bcornwell.sharpescompany-第40章

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efore　the　messenger　would　be　dispatched。　Picton　waited。　He　had　heard　the　bell　strike　eleven　as　he　saw　his　first；　magnificent　men　cross　the　parapet；　and　he　waited；　listening　to　the　sounds　of　battle；　to　know　if　they　had　won　or　were　being　chopped　to　pieces　in　the　castle　yards。　He　heard　the　cheers；　stood　up　in　his　stirrups　and　roared　his　own；　then　turned　to　an　aide…de…camp。　'Ride；　man；　ride！'　He　turned　to　another　staff　officer　and　clapped　the　man　mightily　on　the　back。　'We've　proved　him　wrong！　Damn　his　eyes！　We　did　it！'
　
　He　chuckled；　anticipating　Wellington's　reaction　when　the　news　arrived　at　midnight。
　
　Anger　would　take　a　man　through　a　breach；　sheer　passion；　but　a　small　idea　helped。　It　was　not　much　of　an　idea；　hopeless　even；　deserving　the　name　Forlorn；　but　it　was　all　Sharpe　had；　and　so　he　stared　at　the　ravelin　that　stretched　so　invitingly　towards　the　third；　unsullied　breach。　There　was　no　point　in　trying　to　outrace　the　grapeshot　across　its　flat；　diamond　surface。　Any　man　who　tried　was　flicked　hopelessly　away；　contemptuous　meat　to　the　gunners'　fire。　Yet　the　third　breach　was　the　newest；　and　the　French　had　been　given　small　time　to　entrap　it；　and　Sharpe　could　see；　through　the　sifting　smoke；　that　the　Chevaux　de　Prise　on　the　new　breach's　summit　was　too　short。　There　was　a　gap　at　the　right　hand　side；　a　gap　three　men　could　pass　abreast；　and　the　only　problem　was　reaching　the　gap。　There　was　no　approach　in　the　ditch。　The　fires　still　seethed；　white　hot　and　violent；　and　the　only　path　was　across　the　ravelin。　They　must　climb　the　ravelin；　brave　the　top；　and　jump　into　the　ditch；　and　it　must　be　done　at　the　ravelin's　edge；　close　to　the　flames；　where　the　diamond　shape　narrowed　and　the　fatal　journey　was　short。
　
　He　had　no　right　to　take　the　pany　on　the　journey。　This　was　a　Forlorn　Hope；　born　of　despair　and　nurtured　by　pride；　and　it　belonged　to　the　volunteer；　to　the　foolish。　He　knew　he　did　not　have　to　go　himself；　but　he　wanted　no　dead　man's　shoes。　He　had　waited；　letting　the　violence　of　the　last　attack　spend　itself　in　the　ditch；　and　there　was　now　a　kind　of　truce　before　the　breaches。　As　long　as　the　British　stayed　quiet；　harmless　behind　the　ravelin；　the　gunners　let　them　be。　Only　when　men　came　into　the　firelight；　towards　the　breaches；　did　the　muzzles　spout　flame　and　the　grapeshot　crease　the　ditch　floor。　Back　in　the　darkness；　down　the　glacis；　Sharpe　could　hear　orders　being　called。　Another　attack　was　ing；　the　last　reserves　of　the　Division　being　fed　into　the　ditch；　and　that　was　the　moment；　the　hopeless　moment；　when　the　feeble　idea；　based　only　on　the　narrowing　width　of　the　ravelin；　must　be　tried。　He　turned　to　his　men　and　drew　the　sword；　the　blade　a　great　streak　in　the　night；　and　the　steel　hissed　as　he　swung　it　to　the　point　at　the　firelight。
　
　'I'm　going　there。　There　is　one　more　attack；　just　one；　and　then　it's　all　over。　No　one's　touched　that　central　breach；　and　that's　where　I'm　going。　Over　the　ravelin；　down　into　the　ditch；　and　I'll　probably　break　my　bloody　legs　because　there　are　no　ladders　or　hay…bags；　but　that's　where　I'm　going。'　The　faces　were　pale；　staring　at　him　as　they　squatted　on　the　slope。　'I'm　going　because　the　French　are　laughing　at　us；　because　they　think　they've　beaten　us；　and　I'm　going　to　hammer　those　bastards　into　pulp　for　thinking　that。'　He　had　not　known　how　much　anger　there　was　inside　him。　He　was　not　a　speechmaker；　never　had　been；　but　the　anger　gave　him　words。　'I'm　going　to　make　those　bastards　wish　they　had　never　been　born。　They　are　going　to　die；　and　I　can't　ask　you　to　e　with　me；　because　you　don't　have　to　e；　but　I'm　going；　and　you　can　stay　here　and　I　won't　blame　you。'　He　stopped；　out　of　words；　unsure　even　of　what　he　had　said。　The　fires　crackled　behind　him。
　
　Patrick　Harper　stood　up；　stretched　his　huge　arms　and　in　one　of　them；　catching　the　fires　of　death；　was　a　vast　axe；　one　of　the　many　that　had　been　issued　to　cut　at　the　obstacles　in　the　ditch。　He　stepped　forward；　over　the　dead；　and　turned　to　look　at　the　pany。　In　the　flame　light；　hard　by　the　terrible　ditch；　Patrick　Harper　was　like　a　warrior　sprung　from　a　forgotten　age。　He　grinned　at　the　pany。　'Are　you　ing？'
　
　There　was　nothing　to　make　them　go。　Too　often　Sharpe　had　asked　the　impossible　of　them；　and　they　had　always　given；　but　never　in　this　horror；　never　like　this；　but　they　stood　up；　the　pimps　and　the　thieves；　murderers　and　drunks；　and　they　grinned　at　Sharpe　and　looked　to　their　weapons。　Harper　looked　down　on　his　Captain。　'It　was　a　fine　speech；　sir；　but　mine　was　better。　Would　you　be　giving　me　that？'　He　pointed　to　the　seven…barreled　gun。
　
　Sharpe　nodded；　handed　it　over。　'It's　loaded。'
　
　Daniel　Hagman；　the　poacher；　took　Sharpe's　rifle。　No　man　was　a　better　shot。　
　
　Lieutenant　Price；　nervously　flexing　his　sabre；　grinned　at　Sharpe。　'I　think　I'm　mad；　sir。'
　
　'You　can　stay。'
　
　'And　let　you　get　to　the　women　first？　I'll　e。'
　
　Roach　and　Peters；　Jenkins　and　Clayton；　Cresacre　the　wife…beater；　all　were　there；　and　all　felt　the　nervous　exhilaration。　This　was　a　place　fit　to　go　mad　in。　Sharpe　looked　at　them；　counted　them；　loved　them。　'Where's　Hakeswill？'
　
　'Buggered　off；　sir。　Haven't　seen　him。'　Peters；　a　huge　man；　spat　on　the　glacis。
　
　Below　them　the　last　battalion　was　climbing　the　slope；　almost　within　the　firelight；　and　Sharpe　knew　that　the　pany　must　attack　at　the　same　time。　'Ready？'　'Sir。'
　
　A　mile's　ride　away；　unknown　to　the　rest　of　the　army；　the　Third　Division　was　clearing　the　last　of　the　castle　yards。　It　had　taken　nearly　an　hour's　hard　fighting　against　the　Germans　and　against　the　French　who　had　pounded　up　from　the　central　reserve　in　the　Cathedral　square。　A　mile　in　the　other　direction；　equally　unknown；　Leith's　Fifth　Division　had　stormed　the　San　Vincente。　The　ladders　had　split　apart；　the　wood　green；　and　the　men　had　fallen　into　a　spiked　ditch；　but　other　ladders　were　brought　up；　the　muskets　smashed　at　the　battlements；　and　they　had　won　a　second　impossible　victory。　Badajoz　had　fallen。　The　Fifth　Division　were　in　the　city's　streets；　the　Third　possessed　the　castle；　but　the　men　in　the　ditch　and　on　the　dark　glacis　had　no　way　of　knowing。　The　news　traveled　faster　inside　the　city。　Rumors　of　defeat　raced　like　a　plague　through　the　narrow　streets；　up　on　to　the　Santa　Maria　and　Trinidad　bastions　and　the　defenders　looked　fearfully　behind　them。　The　city　was　dark；　the　castle　silhouette　unchanged；　and　they　shrugged　and　told　each　other　it　could　not　be　true。　But　what　if　it　was？　Fear　batted　at　them　with　grim　wings。
　
　'Make　ready！'
　
　By　God！　Another　attack。　The　defenders　turned　from　the　city　and　looked　over　the　walls。　There；　from　the　darkness；　from　the　corpse…littered　slope；　another　attack　surged　towards　the　ditch。　More　meat　for　the　guns；　and　the　fire　flashed　down　the　priming　tubes；　the　smoke　crashed　out；　and　the　mincer　turned　on。
　
　Sharpe　waited　for　the　first　gun；　heard　it；　and　started　running。　To　Badajoz。
　
　CHAPTER　27
　
　The　heights　of　the　wall　disappeared　in　smoke；　the　flames　lancing　through；　and　he　jumped；　the　sword　high；　and　the　men　in　the　ditch　screamed　at　them。　'Down！　Down！'
　
　He　had　not　counted　on　this。　The　ditch　was　crammed　with　the　living；　the　dying；　and　the　dead；　and　the　living　clawed　at　him。　'Get　down！　They'll　kill　us。'
　
　He　had　sprawled　down　on　bodies；　but　he　scrambled　up　and　heard　his　men　thumping　around　him。　There　were　small　fortresses　in　the　ditch；　piled　corpses；　that　soaked　the　grapeshot　and　sheltered　men　who　themselves　crouched　on　other　corpses。
　
　The　bullets　flickered　into　the　ravelin's　shadow；　and　the　wounded　pulled　at　him；　and　Sharpe　swung　the　sword　ahead　of　him；　clearing　a　path。　He　screamed　at　them；　'Out　the　way！'　The　dead　could　not　move；　and　he　was　wading　in　bodies；　slipping　on　blood；　and　to　his　right；　by　the　Trinidad；　the　gunners　were　shredding　the　last　attack。
　
　Hands　clutched　at　Sharpe；　tried　to　pull　him　down；　and　out　of　the　darkness　a　bayonet　was　thrown　at　him。　Behind　him　Harper　was　shouting；　in　his　own　tongue；　rousing　the　Irish。　A　man　reared　up　in　front　of　Sharpe；　clawed　at　him；　and　Sharpe　hammered　down　with　the　sword　hilt。　Ahead　was　the　ravelin's　sloping　face　with　the　light　bright　above　it　and　the　guns　were　waiting。　Sharpe　felt　the　temptation　to　sink　into　the　rank　stench　in　the　ditch　and　let　the　night　hide　him。　He　swung　the　sword　again；　using　the　flat；　and　a　man　fell；　and　Sharpe's　feet　were　on　the　slope　and　he　climbed；　not　wanting　to；　fearing　the　oblivion；　his　body　cringing　from　the　death　that　ravaged　the　ravelin's　top。　He　stopped。
　
　There　was　a　new　sound　in　the　ditch；　a　sound　so　mad　that　he　had　turned；　the　sword　bright　in　his　hand；　and　he　looked　unbelievingly　behind　him。　The　survivors　of　the　South　Essex；　their　yellow　facings　smeared　with　blood；　were　struggling　towards　him。　They　had　seen　their　Light　pany　carve　a　path　to　the　ravelin；　and　now　they　wanted　to　join　the　madness；　but　it　was　their　voices　that　had　stopped　Sharpe。
　
　'Sharpe！　Sharpe！　Sharpe！'　They　chanted　it　senselessly；　a　war　cry；　and　men　who　did　not　know　what　it　meant　picked　up　the　sound；　and　the　ditch　stirred；　and　the　shout　bellied　into　the　night。　'Sharpe！　Sharpe！　Sharpe！'
　
　'What　are　they　saying；　March？'
　
　'It　sounds　like　〃sharp〃；　my　Lord。'
　
　The　General　laughed　because　moments　before　he　had　wished　for　one　thousand　Sharpes；　and　now；　perhaps；　that　rogue　was　giving　him　the　city。　His　aides…de…camp；　hearing　the　grim　tone　of　the　laughter；　did　not　understand　and　did　not　like　to　ask。
　
　The　gunners；　high　on　the　wall；　heard　the　chant　and　did　not　understand。　They　were　massacring　the　newest　attack　on　the　Trinidad；　hurling　it　back　as　they　had　hurled　the　others　back；　but　then　they　saw　the　ravelin's　top　dark　with　men；　and　the　men　were　shouting；　and　the　whole　ditch　was　moving　that　they　had　thought　filled　with　corpses；　and　the　corpses　had　e　to　life　and　were　ing　to　them；　for　their　revenge；　and　the　dead　were　shouting。　'Sharpe！　Sharpe！　Sharpe！'
　
　The　madness　was　on　Sharpe；　the　glory　of　it；　the　song　of　battle　shrieking　in　his　ears；　so　he　did　not　hear　the　gunfire；　or　feel　the　blast　of　the　shot；　or　know　that；　behind　him；　crossing　the　diamond；　the　men　were　falling；　and　the　guns　were　tangling　the　air　with　death。　He　jumped。　He　had　crossed　the　ravelin；　running；　the　heat　of　the　fire　close　on　his　right　side；　and　the　drop　was　huge。　The　new　ditch　was　strangely　empty；　and　he　jumped；　seeing　a　stone　leap　from　a　musket　strike。　The　jump　winded　him；　pitched　him　forward；　but　he　was　up　and　running。
　
　'Sharpe！　Sharpe！　Sharpe！'
　
　I　will　die　here；　he　thought；　in　this　empty　ditch　with　the　strange　white　bundles　that　stirred　in　the　small　breeze。　He　remembered　the　wool…padding　that　had　protected　the　two　breaches　and　wondered　at　a　mind　that　could　notice　such　irrelevant　things　at　the　point　of　a　death。
　
　'Sharpe！　Sharpe！　Sharpe！'
　
　I　will　die　here；　he　thought；　just　at　the　foot　of　the　slope；　and　then　he　hated　the　bastards　who　would　kill　him　and　the　anger　drove　him　up；　slipping　on　the　rubble；　unable　to　fight；　only　to　climb；　to　carry　the　sword　to　the　French　flesh。　There　were　men　around　him；　screaming　unintelligibly；　and　the　air　was　thick　with　smoke；　grapeshot；　and　flame。　Harper　was　passing　him；　the　huge　axe　held　easily；　and　Sharpe；　refusing　to　be　second；　drove　his　legs　towards　the　dark　sky　beyond　the　row　of　shining　blades。
　
　'Sharpe！　Sharpe！　Sharpe！'