JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 41 из 179The trumpet sounded again, the sound delayed by the distance, but Sharpe had already seen the lancers spurring their horses, reaching out with their nine-foot weapons, and he gritted his teeth as Kearsey seemed to take an age in swinging himself into the saddle.
'Where's El Catolico? Knowles asked.
'Miles away. Harper sounded gloomy.
The horse went forward again, Kearsey's heels raking back, but the lancers were desperately close. The Major turned the roan downslope towards the village, letting his speed build up before turning back, but his horse seemed winded or frightened. The roan's head tossed nervously, Kearsey urged it, and at the moment when Sharpe knew the lancers must catch him the Major realized it as well. He circled back, sword drawn, and Knowles groaned.
'He might do it yet. Harper spoke gently, as if to a nervous recruit on the battlefield.
Four lancers were closest to the Major. He spurred towards them, singled one out, and Sharpe saw the sabre, point downwards, high in Kearsey's hand. Marlborough had calmed, and as the lancers thundered in, Kearsey touched the spurs, the horse leapt forward, and the Major had turned the right-hand lance to one side, swivelled his wrist with the speed of a trained swordsman, and one Pole lay beheaded on the ground.
'Beautiful! Sharpe was grinning. Once a man got past the razor tip of a lance he was safe.
Kearsey was through, crouching on Marlborough's neck, urging the horse on towards the hills, but the first squadron of lancers were close behind their fellows, at full gallop, and the effort was useless. A dust cloud engulfed the Englishman, the silver points disappeared in the storm, and Kearsey was trapped with only his sword to save him. A man reeled out of the fight holding his stomach, and Sharpe knew the sabre had laid open the horseman's guts. The dust billowed like cannon smoke. The lance points were forced upwards in the press and once — Sharpe was not sure — he thought he saw the slashing light of the lifted sabre. It was magnificent, quite hopeless, one man against a regiment, and Sharpe watched the commotion subside, the dust drift towards the nightjar's treacherous nest, and the lance points sink to rest. It was over.
'Poor bastard. Harper had not been looking forward to company prayers, but he had never wanted lancers to take away the unpleasant prospect.
'He's alive! Knowles was pointing. 'Look! It was true. Sharpe rested the glass on the rock rim of the gully and saw the Major riding between two of his captors. There was blood on his thigh, a lot, and Sharpe saw Kearsey trying to stem the flow with his two fists where a lance point had gouged into his right leg. It was a good capture for the Poles.
'Where's El Catolico? Knowles asked.
'Miles away. Harper sounded gloomy.
The horse went forward again, Kearsey's heels raking back, but the lancers were desperately close. The Major turned the roan downslope towards the village, letting his speed build up before turning back, but his horse seemed winded or frightened. The roan's head tossed nervously, Kearsey urged it, and at the moment when Sharpe knew the lancers must catch him the Major realized it as well. He circled back, sword drawn, and Knowles groaned.
'He might do it yet. Harper spoke gently, as if to a nervous recruit on the battlefield.
Four lancers were closest to the Major. He spurred towards them, singled one out, and Sharpe saw the sabre, point downwards, high in Kearsey's hand. Marlborough had calmed, and as the lancers thundered in, Kearsey touched the spurs, the horse leapt forward, and the Major had turned the right-hand lance to one side, swivelled his wrist with the speed of a trained swordsman, and one Pole lay beheaded on the ground.
'Beautiful! Sharpe was grinning. Once a man got past the razor tip of a lance he was safe.
Kearsey was through, crouching on Marlborough's neck, urging the horse on towards the hills, but the first squadron of lancers were close behind their fellows, at full gallop, and the effort was useless. A dust cloud engulfed the Englishman, the silver points disappeared in the storm, and Kearsey was trapped with only his sword to save him. A man reeled out of the fight holding his stomach, and Sharpe knew the sabre had laid open the horseman's guts. The dust billowed like cannon smoke. The lance points were forced upwards in the press and once — Sharpe was not sure — he thought he saw the slashing light of the lifted sabre. It was magnificent, quite hopeless, one man against a regiment, and Sharpe watched the commotion subside, the dust drift towards the nightjar's treacherous nest, and the lance points sink to rest. It was over.
'Poor bastard. Harper had not been looking forward to company prayers, but he had never wanted lancers to take away the unpleasant prospect.
'He's alive! Knowles was pointing. 'Look! It was true. Sharpe rested the glass on the rock rim of the gully and saw the Major riding between two of his captors. There was blood on his thigh, a lot, and Sharpe saw Kearsey trying to stem the flow with his two fists where a lance point had gouged into his right leg. It was a good capture for the Poles.