bcornwell.sharpescompany-第11节

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　'You'll　find　them。'
　'Yes。'
　She　smiled。　'You'll　hurt　them？'
　'Very　much。'
　'Good。'
　Sharpe　grinned。　'I　thought　Christians　were　supposed　to　forgive　their　enemies。'
　She　shook　her　head；　the　hair　tickling　him。　'Only　when　they're　dead。　Anyway。'　She　plucked　a　hair　from　his　chest。　'You're　not　a　Christian。'
　'You　are。'
　She　shrugged。　'The　priests　don't　like　me。　I　have　been　learning　English　from　a　priest；　Father　Pedro。　He's　nice；　but　the　others。。。　'　She　spat　at　the　fire。　'They　do　not　let　me　take　the　Mass。　Because　I　am　bad。'　She　said　something　in　quick；　guttural　Spanish；　something　that　would　have　confirmed　the　opinion　of　the　priests。　She　sat　up　and　looked　round　the　room。　'Those　pigs　must　have　left　some　wine。'
　'I　didn't　see　any。'
　〃You　didn't　look。　You　only　wanted　me　under　the　blankets。'　She　stood　up　and　searched　the　room。　Sharpe　watched　her；　loving　the　straightness　of　her　body；　the　strength　in　her　slimness。　She　opened　cupboards　and　pulled　their　contents　violently　on　to　the　floor。　'Here。'　She　tossed　him　a　wooden　shelf；　loose　from　a　cabinet。　'Put　it　on　the　fire。'
　Sharpe　sprinkled　it　with　powder；　to　help　it　light；　and　when　he　turned　back　she　had　found　wine　and　brandished　it　to　him。　'You　see？　The　pigs　always　have　wine。'　She　saw　him　looking　at　her　and　her　face　became　serious。　'Am　I　different？'
　'No。'
　'You're　sure？'　She　stood　facing　him；　naked；　her　face　worried。
　'I'm　sure。　You're　beautiful。　'　He　was　puzzled。　'Should　there　be　something　different？'
　She　shrugged；　crossed　the　room　and　sat　beside　him。　The　cork　was　half　out　of　the　bottle　and　she　pulled　it　free　and　smelt　the　wine。　'Awful。'　She　drank　some　and　handed　the　bottle　to　Sharpe。
　'What's　the　matter？'
　He　knew　the　moment　had　e　when　she　would　talk。
　She　was　silent　for　a　few　seconds；　staring　into　the　fire；　then　she　turned　abruptly　to　him；　her　expression　fierce。　'You　are　going　to　Badajoz？'
　'Yes。'
　'You're　sure？'　She　seemed　desperate　for　his　certainty。
　Sharpe　shrugged。　'I　can't　be　sure。　The　army　will　go　there；　but　we　may　be　sent　to　Lisbon；　or　maybe　stay　here。　I　don't　know。　Why？'
　'Because　I　want　you　to　be　there。'
　
　Sharpe　waited　for　her　to　continue；　but　she　stopped　talking　and　stared；　instead；　into　the　fire。　The　wine　was　sour；　but　he　drank　some；　and　then　pulled　the　stiff　blanket　up　round　her　shoulders。　She　looked　sad。　'Why　do　you　want　me　to　be　there？'　he　asked　gently。
　
　'Because　I　will　be　there。'
　'You'll　be　there。'　He　spoke　the　words　as　if　they　described　the　most　normal　thing　on　earth；　but　inside　he　was　grasping　for　a　reason；　any　reason；　that　would　take　Teresa　into　the　largest　French　fortress　in　Spain。
　She　nodded。　'Inside。　I've　been　there；　Richard；　since　April。'
　'In　Badajoz？　Fighting？'
　'No。　They　don't　know　me　as　〃La　Aguja〃。　They　think　I　am　Teresa　Moreno；　niece　of　Rafael　Moreno。　That's　my　father's　brother。'　She　smiled　ruefully。　'The　French　even　let　me　carry　a　rifle　outside　the　city；　can　you　imagine　that？　To　protect　myself　against　the　horrid　Guerilleros。'　She　laughed。　'We　live　there；　my　aunt；　uncle；　myself；　and　we　trade　in　furs；　leather；　and　we　want　peace　so　the　profits　can　be　high。'　She　made　a　face。
　'I　don't　understand。'
　She　leaned　away　from　him；　poked　at　the　fire　with　the　bayonet；　and　then　drank　more　wine。　'Will　there　be　trouble　there？'
　'Trouble？'
　'Like　tonight？　Killings？　Thieving？　Rape？'
　'If　the　French　fight；　yes。'
　'They　will　fight。　'　She　looked　at　him。　'You　must　find　me　in　the　city；　you　understand？'
　He　nodded；　puzzled。　'I　understand。'　A　dog　howled　outside　at　the　soft；　falling　snow。　'But　why　in　Badajoz？'
　'You'll　be　angry。'
　'I　won't　be　angry。　Why　Badajoz？'
　Again　she　was　silent；　biting　her　lip　and　searching　his　face；　and　then　she　took　his　hand　and　placed　it；　beneath　the　blanket；　on　her　bare　stomach。　'Is　it　different？'
　'No。'　He　stroked　her　skin；　not　understanding。　She　breathed　deep。
　'I　had　a　baby。'　His　hand　went　still　on　the　warm　flesh。　She　shrugged。　'I　said　you'd　be　angry。'
　'A　baby？'　His　mind　seemed　to　whirl　like　the　snow　above　the　flames。
　'Your　baby。　Our　daughter。'　Tears　came　to　her　eyes；　and　she　buried　her　head　on　his　shoulder。　'She's　ill；　Richard；　so　ill；　and　she　cannot　travel。　She　could　die。　She　is　so　little。'
　'Our　daughter？　Mine？'　He　felt　the　beginnings　of　joy。
　'Yes。'
　'What　did　you　call　her？'
　She　looked　up　at　him；　her　eyes　bright　with　tears。　'Antonia。'
　It　was　my　mother's　name。　If　it　had　been　a　boy　I　would　have　called　him　Ricardo。'
　'Antonia。　'　He　said　the　name。　'I　like　it。'
　'You　do？'
　'Yes。'
　'And　you're　not　angry？'
　'Why　should　I　be？'
　She　shrugged。　'Soldiers　do　not　need　children。'
　
　He　pulled　her　close；　remembering　the　first　kiss；　not　many　miles　from　here；　under　the　rainstorm　as　the　French　Lancers　searched　the　streambed。　They　had　been　given　so　little　time　together。　He　remembered　the　parting　in　the　shadow　of　Almeida's　smoke。　'How　old　is　she？'
　
　'Just　over　seven　months。　She's　very　small。'
　
　He　supposed　she　would　be。　Tiny；　vulnerable；　ill；　and　inside　Badajoz；　surrounded　by　the　French；　ringed　with　the　walls　that　rose　dark　above　the　Guadiana。　His　daughter。
　
　Teresa　shook　her　head。　'I　thought　you'd　be　angry。'　She　spoke　the　words　as　soft　as　the　snow　that　fell　beyond　the　shuttered　windows。
　
　'Angry？　No。　I'm。。。　'　But　the　words　could　not　be　found。　A　daughter？　His？　And　this　woman　was　the　mother　of　his　child？　It　seemed　to　sink　in；　with　a　wonderment　and　a　confusion；　and　there　were　no　words　for　him/More　than　a　daughter；　a　family；　and　Sharpe　thought　he　had　no　family；　not　since　his　mother　died　near　thirty　years　before；　and　he　held　Teresa　tight；　crushing　her；　because　he　did　not　want　her　to　see　his　eyes。　He　had　a　family；　at　last；　a　family。
　
　In　Badajoz。
　
　CHAPTER　7
　
　'Where　are　we　going？'
　
　'Badajoz！'
　
　The　Battalion　found　the　joke　endlessly　amusing。　It　took　just　one　man　in　a　pany　to　shout　the　question　and　the　rest　of　the　men　took　a　deep　breath　and　bawled　out　the　answer。　They　exaggerated　the　Spanish　pronunciation；　the　guttural；　choking　sound　of　the　'j'　drawn　out　to　the　final　'th'　sound　of　the　Spanish　V。　The　name；　shouted　by　the　South　Essex；　sounded　like　four　hundred　men　simultaneously　vomiting　and　spitting；　and　the　amusement　had　carried　them　far　down　the　familiar　Portuguese　roads。　They　marched　close　to　the　frontier；　going　south。
　
　'Where　are　we　going？'
　
　'Badajoz！'
　
　It　was　still　cold。　The　snow　had　gone；　except　from　the　hilltops；　and　the　final　ice　had　melted　in　the　rivers；　but　the　wind　stayed　in　the　north　and　brought　daily　rain　that　flogged　through　the　greatcoats；　soaked　blankets；　and　made　the　nightly　billets　steamy　and　damp。　Most　of　the　army　was　still　in　the　north；　close　to　Ciudad　Rodrigo；　attempting　to　persuade　the　French　that　no　move　was　contemplated　against　the　huge　southern　fortress　that　guarded　the　invasion　route　from　Lisbon。
　
　'Where　are　we　going？'
　
　'Badajoz！'
　
　Lawford　was　alive；　feverish　and　weak；　but　growing　stronger　in　the　convent　hospital　where　Crauford　had　died。　In　a　month　or　so；　as　his　old　battalion　faced　Badajoz；　the　Colonel　would　be　shipped　home　and；　doubtless；　taken　by　carriage　from　the　dockside　to　the　family　estate。　He　had　smiled　when　Sharpe　visited　him；　and　struggled　to　sit　up。　'It's　only　the　left　arm；　Richard。'
　
　'Yes；　sir。'
　
　'I　can　still　ride；　carry　a　sword。　I'll　be　back。'
　
　'I　hope　so；　sir。'
　
　Lawford　shook　his　head。　'Bloody　foolish　thing　to　do；　eh？　Still；　you　were　wrong　about　one　thing。'
　
　'What's　that？'
　
　'No　one　shot　me；　and　I　didn't　wear　the　cloak。'
　
　'Then　you　deserved　to　be　shot。'
　
　Lawford　smiled。　'I'll　take　your　advice　next　time。'
　
　If　there　was　a　next　time；　Sharpe　thought。　Lawford　might　be　back；　as　he　hoped；　but　not　for　months；　and　not　with　the　South　Essex。　There　would　be　a　new　Colonel　and　the　rumors　had　blown　through　the　Regiment　like　musket　smoke　over　a　battlefield。　There　had　been　a　suggestion；　greeted　with　dismay；　that　Sir　Henry　Simmerson　might　return　to　Spain；　but　Sharpe　doubted　whether　the　old　Colonel　would　want　to　give　up　his　lucrative　job　with　the　new…fangled　Ine　Tax。　Another　thought　was　that　Forrest　might　be　promoted；　then　that　was　discounted；　and　other　names　came　and　went。　Every　Lieutenant　Colonel　whose　path　brought　him　near　the　South　Essex　was　carefully　scrutinized　in　case　he　should　be　the　new　man；　but；　as　they　marched　one　dawn　across　the　Tagus；　into　the　south；　Forrest　still　manded　and　there　was　no　news　of　Lawford's　replacement。
　
　Teresa　rode　with　the　Battalion。　The　Light　pany　knew　her；　remembered　her　from　the　fighting　around　Almeida　and；　somehow；　though　Sharpe　never　spoke　of　it；　the　men　learned　of　the　child's　existence。　Harper；　marching　with　his　effortless　stride；　grinned　at　Sharpe。　'Not　to　worry；　sir。　The　baby'l　be　all　right；　so　she　will。　The　lads　will　all　look　out　for　her。'
　
　The　wives　of　the　Battalion；　marching　at　the　rear　with　their　children；　brought　small　presents　to　Sharpe　and　Teresa。　A　blanket；　a　pair　of　baby's　mittens　knitted　from　an　unraveled　sock；　a　carved　rattle。　Sharpe　was　surprised；　touched　and　embarrassed　by　the　pleasure　the　news　had　caused。
　
　The　men　themselves　were　confident；　looking　forward　to　Badajoz　because　the　casualties　at　Ciudad　Rodrigo　had　been　blessedly　light。　The　South　E