bcornwell.sharpescompany-第8部分

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！


rmed　past　the　two　silent　guns　towards　the　streets　of　the　town。　A　few　shots　came　from　doors　and　windows；　but　only　a　few；　and　the　British　horde　flooded　down　the　rubble　to　where　the　breach　had　smothered　the　old　mediaeval　wall。　It　was　over。
　
　Or　nearly。　A　second　mine　had　been　put　in　the　ruins　of　the　old　wall。　Black　powder　had　been　crammed　into　an　old　postern　and　now　the　French　lit　the　fuse　and　ran　back　into　the　streets。　The　mine　exploded。　Flame　streaked　up　from　the　darkness；　old　stones　shattered　outwards；　boiling　smoke　and　dust；　and　with　it　came　the　stench　of　roasted　flesh　and　the　head　of　the　victorious　column　was　uselessly　decimated。　For　a　second　there　was　a　stunned　silence；　time　just　to　draw　breath；　and　then　the　shout　was　not　for　victory；　but　for　revenge；　and　the　troops　took　their　anger　into　the　defenseless　streets。
　
　Harper　watched　the　howling　mob　flow　into　the　city。　'You　think　we're　invited？'
　
　'Why　not？'
　
　The　Frenchman　was　a　slim　man　with　a　thin；　fair　moustache　beneath　a　straight；　hooked　nose。　Sharpe　could　see　the　man's　fear。　The　Frenchman　did　not　want　to　make　a　solo　attack；　but　he　had　his　pride；　and　he　hoped　his　men　would　follow。　They　did　not。　Instead　they　called　to　him；　told　him　not　to　be　a　fool；　but　he　walked　on；　looking　at　Sharpe；　and　his　sword　was　ridiculously　slim　as　he　lowered　it　to　the　guard。　He　said　something　to　Sharpe；　who　shook　his　head；　but　the　Frenchman　insisted　and　lunged　at　Sharpe；　who　was　forced　to　leap　back　and　bring　up　the　huge　sword　in　a　clumsy　parry。　Sharpe's　anger　had　gone　in　the　cool　air；　the　fight　was　over；　and　he　was　irritated　by　the　Frenchman's　insistence。　'Go　away！　Vamos！'　He　tried　to　remember　the　words　in　French；　but　he　could　not。
　
　The　Irish　laughed。　'Put　him　over　your　knee；　Captain！'　The　Frenchman　was　little　more　than　a　boy；　ridiculously　young；　but　brave。　He　came　forward　again；　the　sword　level；　and　this　time　Sharpe　jumped　towards　him；　growled；　and　the　Frenchman　rocked　back。
　
　Sharpe　dropped　his　own　blade。　'Give　up！'
　
　The　answer　was　another　lunge　that　came　close　to　Sharpe's　chest。　He　leaned　back　and　beat　the　sword　aside。　He　could　feel　his　anger　returning。　He　swore　at　the　man；　jerked　his　head　down　the　ramparts；　but　still　the　fool　came　forward；　incensed　by　the　Irish　laughter；　and　again　Sharpe　had　to　parry　and　force　him　back。
　
　Harper　finished　the　farce。　He　had　worked　his　way　behind　the　officer　and；　as　the　Frenchman　looked　at　Sharpe　for　another　attack；　the　Sergeant　coughed。　'Sir？　Monsewer？'　The　officer　looked　round。　The　giant　Irishman　smiled　at　him；　came　forward　unarmed　and　very　slowly。　'Monsewer？'
　
　The　officer　nodded　to　Harper；　frowned；　and　said　something　in　French。　The　huge　Sergeant　nodded　seriously。　'Quite　right；　sir；　quite　right。　'　Then　a　giant　fist　traveled　from　some　place　low　down；　up；　and　straight　on　to　the　Frenchman's　chin。　He　crumpled；　the　Connaught　men　gave　an　ironic　cheer；　and　Harper　laid　the　senseless　body　beside　the　rampart。　'Poor　wee　fool。　'　He　grinned　at　Sharpe；　immensely　pleased　with　himself；　and　looked　over　towards　the　breach。　The　fight　still　went　on。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　4
　
　There　was　a　scream　from　inside　the　town；　shots　as　men　blew　open　the　doors　of　houses；　and　over　it　all　the　sound　of　triumphant　voices。　After　the　fight；　the　reward。
　
　Harper　reached　the　body　first；　plucked　the　cloak　to　one　side；　and　bent　over　the　bloodied　chest。　'He's　alive；　sir。　'
　
　It　seemed　to　Sharpe　like　a　parody　of　life。　The　explosion　had　sheared　Lawford's　left　arm　almost　clean　from　his　body；　crushed　the　ribs　and　flicked　them　open　so　they　protruded　through　the　remnants　of　skin　and　flesh。　The　blood　was　flowing　beneath　the　once　immaculate　uniform。　Harper　began　tearing　the　cloak　into　strips；　his　mouth　a　tight　line　of　anger　and　sorrow。　Sharpe　looked　towards　the　breach　where　men　still　clambered　towards　the　houses。　'Bandsmen！'
　
　The　bands　had　played　during　the　assault。　He　remembered　hearing　the　music　and　now；　idiotically；　he　could　suddenly　identify　the　tune　he　had　heard。　'The　Downfall　of　Paris'。　By　now　the　bandsmen　should　be　doing　their　other　job；　of　caring　for　the　wounded；　but　he　could　see　none。　'Bandsmen！'
　
　Miraculously　Lieutenant　Price　appeared；　pale　and　unsteady；　and　with　him　a　small　group　of　the　Light　pany。　'Sir？'
　'A　stretcher。　Fast！　And　send　someone　back　to　battalion。　'
　Price　saluted。　He　had　forgotten　the　drawn　sword　in　his　hand　so　that　the　blade；　a　curved　sabre；　nearly　sliced　into　Private　Peters。　'Sir。　'　The　small　group　ran　back。
　Lawford　was　unconscious。　Harper　was　binding　the　chest；　his　huge　fingers　astonishingly　gentle　with　the　tattered　flesh。　He　looked　up　at　Sharpe。　'Take　the　arm　off；　sir。　'
　'What？'
　'Better　now　than　later；　sir。　'　The　Sergeant　pointed　at　the　Colonel's　left　arm；　held　by　a　single；　glistening　shred　of　tissue。　'He　might　live；　sir；　so　he　might；　but　the　arm　will　have　to　go…'
　
　A　splintered　piece　of　bone　protruded　from　the　stump。　The　arm　was　bent　unnaturally　upwards；　pointing　towards　the　city；　and　Harper　was　binding　the　brief　stump　to　stop　the　weakly　pulsing　blood。　Sharpe　picked　his　way　to　Lawford's　head；　treading　carefully　for　the　ground　was　slick；　though　whether　with　blood　or　ice　it　was　impossible　to　see。　The　only　light　came　from　the　burning　timber。　He　put　the　point　of　his　sword　down　into　the　bloodied　mess　and　Harper　moved　the　blade　till　it　was　in　the　right　place。　'Leave　the　skin；　sir。　It'll　flap　over。　'
　
　It　was　no　different　from　butchering　a　pig　or　a　bullock；　but　it　felt　different。　He　could　hear　crashes　from　the　city；　punctuating　the　screams。　'Is　that　right？'　He　could　feel　Harper　manipulating　the　blade。
　'Now；　sir。　Straight　down。　'
　
　Sharpe　pushed　down；　with　both　hands；　almost　as　if　he　was　driving　a　stake　into　mud。　Human　flesh　is　resilient；　proof　against　all　but　the　hottest　stroke；　and　Sharpe　felt　the　gorge　rise　in　his　throat　as　the　sword　met　resistance　and　he　heaved　down　so　that　Lawford　tipped　in　the　scarlet　slush　and　the　Colonel's　lips　grimaced。　Then　it　was　done；　the　arm　free；　and　Sharpe　stooped　to　the　dead　fingers　and　pulled　off　a　gold　ring。　He　would　give　it　to　Forrest　to　be　sent　home　with　the　Colonel　or；　God　forbid；　to　be　sent　to　his　relatives。
　Lieutenant　Price　was　back。　'They're　ing；　sir。　〃
　'Who？'
　〃The　Major；　sir。　'
　'A　stretcher？'
　Price　nodded；　looking　sick。　'Will　he　live；　sir？'
　'How　the　hell　do　I　know？'　It　was　not　fair　to　vent　his　anger　on　Price。　'What　was　he　doing　here　anyway？'
　Price　shrugged　miserably。　'He　said　he　was　going　to　find　you；　sir。　'
　Sharpe　stared　down　at　the　handsome　Colonel　and　swore。
　Lawford　had　no　business　in　the　breach。　The　same；　perhaps；　could　have　been　said　of　Sharpe　and　Harper；　but　the　tall　Rifleman　saw　a　difference。　Lawford　had　a　future；　hopes；　a　family　to　protect；　ambitions　that　were　within　his　grasp；　and　soldiering　was　not　where　those　ambitions　finally　lay。　They　might　all　be　thrown　away　for　one　mad　moment　in　a　breach；　a　moment　to　prove　something。　Sharpe　and　Harper　had　no　such　future；　no　such　hopes；　only　the　knowledge　that　they　were　soldiers；　as　good　as　their　last　battle；　useful　as　long　as　they　could　fight。　They　were　both；　Sharpe　thought；　adventurers；　gambling　with　their　lives。　He　looked　at　the　Colonel。　It　was　such　a　waste。
　
　Sharpe　listened　to　the　great　noise　ing　from　the　city；　a　noise　of　rampage　and　victory。　Once；　perhaps；　he　thought；　an　adventurer　had　a　future；　back　when　the　world　was　free　and　a　sword　was　the　passport　to　any　hope。　Not　now。　Everything　was　changing　with　a　suddenness　and　pace　that　was　bewildering。　Three　years　before；　when　the　army　had　defeated　the　French　at　Vimiero；　it　had　been　a　small　army；　almost　an　intimate　army；　and　the　General　could　inspect　all　his　troops　in　a　single　morning　and　have　time　to　recognize　them；　remember　them。　Sharpe　had　known　most　officers　in　the　line　by　face；　if　not　by　name；　and　was　wele　at　their　evening　fires。　Not　now。　Now　there　were　generals　of　this　and　generals　of　that；　of　division　and　brigade；　and　provost…marshals　and　senior　chaplains；　and　the　army　was　far　too　large　to　see　on　a　single　morning　or　even　march　on　a　single　road。　Wellington；　perforce；　had　bee　remote。　There　were　bureaucrats　with　the　army；　defenders　of　files；　and　soon；　Sharpe　knew；　a　man　would　be　less　important　than　the　pieces　of　paper　lik