JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 75 из 179'Must, do you hear? Must'
There had to be more gold, Sharpe thought: gold in the cellars of London, in the merchant banks, the counting-houses, in the bellies of merchant ships. So why this gold? The question could not be answered and the threat of defeat, like the rain-clouds that still built in the north, accompanied the Light Company on its empty march towards the river Agueda.
The Partisans were also going westward and for the first hour Sharpe had watched the horsemen as they rode on the spine of a low chain of hills to the south. El Catolico had talked of ambushing the French convoys that would be lumbering with ammunition towards Almeida. But, often as Sharpe saw Kearsey's blue coat among the horsemen, he could not see El Catolico's grey cloak. He had asked Jose, one of El Catolico's Lieutenants and the leader of the Company's escort, where the Partisan leader was, but Jose shrugged.
'Went ahead. The Spaniard spurred his horse away.
Patrick Harper caught up with Sharpe, glanced at his Captain's face. 'Permission to speak, sir?
Sharpe looked at him sourly. 'You don't usually ask. What is it?
Harper gestured at the escorting horsemen. 'What do they remind you of, sir?
Sharpe looked at the long black cloaks, wide hats, and long-stirruped saddlery. He shrugged. 'So tell me.
Harper looked up at the northern sky, at the heavy clouds. 'I remember, sir, when I was a recruit. It was like this, so it was, marching from Derry. Sharpe was used to the Sergeant's circumlocutions. If there were a way of imparting information by a story, then the Irishman preferred to use it, and Sharpe, who had learned that it was worth listening, did not interrupt. 'And they gave us an escort, sir, just like this. Horsemen before, beside, behind, and all the way round, so that not one mother's son would get the hell off the road. It was like being a prisoner, sir, so it was, and all the way! Locked up at night, we were, in a barn near Maghera, and on their side, we were!
The Sergeant's face had the fleeting look of sadness that sometimes came when he talked of home, his beloved Ulster, of a place so poor that he had ended up in the army of its enemy. The look passed and he grinned again. 'Do you see what I'm telling you, sir? This is a bloody escort for prisoners. They're seeing us off their own land, so they are.
'And what if they are? The two men had quickened their pace so they were ahead of the Company, out of earshot.
'The bastards are lying through their teeth. Harper said it with a quiet relish, as if confident that he could defeat their lies as easily as he saw through them.
There had to be more gold, Sharpe thought: gold in the cellars of London, in the merchant banks, the counting-houses, in the bellies of merchant ships. So why this gold? The question could not be answered and the threat of defeat, like the rain-clouds that still built in the north, accompanied the Light Company on its empty march towards the river Agueda.
The Partisans were also going westward and for the first hour Sharpe had watched the horsemen as they rode on the spine of a low chain of hills to the south. El Catolico had talked of ambushing the French convoys that would be lumbering with ammunition towards Almeida. But, often as Sharpe saw Kearsey's blue coat among the horsemen, he could not see El Catolico's grey cloak. He had asked Jose, one of El Catolico's Lieutenants and the leader of the Company's escort, where the Partisan leader was, but Jose shrugged.
'Went ahead. The Spaniard spurred his horse away.
Patrick Harper caught up with Sharpe, glanced at his Captain's face. 'Permission to speak, sir?
Sharpe looked at him sourly. 'You don't usually ask. What is it?
Harper gestured at the escorting horsemen. 'What do they remind you of, sir?
Sharpe looked at the long black cloaks, wide hats, and long-stirruped saddlery. He shrugged. 'So tell me.
Harper looked up at the northern sky, at the heavy clouds. 'I remember, sir, when I was a recruit. It was like this, so it was, marching from Derry. Sharpe was used to the Sergeant's circumlocutions. If there were a way of imparting information by a story, then the Irishman preferred to use it, and Sharpe, who had learned that it was worth listening, did not interrupt. 'And they gave us an escort, sir, just like this. Horsemen before, beside, behind, and all the way round, so that not one mother's son would get the hell off the road. It was like being a prisoner, sir, so it was, and all the way! Locked up at night, we were, in a barn near Maghera, and on their side, we were!
The Sergeant's face had the fleeting look of sadness that sometimes came when he talked of home, his beloved Ulster, of a place so poor that he had ended up in the army of its enemy. The look passed and he grinned again. 'Do you see what I'm telling you, sir? This is a bloody escort for prisoners. They're seeing us off their own land, so they are.
'And what if they are? The two men had quickened their pace so they were ahead of the Company, out of earshot.
'The bastards are lying through their teeth. Harper said it with a quiet relish, as if confident that he could defeat their lies as easily as he saw through them.