bcornwell.sharpescompany-第28部分

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'
　
　Sharpe　shook　his　head。　'No。　I　must　be　here　for　the　Court…Martial。'
　
　Knowles　looked　worried。　'What's　happening　to　the　Battalion；　sir？'
　
　'Happening；　Robert？　Nothing。'
　
　He　would　kill　Hakeswill　one　day；　but　now　he　needed　proof　or　otherwise　Harper　could　never　be　cleared。　Sharpe　did　not　know　how　to　get　the　truth。　Hakeswill　was　cunning　and　Sharpe　knew　that　the　truth　could　not　be　beaten　out　of　him。　He　would　laugh　at　a　beating。　But　one　day　Sharpe　would　bury　the　sword　in　that　belly　and　let　the　rottenness　burst　out　like　putrescent　ooze。　He　would　kill　the　bastard。
　
　The　bugles　sounded　sunset；　the　end　of　the　regulation　day；　the　fourth　day　of　Badajoz。
　
　CHAPTER　15
　
　It　rained　all　night；　Sharpe　knew；　for　he　was　awake　most　of　it；　listening　to　the　ceaseless　water；　the　wind；　and　the　sporadic　shot　from　the　French　cannon　that　tried　to　disturb　the　digging　of　the　batteries。　There　was　no　counter…fire　from　the　British；　the　siege　guns；　still　wrapped　in　straw　and　sacking；　were　waiting　for　a　break　in　the　weather　so　that　the　carts　could　be　dragged　over　the　hill　and　the　massive　guns　put　into　their　emplacements。
　
　Sharpe　sat　with　Harper　at　the　top　of　the　hill　and　stared　down　at　the　dull　lights　inside　the　city。　They　looked　far　away；　blurred　by　the　weather；　and　Sharpe　tried　to　distinguish　the　Cathedral　and　thought　of　the　sick　child　nearby。
　
　Harper　should　not　have　been　with　him。　He　was　under　guard；　sentenced　to　be　flogged　and　reduced　to　the　ranks；　but　Sharpe　had　simply　told　the　sentries　to　look　the　other　way　while　he　and　Harper　climbed　to　the　hilltop。　Sharpe　glanced　at　the　Irishman。　'I'm　sorry。'
　
　'Nothing　to　be　sorry　for；　sir。　You　did　all　you　could。'
　
　Which　had　amounted　to　very　little。　Sharpe　had　pleaded；　begged　almost；　but　the　filigree　frame　was　proof　enough　for　the　Regimental　Court　Martial。　Sharpe　had　testified　that　Harper　had　been　with　him　all　afternoon；　fighting　the　French　attack；　and　that　his　own　telescope　had　disappeared　in　that　time　so　the　Sergeant　could　not　have　been　responsible。　Windham　had　been　implacable。　The　telescope；　he　said；　must　have　been　stolen　by　another　thief。　Harper　was　guilty；　broken　down　to　a　Private；　and　sentenced　to　a　flogging。
　
　Harper　was　thinking　of　the　morning。　The　Donegal　voice　was　soft。　'A　hundred　strokes；　eh？　Could　be　worse。'　Twelve　hundred　lashes　was　the　maximum　sentence。
　
　Sharpe　handed　a　bottle　to　him。　Both　men　were　swathed　in　lengths　of　tarred　canvas　on　which　the　rain　drummed。　'I　got　two　hundred。'
　
　The　army's　going　soft；　so　it　is。'　Harper　laughed。　'And　back　to　a　bloody　Private；　too！　They　don't　even　call　me　a　Rifleman　in　this　bloody　Regiment。　Private　bloody　Harper。'　He　drank。　'And　when　do　they　think　I　stole　the　bloody　things？〃
　
　'Tuesday。'
　
　'God　save　Ireland！　St　Patrick's　Day？'
　
　'You　were　missing　from　the　lines。'
　
　'Jesus！　I　was　with　you。　Drinking。'
　
　'I　know。　I　told　them。'
　
　There　was　silence　between　them；　a　panionable　misery。　From　the　slope　below　came　the　chink　of　pick…axes　as　the　batteries　were　sunk　below　the　topsoil。　At　least；　Sharpe　reflected；　the　two　of　them　had　plenty　of　drink。　The　Light　pany　had　pooled　their　resources；　scrounged　and　stolen　more；　and　beneath　the　canvas　shelters　there　were　at　least　a　dozen　canteens　of　rum　or　wine。　'I'm　sorry；　Patrick。'
　
　'Save　your　breath；　sir。　It'll　not　hurt。'　He　knew　he　was　lying。　'I'll　kill　that　bastard！'
　
　'After　me。'　They　sat　and　thought　about　the　forting　idea　of　killing　Hakeswill。　The　Sergeant　was　taking　precautions。　He　had　pitched　his　shelter　just　yards　from　the　officers'　crude；　canvas　tents；　and　Sharpe　knew　that　there　was　no　hope；　this　night；　of　their　successfully　spiriting　Hakeswill　away　to　some　silent；　lonely　place。
　
　The　Irishman　chuckled　softly　and　Sharpe　looked　at　him。　'What？'
　
　'I　was　thinking　of　the　Colonel。　What　was　on　the　bloody　portrait？'
　
　'His　wife。'
　
　'She　must　be　a　rare　beauty。'
　
　'No。'　Sharpe　uncorked　another　canteen。　'She　looked　a　sour　bitch；　but　you　can　never　tell　with　paintings。　Anyway；　our　Colonel　approves　of　marriage。　He　thinks　it　keeps　a　man　out　of　trouble。'
　
　'It's　probably　true。'　Harper　sounded　unconvinced。　'I　hear　a　rumor　that　you　and　Miss　Teresa　are　married。　How　the　hell　did　that　get　started？'
　
　'I　told　the　Colonel。'
　
　'You　did！'　Harper　laughed。　'Mind　you；　you　should　marry　her。　Make　an　honest　woman　of　her。'
　
　'And　what　about　Jane　Gibbons？'
　
　Harper　grinned。　He　had　met　the　blonde　girl；　the　sister　of　the　man　he　had　killed；　and　he　shook　his　head。　'She'll　not　have　you。　You　have　to　be　born　in　a　big　house　to　marry　that　kind；　lots　of　money　and　all　that。　You're　just　a　foot　soldier；　like　the　rest　of　us。　A　fancy　red　sash　won't　get　you　into　her　bed。　At　least；　not　for　keeps。'
　
　Sharpe　chuckled。　'You　think　I　should　marry　Teresa？'
　
　'Why　not？　She's　a　skinny　thing；　so　she　is；　but　you　could　put　some　meat　on　her　bones。'　Harper　profoundly　disapproved　of　Sharpe's　taste　for　slim　women。
　
　They　sat　silent　again；　listening　to　the　rain　pelt　on　the　canvas；　and　sharing　a　friendship　that　rarely　had　a　chance　to　be　expressed　or　defined。　Sharpe　had　a　reputation；　with　those　who　did　not　know　him　well；　of　being　a　man　short　on　words　and　it　was　true；　he　thought；　except　with　a　handful　of　friends。　Harper　and　Hogan；　Lossow；　the　German　cavalryman；　and　that　was　about　all。　Exiles　to　a　man；　cut　off　from　their　own　countries　and　fighting　with　a　strange　army。　Sharpe　was　an　exile；　too；　a　stranger　in　the　Officers'　Mess。　'You　know　what　the　General　says？'
　
　Harper　shook　his　head。　'Tell　me　what　the　General　says。'
　
　'He　says　that　no　one　ever　promoted　from　the　ranks　turns　out　well。'
　
　'Does　he　now？'
　
　'He　says　they　turn　to　drink。'
　
　'In　this　army；　who　wouldn't？'　Harper　pushed　a　canteen　at　Sharpe。　'Here；　get　yourself　drunk。'
　
　Some　fool　opened　the　door　of　a　lantern　in　the　parallel　and　the　French　gunners；　ever　alert；　saw　the　light　and　suddenly　the　ramparts　of　Badajoz　blossomed　flame　and　shot。　There　were　shouts　from　the　workings；　the　light　disappeared；　but　then　there　was　the　sick　thud　of　the　shots　striking　home　and　the　screams　from　the　trench。　Harper　spat。　'We'll　never　take　this　bloody　town。'
　
　'We　can't　stay　here　for　ever。'
　
　'That's　what　you　said　when　you　first　went　to　Ireland。'
　
　Sharpe　grinned。　'It's　the　wele　you　give　us。　We　don't　want　to　leave。　Anyway；　we　like　the　weather。'
　
　'You　can　keep　it。'　Harper　squinted　up　into　the　darkness。　'Christ！　I　wish　the　rain　would　stop！'
　
　'I　thought　the　Irish　liked　rain。'
　
　'We　love　rain；　so　we　do；　but　this　isn't　rain。'
　
　'What　is　it？'
　
　'It's　the　flood；　the　deluge；　the　end　of　the　whole　sodden　world。'
　
　Sharpe　leaned　back　on　a　wicker　gabion；　abandoned　by　a　working　party；　and　stared　up。　'I　haven't　seen　the　stars　in　a　week。　Longer。'
　
　'That's　true。'
　
　'I　like　stars。'
　
　'That's　nice　for　them。'　Harper　was　amused；　he　did　not　often　hear　Sharpe's　tongue　loosened　by　drink。
　
　'No；　really。　You　like　birds；　I　like　stars。'
　
　'Birds　do　things。　They　fly；　make　nests。　You　can　watch　them。'
　
　Sharpe　said　nothing。　He　remembered　the　nights　lying　in　fields；　head　on　haversack；　body　inside　the　sewn　blanket；　and　legs　thrust　into　the　arms　of　the　jacket　which　was　buttoned　upside　down　on　his　stomach。　It　was　the　soldier's　way　of　sleeping；　but　on　some　nights　he　would　simply　lie　there　and　watch　the　great　smear　in　the　sky　that　was　like　the　camp　fires　of　an　unimaginably　huge　army。　Legion　upon　inprehensible　legion；　up　there　in　the　sky；　and　he　knew　that　they　were　ing　nearer；　night　by　night；　and　the　picture　was　confused　in　his　head　by　the　strange；　drunken　preachers　who　had　e　to　the　foundling　home　when　he　was　a　child。　The　stars　were　mixed　up　with　the　four　horsemen　of　the　apocalypse；　the　last　trump；　the　second　ing；　the　raising　of　the　dead；　and　the　lights　in　the　night　were　the　army　of　the　world's　end。　〃The　world　won't　end　in　a　flood。　It'll　be　bayonets　and　battalions。　A　bloody　great　battle。'
　
　'As　long　as　we're　in　the　skirmish　line；　sir；　I　don't　mind。'　Harper　drank　more　rum。　'I　must　save　some　for　the　morning。'
　
　Sharpe　sat　up。　'Hagman's　bribing　the　drummer　boys。'
　
　'Never　works。'　Harper　was　right。　The　drummer　boys　did　the　flogging　and　were　usually　bribed　by　the　victim's　friends；　but　under　the　gaze　of　the　officers　they　were　forced　to　lay　on　with　their　full　strength。
　
　Sharpe　stared　at　the　dark　bulk　of　Badajoz；　relieved　by　a　few　hazed　lights。　There　was　a　fire　burning　in　one　of　the　castle's　many　courtyards。　The　dull；　brief　bell　of　the　Cathedral　rang　the　half…hour。　'If　only　she　wasn't　there。。。'　He　stopped。
　
　'What？'
　
　'I　don't　know。'
　
　'If　she　wasn't　there。'　Harper's　Ulster　accent　was　slow；　as　if　he　was　treading　very　carefully。　'You'd　be　tempted　to　bugger　off。　Is　that　right？　Up　to　the　hills？　To　fight　with　the　Partisans？'
　
　'I　don't　know。'
　
　'You　do。　Do　you　think　no　one　else　has　thought　of　it？'　Harper　meant　himself。　'You're　not　a　fair　weather　soldier　only。'
　
　'We'll　get　desertions　soon。'
　
　'Aye；　if　Hakeswill　isn't　buried　soon。'　No　one　had　deserted　from　the　Battalion　for　months。　Other　battalions　were　losing　men；　a　handful　each　day　who　slipped　across　to　Badajoz。　There　was　traffic　the　oth