bcornwell.sharpescompany-第15章

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　the　sound。　Teresa　came　forward。　'Why　don't　you　kill　him？　Let　me。'
　
　'I　don't　know。'　Sharpe　stared　at　the　ravaged；　malevolent　face。　'Because　he　says　he　can't　be　killed；　and　when　I　kill　him；　I　want　it　to　be　in　public。　I　want　his　victims　to　know　he　died；　that　someone　took　revenge　for　them；　and　if　we　do　it　now　it　will　have　to　be　in　secret。　I　don't　want　that。　I　want　a　thousand　eyes　watching；　and　then　I'll　kill　him。'　He　turned　his　back　on　the　Sergeant；　looked　at　Harper。　'Open　the　door。'
　
　Sharpe　stood　to　one　side；　turned　back　to　Hakeswill。　'Get　out；　and　keep　going。　Just　leave　here；　Sergeant；　and　keep　walking。　Eleven　more　miles　and　you　can　put　on　a　blue　uniform。　Do　something　for　your　country；　Hakeswill；　desert。'
　
　The　blue　eyes　looked　at　Sharpe。　'Permission　to　go；　sir！'　He　was　still　hurting。　　　
　
　'Go。'
　
　Harper　held　the　door　ajar。　He　was　disappointed。　He　wanted　to　crush　Hakeswill；　to　obliterate　him；　and　as　the　Sergeant　marched　past　he　spat　at　him。　Hakeswill　began　to　sing；　very　softly。　'His　father　was　an　Irishman；　his　mother　was　a　pig。。。'
　
　Harper　lashed　out。　Hakeswill　blocked　the　blow　and　turned　on　the　vast　Irishman。　They　were　of　a　size；　but　Hakeswill　was　still　hurting。　He　kicked　out；　missed；　and　felt　the　blows　crash　on　his　forearms　and　head。　God！　But　the　Irishman　was　a　strong　brute！
　
　'Stop　it！'　Sharpe　bellowed。
　
　They　were　too　far　gone。　Harper　hit　and　hit　again；　butted　with　his　head；　and　then　a　hand　grabbed　his　shoulder　and　pulled　him　off。　'　I　said　stop　it！'
　
　Hakeswill　could　see　nothing　after　the　butting。　He　swung　a　fist　at　a　vaguely　green　uniform　and　Sharpe　stepped　back；　brought　up　a　leg；　and　pushed　it　into　Hakeswill's　belly。　The　Sergeant　fell　backwards；　out　into　the　sunlight；　splashing　into　a　yellow　puddle　of　horse　urine。　Sharpe　looked　at　Harper。　He　was　unhurt；　but　staring　into　the　yard；　over　the　fallen　Hakeswill's　head；　and　the　Irishman's　face　was　astonished；　stunned。
　
　Sharpe　looked　into　the　sunlight。　The　yard　seemed　full　of　dogs；　foxhounds；　some　of　whom；　their　tails　busy　in　ecstasy；　explored　the　fallen　man　in　the　beautiful…smelling　puddle。　In　the　centre　of　the　dogs　was　a　horse；　a　black　horse；　big　and　beautifully　groomed；　and　on　the　horse's　back　was　a　Lieutenant　Colonel　who　wore；　beneath　his　bicorne　hat；　an　expression　of　savage　distaste。　The　Lieutenant　Colonel　looked　down　on　the　Sergeant　who　was　bleeding　from　wrist；　nose；　and　cheek；　and　then　the　flinty　eyes　came　back　to　Sharpe。　The　rider's　hands　gripped　a　crop；　his　boots　were　exquisitely　tasseled；　while　his　face；　above　the　crowned　epaulette；　was　the　kind　of　face　Sharpe　expected　to　see　over　the　bench　of　a　county　court。　It　was　a　knowing　face；　lined　with　experience；　and　Sharpe　guessed　this　man　could　set　a　plough　blade　as　handily　as　he　quelled　a　riot。　'I　assume　you　are　Mr。　Sharpe？'
　
　'Yes；　sir。　'
　
　'Report　to　me　at　half…past　twelve；　Sharpe。'　The　eyes　flicked　round　the　group；　from　Sharpe　to　the　Irish　Sergeant；　then　to　the　girl　with　the　bayonet。　The　Lieutenant　Colonel's　crop　flicked　at　the　horse；　it　stepped　obediently　away　and　the　dogs　forsook　Hakeswill　and　followed。　The　horseman　had　not　introduced　himself；　nor　had　he　needed　to。　Across　a　puddle　of　urine；　in　the　middle　of　a　brawl　over　a　woman；　Sharpe　had　just　met　his　new　Colonel。
　
　CHAPTER　10
　
　'Soon；　Richard？'
　
　'Soon。　'
　
　'You　know　where　to　find　me？'
　
　He　nodded。　'In　the　house　of　Moreno；　in　a　narrow　street　behind　the　Cathedral。'
　
　She　smiled；　bent　down　to　pat　her　horse's　neck。　'And　there　are　two　orange　trees　in　the　court　in　front　of　the　house。　It's　easy　to　find。'
　
　'Will　you　be　all　right？'
　
　'Of　course。'　She　glanced　at　the　Portuguese　sentries　who　held　open　the　main　gate。　'I　must　go；　Richard。　Be　happy。'
　
　'I　will。　And　you。　'　He　found　it　difficult　to　smile；　and　the　next　words　sounded　awkward。　'Give　the　baby　my　love。'
　
　She　smiled　down　at　him。　'I　will。　You'll　see　her　soon。'
　
　'I　know。'　And　then　she　was　gone；　her　horse's　hooves　echoing　in　the　dark；　curving　tunnel　of　the　gateway；　and　he　watched　as　the　Portuguese　soldiers　wound　down　the　portcullis　and　slammed　the　inner　gates。　He　was　alone；　no；　not　really　alone；　for　Harper　waited　for　him　up　the　street；　but　he　felt　alone。　At　least　he　believed　that　Teresa　would　be　safe。　Merchants　were　still　trading　from　Badajoz；　their　convoys　still　going　north；　east　and　south；　and　Teresa　would　circle　the　city；　find　such　a　convoy；　and　ride　safely　back　to　the　house　with　the　two　orange　trees。　It　was　just　eleven　miles　away；　an　easy　walk；　but　he　felt　as　if　it　were　on　the　far　side　of　the　world。
　
　Harper　fell　into　step　beside　him；　his　face　long。　'I'm　sorry；　sir。'
　
　'It　doesn't　matter。'
　
　The　Sergeant　sighed。　'I　know　you　wanted　to　make　a　good　impression　on　the　Colonel。　I'm　sorry。'
　
　'It's　not　your　fault。　I　should　have　killed　that　bastard　in　the　stable。　'
　
　Harper　grinned。　'Aye；　you　should。　Do　you　want　me　to？'
　
　'No。　He's　mine；　and　in　public。'　They　edged　past　ox　carts　loaded　high　with　spades；　gabions　and　great　timber　baulks　that　would　bee　gun　platforms。　Elvas　was　filling　with　material　for　the　siege；　only　the　guns　were　missing；　still　being　dragged　on　the　roads　from　the　River　Tagus　and　bringing　with　them　the　promise　of　another　breach；　another　Forlorn　Hope。
　
　'Sir？'　Harper　was　embarrassed。
　
　'Yes？'
　
　'Is　it　true；　sir？'
　
　'Is　what　true？'
　
　The　Irishman　looked　down　on　Sharpe　from　his　huge　height。　'That　you're　losing　the　pany？　I　hear　there's　a　new　Captain；　some　youngster　from　the　51st？'
　
　'I　don't　know。'
　
　'The　lads　won't　like　it；　sir；　nor　will　they。'
　
　'The　lads　will　just　have　to　bloody　put　up　with　it。'
　
　'God　save　Ireland。'　They　climbed　a　few　paces　in　silence；　up　towards　the　town's　centre。　'So　it　is　true？'
　
　'Probably。'
　
　Harper　shook　his　head；　massively　and　slowly。　'God　save　Ireland。　I　would　never　have　believed　it。　Will　you　talk　to　the　General？'
　
　Sharpe　shook　his　head。　He　had　thought　of　it；　but　instantly　dismissed　the　thought。　He　had　once　saved　Wellington's　life；　but　the　debt　had　long　been　repaid　and　the　General　had　already　promoted　him　Captain　once。　It　was　not　Wellington's　fault　that　the　gazette　had　been　refused；　if　it　had；　or　that　a　lawyer　had　sold　a　mission　illegally。　It　happened　all　the　time。　'I　can't　run　to　him　every　time　there's　trouble。'　He　shrugged。　'Something'll　turn　up；　Patrick；　it　always　does。'
　
　Harper；　unappeased；　slammed　a　fist　against　a　wall；　startling　a　sleeping　dog。　'I　don't　believe　it！　They　can't　do　it！'
　
　'They　can。'
　
　Then　they're　fools。'　Harper　thought　for　a　second。　'Would　you　be　thinking　of　moving　on？'
　
　'Where？'
　
　'Back　to　the　Rifles？'
　
　'I　don't　know。　Nothing's　certain　yet。　Anyway；　the　Rifles　have　all　the　officers　they　need；　and　then　more。'
　
　'So　you　have　thought　about　it。'　Harper　nodded　to　himself。　'Would　you　promise　me　something？〃
　
　Sharpe　smiled。　'I　know；　and　the　answer's　yes。'
　
　'By　God；　I'll　not　stay　on　here　without　you。　I'll　go　back　to　the　Rifles　with　you。　You　need　someone　sensible　near　you。'
　
　They　parted　at　the　officers'　house；　just　as　the　great　cloud　bank　engulfed　Elvas　in　shadow　and　a　promise　of　rain。　Sharpe　paused　in　the　archway。　'I'll　see　you　at　four。'
　
　'Aye；　sir；　I　hope　it's　you。'　There　was　to　be　a　parade　at　four　at　which　Colonel　Windham　would　inspect　his　new　battalion。
　
　Sharpe　nodded。　'So　do　I。　Make　it　a　good　turn…out。'
　
　He　did　not　know　where　Windham　would　be；　so　he　paused　in　the　hallway　and　saw　the　array　of　clean；　new　shakoes　on　the　table。　He　could　not　face　the　big　room；　the　Mess；　the　pitying　glances　of　his　fellow…officers　and　the　inevitable　confrontation　with　Rymer；　so　he　stayed　in　the　hall　and　stared　at　a　huge；　gloomy　painting　of　a　white…cassocked　priest　who　was　being　burned　at　a　stake。　The　soldiers　who　stoked　the　faggots　were　mean…faced；　weaselly；　and　obviously　intended　to　be　the　English；　while　the　suffering　priest　had　an　ethereal　look　of　forgiveness　and　martyrdom。　Sharpe　hoped　the　bastard　had　hurt。
　
　'Captain　Sharpe？'　He　turned。　A　small　Major　with　a　clipped　moustache　was　looking　at　him　from　a　doorway。
　
　'Sir？'
　
　'Collett。　Major　Collett。　Pleased　to　make　your　acquaintance；　Sharpe。　Heard　of　you；　of　course。　This　way。'
　
　Sharpe　was　regretting　his　lack　of　charity　to　the　long　burned　priest；　wondering　if　the　evil　wish　would　bring　him　bad　luck；　so　he　looked　up　at　the　painting　and　winked　at　the　man。　'Sorry。'
　
　'What's　that；　Sharpe？'
　
　'Nothing；　sir；　nothing。'　He　followed　Collett　into　the　parlor　of　the　house；　a　room　hung　with　more　gloomy；　religious　pictures　and　with　vast；　brown　curtains　that　seemed　to　enclose　the　room　in　premature　night。　Colonel　Windham　was　at　a　low　table；　feeding　scraps　of　meat　to　his　dogs；　and　he　did　not　look　up　as　Collett　led　Sharpe　into　the　room。
　
　'Sir！　This　is　Sharpe；　sir！'　Collett　could　have　been　Windham's　twin；　the　same　bowed；　horseman's　legs；　the　same　leathery　skin；　and　the　same　cropped　grey　hair；　but；　as　the　Colonel　looked　up；　Sharpe　saw　shrewd　lines　on　Windham's　face　that　were　lacking　on　the　Major。　The　Colonel　nodded　affably。　'You　like　dogs；　Sharpe？'
　
　'Yes；　sir。'
　
　'Faithful　beasts；　Sharpe。　Feed　'em　regular；　kick　'em　often；　and　they'll　do　anything　for　you。　Just　like　soldiers；　yes？'
　
　'Yes；　sir。　'　He　was　standing　awkwardly；　shako　in　hand；　and　Windham　waved　him　towards　a　chair。
　
　'Brought　the　beasts　with　me。　I　hear　there's　some　decent　sport　to　be　had。　Do　you　hunt；　Sharpe？'
　
　'No；　sir。'
　
　'Fine　sport！　Fine　sport！'　He　was　holding　a　scrap　of　beef　high；　teasing　a　hound　with　it　so　that　the　dog　jumped　vainly；　higher　and　higher；　until　Windham　dropped　the　food　and　the　dog　snapped　it　in　mid　air；　and　took　it；　growling；　beneath　the　table。　'Shouldn't　spoil　'em；　of　course。　Bad　for　them。　That's　Jessica；　my　wife。　'　He　was　pointing　to　the　table。
　
　'Your　what；　sir？'
　
　'Wife；　Sharpe；　wife。　Wife's　called　Jessica。　Colonel's　Lady；　and　that　sort　of　thing。　Mrs。　Windham。'　He　offered　the　various　categories　of　his　wife　in　a　rapid　voice　and　Sharpe　understood　that　he　was　not　referring　to　the　dog　beneath　the　table；　but　to　an　oval　portrait；　about　six　inches　high；　that　stood　above　the　dog。　The　portrait　was　mounted　in　a　superb　filigree　silver　frame　and　it　showed　a　woman　with　dark；　severe　hair；　a　receding　chin；　and　an　expression　of　terrifying　disapproval。　Sharpe　had　the　distinct　feeling　that　the　chewing　dog　would　be　a　better　panion；　but　the　Colonel's　face　softened　as　he　looked　at　the　painting。　'A　good　woman；　Sharpe；　a　good　woman。　A　force　for　the　good　in　society。'
　
　'Yes；　sir。'　Sharpe　was　beginning　to　feel　slightly　confused。　He　had　e　to　the　meeting　expecting　to　be　told　about　the　pany；　about　Rymer；　even　to　be　reprimanded　for　the　fracas　at　the　stable　yard；　but；　instead；　the　new　Colonel　of　the　Battalion　was　extolling　the　virtues　of　a　good　wife。
　
　'She　takes　a　keen　interest；　Sharpe；　very　keen。　Knows　about　you。　Wrote　to　me　when　I　said　I　was　getting　the　Battalion　and　sent　me　a　scrap　from　a　newspaper。　She　thinks　you've　done　well；　Sharpe。'
　
　'Yes；　sir。'
　
　'She's　eager　to　see　people　better　themselves。　Isn't　that　true；　Jack？'
　
　'Indeed；　sir。'　Collett　rapped　the　words　out　with　an　alacrity　that　made　Sharpe　wonder　if　Collett's　role　in　life　was　to　agree　with　e