14 Sharpe's Sword by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9780006168348
Publisher: HarperCollins

CHAPTER 13

Pri­vate Bat­ten was an­noyed, and let the rest of the Com­pa­ny know it. “Doesn’t give a bug­ger, does he? Know what I mean?” No one an­swered. They wait­ed on the glacis of the San Vin­cente fort and Lieu­tenant Price looked at his watch and kept glanc­ing at the emp­ty San Cayetano fort. Bat­ten wait­ed for a re­sponse. He scratched his armpit. “Used to be a bleed­in‘ pri­vate, he did, and that’s what he bloody should be now. Keep­ing us wait­ing.” Still no one an­swered and Bat­ten was en­cour­aged by their si­lence. “Al­ways bug­ger­ing off, have you no­ticed? Our com­pa­ny’s not good enough for him, no, not Mr. Bloody Sharpe. Know what I mean?” He looked round for sup­port.

Sergeant Huck­field had gone to look for Sharpe. The men could see his red coat climb­ing up the ravine’s side to­wards the San Cayetano. One or two of the men slept. Price sat down on a huge ma­son­ry block and fold­ed Sharpe’s coat be­side him. He was wor­ried.

Pri­vate Bat­ten picked his nose and licked the re­sult off his fin­ger­nail. “We could sit here all bleed­in‘ night for all he bleed­in’ cares.”

Daniel Hag­man opened one eye. “He kept you from swing­ing by your bloody neck two years ago. He shouldn’t have both­ered.”

Bat­ten laughed. “They couldn’t have hung me. I was in­no­cent. He don’t care, Sharpe. He’s for­got­ten us, till he bleed­in‘ needs us again. He’s prob­ably sit­ting with Harps get­ting drunk. T’ain’t fair.”

Sergeant Mc­Gov­ern, slow and Scot­tish, stood up and stretched his arms. He marched for­mal­ly to Pri­vate Bat­ten and kicked his an­kles. “On your feet.”

“What for?” Bat­ten dropped in­to the ag­grieved tone of sur­prise that was his main de­fence against an ag­gra­vat­ing world.

“Be­cause I’m go­ing to smash your bloody face in.”

Bat­ten edged away from the Scots­man and looked at Lieu­tenant Price’s back. “Hey! Lieu­tenant, sir!”

Price did not look round. “Car­ry on, Sergeant.”

The men laughed. Bat­ten looked up at Mc­Gov­ern. “Sarge?”

“Shut your bloody face.”

“But, Sarge?”

“Shut it, or get up.”

Bat­ten sub­sid­ed in­to what he con­sid­ered in­jured but righ­teous dig­ni­ty. He bus­ied him­self with his right nos­tril, keep­ing his re­marks just out of the Com­pa­ny’s hear­ing. Sergeant Mc­Gov­ern crossed to the Lieu­tenant and stood for­mal­ly at at­ten­tion. Price looked up. “Sergeant?”

“It’s a bit strange, sir.”

“Yes.” They both watched Huck­field cross the ditch of the cen­tral fort. Price sud­den­ly re­alised that Mc­Gov­ern, for­mal al­ways, was still at at­ten­tion. “Stand easy, Sergeant. Stand easy.”

“Sir!” Mc­Gov­ern let his shoul­ders drop an eighth of an inch. “Thank you, sir.”

Price looked at his watch. A quar­ter to four. He did not know what to do and felt help­less with­out Sharpe or Harp­er to guide him. He knew that the Scot­tish Sergeant was hint­ing that a de­ci­sion ought to be made and he knew Mc­Gov­ern was right. He stared at the San Cayetano, saw Huck­field’s red jack­et ap­pear on a para­pet, then dis­ap­pear, and af­ter a long wait Huck­field came to the top of the crude breach and spread his hands emp­ti­ly. Price sighed. “We wait till five, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ma­jor Hogan

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