bcornwell.sharpescompany-第27部分

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　The　drummer　boys　paused。　The　doctor　stepped　close　to　Harper's　back；　sneezed；　and　nodded　to　the　Sergeant。
　
　'Twenty…five！'
　
　The　rain　diluted　the　blood。
　
　'Twenty…six！'
　
　Sharpe　looked　at　Hakeswill。　Was　there　a　glint　of　triumph　in　the　face？　It　was　impossible　to　tell。　The　face　twitched　in　a　spasm。
　
　'Twenty…seven！'
　
　Harper　turned　his　head　to　face　the　Light　pany。　He　was　not　moving　at　all　as　the　blows　hit　him。　He　spat　out　the　leather　gag；　grinned　at　them。
　
　'Twenty…eight！　Harder！'
　
　A　drummer　boy　used　all　his　strength。　Harper　grinned　even　wider。
　
　'Stop　it！'　Collett　stepped　his　horse　forward。　'Put　the　gag　in！'
　
　They　pushed　the　leather　back　in　Harper's　mouth；　but　he　spat　it　out　again；　and　grinned　through　the　punishment。　There　was　an　appreciative　murmur　from　the　Light　pany；　almost　a　laugh；　and　they　saw　that　Harper　was　chatting　to　the　drummer　boys。　The　bastard　had　beaten　the　punishment！　Sharpe　knew　it　was　hurting　him；　but　knew　that　Harper's　pride　would　not　let　it　show；　would　only　let　him　pretend　a　total　unconcern。
　
　The　punishment　finished；　made　almost　farcical　by　Harper's　unbelievable　bravery。　'Cut　him　down！'
　
　Sharpe　had　seen　men　crumple　to　the　ground　after　just　two　dozen　strokes；　but　Harper　stepped　away　from　the　cut　thongs；　still　grinning；　and　did　nothing　more　than　massage　his　wrists。　The　doctor　asked　him　a　question　and　the　Irishman　laughed；　refused　the　offer　of　a　blanket　to　be　draped　over　his　bleeding　back；　and　turned　to　follow　his　escort　off　the　parade。
　
　'Private　Harper！'　Windham　had　spurred　his　horse　forward。
　
　'Sir？'　There　was　almost　a　contempt　in　Harper's　voice。
　
　'You're　a　brave　man。　Here。'　Windham　tossed　a　gold　coin　towards　the　Ulsterman。　For　a　brief　fraction　of　a　second　it　seemed　as　if　Harper　might　ignore　the　coin；　then　a　huge　hand　whipped　up；　snatched　it　from　the　air；　and　he　gave　the　Colonel　his　big；　infectious　grin。　'Thank　you；　sir。'
　
　The　Battalion　gave　a　low；　collective　sigh　of　relief。　Windham　must　have　realized；　even　as　the　punishment　was　happening；　that　he　was　flogging　the　most　popular　man　in　the　Battalion。　There　had　been　hostility　in　the　parade；　an　unusual　hostility。　Soldiers　did　not　object　to　a　flogging；　why　should　they？　If　a　man　deserved　punishment　then　a　battalion　would　line　up　and　watch　punishment　done。　But　soldiers　also　had　a　keen　sense　of　injustice　and　Sharpe；　watching　Windham；　knew　that　the　Colonel　had　sensed　the　Battalion's　outrage。　A　mistake　had　been　made。　It　could　not　be　admitted　or　reversed；　not　without　proof；　but　the　gold　coin　had　been　a　clever　touch。　Windham；　for　all　his　pretence　at　being　a　simple　country　squire；　was　a　clever　man。
　
　And　Hakeswill　a　cunning　man。　The　Sergeant　kept　his　face　expressionless　as　the　parade　was　dismissed。　Hakeswill　was　triumphant。　Harper　had　been　defeated；　demoted；　and　the　pany　was　at　Hakeswill's　mercy。　He　now　wanted　one　thing　more；　and　would　get　it；　Sharpe's　misery；　and　thanks　to　pany　rumor；　the　Sergeant　knew　where　that　misery　could　be　acplished；　at　the　house　behind　the　Cathedral　with　its　two　orange　trees。
　
　Sharpe　found　Harper　in　a　shelter；　two　of　the　wives　putting　grease　on　his　back　and　bandaging　the　wounds。　'Well？'
　
　Harper　grinned。　'Hurt　like　hell；　sir。　I　couldn't　have　taken　much　more。　'　He　held　up　the　golden　guinea。　'What　do　I　do　with　this？'
　
　'Spend　it？'
　
　'No。'　The　Irishman　stared　past　Sharpe　into　the　sea　of　mud　that　was　swept　by　great　curtains　of　grey　rain。　'I'll　keep　it；　sir；　until　I've　killed　the　bastard。'
　
　'Or　until　I　kill　him？'
　
　'One　of　us；　sir。　But　make　it　soon。　Before　we　leave　this　place。'
　
　If　ever　they　would　leave　Badajoz；　Sharpe　thought。　That　afternoon　he　took　a　working　party　east；　towards　the　Portuguese　border。　They　found　the　precious　pontoons　aground　in　the　flood　and　stripped　naked　to　manhandle　the　great　boats　to　where　oxen　could　haul　them　back。　The　siege　was　bogged　down；　in　rain；　mud　and　misery。　Badajoz　was　like　a　great　castle　in　mid…ocean。　The　rain　had　flooded　the　fields　to　the　south；　the　west；　and　the　north；　and　still　the　wind　shrieked　at　them；　brought　more　water；　and　though　it　was　a　time　for　effort；　the　effort　could　not　be　made。　The　trenches　were　flooded；　the　sides　collapsed；　and　when　gabions　were　used　to　shore　the　batteries；　the　water　dissolved　their　earth　filling　into　liquid　sludge　that　flowed　out　leaving　a　hollow；　useless　wicker　shell。
　
　Everything　was　fouled　with　mud。　Carts；　supplies；　forage；　food；　uniforms；　weapons　and　men。　The　camp　was　foul；　the　only　movement　the　slow　flapping　of　wet　canvas　in　the　wind；　and　fever　killed　as　many　as　the　ceaseless　French　guns。　The　time　that　the　French　had　hoped　to　gain　by　their　attack　on　the　parallel　was　given　to　them　by　the　weather。　Morale　slumped。　The　first　Monday　of　the　siege　was　the　worst。　It　had　rained　for　a　week；　and　it　still　rained；　and　darkness　fell　on　an　army　that　could　scarce　even　light　a　fire　any　more。　Nothing　was　dry；　nothing　was　warm；　and　a　man　from　a　Welsh　Regiment；　a　fusilier；　went　mad。　There　were　shouts　in　the　night；　a　terrifying　scream　as　he　carved　his　wife　with　a　bayonet；　and　then　hundreds　of　men　were　fumbling　in　the　darkness；　thinking　it　was　a　French　attack；　while　the　madman　ran　through　the　camp；　slashing　left　and　right　with　his　weapon。　He　screamed　that　the　resurrection　of　the　dead　was　here　and　now；　that　he　was　the　new　Messiah；　and　finally　his　Sergeant　cornered　him　and；　sensible　that　no　one　wanted　a　court…martial　and　execution；　killed　the　man　with　one　neat　stab。
　
　Sharpe　met　Hogan　that　Sunday　night。　The　Major　was　busy。　Colonel　Fletcher's　wound　was　keeping　the　Chief　Engineer　in　his　tent　and　Hogan　had　taken　much　of　his　work。　The　Irishman　was　gloomy。　'We'll　be　defeated　by　the　rain；　Richard。'　Sharpe　said　nothing。　The　spirit　of　the　army　was　crushed　by　the　water；　they　wanted　to　strike　back；　to　hear　their　own　guns　firing　at　the　French；　but　the　guns；　like　the　army；　were　bogged　down。　Hogan　stared　into　the　wet；　pelting　night。　'If　only　it　would　stop。'
　
　'And　if　it　doesn't？'
　
　'Then　we　give　up。　We've　lost。'
　
　Outside；　in　the　cold　night；　the　rain　smashed　down；　dripped　heavily　from　the　lip　of　Hogan's　tent；　and　the　slow　drops　seemed　to　Sharpe　to　be　the　drumbeats　of　defeat。　Unthinkable　defeat。
　
　CHAPTER　17
　
　On　Tuesday　afternoon　it　stopped　raining。
　
　There　were　suddenly　scraps　of　blue　sky　between　the　tattered　clouds　and；　like　some　beast　saved　from　imminent　drowning；　the　army　heaved　itself　out　of　the　mud　and　attacked　the　trenches　with　renewed　energy。
　
　They　hauled　the　guns　over　the　hill　that　night。　The　ground　was　still　an　almost　impenetrable　sludge；　but　they　hauled　on　ropes；　thrust　wicker　beneath　reluctant　wheels；　and　with　an　enthusiasm　endowed　by　the　break　in　the　weather；　the　troops　took　the　vast　twenty…four…pounders　to　the　newly…dug　batteries。
　
　In　the　morning；　in　a　miraculously　clear　dawn；　there　was　a　cheer　from　the　British　camp。　The　first　shot　had　been　fired　and　they　were　hitting　back！　Twenty…eight　siege　guns　were　in　place；　protected　by　gabions；　and　the　Engineers　directed　the　artillery　officers　so　that　the　iron　balls　hammered　at　the　base　of　the　Trinidad　bastion。　The　French　guns　tried　to　destroy　the　siege　guns　and　the　valley　above　the　grey；　placid　floodwaters　of　the　Rivillas　was　shrouded　with　smoke　that　swirled　as　the　cannon　balls　pierced　through　the　mist。
　
　At　the　end　of　the　first　day；　when　an　evening　breeze　drifted　the　smoke　southwards；　a　hole　was　visible　in　the　masonry　of　the　bastion。　It　was　not　much　of　a　hole；　more　of　a　chipped　dent；　surrounded　by　smaller　shot　scars。　Sharpe　stared　at　the　damage　through　Major　Forrest's　telescope　and　gave　a　humorless　laugh。　'Another　three　months；　sir；　and　they　might　notice　us。　'
　
　Forrest　said　nothing。　He　was　afraid　of　Sharpe's　mood；　of　the　depression　that　had　e　with　idleness。　The　Rifleman　had　hardly　any　duties。　Windham　seemed　to　have　abandoned　the　wives'　parade；　the　mules　were　in　pasture；　and　Sharpe's　time　hung　heavily。　Forrest　had　spoken　to　Windham；　but　the　Colonel　had　shaken　his　head。　'We're　all　bored；　Forrest。　The　assault　will　cure　all。'　Then　the　Colonel　had　taken　his　fox　hounds　south　for　a　day's　hunting；　and　with　him　half　the　Battalion's　officers。　Forrest　had　tried；　unsuccessfully；　to　cheer　Sharpe　up。　He　looked　now　at　Sharpe's　morose　profile。　'How's　Sergeant　Harper？〃
　
　'Private　Harper's　getting　better；　sir。　Another　three　or　four　days　and　he'll　be　on　duty。'
　
　Forrest　sighed。　'I　can't　get　used　to　calling　him　〃Private〃。　It　doesn't　seem　right。'　Then　he　blushed。　'Oh　dear。　I　suppose　I've　put　my　foot　in　it。'
　
　Sharpe　laughed。　'No；　sir。　I'm　getting　used　to　being　a　Lieutenant。'　It　was　not　true；　but　Forrest　needed　reassurance。　'Are　you　fortable；　sir？'
　
　'Very。　It's　a　splendid　view。'　They　were　watching　the　valley　and　the　city；　waiting　for　the　attack　that　would　be　made　just　after　dark。　Half　the　army　were　on　the　hilltop；　in　the　trench　or　the　new；　half　finished　batteries；　and　the　French　must　have　known　that　something　was　about　to　happen。　It　was　not　difficult　to　guess　what　was　intended。　The　British　guns　were　more　than　half　a　mile　from　the　Trinidad　bastion；　too　far　to　be　truly　effective；　and　the　Engineers　needed　to　cut　that　range　in　half。　That　meant　building　a　second　parallel；　with　new　batteries；　right　on　the　edge　of　the　floodwaters；　just　where　the　French　had　built　the　Picurina　Fort。　Tonight　the　fort　would　be　attacked。　Sharpe　had　desperately　hoped　that　the　Fourth　Division；　his　own；　would　be　chosen；　but　instead　the　Third　and　Light　would　go　forward　in　the　darkness　and　Sharpe　was　merely　a　spectator。　Forrest　looked　down　the　slope。　'It　shouldn't　be　difficult。'
　
　'No；　sir。'　Which　was　true；　Sharpe　thought；　but　only　half　the　battle。　The　Picurina　Fort　was　almost　makeshift；　a　wedge…shaped　obstacle　facing　the　British　tide　and　only　intended　to　slow　them　down。　It　had　a　ditch　that　protected　a　low　stone　wall；　and　on　the　wail　were　palisades；　split…trunks　loop　holed　for　muskets；　and　the　fort　was　far　enough　from　the　city　so　that　the　French　guns　could　not　douse　the　attack　with　grapeshot。　The　fort　should　fall；　but　that　still　left　the　lake　formed　by　the　dammed　Rivillas。　The　floodwater　blocked　the　direct　approach　to　the　city。　Unless　the　lake　could　be　drained；　any　attack　would　have　to　e　from　the　south；　squeezed　be