bcornwell.sharpescompany-第13部分
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aming each other。' Hogan raised his glass。 'Your health； Richard； your family's health。'
Sharp blushed self…consciously； but raised his glass。 He watched Hogan take a vast pinch of snuff。 'What are you doing here？'
The Major's eyes watered； his mouth opened； and he sneezed fit to extinguish a chandelier。 'Mary； Moses and Martha； but that's powerful muck！ Badajoz； Richard； always Badajoz。 I'm taking a wee look and then reporting back to the Peer。' He wiped his moustache。 'Mind you； I don't expect it to have changed much from the last year。'
'And？' Sharpe knew Hogan had been present at both failures to take Badajoz in 1811。
Hogan shrugged。 'It's a bastard； Richard； a real bastard。 The walls are like the Tower of London； so they are； and you can add Windsor Castle up on that hill over the river。 They've got ditches that can swallow an army。' The Irishman shook his head。 'I would not be hopeful。'
'As bad as that？'
'Who knows？' Hogan swallowed wine。 'It's a big place； so it is； and they can't defend every inch of those walls。 I suppose the Peer will put in several attacks at once； I don't know。'
Wellington probably would attack the walls in several different places； just as he had put three attacks on to Ciudad Rodrigo in the one night； but several attacks at once did not guarantee success。 Old soldiers； men who had fought with Wellington in India； knew that he did not like siege work。 The Peer was frugal with his men in battles； fought for their health between campaigns； but would throw them like random grapeshot at the walls of a fortress to shorten a siege。 Sharpe shrugged。 'It has to be done。'
'As the virgin said。' Hogan grinned。 'What news of you？'
'Not much。' Sharpe traced the letter 'A' in spilt wine on the table； then scrubbed it out。 'Recruits are joining us at Elvas。 Two hundred men and officers； so we're told； but no news of a Colonel。 Have you heard？'
Hogan spat out an olive pip。 'Not a word。 I'll bet you two cases of wine to one； that you'll get one before the siege。'
'Which starts when？'
Hogan thought about it； juggling an olive in his hand。 'Three weeks？ The guns are ing round by sea。 Everything's moving。'
Sharpe looked through the small window by the back door at the rain which was pelting down； 'You'll need better weather。'
Hogan shrugged。 'It can't rain for ever。'
〃That's what Noah's brother said。'
Hogan smiled。 'Aye； but at least he was spared shoveling elephant dung for forty days。'
Sharpe grinned。 The Battalion would soon be shoveling mud； digging forward to the great fortress and； as he thought of Badajoz； his expression changed。 Hogan saw the worry。
'What's the problem？'
Sharpe shook his head。 'Nothing。'
'Would it be that gazette； now？'
Sharpe gave a minute shrug。 'I suppose so。'
'They're fool's gold； sure enough； but they can't take it away from you； not now。'
'Would you bet me some wine on that？'
Hogan said nothing。 There was no answer。 The Horse Guards had promoted officers who were totally blind； others who were only outside of the madhouse because of their money and connections； and they were certainly not in the habit of ratifying gazettes simply because a man was good at his job。 Hogan shook his head； raised his glass again。 'A pox to pen pushers。'
'May they rot in agony。'
There was a heaving of bodies near the serving hatch； a weling smile on Hogan's face； and Major Forrest joined them。 Sharpe half listened to Hogan repeating his news； but his thoughts drifted away； back to that damned gazette。 If only they would ratify it； he could relax。 He tried to imagine what would happen if they did not； if he were to find himself a Lieutenant again。 He would have to salute Knowles； call him 'sir'； and someone else would lead the pany that Sharpe had trained； brought up； and led through two years of war。 He remembered his first sight of them； cowed and helpless； but now they were as fine as any soldiers in the army。 He could not imagine losing them； losing Harper？ Good God！ Losing Harper！
'Good God！' For a moment Sharpe thought Hogan had been reading his thoughts； and then he saw the Major staring across the room。 Hogan shook his head。 'If ever any beauty I did see which I desired and got； 'twas but a dream of she。' Teresa had e into the room and was crossing towards them。 Hogan turned to Forrest。 'Would she be your lady； Major？ She can't be Sharpe's。 The man has no taste！ He hasn't even heard of John Donne； let alone recognize a misquotation。 No。 Something as beautiful as that would only fall in love with a man of taste； a man like you； Major； or me。' He twitched at his collar as Forrest blushed with pleasure。
Lieutenant Price had gone on his knees to Teresa； blocking her path； and was offering her his undying love in the form of a red pepper held up like a rose。 The other Lieutenants encouraged him； shouted at Teresa that Harold Price had prospects； but she just blew him a kiss and stepped past him。 Sharpe was so immensely proud of her。 In any place in the world； in any drawing room； in any theatre； in any palace； let alone in a damp； smoky inn at Portalegre； she would be counted beautiful。 The mother of his child。 His woman。 He stood up for her； embarrassed that his pleasure was obvious to so many； and offered her a chair。 He introduced Hogan who dropped into his fluent Spanish and made her laugh。 She glanced at Sharpe； eyes fond under the long； dark lashes； listened to the Irishman's nonsense； and laughed again。 The Engineer toasted her； flirted with her； and looked at Sharpe。 'You're a lucky man； Richard。'
'I know； sir； I know。'
Lieutenant Price was left with the red pepper。 He threw it across the room and followed it with a bellowed question。 'Where are we going？'
'Badajoz！' The room roared with laughter。
PART TWO
February…March 1812
CHAPTER 8
Halt！' Boots thudded on to the roadway。 'Stand bloody still； you bastards！ Still！' The Sergeant cackled； ground his few remaining teeth together； turned away and immediately spun back。 'I said still！ If you want your sodding bum scratched； Gutteridge； I'll do it with my bayonet！ Still！' He turned to the young officer and snapped an immaculate salute。 'Sir！'
The Ensign； visibly nervous of the tall Sergeant； returned the salute。 'Thank you； Sergeant。'
'Don't thank me； sir。 My job； sir。' The Sergeant gave his habitual cackle； a wild； disfiting sound； and his eyes flicked left and right。 The Sergeant's eyes were blue； almost a baby blue； the Ensign decided； while the rest of him was yellow； fever yellow； a sickly cast over his hair； teeth and skin。 The baby blue eyes settled on the Ensign。 'Are you going to find the Captain； sir； are you？ Tell him we've arrived； sir？'
'Yes； of course。'
'Give him my best； sir。 My very best。' The Sergeant cackled again； and the cackle turned into a racking cough； and the head twitched on its long； scrawny neck that had the terrible scar。
The Ensign walked into the courtyard that had SE/LC chalked on the gatepost。 He was relieved to be away from the Sergeant； his constant bane on the long journey from the South Essex depot； and relieved that the other officers of the South Essex Light pany could now share the brunt of the Sergeant's madness。 No； that was not right。 The Sergeant was not mad； the Ensign decided； but there was something about him that spoke of the possibility of utter horror that lurked just bellow the yellow surface。 The Sergeant was terrifying： the Ensign； as he was to the recruits。
The soldiers in the courtyard were almost as frightening。 They had the look that other veterans in Portugal had assumed； a look quite at odds with soldiering in England。 Their uniforms had turned from scarlet into either a faded； whitish pink； or else into a dark； virulent purple。 The monest colour was brown where jackets and trousers had been repeatedly patched with coarse； peasant cloth。 Their skins； even in winter； were dark brown。 Above all； the Ensign noticed； was their air of confidence。 They carried themselves casually； at home with their polished and battered weapons； and the Ensign felt ill at ease in his new scarlet jacket with its bright yellow facings。 An Ensign was the lowest of all missioned officers and William Matthews； a sixteen…year…old who pretended to shave； was scared by the first sight of these men he was supposed to mand。
A man was bent beneath the yard pump； a second man working the handle so that water pulsed on to his head and naked back。 As the man stood up Matthews saw a lattice of thick scars that had been caused by a flogging and the Ensign turned away； sickened by the sight。 His father had warned him that the army attracted the filth of society； the troublemakers； and Matthews knew he had just seen such a piece of human flotsam。 Another soldier； for some reason dressed in Rifle green； saw his expression and grinned。 Matthews knew he was being watched； and judged； but then an officer appeared； dressed properly； and it was with relief that he crossed to the newer； a Lieutenant； and saluted。 'Ensign Matthews； sir。 Reporting with the recruits。'
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