe, still half aware, reacted instinctively, blocking the fist with the stone, and Ferragus's knuckles cracked on the rock and the big man flinched and stepped back, astonished by the sudden pain. Sharpe tried to step towards him and use the stone again, but a left jab banged into his chest and threw him back down onto the path.
"Now you're a dead man," Ferragus said. He was massaging his broken knuckles, and was in such pain from them that he wanted to kick Sharpe to death. He began by aiming a massive boot at Sharpe's groin but the blow landed short, on the thigh, because Sharpe had managed to twist feebly to one side, and Ferragus kicked his leg away, drew his boot back again and suddenly there was a light on the path behind him and a voice calling.
"What's going on!" the voice shouted. "Hold still! Whoever you are, hold still!" The boots of two or three men sounded on the path. The approaching men must have heard the fight, but they could surely see nothing in the thickening mist and Ferragus did not wait for them. He shouted at his two men and they ran past Sharpe, down through the trees, and Sharpe curled up on the ground, trying to squeeze the pain from his ribs and belly. There were thick gobs of blood in his mouth and his nose was bleeding. The light came nearer, a lantern held by a redcoat. "Sir?" one of the three men asked. He was a sergeant and had the dark-blue facings of the provosts, the army's policemen.
"I'm all right," Sharpe grunted.
"What happened?"
"Thieves," Sharpe said. "God knows who they were. Just thieves. Jesus. Help me up."
Two of them lifted him while the Sergeant retrieved his sword and shako. "How many were there?" the Sergeant asked.
"Three. Bastards ran away."
"You want to see a surgeon, sir?" The Sergeant flinched as he saw Sharpe's face in the lantern light. "I think you should."
"Christ, no." He sheathed the sword, put his shako on his bruised skull and leaned against the shrine. "I'll be all right," he said.
"We can take you to the monastery, sir."
"No. I'll make my way up to the ridge." He thanked the three men, wished them a peaceful night, waited until he had recovered some strength, and then limped back uphill, through the wall and down the ridge to find his company.
"Now you're a dead man," Ferragus said. He was massaging his broken knuckles, and was in such pain from them that he wanted to kick Sharpe to death. He began by aiming a massive boot at Sharpe's groin but the blow landed short, on the thigh, because Sharpe had managed to twist feebly to one side, and Ferragus kicked his leg away, drew his boot back again and suddenly there was a light on the path behind him and a voice calling.
"What's going on!" the voice shouted. "Hold still! Whoever you are, hold still!" The boots of two or three men sounded on the path. The approaching men must have heard the fight, but they could surely see nothing in the thickening mist and Ferragus did not wait for them. He shouted at his two men and they ran past Sharpe, down through the trees, and Sharpe curled up on the ground, trying to squeeze the pain from his ribs and belly. There were thick gobs of blood in his mouth and his nose was bleeding. The light came nearer, a lantern held by a redcoat. "Sir?" one of the three men asked. He was a sergeant and had the dark-blue facings of the provosts, the army's policemen.
"I'm all right," Sharpe grunted.
"What happened?"
"Thieves," Sharpe said. "God knows who they were. Just thieves. Jesus. Help me up."
Two of them lifted him while the Sergeant retrieved his sword and shako. "How many were there?" the Sergeant asked.
"Three. Bastards ran away."
"You want to see a surgeon, sir?" The Sergeant flinched as he saw Sharpe's face in the lantern light. "I think you should."
"Christ, no." He sheathed the sword, put his shako on his bruised skull and leaned against the shrine. "I'll be all right," he said.
"We can take you to the monastery, sir."
"No. I'll make my way up to the ridge." He thanked the three men, wished them a peaceful night, waited until he had recovered some strength, and then limped back uphill, through the wall and down the ridge to find his company.