JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 219 из 223”
De Maquerre glanced towards the water and Sharpe knew the man was contemplating a leapinto the cold grey tide, but then a voice drew the Frenchman’s attention back to the bridge.
“Sharpe!” It was the petulant voice of the mud-smeared Colonel Wigram who, with Elphinstone, was forcing his way past the Portuguese troops on the crowded roadway.
The Comte de Maquerre looked at Wigram and gestured towards Sharpe. “He’s mad!”
“Major!” Wigram stepped down to the chasse-maree’s deck. “There are things you don’t understand, Major!”
“He’s a traitor. A spy.”
Wigram stayed by the cable-taut roadway. “He was supposed to tell the French we planned a landing! Don’t you see that?”
Sharpe stared at the tall, thin Frenchman. “He works for a man called Pierre Ducos. Oh, you fooled him, Wigram, I understand that, but this bastard tried to trap me.”
De Maquerre, sensing survival in Wigram’s alliance, gestured again at Sharpe. “He’s mad, Wigram, mad!”
“I’m mad enough,” Sharpe said, “to hate hanging men.”
The Comte de Maquerre could step no further back. His retreat was blocked by two naval ratings who crouched nervously beside the anchor’s winch. The Frenchman watched Sharpe’s sword, then Sharpe’s eyes. The boat shivered as Elphinstone leaped on to the deck from the roadway, and the movement seemed to prompt de Maquerre into a burst of pleading French directed at Wigram.
“In English, you bastard!” Sharpe stepped a pace closer to the frightened de Maquerre. “Tell him who Ducos is! Tell him who Favier is! Tell him how you offered to make me a Major General in your Royalist Army!”
„Monsieur!“ de Maquerre, faced with the Rifleman, could only plead.
“Sharpe!” Colonel Wigram made his voice very sensible and calm. “There will have to be a formal inquiry before a properly constituted tribunal…”
“… and what will they do? Hang him?”
“If found guilty, yes.” Wigram sounded uncertain.
“But I don’t like hanging men!” Sharpe said each word slowly and deliberately. “I’ve discovered a weakness in myself, and I regret it, but I can’t bear seeing men hanged!”
“Quite understandable.” Wigram, convinced he was dealing with a madman, spoke soothingly.
The Comte de Maquerre, sensing a reprieve in Sharpe’s words, tried a very nervous smile. “You don’t understand, monsieur.”
“I understand you’re a bastard,” Sharpe said, “and a spy, but you won’t hang for it. But this is for the men you killed, you pimp!“ The sword lunged as Sharpe shouted the final word.
De Maquerre glanced towards the water and Sharpe knew the man was contemplating a leapinto the cold grey tide, but then a voice drew the Frenchman’s attention back to the bridge.
“Sharpe!” It was the petulant voice of the mud-smeared Colonel Wigram who, with Elphinstone, was forcing his way past the Portuguese troops on the crowded roadway.
The Comte de Maquerre looked at Wigram and gestured towards Sharpe. “He’s mad!”
“Major!” Wigram stepped down to the chasse-maree’s deck. “There are things you don’t understand, Major!”
“He’s a traitor. A spy.”
Wigram stayed by the cable-taut roadway. “He was supposed to tell the French we planned a landing! Don’t you see that?”
Sharpe stared at the tall, thin Frenchman. “He works for a man called Pierre Ducos. Oh, you fooled him, Wigram, I understand that, but this bastard tried to trap me.”
De Maquerre, sensing survival in Wigram’s alliance, gestured again at Sharpe. “He’s mad, Wigram, mad!”
“I’m mad enough,” Sharpe said, “to hate hanging men.”
The Comte de Maquerre could step no further back. His retreat was blocked by two naval ratings who crouched nervously beside the anchor’s winch. The Frenchman watched Sharpe’s sword, then Sharpe’s eyes. The boat shivered as Elphinstone leaped on to the deck from the roadway, and the movement seemed to prompt de Maquerre into a burst of pleading French directed at Wigram.
“In English, you bastard!” Sharpe stepped a pace closer to the frightened de Maquerre. “Tell him who Ducos is! Tell him who Favier is! Tell him how you offered to make me a Major General in your Royalist Army!”
„Monsieur!“ de Maquerre, faced with the Rifleman, could only plead.
“Sharpe!” Colonel Wigram made his voice very sensible and calm. “There will have to be a formal inquiry before a properly constituted tribunal…”
“… and what will they do? Hang him?”
“If found guilty, yes.” Wigram sounded uncertain.
“But I don’t like hanging men!” Sharpe said each word slowly and deliberately. “I’ve discovered a weakness in myself, and I regret it, but I can’t bear seeing men hanged!”
“Quite understandable.” Wigram, convinced he was dealing with a madman, spoke soothingly.
The Comte de Maquerre, sensing a reprieve in Sharpe’s words, tried a very nervous smile. “You don’t understand, monsieur.”
“I understand you’re a bastard,” Sharpe said, “and a spy, but you won’t hang for it. But this is for the men you killed, you pimp!“ The sword lunged as Sharpe shouted the final word.