bcornwell.sharpescompany-第14部分

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sed　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　stopped；　at　least　for　the　moment；　but　the　wind　still　came　cold　from　the　north　and　brought　with　it　high；　streaked　clouds　that　promised　more　bad　weather　in　March。　At　least；　being　the　first　troops　to　arrive；　the　Battalion　had　the　pick　of　Elvas's　billets　and　the　men　lived　in　parative　fort　even　as　they　stared　across　the　border　at　Badajoz。　The　two　fortresses　were　just　eleven　miles　apart；　either　side　of　a　shallow　valley；　but；　despite　their　closeness；　they　were　vastly　different。　Badajoz　was　a　city；　the　capital　of　a　province；　while　Elvas　was　a　small　market　town　that　found　itself　in　the　centre　of　wide；　spreading　defences。　Impressive　as　were　the　Portuguese　walls；　they　were　small　pared　with　the　Spanish　fortifications　that　barred　the　road　to　Madrid。　Sharpe　knew　it　was　fanciful；　but　there　seemed　something　sinister　about　the　huge　fortress　to　the　east　and　he　hated　to　think　of　Teresa　going　behind　the　towering　walls　and　wide　ditches。　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　sto