Sharpe 3-Book Collection 2: Sharpe’s Havoc, Sharpe’s Eagle, Sharpe’s Gold. Bernard Cornwell

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СКАЧАТЬ then shuddered as Hagman moaned. ‘There’s a stable block behind the house,’ he said coldly, ‘put your wounded man there. And who the devil is that?’ He had noticed Vicente’s prisoner, Lieutenant Olivier.

      Sharpe turned to see where the Colonel was looking. ‘A Frog,’ he answered, ‘whose throat I’m going to cut.’

      Christopher stared in horror at Sharpe. ‘A Frog whose …’ he began to repeat, but just then Kate came from the house to stand beside him. He put an arm about her shoulder and, with an irritable look at Sharpe, raised his voice to call to Lieutenant Olivier. ‘Monsieur! Venez ici, s’il vous plaît.’

      ‘He’s a prisoner,’ Sharpe said.

      ‘He’s an officer?’ Christopher asked as Olivier threaded his way through Sharpe’s sullen men.

      ‘He’s a lieutenant,’ Sharpe said, ‘of the 18th Dragoons.’

      Christopher gave Sharpe a rather startled look. ‘It is customary,’ he said coldly, ‘to allow officers to give their parole. Where is the Lieutenant’s sword?’

      ‘I wasn’t keeping him prisoner,’ Sharpe said, ‘Lieutenant Vicente was. The Lieutenant’s a lawyer, you see, and he seems to have the strange idea that the man should stand trial, but I was just planning on hanging him.’

      Kate gave a small cry of horror. ‘Perhaps you should go inside, my dear,’ Christopher suggested, but she did not move and he did not insist. ‘Why were you going to hang him?’ he asked Sharpe instead.

      ‘Because he’s a rapist,’ Sharpe said flatly and the word prompted Kate to give another small cry, and this time Christopher bodily pushed her into the tiled hallway.

      ‘You will mind your language,’ Christopher said icily, ‘when my wife is present.’

      ‘There was a lady present when this bastard raped her,’ Sharpe said. ‘We caught him with his breeches round his ankles and his equipment hanging out. What was I supposed to do with him? Give him a brandy and offer him a game of whist?’

      ‘He is an officer and a gentleman,’ Christopher said, more concerned that Olivier was from the 18th Dragoons which meant he served with Captain Argenton. ‘Where is his sword?’

      Lieutenant Vicente was introduced. He carried Olivier’s sword and Christopher insisted it was returned to the Frenchman. Vicente tried to explain that Olivier was accused of a crime and must be tried for it, but Colonel Christopher, speaking his impeccable Portuguese, dismissed the idea. ‘The conventions of war, Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘do not allow for the trial of military officers as though they were civilians. You should know that if, as Sharpe claims, you are a lawyer. To allow the civil trial of prisoners of war would open up the possibilities of reciprocity. Try this man and execute him and the French will do the same to every Portuguese officer they take captive. You understand that, surely?’

      Vicente saw the force of the argument, but would not give in. ‘He is a rapist,’ he insisted.

      ‘He is a prisoner of war,’ Christopher contradicted him, ‘and you will give him over to my custody.’

      Vicente still tried to resist. Christopher, after all, was in civilian clothes. ‘He is a prisoner of my army,’ Vicente said stubbornly.

      ‘And I,’ Christopher said disdainfully, ‘am a lieutenant colonel in His Britannic Majesty’s army, and that, I think, means that I outrank you, Lieutenant, and you will obey my orders or else you will face the military consequences.’

      Vicente, outranked and overwhelmed, stepped back and Christopher, with a small bow, presented Olivier with his sword. ‘Perhaps you will do me the honour of waiting inside?’ he suggested to the Frenchman and, when a much relieved Olivier had gone into the Quinta, Christopher strode to the edge of the front steps and stared over Sharpe’s head to where a white cloud of dust was being generated on a track coming from the distant main road. A large body of horsemen was approaching the village and Christopher reckoned it had to be Captain Argenton and his escort. A look of alarm crossed his face and his gaze flickered to Sharpe, then back to the approaching cavalry. He dared not let the two meet. ‘Sharpe,’ he said, ‘you are under orders again.’

      ‘If you say so, sir.’ Sharpe sounded reluctant.

      ‘Then you will stay here and guard my wife,’ Christopher said. ‘Are those your horses?’ He pointed to the dozen cavalry horses captured at Barca d’Avintas, most of which were still saddled. ‘I’ll take two of them.’ He ran into the entrance hall and beckoned to Olivier. ‘Monsieur! You will accompany me and we go at once. Dearest one?’ He took Kate’s hand. ‘You will stay here till I return. I shall not be long. An hour at the most.’ He bent to give her knuckles a kiss, then hurried outside and hauled himself into the nearest saddle, watched Olivier mount, then both men spurred down the track. ‘You will stay here, Sharpe!’ Christopher shouted as he left. ‘Right here! That is an order!’

      Vicente watched Christopher and the dragoon Lieutenant ride away. ‘Why has he taken the Frenchman?’

      ‘God knows,’ Sharpe said, and while Dodd and three other riflemen took Hagman to the stable block he climbed to the top step and took out his superb telescope which he rested on a finely carved stone urn that decorated the small terrace. He trained the glass on the approaching horsemen and saw they were French dragoons. A hundred of them? Maybe more. Sharpe could see the green coats and the pink facings and the straight swords and the brown cloth covers on their polished helmets, then he saw the horsemen curbing their mounts as Christopher and Olivier emerged from Vila Real de Zedes. Sharpe gave the telescope to Harper. ‘Why would that greasy bugger be talking to the Crapauds?’

      ‘God knows, sir,’ Harper said.

      ‘So watch ’em, Pat, watch ’em,’ Sharpe said, ‘and if they come any closer, let me know.’ He walked into the Quinta, giving the huge front door a perfunctory knock. Lieutenant Vicente was already in the entrance hall, staring with doglike devotion at Kate Savage who was now evidently Kate Christopher. Sharpe took off his shako and ran a hand through his newly cut hair. ‘Your husband has gone to talk to the French,’ he said, and saw the frown of disapproval on Kate’s face and wondered if that was because Christopher was talking to the French or because she was being addressed by Sharpe. ‘Why?’ he asked.

      ‘You must ask him, Lieutenant,’ she said.

      ‘My name’s Sharpe.’

      ‘I know your name,’ Kate said coldly.

      ‘Richard to my friends.’

      ‘It is good to know you possess some friends, Mister Sharpe,’ Kate said. She looked at him boldly and Sharpe thought what a beauty she was. She had the sort of face that painters immortalized in oils and it was no wonder that Vicente’s band of earnest poets and philosophers had worshipped her from afar.

      ‘So why is Colonel Christopher talking to the Frogs, ma’am?’

      Kate blinked in surprise, not because her husband was talking with the enemy, but because, for the first time, she had been called ma’am. ‘I told you, Lieutenant,’ she said with some asperity, ‘you must ask him.’

      Sharpe walked round the hall. He admired the curving marble stairway, gazed up at a fine tapestry that showed huntresses pursuing a stag, then looked at two busts in opposing niches. The busts had evidently СКАЧАТЬ