JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 4 из 179One of them, an officer, hitched hiscurved sabre off the ground and walked over to Sharpe. 'Captain? The cavalryman made it a question because Sharpe's only signs of rank were the faded scarlet sash and the sword.
Sharpe nodded. 'Captain Sharpe. South Essex.
The German officer's eyebrows went up; his face split into a smile. 'Captain Sharpe! Talavera! He pumped Sharpe's hand, clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to shout at his men. The blue-coated cavalry grinned at Sharpe, nodded at him. They had all heard of him: the man who had captured the French Eagle at Talavera.
Sharpe jerked his head towards Patrick Harper and the Company. 'Don't forget Sergeant Harper, and the Company. We were all there.
The German beamed at the Light Company. 'It was well done! He clicked his heels to Sharpe and gave the slightest nod. 'Lossow. Captain Lossow at your service. You going to Celorico? The German's English was accented but good. His men, Sharpe knew, would probably speak no English.
Sharpe nodded again. 'And you?
Lossow shook his head. 'The Coa. Patrolling. The enemy are getting close, so there will be fighting. He sounded pleased and Sharpe envied the cavalry. What fighting there was to be had was all taking place along the steep banks of the river Coa and not at Celorico. Lossow laughed. 'This time we get an Eagle, yes?
Sharpe wished him luck. If any cavalry regiment were likely to break apart a French battalion, it would be the Germans. The English cavalry were brave enough, well mounted, but with no discipline. English horsemen grew bored with patrols, with picquet duty, and dreamed only of the blood-curdling charge, swords high, that left their horses blown and the men scattered and vulnerable. Sharpe, like all infantry in the army, preferred the Germans because they knew their job and did it well.
Lossow grinned at the compliment. He was a square-faced man, with a pleasant and ready smile and eyes that looked out shrewdly from the web of lines traced on his face by staring too long at the enemy-held horizons. 'Oh, one more thing, Captain. The bloody provosts are in the village. The phrase came awkwardly from Lossow's lips, as if he did not usually use English swearwords except to describe the provosts, for whom any other language's curse would be inadequate.
Sharpe thanked him and turned to the Company. 'You heard Captain Lossow! There are provosts here. So keep your thieving hands to yourselves. Understand? They understood. No one wanted to be hung on the spot for being caught looting. 'We stop for ten minutes. Dismiss them, Sergeant.
Sharpe nodded. 'Captain Sharpe. South Essex.
The German officer's eyebrows went up; his face split into a smile. 'Captain Sharpe! Talavera! He pumped Sharpe's hand, clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to shout at his men. The blue-coated cavalry grinned at Sharpe, nodded at him. They had all heard of him: the man who had captured the French Eagle at Talavera.
Sharpe jerked his head towards Patrick Harper and the Company. 'Don't forget Sergeant Harper, and the Company. We were all there.
The German beamed at the Light Company. 'It was well done! He clicked his heels to Sharpe and gave the slightest nod. 'Lossow. Captain Lossow at your service. You going to Celorico? The German's English was accented but good. His men, Sharpe knew, would probably speak no English.
Sharpe nodded again. 'And you?
Lossow shook his head. 'The Coa. Patrolling. The enemy are getting close, so there will be fighting. He sounded pleased and Sharpe envied the cavalry. What fighting there was to be had was all taking place along the steep banks of the river Coa and not at Celorico. Lossow laughed. 'This time we get an Eagle, yes?
Sharpe wished him luck. If any cavalry regiment were likely to break apart a French battalion, it would be the Germans. The English cavalry were brave enough, well mounted, but with no discipline. English horsemen grew bored with patrols, with picquet duty, and dreamed only of the blood-curdling charge, swords high, that left their horses blown and the men scattered and vulnerable. Sharpe, like all infantry in the army, preferred the Germans because they knew their job and did it well.
Lossow grinned at the compliment. He was a square-faced man, with a pleasant and ready smile and eyes that looked out shrewdly from the web of lines traced on his face by staring too long at the enemy-held horizons. 'Oh, one more thing, Captain. The bloody provosts are in the village. The phrase came awkwardly from Lossow's lips, as if he did not usually use English swearwords except to describe the provosts, for whom any other language's curse would be inadequate.
Sharpe thanked him and turned to the Company. 'You heard Captain Lossow! There are provosts here. So keep your thieving hands to yourselves. Understand? They understood. No one wanted to be hung on the spot for being caught looting. 'We stop for ten minutes. Dismiss them, Sergeant.