JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 165 из 179'Which brings us back to the old question, myfriend. How?
Sharpe had dreaded this moment, wanted to lead them gently towards it, but it had come. 'Who's stopping us?
Lossow shrugged. 'Cox.
Sharpe nodded. He spoke patiently. 'And Cox has his authority as Commander of the garrison. If there were no garrison, there would be no authority, no way to stop us.
'So? Knowles was frowning.
'So, at dawn tomorrow we destroy the garrison.
There was a moment's utter silence, broken by Knowles. 'We can't!
Teresa laughed at the sheer joy of it. 'We can!
'God in his heaven! Lossow's face was appalled, fascinated.
Harper did not seem surprised. 'How?
So Sharpe told them.
CHAPTER 23
Almeida stirred early, that Monday morning; it was well before first light as men stamped their boots on cobbled streets and made the small talk that is the talisman against great events. The war, after all, had come to the border town, and between the defenders' outer glacis and the masked guns of the French, the hopes and fears of Europe were concentrated. In far-off cities men looked at maps. If Almeida could hold, then perhaps Portugal could be saved, but they knew better. Eight weeks at the most, they said, and probably just six, and then Massena's troops would have Lisbon at their mercy. The British had had their run and now it was over, the last hurdles to be cleared, but in St Petersburg and Vienna, Stockholm and Berlin, they let the maps curl up and wondered where the victorious blue-jacketed troops would be next sent. A pity about the British, but what did anyone expect?
Cox was on the southern ramparts, standing by a brazier, waiting for the first light to show him the new French batteries. Yesterday the French had fired a few shots, destroying the telegraph, but today, Cox knew, things would begin in earnest. He hoped for a great defence, a struggle that would make the history books, that would block the French till the rains of late autumn could save Portugal; but he also imagined the siege guns, the paths blasted through the great walls, and then the screaming, steel-tipped battalions that would come forward in the night to drown his hopes in chaos and defeat. Cox and the French both knew the town was the last obstacle to French victory, and, hope as Cox did, in his heart he did not believe that the town could hold out till the roads were swamped and the rivers made impassable by rain.
High above Cox, by the castle and cathedral that topped Almeida's hill, Sharpe pushed open the bakery door.
Sharpe had dreaded this moment, wanted to lead them gently towards it, but it had come. 'Who's stopping us?
Lossow shrugged. 'Cox.
Sharpe nodded. He spoke patiently. 'And Cox has his authority as Commander of the garrison. If there were no garrison, there would be no authority, no way to stop us.
'So? Knowles was frowning.
'So, at dawn tomorrow we destroy the garrison.
There was a moment's utter silence, broken by Knowles. 'We can't!
Teresa laughed at the sheer joy of it. 'We can!
'God in his heaven! Lossow's face was appalled, fascinated.
Harper did not seem surprised. 'How?
So Sharpe told them.
CHAPTER 23
Almeida stirred early, that Monday morning; it was well before first light as men stamped their boots on cobbled streets and made the small talk that is the talisman against great events. The war, after all, had come to the border town, and between the defenders' outer glacis and the masked guns of the French, the hopes and fears of Europe were concentrated. In far-off cities men looked at maps. If Almeida could hold, then perhaps Portugal could be saved, but they knew better. Eight weeks at the most, they said, and probably just six, and then Massena's troops would have Lisbon at their mercy. The British had had their run and now it was over, the last hurdles to be cleared, but in St Petersburg and Vienna, Stockholm and Berlin, they let the maps curl up and wondered where the victorious blue-jacketed troops would be next sent. A pity about the British, but what did anyone expect?
Cox was on the southern ramparts, standing by a brazier, waiting for the first light to show him the new French batteries. Yesterday the French had fired a few shots, destroying the telegraph, but today, Cox knew, things would begin in earnest. He hoped for a great defence, a struggle that would make the history books, that would block the French till the rains of late autumn could save Portugal; but he also imagined the siege guns, the paths blasted through the great walls, and then the screaming, steel-tipped battalions that would come forward in the night to drown his hopes in chaos and defeat. Cox and the French both knew the town was the last obstacle to French victory, and, hope as Cox did, in his heart he did not believe that the town could hold out till the roads were swamped and the rivers made impassable by rain.
High above Cox, by the castle and cathedral that topped Almeida's hill, Sharpe pushed open the bakery door.