bcornwell.sharpstiger-第8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！


bout　a　campaign's　disforts。　She　was　a　good　mother　too；　and　that　was　why　Obadiah　did　not　care　that　Flora　Placket　was　as　ugly　as　a　haversack。　Mothers　were　sacred。　Mothers　were　not　expected　to　be　pretty。　Mothers　were　Obadiah　Hakeswill's　guardian　angels；　and　Flora　Placket　reminded　Obadiah　of　his　own　mother　who　was　the　only　person　in　all　his　life　who　had　shown　him　kindness。　Biddy　Hakeswill　was　long　dead　now；　she　had　died　a　year　before　the　twelve…year…old　Obadiah　had　dangled　on　a　scaffold　for　the　trumped…up　charge　of　sheep　stealing　and；　to　amuse　the　crowd；　the　executioner　had　not　let　any　of　that　day's　victims　drop　from　the　gallows；　but　had　instead　hoisted　them　gently　intothe　air　so　that　they　choked　slowly　as　their　piss…soaked　legs　jerked　in　the　death　dance　of　the　gibbet。　No　one　had　taken　much　notice　of　the　small　boy　at　the　scaffold's　end　and；　when　the　heavens　had　opened　and　the　rain　e　down　in　bucketfuls　to　scatter　the　crowd；　no　one　had　bothered　when　Biddy　Hakes…will's　brother　had　cut　the　boy　down　and　set　him　loose。　'Did　it　for　your　mother；'　his　uncle　had　snarled。　'God　rest　her　soul。　Now　be　off　with　you　and　don't　ever　show　your　face　in　the　dale　again。'　Hakeswill　had　run　south；　joined　the　army　as　a　drummer　boy；　had　risen　to　sergeant　and　had　never　forgotten　his　dying　mother's　words。　'No　one　will　ever　get　rid　of　Obadiah；'　she　had　said；　'not　my　Obadiah。　Death's　too　good　for　him。'　The　gallows　had　proved　that。　Touched　by　God；　he　was；　indestructible！
　A　groan　sounded　near　Hakeswill　and　the　Sergeant　snapped　out　of　his　reverie　to　see　a　tiger…striped　Indian　struggling　to　turn　onto　his　belly。　Hakeswill　scurried　over；　forced　the　man　onto　his　back　again　and　placed　his　halberd's　spear　point　at　the　man's　throat。　'Money？'　Hakeswill　snarled；　then　held　out　his　left　hand　and　motioned　the　counting　of　coins。　'Money？'
　The　man　blinked　slowly；　then　said　something　in　his　own　language。
　'I'II　let　you　live；　you　bugger；'　Hakeswill　promised；　leering　at　the　wounded　man。　'Not　that　you'll　live　long。　Got　a　goolie　in　your　belly；　see？'　He　pointed　at　the　wound　in　the　man's　belly　where　the　bullet　had　driven　home。　'Now　where's　your　money？　Money！　Pice？　Dan？　Pagodas？　Annas？　Rupees？'
　The　man　must　have　understood　for　his　hand　fluttered　weakly　towards　his　chest。
　'Good　boy；　now；'　Hakeswill　said；　smiling　again；　then　his　face　jerked　in　its　involuntary　spasms　as　he　pushed　the　spear　point　home；　but　not　too　quickly　for　he　liked　to　see　the　realization　of　death　on　a　man's　face。　'You're　a　stupid　bugger；　too；'　Hakeswill　said　when　the　man's　death　throes　had　ended；　then　he　cut　open　the　tunic　and　found　that　the　man　had　strappedsome　coins　to　his　chest　with　a　cotton　sash。　He　undid　the　sash　and　pocketed　the　handful　of　copper　change。　Not　a　big　haul；　but　Hakeswill　was　not　dependent　on　his　own　plundering　to　fill　his　purse。　He　would　take　a　cut　from　whatever　the　soldiers　of　the　Light　pany　found。　They　knew　they　would　have　to　pay　up　or　else　face　punishment。
　He　saw　Sharpe　kneeling　beside　a　body　and　hurried　across。　'Got　a　sword　there；　Sharpie？'　Hakeswill　asked。　'Stole　it；　did　you？'
　'I　killed　the　man；　Sergeant。'　Sharpe　looked　up。
　'Doesn't　bleeding　matter；　does　it；　lad？　You　ain't　permitted　to　carry　a　sword。　Officer's　weapon；　a　sword　is。　Mustn't　get　above　your　station；　Sharpie。　Get　above　yourself；　boy；　and　you'll　be　cut　down。　So　I'll　take　the　blade；　I　will。'　Hakeswill　half　expected　Sharpe　to　resist；　but　the　Private　did　nothing　as　the　Sergeant　picked　up　the　silver…hilled　blade。　'Worth　a　few　bob；　I　dare　say；'　Hakeswill　said　appreciatively；　then　he　laid　the　sword's　tip　against　the　stock　at　Sharpe's　neck。　'Which　is　more　than　you're　worth；　Sharpie。　Too　clever　for　your　own　good；　you　are。'
　Sharpe　edged　away　from　the　sword　and　stood　up。　'I　ain't　got　a　quarrel　with　you；　Sergeant；'　he　said。
　'But　you　do；　boy；　you　do。'　Hakeswill　grimaced　as　his　face　went　into　spasm。　'And　you　know　what　the　quarrel's　about；　don't　you？'
　Sharpe　backed　away　from　the　sword。　T　ain't　got　a　quarrel　with　you；'　he　repeated　stubbornly。
　'I　think　our　quarrel　is　called　Mrs　Bickerstaff；'　Hakeswill　said；　and　grinned　when　Sharpe　said　nothing。　'I　almost　got　you　with　that　flint；　didn't　I？　Would　have　had　you　flogged　raw；　boy；　and　you'd　have　died　of　a　fever　within　a　week。　A　flogging　does　that　in　this　climate。　Wears　a　man　down；　a　flogging　does。　But　you　got　a　friendly　officer；　don't　you？　Mister　Lawford。　He　likes　you；　does　he？'　He　prodded　Sharpe's　chest　with　the　sword's　tip。　'Is　that　what　it　is？　Officer's　pet；　are　you？''Mister　Lawford　ain't　nothing　to　me；'　Sharpe　said。
　'That's　what　you　say；　but　my　eyes　tell　different。'　Hakeswill　giggled。　'Sweet　on　each　other；　are　you？　You　and　Mister　Lawford？　Ain't　that　nice；　Sharpie；　but　it　don't　make　you　much　use　to　Mrs　Bickerstaff；　does　it？　Reckon　she'd　be　better　off　with　a　real　man。'
　'She　ain't　your　business；'　Sharpe　said。
　'Ain't　my　business！　Oh；　listen　to　it！'　Hakeswill　sneered；　then　prodded　the　sword　forward　again。　He　wanted　to　provoke　Sharpe　into　resisting；　for　then　he　could　charge　him　with　attacking　a　superior；　but　the　tall　young　man　just　backed　away　from　the　blade。　'You　listen；　Sharpie；'　Hakeswill　said；　'and　you　listen　well。　She's　a　sergeant's　wife；　not　the　whore　of　some　mon　ranker　like　you。'
　'Sergeant　Bickerstaff's　dead；'　Sharpe　protested。
　'So　she　needs　a　man！'　Hakeswill　said。　'And　a　sergeant's　widow　doesn't　get　rogered　by　a　stinking　bit　of　dirt　like　you。　It　ain't　right。　Ain't　natural。　It's　beneath　her　station；　Sharpie；　and　it　can't　be　allowed。　Says　so　in　the　scriptures。'
　'She　can　choose　who　she　wants；'　Sharpe　insisted。
　'Choose；　Sharpie？　Choose？'　Hakeswill　laughed。　'Women　don't　choose；　you　soft　bugger。　Women　get　taken　by　the　strongest。　Says　so　in　the　scriptures；　and　if　you　stand　in　my　way；　Sharpie'　…　he　pushed　the　sword　hard　forward　…　'then　I'll　have　your　spine　laid　open　to　the　daylight。　A　lost　flint？　That　would　have　been　two　hundred　lashes；　lad；　but　next　time？　A　thousand。　And　laid　on　hard！　Real　hard！　Be　blood　and　bones；　boy；　bones　and　blood；　and　who'll　look　after　your　Mrs　Bickerstaff　then？　Eh？　Tell　me　that。　So　you　takes　your　filthy　hands　off　her。　Leave　her　to　me；　Sharpie。'　He　leered　at　Sharpe；　but　still　the　younger　man　refused　to　be　provoked　and　Hakeswill　at　last　abandoned　the　attempt。　'Worth　a　few　guineas；　this　sword；'　the　Sergeant　said　again　as　he　backed　away。　'Obliged　to　you；　Sharpie。'
　Sharpe　swore　uselessly　at　Hakeswill's　back；　then　turned　asa　woman　hailed　him　from　among　the　heaped　bodies　that　had　been　the　leading　ranks　of　the　Tippoo's　column。　Those　bodies　were　now　being　dragged　apart　to　be　searched　and　Mary　Bickerstaff　was　helping　the　work　along。
　He　walked　towards　her　and；　as　ever；　was　struck　by　the　beauty　of　the　girl。　She　had　black　hair；　a　thin　face　and　dark　big　eyes　that　could　spark　with　mischief。　Now；　though；　she　looked　worried。　'What　did　Hakeswill　want？'　she　asked。
　'You。'
　She　spat；　then　crouched　again　to　the　body　she　was　searching。　'He　can't　touch　you；　Richard；'　she　said；　'not　if　you　do　your　duty。'
　'The　army's　not　like　that。　And　you　know　it。'
　'You've　just　got　to　be　clever；'　Mary　insisted。　She　was　a　soldier's　daughter　who　had　grown　up　in　the　Calcutta　barrack　lines。　She　had　inherited　her　dark　Indian　beauty　from　her　mother　and　learned　the　ways　of　soldiers　from　her　father　who　had　been　an　engineer　sergeant　in　the　Old　Fort's　garrison　before　an　outbreak　of　cholera　had　killed　him　and　his　native　wife。　Mary's　father　had　always　claimed　she　was　pretty　enough　to　many　an　officer　and　so　rise　in　the　world；　but　no　officer　would　marry　a　half…caste；　at　least　no　officer　who　cared　about　advancement；　and　so　after　her　parents'　death　Mary　had　married　Sergeant　Jem　Bickerstaff　of　the　33rd；　a　good　man；　but　Bickerstaff　had　died　of　the　fever　shortly　after　the　army　had　left　Madras　to　climb　to　the　Mysore　plateau　and　Mary；　at　twenty…two；　was　now　an　orphan　and　a　widow。　She　was　also　wise　to　the　army's　ways。　'If　you're　made　up　to　sergeant；　Richard；'　she　told　Sharpe　now；　'then　Hakeswill　can't　touch　you。'
　Sharpe　laughed。　'Me？　A　sergeant？　That'll　be　the　day；　lass。　I　made　corporal　once；　but　that　didn't　last。'
　〃You　can　be　a　sergeant；'　she　insisted；　'and　you　should　be　a　sergeant。　And　Hakeswill　couldn't　touch　you　if　you　were。'
　Sharpe　shrugged。　'It　ain't　me　he　wants　to　touch；　lass；　but　you。'Mary　had　been　cutting　a　tiger…striped　tunic　from　a　dead　man；　but　now　she　paused　and　looked　quizzically　up　at　Sharpe。　She　had　not　been　in　love　with　Jem　Bickerstaff；　but　she　had　recognized　that　the　Sergeant　was　a　good；　kind　man；　and　she　saw　the　same　decency　in　Sharpe。　It　was　not　exactly　the　same　decency；　for　Sharpe；　she　reckoned；　had　ten　times　Jem　Bickerstaff's　fire　and　he　could　be　as　cunning　as　a　snake　when　it　suited　him；　but　Mary　still　trusted　Sharpe。　She　was　also　attracted　to　him。　There　was　something　very　striking　about　Sharpe's　lean　good　looks；　something　dangerous；　she　acknowledged；　but　very　exciting。　She　looked　at　him　for　a　few　seconds；　then　shrugged。　'Maybe　he　won't　dare　touch　me　if　we're　married；'　she　said。　'I　mean　proper　married；　with　the　Colonel's　permission。'
　'Married！'　Sharpe　said；　flustered　by　the　word。
　Mary　stood。　Tt　ain't　easy　being　a　widow　in　the　army；　Richard。　Every　man　reckons　you're　loot。'
　'Aye；　I　know　it's　hard；'　Sharpe　said；　frowning。　He　stared　at　her　as　he　thought　about　the　idea　of　getting　married。　Till　now　he　had　only　been　thinking　of　desertion；　but　maybe　marriage　was　not　such　a　bad　idea。　At　least　it　would　make　it　much　harder　for　Hakeswill　to　get　his　hands　on　Mary's　skin。　And　a　married　man；　Sharpe　reckoned；　was　more　likely　to　be　promoted。　But　what　was　the　point　of　rising　an　inch　or　two　in　the　dunghill？　Even　a　sergeant　was　still　at　the　bottom　of　the　heap。　It　was　better　to　be　out　of　the　army　altogether　and　Mary；　Sharpe　decided；　would　be　more　likely　to　desert　with　him　if　she　was　properly　married　to　him。　That　thought　made　him　nod　slowly。　'I　reckon　I　might　like　to　be　married；'　he　said　shyly。
　'Me　too。'　She　smiled　and；　awkwardly；　Sharpe　smiled　back。　For　a　moment　neither　had　anything　to　say；　then　Mary　excitedly　fished　in　the　pocket　of　her　apron　to　produce　a　jewel　she　had　taken　from　a　dead　man。　'Look　what　I　found！'　Shehanded　Sharpe　a　red　stone；　half　the　size　of　a　hen's　egg。　'You　reckon　it's　a　ruby？'　Mary　asked　eagerly。
　Sharpe　tossed　the　stone　up　and　down。　'I　reckon　it's