bcornwell.sharpstiger-第19部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


g　stabbed　at　the　same　time。　He　was　whimpering　with　each　blow；　but　the　sound　was　tiny；　scarce　loud　enough　to　be　audible　to　the　two　sweating　boys　whose　aching　arms　brought　the　lashes　down　again　and　again。　Sharpe　kept　his　eyes　closed。　The　breath　hissed　in　and　out　of　his　mouth；　past　the　gag；　and　the　sweat　and　saliva　dribbled　down　his　chin　and　dripped　onto　the　earth　where　his　blood　showed　as　dark　splashes　in　the　dust。
　'Two　hundred　and　one；'　Bywaters　called；　and　wondered　if　he　dared　take　a　sip　of　water　from　his　canteen。　His　voice　was　being　hoarse。'Stop！'　a　voice　shouted。
　'Two　hundred　and　two。'
　'Stop！'　the　voice　shouted　again；　and　this　time　it　was　as　if　the　whole　battalion　had　been　suddenly　woken　from　a　sleep。　The　drummer　boy　gave　a　last　hesitant　tap；　then　let　his　hands　fall　to　his　sides　as　Sergeant　Major　Bywaters　held　up　his　hand　to　stop　the　next　stroke　which　was　already　faltering。　Sharpe　lifted　up　his　head　and　opened　his　eyes；　but　saw　nothing　but　a　blur。　The　pain　surged　through　him；　he　whimpered；　then　dropped　his　face　again　and　a　string　of　spittle　fell　slowly　from　his　mouth。
　Colonel　Arthur　Wellesley　had　ridden　up　to　the　tripod。　For　a　moment　Shee　and　his　aides　looked　at　their　Colonel　almost　guiltily；　as　though　they　had　been　caught　in　some　illicit　pastime。　No　one　spoke　as　the　Colonel　edged　his　horse　closer　to　the　prisoner。　Wellesley　looked　down　sourly；　then　put　his　riding　crop　under　Sharpe's　chin　to　lift　up　his　head。　The　Colonel　almost　recoiled　from　the　look　of　hatred　he　saw　in　the　victim's　eyes。　He　pulled　the　crop　away；　then　wiped　its　tip　on　his　saddle　cloth　to　remove　the　spittle。　'The　prisoner　is　to　be　cut　down；　Major　Shee；'　the　Colonel　said　icily。
　'Yes；　sir。'　Shee　was　nervous；　wondering　if　he　had　made　some　terrible　mistake。　'At　once；　sir；'　he　added；　though　he　gave　no　orders。
　'I　dislike　stopping　a　well…deserved　punishment；'　Wellesley　said　loudly　enough　for　all　the　nearby　officers　to　hear；　'but　Private　Sharpe　is　to　be　taken　to　General　Harris's　tent　as　soon　as　he's　recovered。'
　'General　Harris；　sir？'　Major　Shee　asked　in　astonishment。　General　Harris　was　the　mander　of　this　expedition　against　the　Tippoo；　and　what　possible　business　could　the　manding　General　have　with　a　half…flogged　private？　'Yes；　sir；　of　course；　sir；'　Shee　added　quickly　when　he　saw　that　his　query　had　annoyed　Wellesley。　'At　once；　sir。'
　'Then　do　it！'　Wellesley　snapped。　The　Colonel　was　a　thinyoung　man　with　a　narrow　face；　hard　eyes　and　a　prominently　beaked　nose。　Many　older　men　resented　that　the　twenty…nine…year…old　Wellesley　was　already　a　full　colonel；　but　he　came　from　a　wealthy　and　tided　family　and　his　elder　brother；　the　Earl　of　Mornington；　was　Governor…General　of　the　East　India　pany's　British　possessions　in　India；　so　it　was　hardly　surprising　that　the　young　Arthur　Wellesley　had　risen　so　high　so　fast。　Any　officer　given　the　money　to　buy　promotion　and　lucky　enough　to　possess　relations　who　could　put　him　in　the　way　of　advancement　was　bound　to　rise；　but　even　the　less　fortunate　men　who　resented　Wellesley's　privileges　were　forced　to　admit　that　the　young　Colonel　had　a　natural　and　chilling　authority；　and　maybe；　some　thought；　even　a　talent　for　soldiering。　He　was　certainly　dedicated　enough　to　his　chosen　trade　if　that　was　any　sign　of　talent。
　Wellesley　nudged　his　horse　forward　and　stared　down　as　the　prisoner's　bonds　were　cut　loose。　'Private　Sharpe？'　He　spoke　with　utter　disdain；　as　though　he　dirtied　himself　by　even　addressing　Sharpe。
　Sharpe　looked　up；　blinked；　then　made　a　guttural　noise。　Bywaters　ran　forward　and　worked　the　gag　out　of　Sharpe's　mouth。　Freeing　the　pad　took　some　manipulation；　for　Sharpe　had　sunk　his　teeth　deep　into　the　folded　leather。　'Good　lad　now；'　Bywaters　said　softly；　'good　lad。　Didn't　cry；　did　you？　Proud　of　you；　lad。'　The　Sergeant　Major　at　last　managed　to　work　the　gag　free　and　Sharpe　tried　to　spit。
　'Private　Sharpe？'　Wellesley's　disdainful　voice　repeated。
　Sharpe　forced　his　head　up。　'Sir？'　The　word　came　out　as　a　croak。　'Sir；'　he　tried　again　and　this　time　it　sounded　like　a　moan。
　Wellesley's　face　twitched　with　distaste　for　what　he　was　doing。　'You're　to　be　fetched　to　General　Harris's　tent。　Do　you　understand　me；　Sharpe？'
　Sharpe　blinked　up　at　Wellesley。　His　head　was　spinning　and　the　pain　in　his　body　was　vying　with　disbelief　at　what　he　heard　and　with　rage　against　the　army。'You　heard　the　Colonel；　boy；'　Bywaters　prompted　Sharpe。
　'Yes；　sir；'　Sharpe　managed　to　answer　Wellesley。
　Wellesley　turned　to　Micklewhite。　'Bandage　him；　Mister　Micklewhite。　Put　a　salve　on　his　back；　whatever　you　think　best。　I　want　him　pos　mentis　within　the　hour。　You　understand　me？'
　'Within　an　hour！'　the　surgeon　said　in　disbelief；　then　saw　the　anger　on　his　young　Colonel's　face。　'Yes；　sir；'　he　said　swiftly；　'within　an　hour；　sir。'
　'And　give　him　clean　clothes；'　Wellesley　ordered　the　Sergeant　Major　before　giving　Sharpe　one　last　withering　look　and　spurring　his　horse　away。
　The　last　of　the　ropes　holding　Sharpe　to　the　tripod　were　cut　away。　Shee　and　the　officers　watched；　all　of　them　wondering　just　what　extraordinary　business　had　caused　a　summons　to　General　Harris's　tent。　No　one　spoke　as　the　Sergeant　Major　plucked　away　the　last　strands　of　rope　from　Sharpe's　right　wrist；　then　offered　his　own　hand。　'Here；　lad。　Hold　onto　me。　Gendy　now。'
　Sharpe　shook　his　head。　'I'm　all　right；　Sergeant　Major；'　he　said。　He　was　not；　but　he　would　be　damned　before　he　showed　weakness　in　front　of　his　rades；　and　double　damned　before　he　showed　it　in　front　of　Sergeant　Hakeswill　who　had　watched　aghast　as　his　victim　was　cut　down　from　the　triangle。　'I'm　all　right；'　Sharpe　insisted　and　he　slowly　pushed　himself　away　from　the　tripod；　then；　tottering　slighdy；　turned　and　took　three　steps。
　A　cheer　sounded　in　the　Light　pany。
　'Quiet！'　Captain　Morris　snapped。　'Take　names；　Sergeant　Hakeswill！'
　'Take　names；　sir！　Yes；　sir！'
　Sharpe　staggered　twice　and　almost　fell；　but　he　forced　himself　to　stand　upright　and　then　to　take　some　steady　steps　towards　the　surgeon。　'Reporting　for　bandaging；　sir；'　he　croaked。　Blood　had　soaked　his　trousers；　his　back　was　carnage；but　he　had　recovered　most　of　his　wits　and　the　look　he　gave　the　surgeon　almost　made　Micklewhite　flinch　because　of　its　savagery。
　'e　with　me；　Private；'　Micklewhite　said。
　'Help　him！　Help　him！'　Bywaters　snapped　at　the　drummer　boys　and　the　two　sweating　lads　dropped　their　whips　and　hurried　to　support　Sharpe's　elbows。　He　had　managed　to　remain　upright；　but　Bywaters　had　seen　him　swaying　and　feared　he　was　about　to　collapse。
　Sharpe　half　walked　and　was　half　carried　away。　Major　Shee　took　off　his　hat；　scratched　his　greying　hair；　and　then；　unsure　what　he　should　do；　looked　down　at　Bywaters。　'It　seems　we　have　no　more　business　today；　Sergeant　Major。'
　'No；　sir。'
　Shee　paused。　It　was　all　so　irregular。
　'Dismiss　the　battalion；　sir？'　Bywaters　suggested。
　Shee　nodded；　glad　to　have　been　given　some　guidance。　'Dismiss　them；　Sergeant　Major。'
　'Yes；　sir。'
　Sharpe　had　survived。
　
　CHAPTER　4
　
　It　seemed　airless　inside　General　Harris's　tent。　It　was　a　large　tent；　as　big　as　a　parish　marquee；　and　though　both　its　wide　entrances　had　been　brailed　back　there　was　no　wind　to　stir　the　damp　air　trapped　under　the　high　ridge。　The　light　inside　the　big　tent　was　yellowed　by　the　canvas　to　the　colour　of　urine　and　gave　the　grass　underfoot　a　dank　unhealthy　look。
　Four　men　waited　inside　the　tent。　The　youngest　and　most　nervous　was　William　Lawford　who；　because　he　was　a　mere　lieutenant　and　by　far　the　most　junior　officer　present；　was　sitting　far　off　to　one　side　on　a　gilt　chair　of　such　spindly　and　fragile　construction　it　seemed　a　miracle　that　it　had　survived　its　transport　on　the　army's　wagons。　Lawford　scarcely　dared　move　lest　he　draw　attention　to　himself；　and　so　he　sat　awkward　and　unfortable　as　the　sweat　trickled　down　his　face　and　dripped　onto　the　crown　of　his　cocked　hat　which　rested　on　his　thighs。
　Opposite　Lawford；　and　utterly　ignoring　the　younger　man；　sat　his　Colonel；　Arthur　Wellesley。　The　Colonel　made　small　talk；　but　gruffly；　as　though　he　resented　being　forced　to　wait。　Once　or　twice　he　pulled　a　watch　from　his　fob　pocket；　snapped　open　the　lid；　glared　at　the　revealed　face；　then　restored　the　watch　to　his　pocket　without　making　a　ment。
　General　Harris；　the　army's　mander；　sat　behind　a　long　table　that　was　spread　with　maps。　The　mander　of　the　allied　armies　was　a　trim；　middle…aged　man　who　possessed　an　unmon　measure　of　mon　sense　and　a　great　deal　ofpractical　ability；　and　both　were　qualities　he　recognized　in　his　younger　deputy；　Colonel　Wellesley。　George　Harris　was　an　affable　man；　but　now；　waiting　in　the　tent's　yellow　gloom；　he　seemed　distracted。　He　stared　at　the　maps；　he　wiped　the　sweat　from　his　face　with　a　big　blue　handkerchief；　but　he　rarely　looked　up　to　acknowledge　the　stilted　conversation。　Harris　was　uneasy　for；　like　Wellesley；　he　did　not　really　approve　of　what　they　were　about　to　do。　It　was　not　so　much　the　irregularity　of　the　action　that　concerned　the　two　men；　for　neither　was　hidebound；　but　rather　because　they　suspected　that　the　proposed　operation　would　fail　and　that　two　good　men；　or　rather　one　good　man　and　one　bad；　would　be　lost。
　The　fourth　man　in　the　tent　refused　to　sit；　but　instead　strode　up　and　down　between　the　tables　and　the　scatter　of　flimsy　chairs。　It　was　this　man　who　kept　alive　what　little　conversation　managed　to　survive　the　tent's　stiff；　damp　and　airless　atmosphere。　He　jollied　his　panions；　he　encouraged　them；　he　tried　to　amuse　them；　though　every　now　and　then　his　efforts　would　fail　and　then　he　would　stride　to　one　of　the　tent　doorways　and　stoop　to　peer　out。　'Can't　be　long　now；'　he　would　say　each　time　and　then　begin　his　pacing　again。　His　name　was　Major　General　David　Baird　and　he　was　the　senior　and　older　of　General　Harris's　two　deputy　manders。　Unlike　his　colleagues　he　had　discarded　his　uniform　coat　and　waistcoat；　stripping　down　to　a　dirty；　much…darned　shirt　and　letting　the　braces　of　his　breeches　hang　down　to　his　knees。　His　dark　hair　was　damp　and　tousled；　while　his　broad　face　was　so　tanned　that；　to　Lawford's　nervous　gaze；　Baird　looked　more　like　a　labourer　than　a　general。　The　resemblance　was　even　more　acute　because　there　was　nothing　delicate　or　refined　about　David　Baird's　appearance。　He　was　a　huge　Scotsman；　tall　as　a　giant；　broad　shouldered　and　muscled　like　a　coal…heaver。　It　had　been　Baird