bcornwell.sharpescompany-第42部分

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　Private　Clayton　looked　sideways　at　Hakeswill；　laughed；　and　said　something　to　his　panion。　Hakeswill　saw　the　laugh；　but　pretended　not　to　notice。　He　would　take　care　of　young　Clayton；　but　after　the　siege；　when　he　had　time　to　think　the　problem　through。　Clayton　had　a　pretty　wife；　the　prettiest　in　the　Battalion；　and　Hakeswill　had　his　eye　on　Sally。　She　would　have　to　wait　until　he　had　done　with　Teresa。
　
　The　thought　of　Sharpe's　woman　made　him　scowl。　He　was　not　certain　why　he　wanted　her　so　much；　but　he　did。　She　had　bee　an　obsession　that　disturbed　his　sleep。　He　would　take　the　bitch　and　kill　her　afterwards。　It　was　not　because　she　had　fought　him；　and　won；　others　had　done　that。　He　remembered　the　woman　in　Dublin　who　had　stuck　a　gutting…knife　in　his　belly。　She　had　got　away　and　he　had　felt　no　resentment；　but　Teresa　was　different。　Perhaps　it　was　because　she　had　shown　no　fear；　and　Hakeswill　liked　to　see　fear。　He　could　remember　the　ones　he　had　killed；　the　ones　he　had　not　needed　to　kill；　right　back　to　that　prig　of　a　vicar's　daughter　who　had　stripped　for　him　as　he　held　the　adder　close　by　her　neck。　Dorcas；　that　was　her　name；　and　her　father　had　trumped　up　a　sheep　stealing　charge　that　had　nearly　killed　him。　Hakeswill　smiled　to　himself。　He　had　burned　down　the　vicar's　tithe　barn　on　his　first　night　after　the　hanging。　He　thought　again　of　Teresa；　and　the　edge　of　his　bayonet　became　sharper；　and　he　knew　that　he　wanted　her　very　much。　Not　just　for　revenge；　not　just　because　she　was　Sharpe's　woman；　though　that　was　important；　but　because　he　wanted　her。　She　was　so　beautiful；　so　utterly　beautiful；　and　he　would　take　her；　kill　her；　and　the　bastard　Sharpe　would　lose　her。　The　anticipation　brought　on　his　involuntary　twitch。
　
　He　changed　hands　so　that　the　bayonet　was　in　his　right　hand　and；　wedging　the　stone　between　his　knees；　he　spat　on　it　and　began　on　the　point。　It　would　be　needle　sharp　when　he　had　finished；　so　sharp　that　it　would　slide　sweetly　into　a　man's　guts　as　if　there　was　no　skin　to　puncture　on　the　way。　Or　a　woman's！　He　cackled　aloud　at　the　thought；　alarming　the　pany；　and　he　thought　of　Teresa。　Sharpe　would　know　who　had　done　it；　but　there　was　nothing　he　could　do　about　it！　Hakeswill　could　not　be　killed！　He　looked　up　at　the　pany。　They　wanted　to　kill　him；　he　knew；　but　so　had　the　men　of　a　dozen　other　panies　and　all　had　tried。　He　could　remember　the　musket　balls　going　past　him　in　battle；　fired　from　behind；　and　once　he　had　seen　a　man　taking　deliberate　aim。　He　stroked　the　bayonet；　remembering　his　revenge；　and　then　thought　of　the　night　ahead。
　
　He　had　planned　his　assault　carefully。　The　South　Essex；　with　the　rest　of　the　Fourth　Division；　would　be　attacking　the　breached　face　of　the　Trinidad　bastion；　but　Hakeswill　would　take　care　in　the　ditch。　He　would　hang　back；　let　others　do　the　fighting；　so　that　he　was　fresh　when　the　cheers　came　from　the　top　of　the　breach。　Then；　when　the　chaos　started；　he　would　cross　the　wall　and　go　up　into　the　dark　streets　that　led　to　the　Cathedral。　He　only　needed　two　minutes'　lead；　which　was　all　he　was　likely　to　get；　but　he　knew；　as　he　tested　the　perfectly　prepared　blade　in　his　hands；　that　he　would　succeed。　He　always　did　succeed。　He　had　been　touched　by　death；　released；　and　he　felt　in　his　soul　that　he　had　been　inspired　to　succeed　ever　since。　He　looked　up。　'Clayton！'
　
　The　pany　froze　and　stared　at　Clayton。　The　young　Private　grinned；　as　if　he　was　not　worried。　'Sergeant？'
　
　'Oil；　get　me　oil。'
　
　'Yes；　Sergeant。'
　
　Hakeswill　cackled　as　the　boy　walked　away。　He　would　save　him　for　after　Badajoz；　after　the　killing；　for　the　time　when　he　would　have　to　pick　up　the　other　problems　that　he　had　deferred。　There　was　the　oilskin　bundle　that　was　buried　beneath　a　boundary　stone　two　miles　down　the　Seville　Road。　Hakeswill　had　visited　the　spot　last　night；　heaved　the　stone　off　the　field　embankment；　and　rummaged　through　the　stolen　goods。　It　was　all　safe　and　he　had　left　most　of　it　there　because　there　would　be　no　point　in　trying　to　sell　anything　in　the　next　few　days。　Badajoz　would　be　stuffed　with　loot；　prices　would　drop　to　rock…bottom。　It　could　all　wait。　He　had　taken　only　Sharpe's　telescope；　with　its　distinctive　brass　plate；　which　he　planned　to　leave　beside　Teresa's　body。　He　picked　up　his　hat；　stared　down　into　the　interior。　'Then　he'll　be　blamed；　won't　he？　Or　else　that　bastard　Irishman！'
　
　'Sergeant？'
　
　The　eyes　rolled　up。　'Private　Clayton？'
　
　'The　oil；　Sergeant。'
　
　'Don't　bloody　stand　there！'　Hakeswill　held　up　his　bayonet。　'Oil　it。　And　be　careful！　Don't　spoil　the　edge。　'　He　let　Clayton　walk　away　and　then　looked　down　into　the　hat。　'Nasty　little　boy！　Perhaps　he'll　die　tonight；　and　that　will　make　things　easier　for　us。'
　
　Harper　watched　the　twitching；　malevolent　face　and　wondered　what　was　inside　the　shako。　The　whole　pany　wondered；　but　no　one　dared　ask。　It　was　Harper's　opinion　that　there　was　nothing　inside；　that　the　whole　performance　was　a　contrived　demonstration　of　madness　to　unsettle　the　pany。　The　Irishman　sharpened　his　own　bayonet；　the　unfamiliar　musket　bayonet　that　lacked　the　rifle　blade's　handle；　and　he　made　his　own　plans　for　the　night。　There　were　still　no　orders；　but　the　army；　with　its　strange；　collective　instinct；　knew　that　the　assault　was　planned　and　if；　as　seemed　likely；　the　South　Essex　were　ordered　into　the　breach；　Harper　intended　staying　close　to　Hakeswill。　If　a　chance　came　to　kill　the　Sergeant；　he　would；　or　else　he　would　try　to　make　sure　that　Hakeswill　did　not　slip　alone　into　the　city。　Harper　had　decided　not　to　volunteer　for　the　Hope；　not　unless　Hakeswill　volunteered；　and　he　thought　that　unlikely。　Harper's　job　was　to　protect　Teresa；　as　it　was　Sharpe's；　the　whole　pany's；　even　Captain　Robert　Knowles's；　who　had　visited　his　old　Light　pany　and　listened　seriously　as　Harper　told　of　Hakeswill's　threat。　Knowles　had　grinned；　reassured　Harper；　but　still　the　Irishman　feared　the　consequences　of　the　chaos　in　a　breach。
　
　He　leaned　back　and　listened　to　the　guns。
　
　The　gunners；　with　the　same　instinctive　knowledge　that　the　assault　was　imminent；　served　their　guns　with　extra　effort　as　if　each　stone　shard　chipped　from　the　breaches　would　save　an　infantryman's　life。　The　smoke　from　the　twelve　batteries　hung　like　a　sea…fog　above　the　still　waters　of　the　flooded　stream；　smoke　so　thick　that　the　city　could　hardly　be　seen；　and　more　smoke　was　pumped　relentlessly　from　the　huge　guns。　The　cannon　were　like　bucking　monsters　that　hissed　and　steamed　between　each　shot　as　the　blackened　gunners　sponged　and　rammed；　then　heaved　the　beasts　back　on　to　target。　The　gunners　could　not　see　the　breaches；　but　the　wooden　recoil　platforms　were　marked　with　deep　cuts　and　the　officers　and　Sergeants　lined　the　gun　trails　on　the　cuts；　checked　the　elevation　screw。　With　a　flick　of　the　glowing　match　the　gun　would　bellow　again；　leap　back；　and　a　heavy　iron　ball　would　vanish　in　the　fog　with　a　sudden　whorl　of　smoke　that　was　followed　by　the　grinding　crash　of　impact。
　
　Perhaps　it　was　the　tempo　of　the　guns　that　made　the　men　so　certain　that　the　assault　was　this　Sunday　night；　or　else　the　sight　of　newly　made　siege　ladders　in　the　Engineers'　park。　Two　of　the　attacks；　the　one　on　the　castle；　and　the　one　by　the　river；　at　the　San　Vincente　bastion；　would　carry　ladders　to　try　a　surprise　escalade。　It　could　not　work；　of　course；　the　walls　were　too　high。　The　battle　would　be　lost　or　won　in　the　breaches。
　
　'pany！'　Hakeswill's　voice　grated　at　them。　'On　your　feet！　Hup；　hup；　hup！'
　
　They　scrambled　to　their　feet；　pulling　jackets　straight；　and　Major　Collett　was　there　with　Captain　Rymer。　The　Major　waved　the　men　down　again。　'You　can　sit。'
　
　This　had　to　be　the　announcement；　Harper　thought；　and　he　watched　as　Collett　drew　out　a　sheet　of　paper　and　unfolded　it。　There　was　a　buzz　of　excitement　in　the　pany；　a　shout　for　silence　from　Hakeswill；　and　Collett　waited　for　quiet。　He　looked　at　them　belligerently。　The　assault；　he　said；　would　be　soon；　but　they　knew　that；　and　they　waited　for　orders。　The　Major　paused　and　looked　down　at　the　piece　of　paper。　'This　order　has　e；　and　I　will　read　it　to　you。　You　will　listen。　〃I　advert　the　army's　attention　to　the　events　pursuant　of　the　capture　of　Ciudad　Rodrigo。'〃　Collett　read　in　a　flat；　hard　voice。　He　could　not　pronounce　Ciudad　with　the　soft　'C'；　so　instead　pronounced　it　'Quidad'。'　〃The　inhabitants　of　that　town；　citizens　of　Britain's　ally；　Spain；　were　offered　every　kind　of　insult　and　injury。　There　will　be　no　repetition　of　that　behavior　in　Badajoz。　Any　attacks　on　civilian　property　will　be　swiftly　and　condignly　punished　by　death；　the　apprehended　perpetrators　being　hung　at　the　place　of　their　crime。〃'　He　folded　the　paper。　'You　understand？　Keep　your　thieving　hands　to　yourself　and　your　breeches　buttoned。　That's　all。'　He　glared　at　them；　turned　on　his　heel；　and　marched　away　to　the　next　pany。　The　Light　pany　looked　at　each　other；　shrugged；　and　laughed　at　the　message。　Who　would　do　the　hanging？　The　provosts　would　not　be　far　to　the　front　in　any　fighting；　it　would　be　pitch　dark　in　the　streets；　and　a　soldier　deserved　some　loot　for　fighting　through　a　breach。　They　were　the　ones　who　would　do　the　fighting；　and　the　dying；　and　who　did　not　need　a　drop　of　drink　after　that？　Not　that　they　intended　any　harm　to　any　civilians。　The　Spanish；　most　of　whom　in　Badajoz　were　on　the　enemy's　side；　cou