JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 141 из 179'Where ishe? He disappeared again.
Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Damn the bloody French, damn the bloody gunner, and he might as well have stayed in the warm bed with his arms round the girl. Footsteps sounded in the doorway and he swivelled anxiously, but it was only a squad of bare-headed Portuguese soldiers, muskets slung, who dipped their fingers in the holy water and clattered up the aisle to the priest and his service.
Cox had not been at his headquarters; he was on the ramparts, they were told. So the three had hurried there and Cox had gone. Now he was said to be visiting the magazine, so they waited, and the light shaped the dust into silver bars and the muffled responses got lost somewhere in the high stone ceiling, and still Cox had not arrived. Sharpe slammed his scabbard on the floor, hurting his shoulder, so he cursed again.
'Amen to that, sir. Harper had infinitely more patience.
Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.
The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.
I'm in love with her, Sharpe thought, God damn and blast it. And if they were delayed another night, that would mean another night, and if it were a week, another week, but they had to move, and soon, for within two days the French would tie Almeida in a ring of earthworks and infantry. But leaving Almeida meant leaving her, and he hacked down again with the scabbard so that Lossow reappeared.
'What is it?
'Nothing.
Just one more night, he thought, and he lifted his eyes up to the huge rood that hung in the grey shadows. Is that so much to ask? Just one more night, and we can leave at dawn tomorrow. Dawn is the time to say goodbye, not dusk, and just one more night? There was the creak of the cathedral door, the rattle of heels, and Cox came in with a crowd of officers.
Sharpe stood up. 'Sir!
Cox appeared not to hear him and headed straight over the floor towards the crypt steps, the chatter of his officers smothering the muted drone of the Mass at the far end of the cathedral.
'Lossow! Sharpe called. 'Come on!
Portuguese soldiers stopped them at the top of the steps and stood silently as they pulled felt slippers over their boots. Sharpe fumbled with the drawstrings, his left arm stiff, but then the slippers were on and the three men, their heels protected against sparking on stone, went down into the crypt.
Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Damn the bloody French, damn the bloody gunner, and he might as well have stayed in the warm bed with his arms round the girl. Footsteps sounded in the doorway and he swivelled anxiously, but it was only a squad of bare-headed Portuguese soldiers, muskets slung, who dipped their fingers in the holy water and clattered up the aisle to the priest and his service.
Cox had not been at his headquarters; he was on the ramparts, they were told. So the three had hurried there and Cox had gone. Now he was said to be visiting the magazine, so they waited, and the light shaped the dust into silver bars and the muffled responses got lost somewhere in the high stone ceiling, and still Cox had not arrived. Sharpe slammed his scabbard on the floor, hurting his shoulder, so he cursed again.
'Amen to that, sir. Harper had infinitely more patience.
Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.
The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.
I'm in love with her, Sharpe thought, God damn and blast it. And if they were delayed another night, that would mean another night, and if it were a week, another week, but they had to move, and soon, for within two days the French would tie Almeida in a ring of earthworks and infantry. But leaving Almeida meant leaving her, and he hacked down again with the scabbard so that Lossow reappeared.
'What is it?
'Nothing.
Just one more night, he thought, and he lifted his eyes up to the huge rood that hung in the grey shadows. Is that so much to ask? Just one more night, and we can leave at dawn tomorrow. Dawn is the time to say goodbye, not dusk, and just one more night? There was the creak of the cathedral door, the rattle of heels, and Cox came in with a crowd of officers.
Sharpe stood up. 'Sir!
Cox appeared not to hear him and headed straight over the floor towards the crypt steps, the chatter of his officers smothering the muted drone of the Mass at the far end of the cathedral.
'Lossow! Sharpe called. 'Come on!
Portuguese soldiers stopped them at the top of the steps and stood silently as they pulled felt slippers over their boots. Sharpe fumbled with the drawstrings, his left arm stiff, but then the slippers were on and the three men, their heels protected against sparking on stone, went down into the crypt.