"Cornwell, Bernard - Sharpe 04 - Sharpe's Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cornwell Bernard)

УYes, sir!Ф Sergeant Patrick Harper pushed the Frenchman towards the path and followed Captain Richard Sharpe out of the wood.
Leroux relaxed. The moment of capture was always the moment of greatest danger, but the tall Rifleman was taking him to safety, and with him went the secret Napoleon wanted. El Mirador.


CHAPTER 1
УGod damn it, Sharpe! Hurry, man!Ф
УYes, sir.Ф Sharpe made no attempt to hurry. He painstakingly read the piece of paper, knowing that his slowness irritated Lieutenant Colonel Windham. The Colonel slapped a booted leg with his riding crop.
УWe havenТt got all day, Sharpe! ThereТs a war to win.Ф
УYes, sir.Ф Sharpe repeated the words in a patient, stubborn tone. He would not hurry. This was his revenge on Windham for allowing Captain Delmas to have parole. He tipped the paper so that the firelight illuminated the black ink.
УI, the undersigned, Paul Delmas, Captain in the Fifth Regiment of Dragoons, taken prisoner by the English Forces on 14th june, 1812, undertake upon my Honour not to seek to Escape nor to Remove myself from Captivity without Permission, and not pass any Knowledge to the French Forces or their Allies, until I have been Exchanged, Rank for Rank, or Otherwise Released from this Bond. Signed, Paul Delmas. Witnessed by me, Joseph Forrest, Major in His Britannic MajestyТs South Essex Regiment.Ф
Colonel Windham rapped with his crop again, the noise loud in the predawn chill. УDammit, Sharpe!Ф
УSeems to be in order, Sir.Ф
УOrder! Blood and hounds, Sharpe! Who are you to say WhatТs in order! Good God! I say itТs in order! I do! Remember me, Sharpe? Your commanding officer?Ф
Sharpe grinned. УYes, sir.Ф He handed the parole up to Windham who took it with elaborate courtesy.
УThank you, Mr. Sharpe. We have your gracious permission to get bloody moving?Ф
УCarry on, sir.Ф Sharpe grinned again. He had come to like Windham in the six months that the Colonel had commanded the South Essex, a regard that was also held by the Colonel for his wayward and brilliant Captain of the Light Company. Now, though, Windham still seethed with impatience.
УHis sword, Sharpe! For GodТs sake, man! Hurry!Ф
УYes, sir.Ф Sharpe turned to one of the houses in the village where the South Essex had bivouacked. The dawn was a grey line in the east. УSergeant!Ф
УSir!Ф
УThe bloody frogТs sword!Ф
УSharpe!Ф Colonel WindhamТs protest sounded resigned.
Patrick Harper turned and bellowed into one of the houses. УMr. McDonald, sir! The French gentlemanТs sword, sir, if youТd get a move on, sir!Ф
McDonald, SharpeТs new Ensign, just sixteen years old and desperately eager to please his famous Captain, hurried from the house with the beautiful, scabbarded blade. He tripped in his haste, was held by Harper, and then he came to Sharpe and gave him the sword.
God, but he wanted it! He had handled the weapon during . the night, feeling its balance, knowing the power of the plain, shining steel, and Sharpe had felt the lust to own this sword. This was a thing of lethal beauty, made by a master, worthy of a great fighter.
УMonsieur?Ф DelmasТs voice was mild, polite.
Beyond Delmas Sharpe could see Lossow, the Captain of the German Cavalry and SharpeТs friend, who had driven Delmas into the prepared trap. Lossow had held the sword too, and shaken his head in mute wonder at the weapon. Now he watched as Sharpe handed the weapon to the
Frenchman, a symbol that he had given his parole and could be trusted with his personal weapon.
Windham gave an exaggerated sigh. УNow, perhaps, we can start?Ф
The Light Company marched first behind LossowТs cavalry screen, striking up onto the plains before the dayТs heat rose in the sky to blind them with sweat and choke them with warm, gritty dust. Sharpe went on foot, unlike most officers, because he had always gone on foot. He had entered the army as a private, wearing the red jacket of the line Regiments and marching with a heavy musket on his shoulder. Later, much later, he had made the impossible jump from Sergeant to officer, joining the elite Rifles with their distinctive green jacket, but Sharpe still marched on foot. He was an infantryman and he marched as his men marched, and he carried a rifle as they carried their rifles or muskets. The South Essex were a redcoat Battalion, but Sharpe, Sergeant Harper, and the nucleus of the Light Company were all Riflemen, accidentally attached to the Battalion, and they proudly retained their dark green jackets.
Light flooded grey on the plain, the sun hinting with a pale red strip in the east of the heat to come, and Sharpe could see the dark shapes of the cavalry outlined on the dawn. The British were marching east, invading French-held Spain, aiming at the great city of Salamanca. Most of the army was far to the south, marching on a dozen roads, while the South Essex with LossowТs men and a handful of Engineers had been sent north to destroy a small French fort that guarded a ford across the Tormes. The job had been done, the fort abandoned by the enemy, and now the South Essex marched to rejoin WellingtonТs troops. It would take two days before they were back with the army and Sharpe knew they would be days of relentless heat as they crossed the dry plain.
Captain Lossow dropped behind his cavalry to be beside Sharpe. He nodded down at the Rifleman. УI donТt trust your Frenchman, Richard.Ф
УNor do I.Ф
Lossow was not discouraged by SharpeТs curt tone. He was used to SharpeТs morning surliness. УItТs strange, I think, for a Dragoon to have a straight sword. He should have a sabre, yes?Ф
УTrue.Ф Sharpe made an effort to sound more sociable. УWe should have killed the bastard in the wood.Ф
УThatТs true. ItТs the only thing to do with Frenchmen. Kill them.Ф Lossow laughed. Like most of the Germans in BritainТs army, he came from a homeland that had been overrun by NapoleonТs troops. УI wonder what happened to the second man.Ф
УYou lost him.Ф
Lossow grinned at the insult. УNever. He hid himself. I hope the Partisans get him.Ф The German drew a finger across his throat to hint at the way the Spanish Guerilleros treated their French captives. Then he smiled down at Sharpe. УYou wanted his sword, ja?Ф
Sharpe shrugged, then spoke the truth. ДJa.У
УYouТll get it, my friend! YouТll get it!Ф Lossow laughed and trotted ahead, back to his men. He truly did believe that Sharpe would get the sword, though whether the sword would make Sharpe happy was another matter. Lossow knew Sharpe. He knew the restless spirit that drove the Rifleman through this war, a spirit that drove Sharpe from achievement to achievement. Once Sharpe had wanted to capture a French standard, an Eagle, something never done before by a Briton, and he had done it at Talavera. Later he had defied the Partisans, the French, even his own side, in taking the gold across Spain, and in doing it he had met and wanted Teresa. He had won her too, marrying her just two months ago, after he had been the first man across the death-filled breach at Badajoz. Sharpe, Lossow suspected, often got what he wanted, but the achievements never seemed to satisfy. His friend, the German decided, was like a man who, searching for a crock of gold, found ten and rejected them all because the pots were the wrong shape. He laughed at the thought.
They marched two days, bivouacking early and marching before dawn and, on the morning of the third day, the dawn revealed a smear of fine dust in the sky, a great plume that showed where WellingtonТs main force covered the roads leading towards Salamanca. Captain Paul Delmas, conspicuous in his strange rust-red pantaloons and with the tall, brass helmet on his head, spurred past Sharpe to stare at the dust cloud as if he hoped to see beneath it the masses of infantry, cavalry and artillery that marched to challenge the greater forces of France. Colonel Windham followed the Frenchman, but reined in beside Sharpe. УA damn fine horseman, Sharpe!Ф
УYes, sir.Ф
Windham pushed back his bicorne hat and scratched at his greying scalp. УHe seems a decent enough fellow, Sharpe.Ф
УYou talked to him, sir?Ф
УGood God, no! I donТt speak Froggy. Snap! Come here! Snap!Ф Windham was shouting at one of his foxhounds, perpetual companions to the Colonel. Most of the pack had been left in Portugal, in summer quarters, but half a dozen outrageously spoiled dogs came with the Colonel. УNo, Leroy chatted to him.Ф Windham managed to convey that the American Major was bound to speak French, being a foreigner himself. Americans were strange, anyone was strange to Windham who did not have true English blood. УHe hunts, you know.Ф
УMajor Leroy, sir?Ф
УNo, Sharpe. Delmas. Mind you, they hunt bloody queer in France. Packs of bloody poodles. I suppose theyТre trying to copy us and just canТt get it right.Ф
УProbably, sir.Ф
Windham glanced at Sharpe to see if his leg was being pulled, but the RiflemanТs face was neutral. The Colonel courteously touched his hat. УWonТt keep you, Sharpe.Ф He turned to the Light Company. УWell done, you scoundrels! Hard marching, eh? Soon over!Ф
It was over at mid-day when the Battalion reached the hills directly across the river from Salamanca. A messenger had come from the army, ordering the South Essex to that spot while the rest of the army marched further east to the fords that would take them to the north bank. The French had left a garrison in the city that overlooked the long Roman bridge and the job of the South Essex was to make sure that none of the garrison tried to escape across the river. It promised to be an easy, restful afternoon. The garrison planned to stay; the guard on the bridge was nothing more than a formal gesture.
Sharpe had been to Salamanca four years before with Sir John MooreТs ill fated army. He had seen the city then in winter, under a cold sleet and an uncertain future, but he had never forgotten it. He stood now on the hill crest two hundred yards from the southern end of the Roman bridge and stared at the city over the water. The rest of the Battalion were behind him, out of sight of the French guns in the forts, and only the Light Company and Windham were with him. The Colonel had come to see the city.