bcornwell.sharpescompany-第14部分

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　'You　suppose　so！　She　is　pretty；　isn't　she？'
　
　'Yes；　very。'
　
　She　nodded；　satisfied。　'You'll　marry　her。'　He　laughed；　thinking　of　the　impossibility　of　the　idea；　but　she　shook　her　head。　'You　will；　I　can　tell。　Otherwise　why　do　you　carry　this？'
　
　He　shrugged。　'Superstition？　It　keeps　me　alive。'
　
　She　frowned　at　him　and　crossed　herself；　forehead；　belly；　nipple　to　nipple；　an　extravagant　cross　to　warn　off　a　demon。　'What's　she　like？'
　
　Sharpe　pulled　a　blanket　over　Teresa；　her　only　dress　was　drying　by　the　small　fire。　'She's　slim；　she　smiles　a　lot。　She's　very　rich　and　she'll　marry　a　very　rich　man。'　He　grinned　at　her。　'She's　soft。　fortable。'
　
　Teresa　dismissed　the　implied　criticism；　anyone　who　had　the　chance　to　live　in　soft　fort　was　a　fool　to　refuse。　'How　did　you　meet　her？'
　
　Sharpe　was　feeling　unfortable　and　tried　to　change　the　subject；　but　she　insisted。　'Tell　me；　how？'
　
　'She　wanted　to　know　how　her　brother　died。'
　
　Teresa　laughed。　'And　you　told　her？'
　
　'Not　the　truth。　I　told　her　he　was　killed　by　the　French；　fighting　bravely。'
　
　She　laughed　again。　She　knew　the　story；　how　Lieutenant　Gibbons　had　tried　to　kill　Sharpe　and　how　Patrick　Harper　had　bayoneted　the　Lieutenant。　Sharpe　thought　back　to　the　small；　dark　church　in　Essex；　the　blonde　girl　listening　to　his　stumbling　story；　and　the　white　marble　stone　that　mocked　the　truth　about　her　vicious；　selfish；　and　sadistic　brother。
　
　To　the　memory　of　Lieutenant　Christian　Gibbons；　a　Native　of　this　Parish；　who　Volunteered　4　February；　1809；　from　the　Militia　of　this　County　into　the　Regiment　of　the　South　Essex；　then　United　with　the　British　Army　in　the　Wars　against　Tyranny　in　Spain。　He　Distinguished　Himself　on　the　Field　of　Talavera　where；　by　Night　and　by　Day；　the　Attacks　of　the　Enemy　were　Routed。　Such　was　his　Intrepidity　that；　having　Endured　the　Assault　of　the　Outnumbering　Enemy；　He　and　His　pany　Attacked　and　Captured　a　Standard　of　the　French；　the　First　such　Glory　to　be　Gained　by　our　Armies　in　Spain。　While　thus　Confirming　his　Courage　and　Spirit；　he　met　a　Hero's　Death　on　the　8th　Day　of　July；　1809；　in　the　Twenty…Fifth　Year　of　his　Age。　This　Monument　is　erected　as　a　Just　Tribute　to　so　much　Heroism　and　Worth　by　Sir　Henry　Simmerson；　mander　of　the　Victorious　Regiment；　and　by　His　Fellow　Parishioners。　A。　D。　1810。
　
　Sharpe　had　laughed　to　himself；　not　just　because　Sir　Henry　had　managed　to　claim　a　marble　credit　for　the　capture　of　the　Eagle；　which　had　happened　after　Sir　Henry　had　been　relieved　of　mand；　but　because　the　whole　stone　was　a　lie。　Gibbons　had　been　nowhere　near　the　Eagle　when　Sharpe　and　Harper　had　fought　their　way　through　the　enemy　battalion；　but　the　marble　would　still　be　there；　surmounted　by　its　carved　pile　of　weapons；　when　the　truth　had　long　been　forgotten。　There　was　a　knock　on　the　door。　'Who　is　it？'
　
　'Price；　sir。'
　
　'What　is　it？'
　
　'Someone　to　see　you；　sir。　Downstairs。'
　
　Sharpe　swore。　'Who？'
　
　'Major　Hogan；　sir？〃　Price　made　it　a　question；　as　if　Sharpe　might　not　recognize　the　name。
　
　'Good　God！　I'm　on　my　way　down！'
　
　Teresa　watched　as　he　pulled　on　long　boots　and　buckled　the　sword。　'Is　this　the　Hogan　we　send　papers　to？'
　
　'Yes。　You'll　like　him。'　He　felt　her　dress；　it　was　still　damp。　'You'll　e　down？'
　
　She　nodded。　'Soon。'
　
　The　main　room　of　the　inn　was　noisy；　good　natured；　and　boisterous。　Sharpe　pushed　his　way　through　the　officers　and　saw　Hogan；　dripping　wet；　by　the　serving　hatch。　The　Irish　Major　held　out　a　hand　in　wele；　but　gestured　first　at　the　officers。　'They're　in　good　spirits。'
　
　'They　think　Badajoz　will　be　easy。'
　
　'Oh。'　Hogan　raised　his　eyebrows；　then　made　room　for　Sharpe　on　the　bench。　'I　hear　you're　a　father。'
　
　'Does　anybody　not　know？'
　
　'Don't　be　ashamed。　It's　a　fine　thing；　so　it　is。　Wine？'
　
　Sharpe　nodded。　'How　are　you？〃
　
　'Cold；　wet；　busy。　Yourself？'
　
　'Dry；　warm　and　lazy。　What's　the　news？'
　
　Hogan　poured　wine　and　took　out　his　snuffbox。　'The　French　are　dithering　like　wet　hens。　They're　not　trying　to　retake　Ciudad　Rodrigo；　and　they're　not　sending　troops　to　the　south；　instead　they're　all　sending　letters　to　each　other；　blaming　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