bcornwell.sharpescompany-第12章

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！


ches。　Yet　she　had　to　return　to　the　child；　his　child；　and　he　would　have　to　find　her　and　protect　her　when　the　moment　came。
　
　His　thoughts　of　Teresa　and　Antonia　suddenly　stopped；　wrenched　violently　away；　replaced　by　a　loathing　thick　as　vomit。　His　past　was　here；　in　Elvas；　a　hated　past。　The　same　yellow　face；　with　the　same　twitch；　and　the　same　cackle！　My　God！　Here；　in　his　pany？　Their　eyes　met；　and　Sharpe　saw　the　insolent　grin　that　seemed　to　verge　on　total　insanity。　'Halt！'　The　Sergeant　glared　at　the　replacements。　'Left　turn！　Still；　you　bastards！　Keep　your　bloody　mouth　shut；　Smithers；　or　I'll　use　it　to　clean　out　the　stables！'　The　Sergeant　turned　smartly；　marched　to　Sharpe；　and　crashed　to　a　halt。　'Sir！'
　
　Ensign　Matthews　looked　between　the　two　tall　men。　'Sir？　This　is　Sergeant。。。　'
　
　'I　know　Sergeant　Hakeswill。'
　
　The　Sergeant　cackled；　showing　his　few　yellow　teeth。　Spittle　dribbled　on　to　his　stubbled　chin。　Sharpe　tried　to　work　out　the　Sergeant's　age。　Hakeswill　had　to　be　forty；　at　least；　maybe　forty…five；　but　the　eyes　were　still　the　eyes　of　a　cunning　child。　They　looked　unblinkingly　at　Sharpe　with　amusement　and　scorn。　Sharpe　was　aware　that　Hakeswill　was　trying　to　outstare　him　so　he　turned　away　and　saw　Harper　buckling　his　belt　as　he　came　into　the　courtyard。　He　nodded　at　the　Irishman。　'Stand　them　easy；　Sergeant。　They　need　sleeping　space　and　food。'
　
　'Sir。'
　
　Sharpe　turned　back　to　Hakeswill　'You're　joining　this　pany？'
　
　'Sir！'　He　barked　the　reply；　and　Sharpe　remembered　how　punctilious　Hakeswill　had　always　been　in　the　etiquette　of　the　army。　No　soldier　drilled　more　exactly；　replied　more　formally；　yet　every　action　seemed　imbued　with　a　kind　of　contempt。　It　was　impossible　to　pin　it　down；　yet　it　had　something　to　do　with　the　expression　in　those　childlike　eyes；　as　if　there　was　a　freak　inside　the　rigorously　correct　soldier　that　watched　and　laughed　as　it　fooled　the　army。　Hakeswill's　face　twitched　into　a　grin。　'Surprised；　sir？'
　
　Sharpe　wanted　to　kill　the　man　on　the　spot；　to　blot　out　those　offensive　eyes；　still　for　ever　the　twitch　and　the　teeth…grinding；　the　cackle　and　the　grin。　Many　men　had　tried　to　kill　Obadiah　Hakeswill。　The　scar　on　his　neck　with　its　fiery　red　folds　of　skin　had　been　put　there　when　he　was　just　twelve　years　old。　He　had　been　sentenced　to　death　by　hanging　for　stealing　a　lamb。　He　had　been　innocent　of　the　charge。　His　real　offence　was　that　he　had　forced　the　vicar's　daughter　to　undress　for　him　by　holding　a　viper　at　her　neck；　its　tongue　flickering；　and　she　had　fumbled　off　her　clothes　and　screamed　as　the　boy　attacked　her。　Her　father　had　rescued　the　girl　and　it　had　been　simpler　to　accuse　the　boy　of　stealing　a　lamb；　more　certain　to　end　in　death；　and　the　deal　had　been　struck　with　the　Justices。　No　one；　even　then；　had　wanted　Obadiah　Hakeswill　to　live　except；　perhaps；　his　mother；　and　the　vicar；　if　he　could　have　thought　of　a　way；　would　have　gladly　strung　her　alongside　her　foul　son。
　
　He　had　lived　somehow。　They　had　strung　him　up；　but　he　was　still　alive；　with　the　stretched；　scrawny　neck　and　its　livid　scar　to　prove　he　had　once　been　hanged。　He　had　found　his　way　into　the　army　and　into　a　way　of　life　that　suited　him。　He　put　up　a　hand　and　rubbed　the　scar　below　his　left　ear。　'Be　all　right；　sir；　now　that　I'm　here。'
　
　Sharpe　knew　what　he　meant。　There　was　a　legend　that　Hakeswill　the　indestructible　man；　the　survivor　of　a　judicial　execution；　could　not　be　killed　and　the　legend　did　not　diminish　with　time。　Sharpe　had　seen　two　files　of　men　blown　away　by　grapeshot；　yet　Hakeswill；　standing　immediately　to　their　front；　had　not　been　touched。
　
　Hakeswill's　face　twitched；　hiding　the　laugh　that　was　prompted　by　Sharpe's　unexpressed　hatred。　The　twitch　stopped。　'I'm　glad　I'm　here；　sir。　Proud　of　you；　I　am；　proud。　My　best　recruit。'　He　had　spoken　loudly；　letting　the　courtyard　know　of　their　joint　history；　and　there　was　a　challenge；　too；　as　unspoken　as　their　hatred；　which　announced　that　Hakeswill　would　not　submit　easily　to　the　discipline　of　a　man　he　had　once　drilled　and　tyrannized。
　
　'How's　Captain　Morris；　Hakeswill？'
　
　The　Sergeant　grinned；　then　cackled　into　Sharpe's　face　so　that　the　officer　caught　the　foul　breath。　'Remember　him；　sir；　do　you？　He's　a　Major　now；　sir；　so　I　hear。　In　Dublin。　Mind　you；　sir；　you　was　a　naughty　boy；　you'll　pardon　an　old　soldier　for　saying　so。'
　
　There　was　silence　in　the　courtyard。　Every　man　was　listening　to　the　words；　aware　of　the　hostility　between　the　two　men。　Sharpe　dropped　his　voice；　so　no　one　but　Hakeswill　could　hear。　'If　you　lay　a　finger　on　any　man　in　this　pany；　Sergeant；　I'll　bloody　kill　you。'　Hakeswill　grinned；　was　about　to　reply；　but　Sharpe　was　faster。　'Shun！'　Hakeswill　snapped　upright；　his　face　suddenly　clouded　with　anger　because　he　had　been　denied　his　reply。　'About　turn！'
　
　Sharpe　left　him　there；　facing　a　wall。　God　damn　it！　Hakeswill！　The　scars　were　on　Sharpe's　back　because　of　Hakeswill　and　Morris；　and　Sharpe　had　sworn　on　that　far…off　day　that　he　would　inflict　as　much　pain　on　them　as　they　had　on　him。　Hakeswill　had　beaten　a　Private　into　bloody　insensibility；　the　man　had　recovered　his　consciousness；　but　never　his　senses；　and　Sharpe　had　been　a　witness。　He　had　tried　to　stop　the　hammering　and；　for　his　efforts；　was　accused　by　Morris　and　Hakeswill　of　the　beating。　He　had　been　tied　to　a　cart's　wheel　and　flogged。
　
　Now；　suddenly　face　to　face　with　his　enemy　after　all　these　years；　he　felt　an　uneasy　sense　of　helplessness。　Hakeswill　seemed　untouchable。　He　had　the　confidence　of　a　man　who　simply　did　not　care　what　happened　to　him；　because　he　knew　he　was　indestructible。　The　Sergeant　went　through　life　with　a　suppurating　hatred　of　other　men；　and；　from　behind　his　mask　of　military　conformity；　spread　poison　and　fear　throughout　the　panies　he　served。　Hakeswill；　Sharpe　knew；　would　not　have　changed；　any　more　than　his　appearance　had　changed。　The　same　great　belly；　perhaps　a　few　inches　bigger；　a　few　more　lines　on　the　face；　another　tooth　or　two　missing；　yet　still　the　same　yellow　skin　and　the　mad　stare；　and　Sharpe　remembered；　unfortably；　that　once　Hakeswill　had　told　him　they　were　alike。　Both　on　the　run；　both　without　family；　and　the　only　way　to　survive；　the　Sergeant　said；　was　to　hit　hard　and　hit　first。
　
　He　looked　at　the　recruits。　They　were　wary；　as　well　they　might　be；　cautious　of　this　new　pany。　Sharpe；　though　they　could　not　know　it；　shared　their　unease。　Hakeswill；　of　all　people；　in　his　pany？　Then　he　remembered　the　gazette；　and　knew　that　the　pany　might　not　be　his；　and　he　felt　his　thoughts　begin　their　profitless　descent　into　gloom　so　he　snapped　them　away。　'Sergeant　Harper？'
　
　'Sir？'
　
　'What's　happening　today？'
　
　'Football；　sir。　Grenadier　pany　playing　the　Portuguese。　Heavy　casualties　expected。'
　
　Sharpe　knew　that　Harper　was　trying　to　cheer　up　the　newers　and　so　he　dutifully　smiled。　'A　light　day；　then；　for　your　first　day。　Enjoy　it。　Tomorrow　we　work。'　Tomorrow　he　would　be　without　Teresa；　tomorrow　would　be　a　day　nearer　Badajoz　and　tomorrow　he　might　be　a　Lieutenant。　He　realized　the　recruits；　some　of　whom　he　had　found　himself；　were　waiting　for　him　to　continue。　He　forced　another　smile。　'Wele　to　the　South　Essex。　I'm　glad　you're　here。　This　is　a　good　pany　and　I'm　sure　it　will　stay　that　way。'　The　words　sounded　incredibly　lame；　even　to　himself；　as　if　he　knew　they　were　untrue。
　
　He　nodded　at　Harper。　'Carry　on；　Sergeant。'
　
　The　Irishman's　eyes　flicked　towards　Hakeswill；　still　facing　the　wall；　and　Sharpe　pretended　not　to　see。　Damn　Hakeswill；　he　could　stay　there；　but　then　he　relented。　'Sergeant　Hakeswill！'
　
　'Sir！'
　
　'Dismiss！'
　
　Sharpe　walked　into　the　street；　wanting　to　be　alone；　but　Leroy　was　leaning　on　the　gatepost　and　the　American　lifted　an　amused　eyebrow。　'Is　that　how　the　Hero　of　the　Field　of　Talavera　weles　recruits？　No　calls　to　glory？　No　bugles？'
　
　'They're　lucky　to　get　a　wele　at　all。'
　
　Leroy　drew　on　his　cigar　and　fell　into　step　beside　Sharpe。　'I　suppose　this　unhappiness　is　caused　by　your　lady　leaving　us？〃
　
　Sharpe　shrugged。　'I　suppose　so。'
　
　'Then　shall　I　share　other　news？'
　
　Leroy　had　stopped　and　his　dark　eyes　seemed　to　be　amused。
　
　'Napoleon's　dead？'
　
　'Alas；　no。　Our　Colonel　arrives　today。　You　don't　seem　surprised？'
　
　Sharpe　waited　for　a　priest；　mounted　on　a　drooping　mule；　to　go　past。　'Should　I　be　surprised？'
　
　'No。　'　Leroy　grinned　at　him。　'But　the　usual　reaction　is　to　say　〃who；　why；　what；　how　do　you　know？〃　Then　I　give　you　all　the　answers；　and　that's　called　a　conversation。'
　
　 Sharpe's　depression　was　dissipated　by　Leroy。　'So　tell　me。'
　
　The　thin；　laconic　American　looked　surprised。　'I　never　thought　you　would　ask。　Who　is　he？　His　name　is　Brian　Windham。　I've　never　liked　the　name　Brian；　it's　the　sort　of　name　a　woman　gives　to　a　boy　in　the　hope　he　will　grow　up　honest。'　He　tapped　ash　on　to　the　roadway。　'Why？　I　think　there　is　no　answer　to　that。　What　is　he？　He　is　a　mighty　hunter　of　foxes。　Do　you　hunt；　Sharpe？'
　
　'You　know　I　don't。'
　
　'Then　your　future　may　be　gloomy；　as　mine　may　be。　And　how　do　I　know？'
　
　He　paused。
　
　'How　do　you　know？'
　
　'Because　our　good　Colonel；　honest　Brian　Windham；　has　a　forerunner；　a　messenger；　a　John　the　Baptist　to　his　ing；　a　Paul　Revere；　no　less。'
　
　'Who？'
　
　Leroy　sighed；　he　was　being　unusually　loquacious。　'You've　never　heard　of　Paul　Revere？'
　
　'No。　'
　
　'Lucky　man；　Sharpe。　He　called　my　father　a　traitor；　and　our　family　called　Revere　a　traitor；　and　I　rather　think　we　lost　the　argument。　The　point　is；　my　dear　Sharpe；　that　he　was　a　forerunner；　an　agent　of　warning；　and　our　good　Colonel　has　sent　such　a　warning　of　his　arrival　in　the　shape　of　a　new　Major。'
　
　Sharpe　looked　at　Leroy；　the　American's　expression　had　not　changed。　'I'm　sorry；　Leroy。　I'm　sorry。'
　
　Leroy　shrugged。　As　the　senior　Captain　he　had　been　hoping　for　the　vacant　Majority　in　the　Battalion。　'One　should　expect　nothing　in　this　army。　His　name　is　Collett；　Jack　Collett；　another　honest　name　and　another　foxhunter。'
　
　'I'm　sorry。'
　
　Leroy　began　walking　again。　'There　is　something　else。'
　
　'What？'
　
　Leroy　pointed　with　his　cigar　into　the　courtyard　of　the　house　where　the　officers　were　billeted　and　Sharpe　looked　through　the　archway　and；　for　the　second　time　that　morning；　he　had　a　sudden；　unwele　shock。　A　young　man；　in　his　middle　twenties；　stood　next　to　a　pile　of　luggage　that　his　servant　was　unstrapping。　Sharpe　had　never　seen　the　officer　before　but　the　uniform　was　only　too　familiar。　It　was　the　uniform　of　the　South　Essex；　plete　even　to　the　silver　badge　of　the　Eagle　that　Sharpe　had　captured；　but　it　was　a　uniform　only　one　man　could　wear。　It　had　a　curved　sabre；　slung　on　chains；　and　a　silver　whistle　holstered　on　the　cross　belt。　The　insignias　of　rank；　denoting　a　Captain；　were　not　epaulettes；　but　wings　made　from　chains　and　decorated　with　a　bugle　horn。　Sharpe　was　looking　at　a　man　dressed　as　the　Captain　of　the　South　Essex　Light　pany。　He　swore。　Leroy　laughed。　'Join　the　downtrodden。'
　
　No　one　had　the　guts　to　tell　him；　except　Leroy！　The　bastards　had　brought　in　a　new　man；　over　his　head；　and　he　had　never　been　told！　He　felt　a　huge　anger；　a　depression；　and　a　helplessness　in　the　face　of　the　army's　cumbersome　machinery。　He　could　not　believe　it。　Hakeswill；　Teresa　going；　and　now　this？
　
　Major　Forrest　appeared　i