"Cornwell, Bernard - Sharpe 00 - Sharpe's Fortress" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cornwell Bernard)

A dry ditch ran through the tall crops and the men of the company sat
on the ditch lip as they waited for orders. One or two lay back and
slept with their mouths wide open while Sergeant Colquhoun leafed
though his tattered Bible. The Sergeant was short-sighted, so had to
hold the book very close to his nose from which drops of sweat fell
onto the pages. Usually the Sergeant read quietly, mouthing the words
and sometimes frowning when he came across a difficult name, but today
he was just slowly turning the pages with a wetted finger.

"Looking for inspiration, Sergeant?" Sharpe asked.

"I am not, sir," Colquhoun answered respectfully, but somehow managed
to convey that the question was still impertinent. He dabbed a finger
on his tongue and carefully turned another page.

So much for that bloody conversation, Sharpe thought. Somewhere ahead,
beyond the tall plants that grew higher than a man, another cannon
fired. The discharge was muffled by the thick stems. A horse neighed,
but Sharpe could not see the beast. He could see nothing through the
high crops.

"Are you going to read us a story, Sergeant?" Corporal McCallum asked.
He spoke in English instead of Gaelic, which meant that he wanted
Sharpe to hear.

"I am not, John. I am not."

"Go on, Sergeant," McCallum said.

"Read us one of those dirty tales about tits."

The men laughed, glancing at Sharpe to see if he was offended.

One of the sleeping men jerked awake and looked about him, startled,
then muttered a curse, slapped at a fly and lay back. The other
soldiers of the company dangled their boots towards the ditch's crazed
mud bed that was decorated with a filigree of dried green scum. A dead
lizard lay in one of the dry fissures. Sharpe wondered how the carrion
birds had missed it.

"The laughter of fools, John McCallum," Sergeant Colquhoun said, 'is
like the crackling of thorns under the pot."

"Away with you, Sergeant!" McCallum said.

"I heard it in the kirk once, when I was a wee kid, all about a woman
whose tits were like bunches of grapes." McCallum twisted to look at
Sharpe.