[Sharpe 14] Sharpe's Sword by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9780006168348
Publisher: Harpercollins
Published: 2009-12-07T13:00:00+00:00

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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