JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 42 из 179An exploring officer whom they could keep for a few months before exchanging for a Frenchman of equal rank. They could well have recognized him. The exploring officers often rode in sight of their enemy, their uniforms distinct, relying on their fast horses to carry them from trouble, and it was possible that the French would decide not to exchange Kearsey for months; perhaps, Sharpe thought with a sinking feeling, till the British had been driven from Portugal.
The depressing thought made him stare at the hermitage, half hidden by trees, the unlikely place where Wellington's hopes were pinned. Without Kearsey it was even more important that the Company should try to find the gold that night, but then those hopes, too, were dashed. Half the lancers rode with their prisoner to the village, but the other half, in a curving column, trotted towards the graveyard and its hermitage. Sharpe cursed beneath his breath. There was no hope now of finding the gold that night. The only chance left was to wait until the French had gone, till they had stopped using the village and the hermitage as their base for the campaign against the Partisans in the hills. And when the French did go, El Catolico would come, and Sharpe had no doubt that the tall, grey-cloaked Spaniard would use every effort to stop the British from taking the gold. Only one man stood a chance of persuading the Partisan leader, and that man was a prisoner, wounded, in the hands of the lancers. He slid back from the skyline, turned and stared at the Company. Harper slid down beside him. 'What do we do, sir?
'Do? We fight. Sharpe gripped the hilt of the sword. 'We've been spectators long enough. We get the Major out, tonight.
Knowles heard him, turned an astonished face on them. 'Get him out, sir? There's two regiments there!
'So? That's only eight hundred men. There are fifty-three of us.
'And a dozen Irish. Harper grinned at the Lieutenant.
Knowles scrambled down the slope, looking at them with a disbelieving stare. 'With respect, sir. You're mad. He began to laugh. 'Are you serious?
Sharpe nodded. There was no other choice. Fifty-three men must take on eight hundred, or else the war was lost. He grinned at Knowles. 'Stop worrying! It'll be simple!
And how the hell, he thought, do we do it?
CHAPTER 6
Sharpe mocked himself. So simple. Just release the Major when two of the finest regiments in the French army were expecting a night attack. The wise course, he thought, was to go home. The French probably had the gold by now, the war was lost, and a sensible man would shoulder his rifle and think about making a living at home.
The depressing thought made him stare at the hermitage, half hidden by trees, the unlikely place where Wellington's hopes were pinned. Without Kearsey it was even more important that the Company should try to find the gold that night, but then those hopes, too, were dashed. Half the lancers rode with their prisoner to the village, but the other half, in a curving column, trotted towards the graveyard and its hermitage. Sharpe cursed beneath his breath. There was no hope now of finding the gold that night. The only chance left was to wait until the French had gone, till they had stopped using the village and the hermitage as their base for the campaign against the Partisans in the hills. And when the French did go, El Catolico would come, and Sharpe had no doubt that the tall, grey-cloaked Spaniard would use every effort to stop the British from taking the gold. Only one man stood a chance of persuading the Partisan leader, and that man was a prisoner, wounded, in the hands of the lancers. He slid back from the skyline, turned and stared at the Company. Harper slid down beside him. 'What do we do, sir?
'Do? We fight. Sharpe gripped the hilt of the sword. 'We've been spectators long enough. We get the Major out, tonight.
Knowles heard him, turned an astonished face on them. 'Get him out, sir? There's two regiments there!
'So? That's only eight hundred men. There are fifty-three of us.
'And a dozen Irish. Harper grinned at the Lieutenant.
Knowles scrambled down the slope, looking at them with a disbelieving stare. 'With respect, sir. You're mad. He began to laugh. 'Are you serious?
Sharpe nodded. There was no other choice. Fifty-three men must take on eight hundred, or else the war was lost. He grinned at Knowles. 'Stop worrying! It'll be simple!
And how the hell, he thought, do we do it?
CHAPTER 6
Sharpe mocked himself. So simple. Just release the Major when two of the finest regiments in the French army were expecting a night attack. The wise course, he thought, was to go home. The French probably had the gold by now, the war was lost, and a sensible man would shoulder his rifle and think about making a living at home.