17 Sharpe's Regiment by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9780006174523
Publisher: HarperCollins

They went north in the moon-​drenched night. They slant­ed west­wards to where they could see hills and trees, the cov­er sought by all in­fantry­men in trou­ble. They walked fast, push­ing away from the Crouch, away from the coun­try that an en­raged mili­tia would search in the dawn. Al­ways they watched the west, look­ing for horse­men, look­ing for the flash of moon­light on a sabre or badge, but they seemed to be alone in a rich, deep-​plant­ed coun­try of sleep­ing farms, gen­tle hills, wide pas­tures, and dark woods.

Dawn end­ed the ex­hil­ara­tion of their es­cape. They had reached a hill that showed them the view north­wards and it was de­press­ing; worse, it could mean de­feat, for, stretch­ing from west to east, bright in the ris­ing sun, was an­oth­er riv­er. It was a riv­er far wider and deep­er than the Crouch. This was a great, shin­ing bar­ri­er that blocked their north­ern es­cape, just as the sea and the Riv­er Crouch blocked them to the east and south. They could on­ly go west and there, Sharpe knew, the cav­al­ry would be wait­ing. By dawn that cor­don of cav­al­ry would start comb­ing this land be­tween the rivers.

He un­wrapped the bun­dle that Jane Gib­bons had giv­en him. She was to mar­ry Gird­wood? The thought stunned him. Sir Hen­ry would mar­ry her off to that pos­tur­ing id­iot? He re­mem­bered her hand on his arm, the sheen of moon­light on her eyes, and he wished, against all his bet­ter judg­ment, that she could share this jour­ney of dan­ger. It would take her from the fate that she feared, which of­fend­ed Sharpe so hor­ri­bly and deeply, be­cause he had plans of his own, ridicu­lous, un­found­ed plans, mar­riage plans.

A shab­by black cloak wrapped the bun­dle. In­side was a pack­age of waxed pa­per that held a great chunk of pale and crum­bling cheese, a half-​cut loaf and, wrapped in more waxed pa­per, a strange piece of jel­lied meat.

'What is it?' Harp­er stared at the meat.

'Don't know.' Sharpe sliced it with the bay­onet he had tak­en from the sen­try in Foul­ness, then ate some. 'Bloody de­li­cious!'

Be­side the cheese was a leather purse that he opened to find, God bless the girl, three guineas in gold.

Harp­er helped him­self to some of the meat. 'Would you mind me ask­ing you a ques­tion, sir?'

'What?'

'Did you per­suade Sir Hen­ry to leave this for us?' he grinned.

'He's gone to Lon­don.' Sharpe re­mem­bered Sir Hen­ry say­ing as much over Mar­riott's body. He cut the cheese. 'You re­mem­ber that bug­ger you killed at Ta­lav­era? Chris­tian Gib­bons?'

'Aye.'

'Re­mem­ber his sis­ter?'

Harp­er had met Jane Gib­bons in the porch of the church on that day, near­ly four years be­fore, when Sharpe had spo­ken to her by her broth­er's memo­ri­al. Harp­er stared at Sharpe with sus­pi­cion and amuse­ment. 'She left this for us?'

'Yes.' Sharpe said it as though it was the most nor­mal thing in the world for young ladies to help men desert from army camps. 'Good cheese, isn't it?'

'Grand.' Harp­er still stared at him. 'I seem to re­mem­ber, sir, that she was a pret­ty wee thing?'

'I seem to re­mem­ber that, too,' Sharpe said.

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