JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 5 из 223Now, peering into his enemy’s mind, Ducos saw only a fog. “There is one man,” he spoke softly.
“Well?”
Ducos’ round, thick spectacle lenses flashed candlelight as he stared at the map. He would have to send a message through the enemy lines, and he risked losing his last agent in British uniform, but perhaps the risk was justified if it brought the French the news they so desperately needed. East, north, a bridge, or a landing? Pierre Ducos nodded. “I shall try.”
Which was why, three days later, a French lieutenant stepped gingerly across a frosted plank bridge that spanned a tributary of the Nive. He shouted cheerfully to warn the enemy sentries that he approached.
Two British redcoats, faces swathed in rags against the bitter cold, called for their own officer. The French lieutenant, seeing he was safe, grinned at the picquet. “Cold, yes?”
“Bloody cold.”
“For you.” The French lieutenant gave the redcoats a cloth-wrapped bundle that contained a loaf of bread and a length of sausage, the usual gesture on occasions such as this, then greeted his British counterpart with a happy familiarity. “I’ve brought the calico for Captain Salmon.” The Frenchman unbuckled his pack. “But I can’t find red silk in Bayonne. Can the colonel’s wife wait?”
“She’ll have to.” The British lieutenant paid silver for the calico and added a plug of dark tobacco as a reward for the Frenchman. “Can you buy coffee?”
“There’s plenty. An American schooner slipped through your blockade.” The Frenchman opened his cartouche. “I also have three letters.” As usual the letters were unsealed as a token that they could be read. More than a few officers in the British Army had acquaintances, friends or relatives in the enemy ranks, and the opposing picquets had always acted as an unofficial postal system between the armies. The Frenchman refused a mug of British tea and promised to bring a four-pound sack of coffee, purchased in the market at Bayonne, the next day. “That’s if you’re still here tomorrow?”
“We’ll be here.”
And thus, in a manner that was entirely normal and quite above suspicion, Pierre Ducos’ message was safely delivered.
“Why ever shouldn’t I visit Michael? It’s eminently proper. After all, no one can expect a sick man to be ill-behaved.” “ Sharpe entirely missed Jane’s pun. ”I don’t want you catching the fever. Give the food to his servant.“
“I’ve visited Michael every day,” Jane said, “and I’m in the most excellent health. Besides, you went to see him.
“Well?”
Ducos’ round, thick spectacle lenses flashed candlelight as he stared at the map. He would have to send a message through the enemy lines, and he risked losing his last agent in British uniform, but perhaps the risk was justified if it brought the French the news they so desperately needed. East, north, a bridge, or a landing? Pierre Ducos nodded. “I shall try.”
Which was why, three days later, a French lieutenant stepped gingerly across a frosted plank bridge that spanned a tributary of the Nive. He shouted cheerfully to warn the enemy sentries that he approached.
Two British redcoats, faces swathed in rags against the bitter cold, called for their own officer. The French lieutenant, seeing he was safe, grinned at the picquet. “Cold, yes?”
“Bloody cold.”
“For you.” The French lieutenant gave the redcoats a cloth-wrapped bundle that contained a loaf of bread and a length of sausage, the usual gesture on occasions such as this, then greeted his British counterpart with a happy familiarity. “I’ve brought the calico for Captain Salmon.” The Frenchman unbuckled his pack. “But I can’t find red silk in Bayonne. Can the colonel’s wife wait?”
“She’ll have to.” The British lieutenant paid silver for the calico and added a plug of dark tobacco as a reward for the Frenchman. “Can you buy coffee?”
“There’s plenty. An American schooner slipped through your blockade.” The Frenchman opened his cartouche. “I also have three letters.” As usual the letters were unsealed as a token that they could be read. More than a few officers in the British Army had acquaintances, friends or relatives in the enemy ranks, and the opposing picquets had always acted as an unofficial postal system between the armies. The Frenchman refused a mug of British tea and promised to bring a four-pound sack of coffee, purchased in the market at Bayonne, the next day. “That’s if you’re still here tomorrow?”
“We’ll be here.”
And thus, in a manner that was entirely normal and quite above suspicion, Pierre Ducos’ message was safely delivered.
“Why ever shouldn’t I visit Michael? It’s eminently proper. After all, no one can expect a sick man to be ill-behaved.” “ Sharpe entirely missed Jane’s pun. ”I don’t want you catching the fever. Give the food to his servant.“
“I’ve visited Michael every day,” Jane said, “and I’m in the most excellent health. Besides, you went to see him.