JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 21 из 179Captain Sharpe is directed by my orders and all Officers of the Allied Armies are requested and instructed to offer Captain Sharpe any assistance he may require. The signature was a simple Wellington.
'There's no mention of gold? Sharpe had expected elucidation at this meeting. He seemed to find only more mysteries.
'We didn't think it wise to tell too many people about a great pile of gold that's looking for an owner. It sort of encourages greed, if you follow me.
A moth flew crazy circles round the candle flames. Sharpe heard dogs barking in the town, the tramping of horses in the stables behind the headquarters.
'So how much gold?
'Kearsey will tell you. It can be carried.
'Christ Almighty! Can't you tell me anything?
Hogan smiled. 'Not much. I'll tell you this much, though. He leaned back, locked his fingers behind his head. 'The war's going bad, Richard. It's not our fault. We need men, guns, horses, powder, everything. The enemy gets stronger. But there's only one thing can save us now, and that's this money.
'Why?
'I can't tell you. Hogan sighed, pained by hiding something from a trusted friend. 'We have something that is secret, Richard, and it must stay that way. He waved down an interruption. 'It's the biggest damned secret I've ever seen, and we don't want anyone to know — anyone. You'll know in the end, I promise you; everyone will. But for the moment, get the gold; pay for the secret.
They had marched at midnight. Hogan had waved them farewell, and now with the dawn bleaching the sky the Light Company was climbing the gorge of the river Coa towards the fortress town of Almeida. A shadowy picquet had waved them across the narrow, high bridge that spanned the river, and it had seemed to Sharpe, in that moment, that he was marching into the unknown. The road from the river zigzagged up the side of the gorge. Jagged rocks loomed over the path; the creeping dawn showed a savage landscape half hidden by mist from the water. The men were silent, saving their breath for the steep road.
Almeida, a mile or so ahead, was like an island in French territory. It was a Portuguese fortress town, manned by the Portuguese army under British leaders, but the countryside around was in French hands. Soon, Sharpe knew, the French would have to take Almeida by siege, batter their way through its famous walls, storm the breach, drown the island in blood so they could march safely towards Lisbon. The sentries on the bridge had stamped their feet and waved at the dark hills. 'No patrols yesterday. You should be all right.
The Light Company were not worried by the French.
'There's no mention of gold? Sharpe had expected elucidation at this meeting. He seemed to find only more mysteries.
'We didn't think it wise to tell too many people about a great pile of gold that's looking for an owner. It sort of encourages greed, if you follow me.
A moth flew crazy circles round the candle flames. Sharpe heard dogs barking in the town, the tramping of horses in the stables behind the headquarters.
'So how much gold?
'Kearsey will tell you. It can be carried.
'Christ Almighty! Can't you tell me anything?
Hogan smiled. 'Not much. I'll tell you this much, though. He leaned back, locked his fingers behind his head. 'The war's going bad, Richard. It's not our fault. We need men, guns, horses, powder, everything. The enemy gets stronger. But there's only one thing can save us now, and that's this money.
'Why?
'I can't tell you. Hogan sighed, pained by hiding something from a trusted friend. 'We have something that is secret, Richard, and it must stay that way. He waved down an interruption. 'It's the biggest damned secret I've ever seen, and we don't want anyone to know — anyone. You'll know in the end, I promise you; everyone will. But for the moment, get the gold; pay for the secret.
They had marched at midnight. Hogan had waved them farewell, and now with the dawn bleaching the sky the Light Company was climbing the gorge of the river Coa towards the fortress town of Almeida. A shadowy picquet had waved them across the narrow, high bridge that spanned the river, and it had seemed to Sharpe, in that moment, that he was marching into the unknown. The road from the river zigzagged up the side of the gorge. Jagged rocks loomed over the path; the creeping dawn showed a savage landscape half hidden by mist from the water. The men were silent, saving their breath for the steep road.
Almeida, a mile or so ahead, was like an island in French territory. It was a Portuguese fortress town, manned by the Portuguese army under British leaders, but the countryside around was in French hands. Soon, Sharpe knew, the French would have to take Almeida by siege, batter their way through its famous walls, storm the breach, drown the island in blood so they could march safely towards Lisbon. The sentries on the bridge had stamped their feet and waved at the dark hills. 'No patrols yesterday. You should be all right.
The Light Company were not worried by the French.