He dropped his palm against his own sword's pommel; he knew its yard of steel like he knew his own stride. Long and lethal, if unrefined. The 1799 had always been a cheap pattern, when it came to blades. But this one had been carefully reworked and practically bespoke -- tailored for him, in his convalescence, by one Patrick Harper. A replacement for when his first sword had shattered under Leroux's Klingenthal. Oh, how Sharpe had lusted after that sword much as he'd lusted after Leroux's sister. Oh, but he hadn't known whose sister she was -- or anything else about her, for that matter. Only that she was beautiful and dangerous and he wanted her.
Effie, on the other hand, did not look dangerous. Beautiful? Yes -- but in a frank and honest way, today, that he could not marry to the painted harridan he'd come to know and learned to loathe. Her rouge and her shoes were more dangerous than this. They were weapons he couldn't understand. But swords? Sharpe knew swords.
"The length of your arm never changes. The length of a sword? Well, Miss Trinket, you can see it well enough for yourself. Do the bloody math in your head before your enemy does it for you. You don't get practice swings in real battle, so I don't see why you should get'em here."
Here was the drill sergeant. The teacher. The man who brought green troops to readiness. He was not a kind or easygoing when he spoke like this, but he had a strange patience about him -- as if he took pride in what he could impart. No matter how uneasy she made him.
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Effie, on the other hand, did not look dangerous. Beautiful? Yes -- but in a frank and honest way, today, that he could not marry to the painted harridan he'd come to know and learned to loathe. Her rouge and her shoes were more dangerous than this. They were weapons he couldn't understand. But swords? Sharpe knew swords.
"The length of your arm never changes. The length of a sword? Well, Miss Trinket, you can see it well enough for yourself. Do the bloody math in your head before your enemy does it for you. You don't get practice swings in real battle, so I don't see why you should get'em here."
Here was the drill sergeant. The teacher. The man who brought green troops to readiness. He was not a kind or easygoing when he spoke like this, but he had a strange patience about him -- as if he took pride in what he could impart. No matter how uneasy she made him.