九味书屋 > 文学经管电子书 > bcornwell.sharpescompany >

第15部分

bcornwell.sharpescompany-第15部分

小说: bcornwell.sharpescompany 字数: 每页4000字

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!



t 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。'
 
 The Lieutenant smiled vaguely; turned away; and vomited。 'Oh; Christ!' The Lieutenant seemed to be having trouble in breathing; but he stood upright again; painfully; and turned back to the Ensign。 'My dear fellow; frightfully sorry。 Bloody Portuguese put garlic in everything。 I'm Harold Price。' Price took off his shako and rubbed his head。 'I missed your name。 Frightfully sorry。'
 
 'Matthews; sir。'
 
 'Matthews。 Matthews。' Price said the name as if it might mean something; and then held his breath as his stomach heaved and; when the spasm had passed; breathed out slowly。 'Forgive me; my dear Matthews。 I think my stomach's delicate this morning。 You wouldn't; I suppose; do me the honour of lending me five pounds? Just for a day or two? Guineas would be better。'
 
 His father had warned him of this; too; but Matthews felt it would be unwise to begin his acquaintance with his new pany by a churlish refusal。 He was aware of the soldiers in the yard listening and he wondered if he was an innocent in some kind of private joke; but what eke could he do?
 
 'Of course; sir。'
 
 Lieutenant Price looked astonished。 'My dear fellow; how kind! Splendid! I'll give you my note; of course。'
 
 'And hope the Ensign gets killed at Badajoz?'
 
 Matthews spun round。 The tall soldier; the one whose back was so horribly scarred; had spoken。 The man's face was scarred; too; and it gave him a knowing; even mocking expression; that was belied by his voice。 He grinned at Matthews。 'He's doing it to everyone。 Borrowing in the hope that they die。 He should make a tidy enough profit。'
 
 Matthews did not know what to say。 The soldier had spoken in a kindly way; but he had not used the word 'sir'; which was disconcerting; and Matthews had the feeling that what little authority his lowly rank endowed was already being dissipated。 He hoped the Lieutenant would intervene; but Price's expression was sheepish as he put the shako on his head and grinned at the scarred man。 'This is Ensign Matthews; sir。 He's brought the replacements。'
 
 The tall; scarred man nodded at the Ensign。 'Glad you're here; Matthews。 I'm Sharpe; Captain Sharpe。 What's your name?'
 
 'Matthews; sir。' The Ensign gaped at Sharpe。 An officer who had been flogged? He realized his answer had been inadequate。 'William; sir。'
 
 'Good morning and wele。' Sharpe was making an effort to be pleasant。 He hated mornings and this morning; in particular; was unpleasant。 Today Teresa was going from Elvas and riding the few miles; across the border; to Badajoz。 Another parting。 'Where did you leave the men?〃
 
 Matthews had not left them anywhere; the Sergeant had made all the decisions; but he pointed through the gate。 'Outside; sir。'
 
 'Get them in; get them in。' Sharpe rubbed his hair dry with a piece of sacking。 'Sergeant Harper! Sergeant Read!' Harper could settle the recruits into the pany; while Read; the Methodist teetotaler; could fuss over the pany books。 It would be a busy day。
 
 Sharpe dressed hurriedly。 The rain had 

返回目录 上一页 下一页 回到顶部 0 0

你可能喜欢的