Sharpes Escape   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

Colonel Lawford had pitched a tent close to the new road that had been hackedalong the ridge top. The tent flaps were open, revealing a candlelit table on which silver and crystal gleamed, and the Colonel heard a sentry challenge Sharpe, heard Sharpe's muffled response and shouted through the open flaps, "Sharpe! Is that you?"

Sharpe thought briefly about pretending not to have heard, but he was plainly within earshot so he turned towards the tent. "Yes, sir."

"Come and have some brandy." Lawford was entertaining Majors Forrest and Leroy, and with them was Lieutenant Slingsby. All had on greatcoats for, after the last few days of brutal heat, the night was suddenly winter cold.

Forrest made space on a bench made out of wooden ammunition crates, then stared up at Sharpe. "What happened to you?"

"Took a tumble, sir," Sharpe said. His voice was thick, and he leaned to one side and spat out a glutinous gobbet of blood. "Took a tumble."

"A tumble?" Lawford was gazing at Sharpe with an expression of horror. "Your nose is bleeding."

"Mostly stopped, sir," Sharpe said, sniffing blood. He remembered the handkerchief that had been used as a white flag at the telegraph station and fished it out. It seemed a pity to stain the fine linen with blood, but he put it over his nose, flinching at the pain. Then he noticed his right hand was cut, presumably by the makeshift clay dagger.

"A tumble?" Major Leroy echoed the Colonel's question.

"Treacherous path down there, sir."

"You've got a black eye too," Lawford said.

"If you're not up to scratch," Slingsby said, "then I'll happily command the company tomorrow, Sharpe." Slingsby was high-colored and sweating, as if he had drunk too much. He looked to Colonel Lawford and, because he was nervous, gave a snort of laughter. "Be honored to command, sir," he added quickly.

Sharpe gave the Lieutenant a look that would have killed. "I was hurt worse than this," he said icily, "when Sergeant Harper and I took that damned Eagle on your badge."

Slingsby stiffened, appalled at Sharpe's tone, and the other officers looked embarrassed.

"Have some brandy, Sharpe," Lawford said emolliently, pouring it from a decanter and pushing the glass across the trestle table. "How was Major Hogan?"

Sharpe was hurting. His ribs were like strips of fire and it took him a moment to comprehend the question and find an answer. "He's confident, sir."

"I should hope so," Lawford said. "Aren't we all? Did you see the Peer?"

"The Peer?" Slingsby asked. He stumbled slightly on the word, then tossed down the rest of his brandy and helped himself to more.