bcornwell.sharpescompany-第2部分

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　'Or　disapprove　them！'　The　clerk　laughed　again　and　the　half…pay　officers　grinned。　'Approve；　Mr。　Sharpe；　or　disapprove！'　Rain　fell　down　the　chimney　and　hissed　on　the　meager　coal　fire。　The　clerk；　his　thin　shoulders　heaving　with　silent　laughter；　tugged　a　pair　of　spectacles　from　the　recesses　of　his　clothing　and　clipped　them　on　to　his　nose　as　if　the　gazette；　seen　through　smeared　glass；　might　reveal　new　cause　for　merriment。　'We　disapprove　them；　sir；　most　of　the　time。　You　allow　one　and　you　allow　all。　It　upsets　the　system；　you　know。　There　are　rules；　regulations；　standing　orders！'　And　the　clerk　shook　his　head　because　it　was　obvious　Sharpe　understood　nothing　of　the　army。
　
　Sharpe　waited　for　the　head…shaking　to　cease。　'It　seems　to　have　taken　you　a　long　time　to　make　any　decision　on　this　gazette。　'
　
　'And　still　not　made！'　The　clerk　said　it　proudly；　making　it　seem　that　the　length　of　time　proved　the　gravity　of　the　Horse　Guards'　wisdom。　Then　he　seemed　to　relent　and　offered　Sharpe　a　rueful　smile。　'The　truth　is；　Mr。　Sharpe；　that　there　was　a　mistake。　A　regrettable　mistake　and　your　visit　has　happily　rectified　the　mistake。　'　He　peered　over　his　glasses　at　the　tall　Rifleman。　'We　are　really　most　grateful　to　you　for　drawing　it　to　our　attention。　'
　
　'Mistake？'
　
　'It　was　filed　wrongly。　'　The　clerk　plucked　another　piece　of　paper　from　his　left　hand。　'Under　Lieutenant　Robert　Sharp；　no　〃e〃；　who　died　of　the　fever　in　1810。　His　papers　were；　otherwise；　in　perfect　order。　'
　
　'Which　mine　are　not？'
　'Indeed；　no；　but　you　are　still　alive。　'　The　clerk　looked　peevishly　at　Sharpe。　'We　do　have　a　chance　of　tidying　up　when　an　officer　is　translated　to　glory。　'　He　took　off　his　glasses　and　cleaned　them　with　Sharpe's　folded　gazette。　'It　will　be　attended　to；　Mr。　Sharpe；　with　expedition。　I　promise　you。　With　expedition！'
　'Soon？'
　
　'That's　what　I　said；　isn't　it？　It　would　be　wrong　to　say　more。　'　The　clerk　pushed　his　spectacles　back　into　place。　'Now；　if　you'll　pardon　me；　there　is　a　war　on　and　I　have　other　duties！'
　
　It　had　been　a　mistake；　Sharpe　realized　afterwards；　to　visit　Whitehall；　but　it　was　done　and　he　could　only　go　on　waiting。　Surely；　he　told　himself　a　dozen　times　each　day；　they　could　not　disapprove　the　gazette。　Not　after　he　had　taken　the　Eagle？　After　he　had　brought　the　gold　out　of　the　burning　Almeida；　and　after　he　had　savaged　the　finest　French　troops　in　the　deathtraps　of　Fuentes　de　Onoro？　He　stared　gloomily　across　the　snow　at　the　scar　in　Ciudad　Rodrigo's　defences。　He　knew　he　should　have　volunteered　for　the　Forlorn　Hope。　If　he　had　led　it；　and　survived；　then　no　one　could　have　denied　him　the　Captaincy。　He　would　have　proved　himself；　captured　the　rank；　and　the　pox…scarred　bureaucrats　of　Whitehall　could　scratch　themselves　into　a　well…ordered　eternity　because　nothing　they　could　do；　nothing；　could　have　taken　the　Captaincy　away　from　him。　A　pox　on　the　bloody　lot　of　them！
　
　'Richard　Sharpe！'　A　quiet　voice　behind　him；　full　of　pleasure；　and　Sharpe　twisted　round。
　'Sir！'
　'I　could　feel　a　pricking　in　my　thumbs！　I　knew　you　had　to　be　back　with　the　army。　'　Major　Michael　Hogan　slithered　on　the　snow　towards　him。　'How　are　you？'
　'I'm　well。　'　Sharpe　scrambled　to　his　feet。　He　beat　the　snow　off　his　greatcoat　and　shook　Hogan's　gloved　hand。
　The　Engineer　laughed　at　him。　'You　look　like　a　drowned　tinker；　so　you　do；　but　it's　good　to　see　you。　'　The　Irish　voice　was　rich　and　warm。　'And　how　was　England？'
　'Cold　and　wet。　'
　'Ah　well；　it's　a　Protestant　country。　〃　Hogan　conveniently　ignored　the　freezing　dampness　of　the　Spanish　countryside　around　them。　'And　how　is　Sergeant　Harper？　Did　he　enjoy　England？'
　'He　did；　and　most　of　what　he　enjoyed　was　plump　and　giggled。　'
　Hogan　laughed。　'A　man　of　sense。　You　will　give　him　my　best　wishes？'
　'I　will。　'　The　two　men　stared　at　the　town。　The　British　siege　guns；　long；　iron　twenty…four…pounders；　were　still　firing；　their　reports　muffled　by　the　snow；　and　their　shots　erupting　flurries　of　snow　and　stone　from　the　walls　either　side　of　the　main　breach。　Sharpe　glanced　at　Hogan。　'Is　it　a　secret　we're　attacking　tonight？'
　'It　is　a　secret。　Everyone　knows；　of　course；　they　always　do。　Even　before　the　General。　Rumor　has　it　for　seven　o'clock。　'
　'And　does　rumor　extend　to　the　South　Essex？'
　Hogan　shook　his　head；　he　was　attached　to　Wellington's　staff　and　knew　what　was　being　planned。　'No；　but　I　was　hoping　I　could　persuade　your　Colonel　to　lend　me　your　pany。　'
　'Mine？'　Sharpe　was　pleased。　'Why？'
　'Not　for　much。　I　don't　want　you　lads　in　the　breach；　but　the　Engineers　are　short…handed；　as　ever；　and　there's　a　heap　of　stuff　to　be　carried　up　the　glacis。　Would　you　be　happy？'
　'Of　course。　'　Sharpe　wondered　whether　to　tell　Hogan　of　his　wish　that　he　had　gone　with　the　Forlorn　Hope；　but　he　knew　that　the　Irish　Engineer　would　think　he　was　mad；　so　he　said　nothing。　Instead　he　lent　Hogan　his　telescope　and　waited　silently　as　the　Engineer　stared　at　the　breach。　Hogan　grunted。　'It's　practical。　'
　'You're　sure？〃　Sharpe　took　the　glass　back；　his　fingers　instinctively　feeling　for　the　inlet　brass　plate；　'In　Gratitude。　AW。　23　September　1803'。
　'We're　never　sure。　But　I　can't　see　it　getting　any　better。　'　The　Engineers　had　the　job　of　pronouncing　when　a　breach　was　'practical'；　when；　in　their　judgment；　the　rubble　slope　could　be　climbed　by　the　attacking　infantry。　Sharpe　looked　at　the　small；　middle…aged　Major。
　'You　don't　sound　very　happy。　'
　'Of　course　not。　No　one　likes　a　siege。　'　Hogan　was　trying；　like　Sharpe　earlier；　to　imagine　what　horrors　the　French　had　prepared　in　the　breach。　A　siege；　in　theory；　was　the　most　scientific　of　all　fighting。　The　attackers　battered　holes　in　the　defence　and　both　sides　knew　when　the　breaches　were　practical；　but　the　advantage　was　all　with　the　defenders。　They　knew　where　the　main　attack　was　ing；　when；　and　roughly　how　many　men　could　be　fed　into　the　breach。　There　the　science　stopped。　There　was　great　skill　needed　to　site　the　batteries；　in　sapping　forward；　but　once　the　science　of　the　Engineers　had　opened　up　the　breach；　it　was　left　to　the　infantry　to　climb　the　defences　and　die　on　the　rubble。　The　siege　guns　did　what　they　could。　They　would　fire　till　the　last　moment；　as　they　were　firing　now；　but　soon　the　bayonets　would　take　over　and　only　raw　anger　would　take　the　attackers　through　the　prepared　horror。　Sharpe　felt　again　the　fear　of　going　into　a　breach。
　
　The　Irishman　seemed　to　sense　his　thoughts。　He　clapped　Sharpe　on　the　shoulder。　'I've　a　feeling　about　this　one；　Richard。　It's　going　to　be　all　right。　'　He　changed　the　subject。　'Have　you　heard　from　your　woman？'
　
　'Which　one？'
　Hogan　snorted。　'Which　one！　Teresa；　of　course。　'
　Sharpe　shook　his　head。　'Not　for　sixteen　months。　I　don't　know　where　she's　been。　'Or　even；　he　thought；　if　she　was　still　alive。　She　fought　the　French　in　the　'Guerilla'；　the　'little　war'；　and　the　hills　and　rocks　of　her　battles　were　not　far　from　Ciudad　Rodrigo。　He　had　not　seen　her　since　they　parted　below　Almeida　and；　thinking　of　her；　he　felt　a　sudden　longing　inside　him。　She　had　the　face　of　a　hawk；　slim　and　cruel；　with　dark　hair　and　eyes。　Teresa　was　beautiful　as　a　fine　sword　was　beautiful；　slim　and　hard。
　
　Then；　in　England；　he　had　met　Jane　Gibbons　whose　brother；　Lieutenant　Christian　Gibbons；　had　tried　to　kill　him　at　Talavera。　Gibbons　had　died。　Jane　Gibbons　was　beautiful　as　men　dream　of　beauty；　blonde　and　feminine；　slim　as　Teresa　was　slim；　but　there　the　resemblance　ended。　The　Spanish　girl　could　strip　a　Baker　rifle　lock　in　thirty　seconds；　could　kill　a　man　at　two　hundred　paces；　could　lay　an　ambush　and　knew　how　to　give　a　captured　Frenchman　a　lingering　death　as　payment　for　her　own　mother's　rape　and　murder。　Jane　Gibbons　could　play　the　pianoforte；　write　a　pretty　letter；　knew　how　to　use　a　fan　at　a　county　dance；　and　took　her　delight　in　spending　money　at　Chelmsford's　milliners。　They　were　as　different　from　each　other　as　steel　is　from　silk；　yet　Sharpe　wanted　both；　though　he　knew　such　dreams　were　futile。
　
　'She's　alive。　'　Hogan's　voice　was　soft。
　'Alive？'
　'Teresa。　'　Hogan　would　know。　Despite　the　shortage　of　Engineers；　Wellington　had　put　Hogan　on　his　own　staff。　The　Irishman　spoke　Spanish；　Portuguese；　and　French；　could　break　the　enemy's　codes；　and　spent　much　of　his　time　working　with　the　Guerilleros　or　with　Wellington's　Exploring　Officers　who　rode；　alone　and　in　uniform；　behind　French　lines。　Hogan　collected　what　Wellington　called　his　'intelligence'　and　Sharpe　knew　that　if　Teresa　were　still　fighting；　then　Hogan　would　have　news。
　'What　have　you　heard？'
　'Not　much。　She　went　south　for　a　long　time；　by　herself；　but　I　heard　she　was　back　up　here。　Her　brother　is　leading　the　band；　not　herself；　but　they　still　call　her　〃La　Aguja〃。　'
　Sharpe　smiled。　He　had　given　her　the　nickname　himself；　the　needle。　'Why　did　she　go　south？'
　'I　don't　know。　'　Hogan　smiled　at　him。　'Cheer　yourself　up。　You'll　see　her　again。　Besides；　I'd　like　to　meet　her！'
　Sharpe　shook　his　head。　It　had　been　a　long　time　and　she　had　made　no　effort　to　find　him。　'There　must　be　a　last　woman；　sir；　like　a　last　battle。　'
　Hogan　whooped　with　laughter。　'God　in　heaven！　A　last　woman。　You　gloomy　bastard！　You'll　be　telling　me　next　that　you're　training　for　the　Priesthood。　'　He　wiped　a　tear　from　his　eye。　'A　last　woman；　indeed！'　He　turned　to　stare　once　more　at　the　town。