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Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 42 из 283"
"Of course you must," Lawford said, not hiding his frustration with the conversation. "We should talk more often, Sharpe."
Sharpe took his battered shako and walked out into the fog-shrouded night. He picked his way through the thick darkness, going across the ridge's wide crest and then some short way down the eastern slope until he could just see the mist-blurred string of enemy fires in the valley's deep darkness. Let them come, he thought, let them come. If he could not murder Ferragus then he would take out his anger on the French. He heard footsteps behind him, but did not turn round. "Evening, Pat," he said.
"What happened to you?" Harper must have seen Sharpe inside the Colonel's tent and had followed him down the slope.
"That bloody Ferragus and two of his coves."
"Tried to kill you?"
Sharpe shook his head. "Bloody nearly succeeded. Would have done, except three provosts came along."
"Provosts! Never thought they'd be useful. And how is Mister Ferragus?"
"I hurt him, but not enough. He beat me, Pat. Beat me bloody."
Harper thought about that. "And what did you tell the Colonel?"
"That I had a tumble."
"So that's what I'll tell the lads when they notice you're better-looking than usual. And tomorrow I'll keep an eye open for Mister Ferragus. You think he'll be back for more?"
"No, he's buggered off."
"We'll find him, sir, we'll find him."
"But not tomorrow, Pat. We're going to be busy tomorrow. Major Hogan reckons the Frogs are coming up this hill."
Which was a comforting thought to end the day, and the two sat, listening to the singing from the dark encampments behind. A dog began barking somewhere in the British lines and immediately dozens of others echoed the sound, prompting angry shouts as the beasts were told to be quiet, and slowly peace descended again, all but for one dog that would not stop. On and on it went, barking frantically, until there was the sudden harsh crack of a musket or pistol.
"That's the way to do it," Harper said.
Sharpe said nothing. He just gazed down the hill to where the French fires were a dull, hazed glow in the mist. "But what will we do about Mister Ferragus?" Harper asked. "He can't be allowed to get away with assaulting a rifleman."
"If we lose tomorrow," Sharpe said, "we'll have to retreat through Coimbra. That's where he lives."
"So we'll find him there," Harper said grimly, "and give him what he deserves. But what if we win tomorrow?"
"God only knows," Sharpe said, and nodded down the hill to the misted firelight. There were thousands of fires.
"Of course you must," Lawford said, not hiding his frustration with the conversation. "We should talk more often, Sharpe."
Sharpe took his battered shako and walked out into the fog-shrouded night. He picked his way through the thick darkness, going across the ridge's wide crest and then some short way down the eastern slope until he could just see the mist-blurred string of enemy fires in the valley's deep darkness. Let them come, he thought, let them come. If he could not murder Ferragus then he would take out his anger on the French. He heard footsteps behind him, but did not turn round. "Evening, Pat," he said.
"What happened to you?" Harper must have seen Sharpe inside the Colonel's tent and had followed him down the slope.
"That bloody Ferragus and two of his coves."
"Tried to kill you?"
Sharpe shook his head. "Bloody nearly succeeded. Would have done, except three provosts came along."
"Provosts! Never thought they'd be useful. And how is Mister Ferragus?"
"I hurt him, but not enough. He beat me, Pat. Beat me bloody."
Harper thought about that. "And what did you tell the Colonel?"
"That I had a tumble."
"So that's what I'll tell the lads when they notice you're better-looking than usual. And tomorrow I'll keep an eye open for Mister Ferragus. You think he'll be back for more?"
"No, he's buggered off."
"We'll find him, sir, we'll find him."
"But not tomorrow, Pat. We're going to be busy tomorrow. Major Hogan reckons the Frogs are coming up this hill."
Which was a comforting thought to end the day, and the two sat, listening to the singing from the dark encampments behind. A dog began barking somewhere in the British lines and immediately dozens of others echoed the sound, prompting angry shouts as the beasts were told to be quiet, and slowly peace descended again, all but for one dog that would not stop. On and on it went, barking frantically, until there was the sudden harsh crack of a musket or pistol.
"That's the way to do it," Harper said.
Sharpe said nothing. He just gazed down the hill to where the French fires were a dull, hazed glow in the mist. "But what will we do about Mister Ferragus?" Harper asked. "He can't be allowed to get away with assaulting a rifleman."
"If we lose tomorrow," Sharpe said, "we'll have to retreat through Coimbra. That's where he lives."
"So we'll find him there," Harper said grimly, "and give him what he deserves. But what if we win tomorrow?"
"God only knows," Sharpe said, and nodded down the hill to the misted firelight. There were thousands of fires.