bcornwell.sharpescompany-第26部分

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d　not　want　order。　They　wanted　a　break　from　the　tedium　of　digging　and　the　drowning　rain；　and　they　wanted　a　fight。　It　was　like　a　street　brawl。　There　was　no　smoke　because　the　muskets　would　not　fire；　the　noise　of　the　fight　was　metal　clashing　on　metal；　wood　on　metal；　the　screams　of　the　wounded　and　sobs　of　the　dying。　From　the　side；　where　Sharpe　and　his　half…pany　shared　brandy　with　their　prisoners；　it　looked　like　hundreds　of　swamp　monsters　grappling　in　grotesque　slow　motions。　Sharpe　pointed　the　French　Sergeant　towards　the　city。　'Go！'　The　Frenchman　grinned；　gave　Sharpe　a　friendly　salute；　and　led　his　small　band　away。　Twenty　yards　from　the　trench　they　stopped；　picked　up　six　spades。　Harper　shouted。　'Bring　Them　back！'　The　French　Sergeant　made　a　rude　gesture　and　began　running　towards　Badajoz。
　
　'Let　them　go。'　Sharpe　turned　back　to　the　fight。　'e　on。'　They　trudged　up　beside　the　parapet；　the　rain　sweeping　across　them　and　down　on　to　the　dead　in　the　trench。　Broken　spades　and　shattered　muskets　littered　the　slope。　The　sound　of　the　fight；　the　sound　of　men　clawing　each　other　to　death　in　the　mud；　was　muffled　by　the　rain。　A　French　officer　had　organized　a　small　group　with　spades　and　was　trying　to　fill　in　the　parallel。　Sharpe　began　to　hurry；　the　ground　treacherous；　and　he　turned　to　see　his　men　strung　out　as　they　followed　him；　but　Harper　was　beside　him　and　the　French　turned　and　saw　them　ing。　It　was　the　turn　of　the　French　to　use　spades。　A　huge　man　swung　at　them；　forced　them　back；　parried　Harper's　thrust　and　Sharpe　flailed　his　sword　at　the　brute；　cutting　through　the　spade…handle；　and　still　the　Frenchman　came　at　them。　Harper　bayoneted　him；　and　still　he　came　on；　and　Sharpe　cut　at　the　back　of　the　man's　neck　until　he　finally　collapsed。　'e　on！'
　
　There　was　a　stinging　pain　in　his　back；　he　whipped　round　and　the　French　officer；　white…faced；　was　going　back　from　the　sword　lunge。　'You　bastard！'　Sharpe　went　forward；　blade　level；　and　the　Frenchman　came　at　him。　The　blades　rattled；　Sharpe　twisted　his　wrist　so　that　the　heavy　sword　went　from　the　Frenchman's　left　to　his　right；　under　his　guard；　and　Sharpe　stamped　his　right　foot　forward；　ignored　his　opponent's　blade　and　caught　him　in　the　ribs。　The　French　officer　tried　to　back　away；　slipped　on　blood　and　mud　but　Sharpe　kept　on　going　forward；　feeling　the　steel　scrape　on　ribs。　His　men　swept　past　him　with　their　bayonets　held　out；　their　captured　bayonets；　and　Sharpe　watched　them　drive　the　enemy　back。
　
　Bugles　called　the　French　back　to　the　city　and；　within　seconds；　the　hillside　was　a　mass　of　retreating　enemy　carrying　their　wounded　and　bundles　of　captured　shovels　and　picks。　They　were　heading　straight　for　the　city　as　if　frightened　of　cavalry　pursuit　and　Sharpe　watched　as　men　waded　into　the　floodwater　rather　than　go　the　long　way　round　by　the　dam。　For　ten；　twenty　yards　it　was　fine；　the　water　came　up　to　their　thighs　and　then；　with　horrid　suddenness；　the　bottom　dropped　away。　French　officers　shouted　at　their　men；　ordered　them　away　from　the　water；　shepherded　them　to　the　Rivillas　dam。　The　sortie　was　over。
　
　The　French　cannon　opened　fire；　the　round　shot　ploughing　into　mud…soaked　red；　and　the　British　leaped　for　the　damaged　trench。　Harper　looked　at　Sharpe's　drawn　and　gory　sword。　'Like　old　times；　sir。　'
　
　Sharpe　looked　round　his　small　group。　All　his　Riflemen　were　there；　grinning　at　him；　and　a　good　number　of　the　rest　of　the　Light　pany。　He　grinned　at　them；　then　picked　up　a　piece　of　wet　sacking　and　wiped　the　sword　blade。　'You'd　better　get　back　to　the　pany。'
　
　'Rather　stay　here；　sir。'　Sharpe　could　not　see　who　had　spoken。　He　looked　at　Harper。
　
　'Take　them　back；　Sergeant。'
　
　'Sir。'　Harper　grinned　at　him。　'And　thank　you；　sir。'
　
　'For　nothing。'　He　was　left　alone。　Small　groups　wandered　the　area　of　fighting　and　picked　up　the　wounded　and　stacked　the　dead。　There　were　a　lot　of　bodies；　more；　he　guessed；　than　had　been　in　the　breach　at　Ciudad　Rodrigo。　A　spade　brought　down　on　a　man's　head　is　a　vicious　instrument　and　the　British　troops　had　been　frustrated　and　ready　for　a　fight；　for　a　savage　brawl　in　the　mud。　A　dead　Frenchman　was　curled　at　Sharpe's　feet　and　the　Rifleman　crouched　and　ran　his　hands　through　the　corpse's　pockets　and　pouches。　There　was　nothing　worth　taking。　A　letter　folded　into　quarters　which　smeared　as　soon　as　Sharpe　pulled　it　into　the　rain；　a　copper　coin；　and　a　loose　musket　ball　that　may　have　been　the　dead　man's　talisman。　Round　the　neck；　thick　with　blood；　was　a　cheap　metal　crucifix。　He　had　tried　to　grow　a　moustache；　to　look　like　a　veteran；　but　the　hairs　were　wispy　and　thin。　He　was　hardly　more　than　a　boy。　One　of　his　boot　soles　had　e　loose；　was　hanging　free　and　vibrating　fitfully　as　the　rain　struck　it。　Had　that　killed　him？　Had　the　sole　e　loose　in　the　fight　and；　as　his　rades　ran；　had　he　limped；　or　stumbled；　and　had　a　British　bayonet　sliced　into　his　neck？　The　ink　washed　off　the　letter；　ran　into　the　mud；　but　Sharpe　could　see　the　last　word　on　the　page　that　was　written　larger　than　the　rest。　'Maman。'
　
　He　looked　at　the　city；　now　fringed　again　with　the　long　flames　as　the　guns　hammered　the　threnody　that　would　not　cease　till　the　siege　was　over。　Teresa　was　there。　He　looked　at　the　Cathedral　tower；　squat　and　arched　with　bell　windows；　and　thought　how　close　the　bell　must　sound　to　her。　The　Cathedral　only　seemed　to　have　the　one　bell；　a　harsh　bell　whose　note　died　almost　as　soon　as　it　was　struck　on　the　hour　and　its　quarters。　He　wondered；　quite　suddenly；　if　she　ever　sang　to　the　child？　And　what　was　mother　in　Spanish？　Maman？　Like　the　French？
　
　'Sir！　Sir！'　It　was　Ensign　Matthews；　blinking　through　the　rain。　'Sir？　Is　that　you；　sir？　Captain　Sharpe？'
　
　'It's　me。'　Sharpe　did　not　correct　the　Captain　to　Lieutenant。
　
　'You'd　better　e；　sir。'
　
　'What　is　it？'
　
　'The　officers'　baggage；　sir。　It's　been　rifled。'
　
　'Rifled？'　He　was　scrambling　out　of　the　trench。
　
　'The　Colonel's　lost　some　silver；　sir。　Everyone's　lost　something；　sir。'
　
　Sharpe　swore。　He　had　been　in　charge　of　the　baggage　and；　instead　of　guarding　it；　he　had　been　brawling　in　the　mud。　He　swore　again　and　began　to　run。
　
　CHAPTER　14
　
　'God　damn　it！'　Colonel　Windham　paced　up　and　down　in　the　tiny　sheepfold。　He　was　carrying　a　riding　crop　and　he　cut　with　it　in　his　fury；　slashing　at　the　pile　of　baggage。　When　he　bent　his　head　to　look　at　the　rifled　baggage；　water　cascaded　from　his　bicorne　hat。　'God　damn　it！'
　
　'When　did　it　happen？'　Sharpe　asked　Major　Forrest。
　
　'We　don't　know。　'　Forrest　smiled　nervously　at　the　Rifleman。
　
　Windham　swiveled。　'Happen？　When？　This　God…damned　afternoon；　Sharpe；　when　you　were　supposed　to　be　in　Goddamned　mand！'　There　were　another　dozen　officers　crowded　back　against　the　walls　of　the　sheepfold　and　they　looked　to　Sharpe　with　accusing　faces。　They　were　all　wary　of　the　Colonel's　anger。
　
　'Do　we　know　it　was　this　afternoon？'　Sharpe　insisted。
　
　Windham　looked　as　if　he　would　like　to　whip　Sharpe　with　his　riding　crop。　Instead　he　swore　again；　and　turned　away。　It　was　not　the　officers'　day…to…day　baggage　that　had　been　burgled；　but　their　valuables　which　had　been　stored　in　leather　mule…bags。　None　of　the　baggage；　as　far　as　Sharpe　knew；　had　been　touched　for　three　days。　It　contained　the　kind　of　things　that　a　man　would　only　unpack　if　he　were　in　fortable　quarters　for　a　long　period；　silverware；　crystal；　the　luxuries　that　reminded　them　of　home　forts。　Windham　growled　at　Major　Collett。　'What's　missing？'
　
　It　was　not　a　long　list。　Forrest　had　lost　a　money　draft；　but　it　had　been　found　screwed　up　and　thrown　away　in　the　mud。　Whoever　had　slit　the　bags　had　not　known　what　to　do　with　the　paper。　There　was　a　pair　of　snuffboxes　gone；　a　gold　chain　that
　
　 Sharpe　suspected　had　been　looted　from　Ciudad　Rodrigo；　certainly　the　officer　who　reported　that　loss　had　been　voluble　about　his　poverty　before　the　siege　and　remarkably　silent　afterwards。　There　was　a　set　of　gold　scabbard　furniture；　too　valuable　to　wear　in　battle；　a　pair　of　silver　spurs　and　a　pair　of　jeweled　ear…rings　that　an　embarrassed　Lieutenant　claimed　was　a　present　for　his　mother。　Major　Collett　had　lost　a　shaving　mirror　with　a　silver　lid　and　a　watch　that　he　said　was　worth　a　small　fortune。　Most　important　of　all　was　the　Colonel's　loss；　the　silver…filigree…framed　portrait　of　his　wife；　the　chinless；　stern　Jessica。　The　Colonel；　rumor　had　it；　was　particularly　fond　of　his　wife；　she　had　brought　him　a　small　fortune　and　the　hunting　rights　for　half　of　Leicestershire；　and　Colonel　Windham　was　furious　at　the　loss。　Sharpe　remembered　the　portrait　sitting　on　the　low　table　in　Elvas。
　
　Windham　pointed　the　whip　at　Sharpe。　'Did　you　lose　anything？'
　
　Sharpe　shook　his　head。　'I've　nothing　here；　sir。'　Everything　he　owned　he　carried　on　his　back；　except　for　the　Patriotic　Fund　sword　and　the　gold　stolen　at　Almeida　which　were　with　his　London　agents。
　
　'Where's　your　pack？'
　
　'With　the　others；　sir。'
　
　'Is　it　marked？'
　
　Sharpe　shook　his　head。　'No；　sir。'
　
　'Fetch　it；　Sharpe。'
　
　It　did　not　make　sense。　Was　the　Colonel　accusing　Sharpe　of　being　the　thief？　If　so；　why　ask　Sharpe　to　fetch　his　own　pack　and；　in　so　doing；　have　an　opportunity　of　hiding　the　stolen　goods？　He　found　the　pack；　brought　it　back　to　the　sheepfold。　'Do　you　want　to　search　it；　sir？'
　
　'Don't　be　a　fool；　Sha