"Cornwell, Bernard - Sharpe 19 - Sharpe's Havoc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cornwell Bernard)
Bernard Cornwell
SharpeТs havoc: Richard Sharpe and the campaign in northern Portugal, spring 1809
SharpeТs Havoc is for William T. Oughtred who knows why
CHAPTER 1
Miss Savage was missing. And the French were coming.
The approach of the French was the more urgent crisis. The splintering noise of sustained musket fire was sounding just outside the city and in the last ten minutes five or six cannonballs had battered through the roofs of the houses high on the riverТs northern bank. The Savage house was a few yards down the slope and for the moment was protected from errant French cannon fire, but already the warm spring air hummed with spent musket balls that sometimes struck the thick roof tiles with a loud crack or else ripped through the dark glossy pines to shower needles over the garden. It was a large house, built of white-painted stone and with dark-green shutters closed over the windows. The front porch was crowned with a wooden board on which were gilded letters spelling out the name House Beautiful in English. It seemed an odd name for a building high on the steep hillside where the city of Oporto overlooked the River Douro in northern Portugal, especially as the big square house was not beautiful at all, but quite stark and ugly and angular, even if its harsh lines were softened by dark cedars which would offer welcome shade in summer. A bird was making a nest in one of the cedars and whenever a musket ball tore through the branches it would squawk in alarm and fly a small loop before returning to its work. Scores of fugitives were fleeing past the House Beautiful, running down the hill toward the ferries and the pontoon bridge that would take them safe across the Douro. Some of the refugees drove pigs, goats and cattle, others pushed handcarts precariously loaded with furniture, and more than one carried a grandparent on his back.
Richard Sharpe, Lieutenant in the second battalion of His MajestyТs 95th Rifles, unbuttoned his breeches and pissed on the narcissi in the House BeautifulТs front flower bed. The ground was soaked because there had been a storm the previous night. Lightning had flickered above the city, thunder had billowed across the sky and the heavens had opened so that the flower beds now steamed gently as the hot sun drew out the nightТs moisture. A howitzer shell arched overhead, sounding like a ponderous barrel rolling swiftly over attic floorboards. It left a small gray trace of smoke from its burning fuse. Sharpe looked up at the smoke tendril, judging from its curve where the howitzer had to be emplaced. ДTheyТre getting too bloody close,Ф he said to no one in particular.
ДYouТll be drowning those poor bloody flowers, so you will,Ф Sergeant Harper said, then added a hasty ДsirФ when he saw SharpeТs face.
The howitzer shell exploded somewhere above the tangle of alleys close to the river and a heartbeat later the French cannonade rose to a sustained thunder, but the thunder had a crisp, clear, staccato timbre, suggesting that some of the guns were very close. A new battery, Sharpe thought. It must have unlimbered just outside the city, maybe half a mile away from Sharpe, and was probably whacking the big northern redoubt in the flank, and the musketry that had been sounding like the burning of a dry thorn bush now faded to an intermittent crackle, suggesting that the defending infantry was retreating. Some, indeed, were running and Sharpe could hardly blame them. A large and disorganized Portuguese force, led by the Bishop of Oporto, was trying to stop Marshal SoultТs army from capturing the city, the second largest in Portugal, and the French were winning. The Portuguese road to safety led past the front garden of the House Beautiful and the bishopТs blue-coated soldiers were skedaddling down the hill as fast as their legs could take them, except that when they saw the green-jacketed British riflemen they slowed to a walk as if to prove that they were not panicking. And that, Sharpe reckoned, was a good sign. The Portuguese evidently had pride, and troops with pride would fight well given another chance, though not all the Portuguese troops showed such spirit. The men from the ordenanqa kept running, but that was hardly surprising. The ordenanqa was an enthusiastic but unskilled army of volunteers raised to defend the homeland and the battle-hardened French troops were tearing them to shreds.
Meanwhile Miss Savage was still missing.
Captain Hogan appeared on the front porch of the House Beautiful. He carefully closed the door behind him and then looked up to heaven and swore fluently and impressively. Sharpe buttoned his breeches and his two dozen riflemen inspected their weapons as though they had never seen such things before. Captain Hogan added a few more carefully chosen words, then spat as a French round shot trundled overhead. ДWhat it is, Richard,Ф he said when the cannon shot had passed, Дis a shambles. A bloody, goddamned miserable poxed bollocks of an agglomerated halfwitted shambles.Ф The round shot landed somewhere in the lower town and precipitated the splintering crash of a collapsing roof. Captain Hogan took out his snuffbox and inhaled a mighty pinch.
ДBless you,Ф Sergeant Harper said.
Captain Hogan sneezed and Harper smiled.
ДHer name,Ф Hogan said, ignoring Harper, Дis Catherine or, rather, Kate. Kate Savage, nineteen years old and in need, my God, how she is in need, of a thrashing! A hiding! A damned good smacking, thatТs what she needs, Richard. A copper-sheathed, goddamned bloody good walloping.Ф
ДSo where the hell is she?Ф Sharpe asked.
ДHer mother thinks she might have gone to Vila Real de Zedes,Ф Captain Hogan said, Дwherever in GodТs holy hell that might be. But the family has an estate there. A place where they go to escape the summer heat.Ф He rolled his eyes in exasperation.
ДSo why would she go there, sir?Ф Sergeant Harper asked.
ДBecause sheТs a fatherless nineteen-year-old girl,Ф Hogan said, Дwho insists on having her own way. Because sheТs fallen out with her mother. Because sheТs a bloody idiot who deserves a ruddy good hiding. Because, oh I donТt know why! Because sheТs young and knows everything, thatТs why.Ф Hogan was a stocky, middle-aged Irishman, a Royal Engineer, with a shrewd face, a soft brogue, graying hair and a charitable disposition. ДBecause sheТs a bloody halfwit, thatТs why,Ф he finished.
ДThis Vila Real de whatever,Ф Sharpe said, Дis it far? Why donТt we just fetch her?Ф
ДColonel Christopher is coming with us?Ф Sharpe asked, appalled.
ДDidnТt I just tell you that?Ф Hogan inquired innocently, then turned as a clatter of hooves announced the appearance of the widow SavageТs traveling coach from the stable yard at the rear of the house. The coach was heaped with baggage and there was even some furniture and two rolled carpets lashed onto the rear rack where a coachman, precariously poised between a half-dozen gilded chairs, was leading HoganТs black mare by the reins. The Captain took the horse and used the coachТs mounting step to hoist himself into the saddle. ДYouТll be back with us in a couple of days,Ф he assured Sharpe. ДSay six, seven hours to Vila Real de Zedes? The same back to the ferry at Barca dТAvintas and then a quiet stroll home. You know where Barca dТAvintas is?Ф
ДNo, sir.Ф
ДThat way.Ф Hogan pointed eastward. ДFour country miles.Ф He pushed his right boot into its stirrup, then lifted his body to flick out the tails of his blue coat. ДWith luck you may even rejoin us tomorrow night.Ф
ДWhat I donТt understand ... У Sharpe began, then paused because the front door of the house had been thrown open and Mrs. Savage, widow and mother of the missing daughter, came into the sunlight. She was a good-looking woman in her forties: dark-haired, tall and slender with a pale face and high arched eyebrows. She hurried down the steps as a cannonball rumbled overhead and then there was a smattering of musket fire alarmingly close, so close that Sharpe climbed the porch steps to stare at the crest of the hill where the Braga road disappeared between a large tavern and a handsome church. A Portuguese six-pounder gun had just deployed by the church and was now firing at the invisible enemy. The bishopТs forces had dug new redoubts on the crest and patched the old medieval wall with hastily erected palisades and earthworks, but the sight of the small gun firing from its makeshift position in the center of the road suggested that those defenses were crumbling fast.
Mrs. Savage sobbed that her baby daughter was lost, then Captain Hogan managed to persuade the widow into the carriage. Two servants laden with bags stuffed with clothes followed their mistress into the vehicle. ДYou will find Kate?Ф Mrs. Savage pushed open the door and inquired of Captain Hogan.
ДThe precious darling will be with you very soon,Ф Hogan said reassuringly. ДMister Sharpe will see to that,Ф he added, then used his foot to close the coach door on Mrs. Savage, who was the widow of one of the many British wine merchants who lived and worked in the city of Oporto. She was rich, Sharpe presumed, certainly rich enough to own a fine carriage and the lavish House Beautiful, but she was also foolish for she should have left the city two or three days before, but she had stayed because she had evidently believed the bishopТs assurance that he could repel Marshal SoultТs army. Colonel Christopher, who had once lodged m the strangely named House Beautiful, had appealed to the British forces south of the river to send men to escort Mrs. Savage safely away and Captain Hogan had been the closest officer and Sharpe, with his riflemen, had been protecting Hogan while the engineer mapped northern Portugal, and so Sharpe had come north across the Douro with twenty-four of his men to escort Mrs. Savage and any other threatened British inhabitants of Oporto to safety. Which should have been a simple enough task, except that at dawn the widow Savage had discovered that her daughter had fled from the house.
ДWhat I donТt understand,Ф Sharpe persevered, Дis why she ran away.Ф
ДSheТs probably in love,Ф Hogan explained airily. ДNineteen-year-old girls of respectable families are dangerously susceptible to love because of all the novels they read. See you in two days, Richard, or maybe even tomorrow? Just wait for Colonel Christopher, heТll be with you directly, and listen.Ф He bent down from the saddle and lowered his voice so that no one but Sharpe could hear him. ДKeep a close eye on the Colonel, Richard. I worry about him, I do.Ф
ДYou should worry about me, sir.Ф
ДI do that too, Richard, I do indeed,Ф Hogan said, then straightened up, waved farewell and spurred his horse after Mrs. SavageТs carriage which had swung out of the front gate and joined the stream of fugitives going toward the Douro.
The sound of the carriage wheels faded. The sun came from behind a cloud just as a French cannonball struck a tree on the hillТs crest and exploded a cloud of reddish blossoms which drifted above the cityТs steep slope. Daniel Hagman stared at the airborne blossoms. ДLooks like a wedding,Ф he said and then, glancing up as a musket ball ricocheted off a roof tile, brought a pair of scissors from his pocket. ДFinish your hair, sir?Ф
ДWhy not, Dan,Ф Sharpe said. He sat on the porch steps and took off his shako.
Sergeant Harper checked that the sentinels were watching the north. A troop of Portuguese cavalry had appeared on the crest where the single cannon was firing bravely. A rattle of musketry proved that some infantry was still fighting, but more and more troops were retreating past the house and Sharpe knew it could only be a matter of minutes before the cityТs defenses collapsed entirely. Hagman began slicing away at SharpeТs hair. ДYou donТt like it over the ears, ainТt that right?Ф
ДI like it short, Dan.Ф
ДShort like a good sermon, sir,Ф Hagman said. ДNow keep still, sir, just keep still.Ф There was a sudden stab of pain as Hagman speared a louse with the scissorsТ blade. He spat on the drop of blood that showed on SharpeТs scalp, then wiped it away. ДSo the Crapauds will get the city, sir?Ф
ДLooks like it,Ф Sharpe said.
ДAnd theyТll march on Lisbon next?Ф Hagman asked, cutting away.
ДLong way to Lisbon,Ф Sharpe said.
ДMaybe, sir, but thereТs an awful lot of them, sir, and precious few of us.Ф
ДBut they say WellesleyТs coming here,Ф Sharpe said.
ДAs you keep telling us, sir,Ф Hagman said, Дbut is he really a miracle worker?Ф
ДYou fought at Copenhagen, Dan,Ф Sharpe said, Дand down the coast here.Ф He meant the battles at Rolica and Vimeiro. ДYou could see for yourself.Ф
ДFrom the skirmish line, sir, all generals are the same,Ф Hagman said, Дand who knows if Sir ArthurТs really coming?Ф It was, after all, only a rumor that Sir Arthur Wellesley was taking over from General Cradock and not everyone believed it. Many thought the British would withdraw, ought to withdraw, that they should give up the game and let the French have Portugal. ДTurn your head to the right,Ф Hagman said. The scissors clicked busily, not even pausing as a round shot buried itself in the church at the hillТs top. A mist of dust showed beside the whitewashed bell tower down which a crack had suddenly appeared. The Portuguese cavalry had been swallowed by the gun smoke and a trumpet called far away. There was a burst of musketry, then silence. A building must have been burning beyond the crest for there was a great smear of smoke drifting westward. ДWhy would someone call their home the House Beautiful?Ф Hagman wondered.
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