Read Online Sharpe's Fury - 11 by Bernard Cornwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bernard Cornwell
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suggest?”
“The owner has shaken hands with the French?”
“Like as not.”
Harris thought about that. “If they’re friends with the Crapauds, sir, then perhaps there’s a boat in that shed by the river?”
“Perhaps,” Sharpe said dubiously. A door in the courtyard by the old castle ruin opened and he saw someone emerge into the sunlight. He nudged Harris, pointed, and the rifleman swung the telescope.
“Just a frow hanging out the washing,” Harris said.
“We can get our shirts laundered,” Sharpe said. “Come on, let’s fetch the brigadier.”
They walked back across the high hills to find Moon in a triumphant mood because Sergeant Noolan and his men had failed to return.
“I told you, Sharpe!” Moon said. “You can’t trust them. That sergeant looked decidedly shifty.”
“How’s your leg, sir?”
“Bloody painful. Can’t be helped, eh? So you say there’s a decent-sized town?”
“Large village anyway, sir. Two churches.”
“Let’s hope they have a doctor who knows his business. He can look at this damned leg, and the sooner the better. Let’s get on the march, Sharpe. We’re wasting time.”
But just then Sergeant Noolan reappeared to the north and the brigadier had no choice but to wait as the three men from the 88th rejoined. Noolan, his long face more lugubrious than ever, brought grim news. “They blew up the fort, sir,” he told Sharpe.
“Talk to me, man, talk to me!” Moon insisted. “I command here.”
“Sorry, your honor,” Noolan said, snatching off his battered shako. “Our lot, sir, blew up the fort, sir, and they’ve gone.”
“Fort Joseph, you mean?” Moon asked.
“Is that what it’s called, sir? The one on the other side of the river, sir, they blew it up proper, they did! Guns tipped over the parapet and nothing left on the hill but smitherings.”
“Nothing but what?”
Noolan cast a helpless look at Sharpe. “Scraps, sir,” the sergeant tried again. “Bits and pieces, sir.”
“And you say our fellows are gone? How the hell do you know they’ve gone?”
“Because the Crapauds are over there, sir, so they are. Using a boat. Going back and forth, they are, sir, back and forth, and we watched them.”
“Good God incarnate,” Moon said in disgust.
“You did well, Noolan,” Sharpe said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“And we’re buggered,” the brigadier said irritably, “because our forces have buggered off and left us here.”
“In that case, sir,” Sharpe suggested, “the sooner we get to the town and find some food, the better.”
Harper, because he was the strongest man, carried the front end of the brigadier’s stretcher while the tallest of the Connaught Rangers took the rear. It took three hours to go the short distance and it was late morning by the time they reached the long hill above the big house and the small town. “That’s where we’ll go,” Moon announced the moment he saw the house.
“I think they might be anfrancesados, sir,” Sharpe said.
“Talk English, man, talk English.”
“I think they’re sympathetic to the French, sir.”
“How can you possibly tell?”
“Because the house hasn’t been plundered, sir.”
“You can’t surmise that,” the brigadier said, though without much conviction. Sharpe’s words had given him pause, but still the house drew him like a magnet. It promised comfort and the company of gentle folk. “There’s only one way to find out, though, isn’t there?” he proclaimed. “That’s to go there! So let’s be moving.”
“I think we should go to the town, sir,” Sharpe persisted.
“And I think you should keep quiet, Sharpe, and obey my orders.”
So Sharpe kept quiet as they went down the hill, through the upper vineyards and then beneath the pale leaves of an olive grove. They maneuvered the brigadier’s stretcher over a low stone wall and approached the house through wide gardens of cypress, orange trees, and fallow flower beds. There was a large
“The owner has shaken hands with the French?”
“Like as not.”
Harris thought about that. “If they’re friends with the Crapauds, sir, then perhaps there’s a boat in that shed by the river?”
“Perhaps,” Sharpe said dubiously. A door in the courtyard by the old castle ruin opened and he saw someone emerge into the sunlight. He nudged Harris, pointed, and the rifleman swung the telescope.
“Just a frow hanging out the washing,” Harris said.
“We can get our shirts laundered,” Sharpe said. “Come on, let’s fetch the brigadier.”
They walked back across the high hills to find Moon in a triumphant mood because Sergeant Noolan and his men had failed to return.
“I told you, Sharpe!” Moon said. “You can’t trust them. That sergeant looked decidedly shifty.”
“How’s your leg, sir?”
“Bloody painful. Can’t be helped, eh? So you say there’s a decent-sized town?”
“Large village anyway, sir. Two churches.”
“Let’s hope they have a doctor who knows his business. He can look at this damned leg, and the sooner the better. Let’s get on the march, Sharpe. We’re wasting time.”
But just then Sergeant Noolan reappeared to the north and the brigadier had no choice but to wait as the three men from the 88th rejoined. Noolan, his long face more lugubrious than ever, brought grim news. “They blew up the fort, sir,” he told Sharpe.
“Talk to me, man, talk to me!” Moon insisted. “I command here.”
“Sorry, your honor,” Noolan said, snatching off his battered shako. “Our lot, sir, blew up the fort, sir, and they’ve gone.”
“Fort Joseph, you mean?” Moon asked.
“Is that what it’s called, sir? The one on the other side of the river, sir, they blew it up proper, they did! Guns tipped over the parapet and nothing left on the hill but smitherings.”
“Nothing but what?”
Noolan cast a helpless look at Sharpe. “Scraps, sir,” the sergeant tried again. “Bits and pieces, sir.”
“And you say our fellows are gone? How the hell do you know they’ve gone?”
“Because the Crapauds are over there, sir, so they are. Using a boat. Going back and forth, they are, sir, back and forth, and we watched them.”
“Good God incarnate,” Moon said in disgust.
“You did well, Noolan,” Sharpe said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“And we’re buggered,” the brigadier said irritably, “because our forces have buggered off and left us here.”
“In that case, sir,” Sharpe suggested, “the sooner we get to the town and find some food, the better.”
Harper, because he was the strongest man, carried the front end of the brigadier’s stretcher while the tallest of the Connaught Rangers took the rear. It took three hours to go the short distance and it was late morning by the time they reached the long hill above the big house and the small town. “That’s where we’ll go,” Moon announced the moment he saw the house.
“I think they might be anfrancesados, sir,” Sharpe said.
“Talk English, man, talk English.”
“I think they’re sympathetic to the French, sir.”
“How can you possibly tell?”
“Because the house hasn’t been plundered, sir.”
“You can’t surmise that,” the brigadier said, though without much conviction. Sharpe’s words had given him pause, but still the house drew him like a magnet. It promised comfort and the company of gentle folk. “There’s only one way to find out, though, isn’t there?” he proclaimed. “That’s to go there! So let’s be moving.”
“I think we should go to the town, sir,” Sharpe persisted.
“And I think you should keep quiet, Sharpe, and obey my orders.”
So Sharpe kept quiet as they went down the hill, through the upper vineyards and then beneath the pale leaves of an olive grove. They maneuvered the brigadier’s stretcher over a low stone wall and approached the house through wide gardens of cypress, orange trees, and fallow flower beds. There was a large
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