by Charley Hart

Disclaimer: The characters from the Horatio Hornblower series do not belong to me, and no infringement of anyone's copyright is intended. Billy Scathelock is my creation, and does belong to me.

FEEDBACK to Charley

Late afternoon, and all was quiet. The long shadows of the posted watch slunk back and forth around the perimeter of the English camp. Horatio approached cautiously, calling out to identify himself. A red-coated soldier appeared at his side to take the reins of his horse. He dismounted awkwardly, wondering if he would ever feel as comfortable in a saddle as he did aloft. The soldier appeared not to notice. Instead, the man conducted him to a tent towards the center of camp, no different in size from the others that dotted the sheltered field, and lifted the flap to admit him.

"Ah, Mr. Hornblower. Good of you to come." Major Edrington was perched on a camp stool before a makeshift table. "Won't you join me?" He indicated an identical stool on the other side of the table, which, along with a nearby stack of neatly folded blankets and a few chests of various sizes, constituted the only furnishings of the tent. "The accomodations are inadequate, but I trust you won’t find it too disagreeable."

"No, not at all, my lord." Horatio settled himself on the stool. "There is more headroom than the midshipmens' mess offers."

Edrington smiled but said nothing.

"Do you wish me to report, sir? I really know little more than I told you this morning."

"That won’t be necessary. The invitation was social."  He waved at an aide, who brought out a straw-lined chest, and from it took two exquisite Stourbridge etched crystal glasses which he set on the table, followed shortly by a bottle.

"This is Mr. Woodhouse’s Marsala wine from Sicily. Are you familiar with it?" the Major asked, as his aide popped the cork and carefully filled the glasses.

"I believe I have sampled it once, my lord. I found it -- quite potent." Horatio eyed the ruby liquid. He barely noticed as the young corporal placed the bottle on the table and quietly departed.

"One must always be prepared to entertain guests, even under extraordinary circumstances, don’t you agree?"

"Yes, of course. That is, I am in no position myself to do so, but a man of your station – "

"Exactly." Edrington lifted his glass. "The King."

Hornblower echoed the words and drank with his host. "And to our safe return home," he offered.

"Only to our safe return, and not to victory?"

"I am sure you would agree that, barring divine intervention, victory is unlikely, my lord."

"Indeed. I have anticipated disaster since witnessing the Marquis' vulgar little display in the village square."

"Yet you did nothing."

Edrington looked for accusation in the young officer's eyes, but found none; his look betokened something more akin to curiosity. "What would you have me do? Muzillac is his village." He took a long draught from his glass. "As long as he can hold it."

Angry furrows creased Horatio's brow. "The man is not worthy of his position. He is a monster. And yet, the circumstances of his birth, and that alone –"

"Take care, Mr. Hornblower, lest I find your more radical sentiments insulting to privilege itself."

Horatio sat in silence for a moment, holding his glass, swirling its contents before his face as if looking therein for a proper reply. "I did not mean to imply that he is monstrous because of privilege. Only that privilege allows him free rein to exercise his monstrosities."

"Well said," Edrington mused. "Nor did I mean to imply that you had insulted me. But you must learn to guard your tongue in less benevolent company. I say this for your own good. There is a destiny upon you, I can see it. Finish your wine and I will refill your glass."

"A destiny, my lord?" Horatio drank the remains more quickly than he intended, and a drop spilled onto his chin.

"You do believe in destiny, don't you? The notion that the right man appears on the stage of history at the right time, that sort of thing." He watched as the bead of wine trickled slowly down Horatio's chin. "That you and I are here sharing a bottle of Marsala -- that is also the hand of destiny at work, writing the history of our lives."

"Forgive me, sir, but I don't understand what you mean." 

Edrington relished the innocence of the face that regarded him intently across the table. "To put it simply, Mr. Hornblower -- Horatio ... you are in France because your captain finds you a competent and trustworthy officer. And you are in my tent because I find you as comely as you are competent.  No, more so!  Here, allow me."  Edrington reached out and flicked the droplet away with his fingertips. "There now, don’t hang your head when you hear such things. Tilt it upwards like this -- as if you expect to hear them." The hand was warm as it caressed Horatio's chin, lifting his face slightly so that his eyes met the penetrating brown of the Major's own.

Startled, Horatio gasped aloud. "I -- I should be leaving now, sir. My men --"

"Are probably not expecting you for a few more hours," Edrington finished. He filled both glasses, and pushing Hortatio's glass towards him, gently took his hand and folded the fingers around the stem. "A wine such as this is not meant to be enjoyed alone. It would distress me if you were to force me to do so."

Horatio sighed and sipped cautiously at the virile liquid. "As you wish, my lord."  

For a few moments, the silence lingered between them.

"Are you curious?"  Edrington noted his guest staring at the little red leather-bound book that lay atop a small mahogany writing desk on the table.  "Go on, examine it if you wish. It was made for me in Bologna."

"It's beautiful," Horatio said, fingering the gold-tooled swirls and flourishes that decorated the front. His father had a serviceable library of a dozen or so volumes, but nothing like this. The title page was a wonderfully detailed engraving of a pastoral scene.  "The Affectionate Shepherd, and other Poems of Richard Barnfield?"

"You were expecting Caesar's Commentaries?" Edrington asked with sly amusement.

"Perhaps." Horatio laughed softly. "I have not heard of Barnfield."

"No, you wouldn't have. A poet of the last century. There is a feather marking one of the pages. Find it, if you please."

Horatio carefully turned the ivory pages until he located the marker. "Sonnets", he mused.

"Yes. That one is my favourite. Will you read it?"   Edrington poured more wine into the nearly empty glass. 

Horatio's finger moved along the lines.

"Aloud, if you please."

"Sir, I -- I am really not adept at this sort of thing."

"I insist."

Horatio drew breath to reply, but found his glass handed to him.   He took a purposeful swallow and cleared his throat.
     "Sighing, and sadly sitting by my love,
     He asked the cause of my heart's sorrowing,
     Conjuring me by heaven's eternal King
     To tell the cause which me so much did move.
     Compelled (quoth I), to thee will I confess,
     Love is the cause, and only love it is
     That doth deprive me of my heavenly bliss.
     Love is the pain that doth my heart oppress.
     And what is she (quoth he) whom thou dost love?
     Look in this glass (quoth I), there shalt thou see
     The perfect form of my felicity.
     When, thinking that it would strange magic prove,
     He opened it, and taking off the cover
     He -- "

Horatio started, as if the pages had suddenly begun to smolder in his hands. 

"Go on." Edrington noted the changes of expression on the young face as he struggled to complete the sentence. At first flustered, then determined, then something else -- but what? Not fear, surely. Uncertainty. Then determined once more. 

" -- He straight perceived himself to be my lover," he finished, a bit too quickly.

Edrington gently took the book from him and laid it back upon the desk. "I carry it with me always. Did you like it, Horatio?"

He coughed, unnecessarily.  "Astonishing."

"Another?" Edrington held the bottle out.

Horatio was shocked to see that his glass was once more nearly empty.   "My lord, I fear if I have more I will be unable to stand. Really, I must go now. I thank you for the company. And the wine. And for -- for sharing Mr. Barnfield's poetry." He pushed back the stool and stood, then put his hand to his forehead. "Oh, my goodness."

Edrington was at his side in an instant. "You are too warm, Horatio. Let me remove your coat."

"Really, I --"

But he stood powerless as the garment was whisked from his shoulders and tossed over the table. Edrington's fingers moved to the waistcoat buttons.

"This is not necessary, my lord. I must ask you to --" The waistcoat soon joined the coat. "You'll not have my shirt off, surely!" Horatio's voice was muffled slightly as the shirt was lifted over his head. "My lord, this is most -- most out of the ordinary. I -- I demand an explanation."

"You demand, Mr. Hornblower?" Edrington's eyes were gently mocking. "Then I shall give you one. I was overcome by an insatiable desire to see your bare chest." 

He held Horatio's shoulders before him at arm's length. "Magnificent. Ah-ah, chin up! Yes, that's much better. I will not be denied the privilege of looking into your eyes as I touch you."

Horatio expelled a short breath as Edrington's hands glided up his torso. He searched for his voice. "Sir … I -- I must tell you. My sentiments lie … elsewhere."

"As do mine," Edrington replied nonchalantly, continuing to stroke the smooth skin. "Your eyes betray you, you know. One recognizes the gaze that lingers injudiciously long on the beloved … if one knows what to look for."

"You mistake my intentions entirely, my lord. It was my duty to protect her from Moncoutant. You would have -- should have done the same."

Edrington laughed. "And you mistake my intentions, sir. I was not referring to your French amie."

"Then to -- to whom?"

"To Mr. Kennedy, of course. You have not told him? You must tell him. It is unthinkable that a man should be denied such loveliness when it could be his for the asking."

"I cannot -- I am not -- I have never -- "

"I am aware that you have never, Horatio. However, I have. A fortunate thing for you, hm?" Edrington slipped his fingers inside the waistband of Horatio's trousers, pulling them slightly downward.

"You are over-bold, my lord." The voice quavered, just a little.

"I prefer to say I am not subtle. I admire you, and the luxury of time is not with me this evening. Please forgive my unseemly haste. A man like you should be enjoyed at leisure, in a soft bed with lavender-scented sheets and feather pillows with lace covers, not in some army tent on the eve of battle. However, it is the best I can manage under the circumstances."  With a flourish he removed his own coat and shirt, and spread one of the woolen blankets on the ground. "Lie down."

"You go too far." Now he had the quaver under control -- almost.

"I am not accustomed to being denied, Mister Hornblower."

"My lord, I cannot think you would -- you would proceed against my will!"

"I have yet to do anything that was against your will, my dear. If I had, you would be halfway back to the bridge at Muzillac by now. Shall I loosen this and give you more comfort?" He tugged at the strings until the drawers sagged around Horatio's hips.

"Sweet coral lips, where nature's treasure lies, the balm of bliss, the sovereign salve of sorrow ... Ah, Horatio, even now the ever so slight parting invites intrusion. You are beautiful, my nut-brown boy. No, do not take offense so easily. There is nothing of the peasant about you. You have a noble face. And your mouth -- dear God, the Marsala has reddened it like a plum, ready for the plucking. The secret touch of love's heart-burning arrow, come quench my thirst or else poor Daphnis dies!"

A steady hand went round the back of Horatio's head, clenching the silken curls between strong fingers, pulling him forward. He closed his eyes as Edrington's mouth claimed its prize, almost viciously at first, but then more tenderly. The warm tongue, still sweet with wine, explored the recesses of his mouth, taking his breath, then moved to his lips, savouring them like delectable morsels. His cheeks were kissed, and then his eyelids, and his forehead.

When at last he broke away, Horatio stood unmoving, transfixed by the Major's eyes which were bright with lust,   "Oh. I feel … unsteady on my legs."

"Now will you lie down for me?" Edrington whispered, placing an arm around Horatio's waist and lowering him to the ground.  He took a moment to drink in the sight of the prone figure, to memorize its contours, the russet nipples against the tanned flesh, the leanness of the abdomen, the inviting trail of soft fur that led from the navel down into the disheveled trousers. He closed his eyes and with both hands caressed the hardness between Horatio's legs.

"Oh, my lord!"

"That will not do, not here. My Christian name is Hector. Hector Augustus George. Choose any you like, but not 'my lord', for I am yours to command. Would you bid me do this?" He bent forward over the naked chest and began to slowly circle Horatio's nipples with his tongue. The small buds peaked under the strokes, and the smooth skin quivered slightly, the breath leaving his lungs in a rush.

"Or this?" He blew a soft puff of air into Horatio's ear. With his right hand caught in the now-moist mass of curls, he tongued the inner lobe, watching joyously from the corner of his eye as the young back arched spasmodically, hips thrusting upwards.

"Or this?" Edrington tugged both trousers and drawers down to release the swollen organ.  He slid his hand into the dark down, bending low to savour the smell of arousal. He grasped the shaft and pumped, planting urgent yet tender kisses on its head, teasingly licking off the droplets that leaked from the slit. His victim's breathing was jagged now, as he fought not to cry aloud.

"No, this." Horatio squirmed as Edrington's tongue made a path down his abdomen, moving up the length of his cock, circling it a few times, then moving down again and below.

There was no more holding back as the wet warmth enveloped his balls, first one and then the other.  "Please ... please," he managed.

"Yes, all you wish," Edrington said softly. "All I can give you."  And with that, he took the straining organ into his mouth, slowly moving up and down as his hands massaged Horatio's sinewy thighs. He moaned lowly as he sucked.

The vibration on his cock magnified Horatio's excitement. He wanted to thrust and find release in the warm depths of the Major's throat, but at the same time, he wanted to hold back, wanted it not to end. The man had all of him now, his lips pressed against the dark fur at the base of the cock. With a shout, Horatio filled his throat. 

Edrington held him in his mouth until there was nothing left, then almost reverently released him and stretched out beside him. "I have drunk the ambrosia of the gods today," he whispered. "Let me share it with you."  He drew him into a deep kiss.

Horatio wound his arms around the older man and abandoned himself to this new sensation.The taste of his own semen was strange, as intoxicating as Marsala. Salty, pungent, and very savoury. He let his tongue go in search of all of it, all he could take from his skillful lover's mouth. And when there was no more, he went on kissing him until his lungs ached from lack of breath.Gentle hands moved across his chest, stroking and caressing. Horatio frantically pushed at his trousers, until they were an untidy bundle around his knees.

"No further than that, it would not be wise. If an artillery shell were to hit the camp --"  Edrington  laughed aloud at Horatio's horrified face. "I am jesting, darling. They are not within range. But while we may be daring, we must not be stupid." He stood, and offered Horatio his hand, pulling him up into an embrace. A light sheen of perspiration covered their torsos, and they stood together for a long moment, neither wanting to let go.

"Horatio, there is something I must tell you." Edrington kissed his lips lightly and began on his neck, little nips that sent prickles of pleasure all the way down Horatio's spine. "I often say things to my lovers to excite them. To make them more eager. And sometimes -- sometimes I go beyond the truth in my desire to -- to encourage them. But I will tell you this, and it is the truth, upon my word. I have never in my life wanted any man so much as I want you."

Horatio saw that his eyes were full. He went on, his voice a mere whisper. "But it is more than that. Sporting at fancy, setting light by love, There came a thief, and stole away my heart."

Horatio looked away, unable to meet the unbearable longing in those eyes.

"What is it, Horatio?"

"My lord -- Hector -- let me -- I want to please you as you have pleased me."

Edrington's eyes closed, and he struggled to reply.   "Yes. You shall. But not just yet, precious. Please. Not just yet. Come."

He maneouvered Horatio to the table and pressed him downwards so that his torso rested on the discarded coat. He knelt behind him, letting his hands wander over the expanse of the back and down the hips to the thighs, which he gently kneaded as he nipped at the bared buttocks with his teeth, at first lightly but then unsparingly, marking his territory. He drew a finger down between the cheeks, parting them slightly, then buried his face in the moistness.

"What -- are you -- doing?" The question was almost fearful.

Edrington said nothing, but reached beneath and grasped Horatio's cock, as his tongue sought out the crevice and its puckered opening. The slim body shuddered beneath him. He slowly circled the outside of it a few times before letting his tongue dart within. He was rewarded with an unbounded cry of ecstasy.

"Do you like that?

"Ohhhh." 

Edrington tongued him more forcefully, until the cries became a continuous moan of pleasure. The cock in his hand was rock-hard now, the hips arching higher, begging for more.

Smiling triumphantly, Edrington grasped the heaving shoulders and spun Horatio around, dropping to his knees and coating the rampant penis with saliva. He tugged at his own trousers until he'd bared himself completely, then bent over the table himself.

"Take me."

"Oh, Lord!"

"Your heart is beating so hard in your chest I can almost hear it, Horatio.  You do want me, don't you?"

"I -- yes!"

"Then I am yours. If you think you cannot, then close your eyes and think of him."

Horatio felt the tears welling in his own eyes. He let his hands descend and lightly brush the exposed buttocks. There was a long scar on the man's thigh, faded to pink, not a recent wound. He ran his finger along its puckered edge.

"I'm afraid there is no daring tale of battle bravery to be found there. I fell from a hayloft when the ladder gave way."

"And was there a nut-brown boy in the loft?" Horatio asked softly.

"Not at the time I fell. He had already made his escape."

Horatio gripped the muscular shoulders. The man was perfection itself, his marble skin against the blue naval coat reminding Horatio of a Greek youth on one of Wedgwood's vases.  Except Wedgwood's Greeks were fully clothed.  Hesitantly, he guided the moist tip of his cock towards the dark opening. He pressed on, heedless of the oppressive tightness.

"It will ease, dear. Move your hips."

Horatio swallowed hard, trying not to give himself over completely to sensation, to retain some measure of control over what his body was bent on doing. Delicious heat spread from his groin to his fingertips, as he felt his feeble hold on restraint slipping away. He wanted to bury himself in that welcoming furnace, to fill his lover with himself until he could take no more.

Horatio kept one firm hand on Edrington's back to steady himself, and reached beneath with the other to grasp his cock. The man was enormous. Horatio held it tightly, letting its dripping juices serve to lubricate his pumping.

"Odd's blood, man, faster!"

Horatio was on fire. He realized the booming noise in his ears was neither artillery fire nor thunder, but the sound of his own breathing. It was going to be over too soon if he kept this up. He willed himself to control his thrusting in spite of Edrington's command.

"Have mercy, love. Don't stop!"

"I've no intention of stopping," Horatio rasped. "But if I don't slow down I'll soon have nothing left." He ignored the pained little groans that issued from Edrington's throat and began to push in and pull out more methodically. He had both hands on the man's genitals now, one massaging the struggling cock and the other gently cradling the tight balls. He would give him everything he had. He grasped the outstretched white-knuckled hands and interlocked the fingers with his own, binding them together in ungoverned desire. His teeth darted around the back and up to the ears, and the neck, where he sucked until the skin purpled.  First on the one side, and then on the other.

"Oh God, oh God," Edrington moaned. "Fuck me. Fuck me until I die."

Horatio's control snapped utterly then and he plunged headlong into the incomparable sweetness.

"Oh yes, please, yes, please, harder!"

Horatio was heedless of the groaning planks of the table, and of the strangled cries that issued from his own throat. There were no men outside, no threatening enemy, no Muzillac, no France -- there was nothing in all the world but the feel of this man's arse gripping his cock and slamming back against his balls until the blood pounded in his temples. "Oh, sweet Christ, oh, Hector!"

With a great cry, Horatio climaxed, sending one hot stream after another into the depths until he swayed on the verge of unconsciousness. The body beneath him was convulsing wildly, and he felt a burning torrent coat his hand at the same time, filling his heart with a rapture that was near unbearable.

For a long time, he simply lay there, with his head on Edrington's back, holding his spent cock and making exhausted efforts to breathe.

It was Edrington who finally pulled away, leaving Horatio too giddy to stand. He drew the younger man down onto the blanket, holding him close in a euphoric tandem, their bodies still quivering, and stroking his hair until his panting became shallow contented breathing. He kissed him longingly, savouring the caustic taste of desire that still clung to the sweet mouth. His loins ached again as he felt the kiss returned with equal longing.

"If you wanted me ... like that ... I would," Horatio whispered hoarsly.

"My dearest Horatio." He wanted to kiss every inch of the exposed flesh that now trembled in his arms. "Few experienced men can accomodate me, and you are virginal.  That glorious assault must fall to another's command. But to know that you would -- I will treasure that revelation for the rest of my days."

A distant rumble of thunder intruded on the reverie, bringing them both back to the French coast, and their mission. Horatio closed his eyes. "I must ... go now."

"I would rather shed my own blood than part from you, but yes, I know you must. Duty calls," Edrington said resignedly.

"I need a moment to -- to compose myself."

"Of course. Lie here in my arms and rest."

"If I do that, I shall never be able to compose myself."

Edrington gave a plaintive sigh. "So much more than even I dreamt of. I am besotted. I never meant -- goddamn."

"Oh, Hector, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. As you said, your sentiments lie elsewhere. A fortunate man, Mr. Kennedy."

"I do not know that he will believe so."

"Surely you know better. But of course, you have not seen the way he looks at you."

It seemed inopportune to speak of his love for Archie while resting his head on this man's arm, with his own arm wound round his sweat-drenched chest and the remains of their love-making even now drying in his crotch.  "You said your sentiments lay elsewhere as well," he offered.

"Indeed, so I did. And so I thought, until now."

"I would not have caused you this pain for all the world. Would to God I had not." Horatio's voice shook with emotion.

"It was not your choice, my darling, but mine. My private nature is reckless, and I have often paid for my folly. And how can I complain of bitterness when you have given me so much joy?" He untangled himself from his lover's arms and reached for his bootknife. "I cannot have your heart, but I shall at least have this." Deftly he cut a lock of still-damp hair and held the soft brown curls lovingly in his palm.  He sighed. "I should have asked your permission. Would you have given it to me?"

Horatio sat up and answered him with a tender kiss.  "Whatever is mine to give you is yours."

Edrington's eyes were bright. "So much more ...."   He roused himself and motioned Horatio to do the same.
Rumples were shaken from shirts and coats, and soon they had regained some semblance of tidiness. There was nothing either could do about the wetness that stained the fronts of both their trousers.

Edrington had fetched the book of poetry from his desk. "This is what I wish you to have of mine." He placed it in Horatio's hands.

"I cannot take it."

"Please."

"No. All my possession are not worth so much as that."

"The cost is no matter."

"It is dear to you."

"Yes. And for that reason, it is yours." He pressed the long fingers around the small leather volume.

Horatio's brow clouded.

"Something is troubling you."

"If we do not return safely home ---"

Edrington put a finger to the full lips. "Don't. We have drunk to it. Besides, I have no intentions of dying for France. 'No, not without stuggle, not without glory, no, in some great clash of arms that even men to come will hear of down the years.'" He smiled, resting his head against Horatio's neck. "Do you know that line?"

"I may be a common sailor, but not an ill-educated one. The Iliad. The Death of Hector ..." Horatio's voice trailed off, his heart aching.

Edrington steadied himself. "Go now. Wait. Once more." He drew him into a last kiss, almost chaste, not allowing their bodies to touch, knowing that if he did so, he would not be able to release him.  And then he turned away, standing in a military pose, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

Horatio bit his lip, and secreting the leather volume inside his coat, he lifted the tent flap and emerged into the cooling air of dusk. He thanked God the semi-darkness would somewhat conceal the grey stain on his white trousers. Not that anyone would need such evidence for conviction. He knew it was inconceivable that the men of the 95th Foot clustered in their own tents around the Major’s, had failed to hear the unbridled cries of passion coming from within.

With lowered head, he made his way towards his waiting horse. Damn the luck, the young aide was holding the reins for him. His cheeks burning, Horatio gave the man a cursory nod and hoped he wouldn't make a fool of himself mounting this time.

To his surprise, the corporal gave him a hand up, never meeting his eyes, his face devoid of expression. As Horatio turned his mount towards the bridge, he received a sharp salute. Then the man turned and walked back towards the camp. 



"Mr. Kennedy, is the powder primed? Then lay the fuse. If you will."
 
"And what of Mr. Hornblower, my lord?"

What of Mr. Hornblower, indeed. I pray destiny will be kind to you, sir. "We will give him as long as we can. Let us hope he does not abandon his customary caution."

"I believe we are of the same mind, Mr. Kennedy." If only you knew how much so. If he does not return, you will never know what you've lost, will you?  Alas, I shall.  'Take this for my farewell and latest adieu, sing oh, the green willow ... '

"Perhaps we might give it a few moments more, my lord."

A few moments more. "I daresay Mr. Hornblower will surprise us yet." 

"Aye, sir. If he is still alive."

Don't say it. For God's sake, Mr. Kennedy, don't think it.   He's looking at me. Waiting for the order. Detestible duty.  A harsh mistress. I cannot speak it, I will nod at him. I will pray. If I can recall a prayer. 'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed ... though the mountains ...'
You can't do it, can you, Mr. Kennedy?  I thought not.   Good man, whatever-your-name-is, to relieve him of that.  And so it burns ... much too quickly, like the last grains of sand spilling through the hourglass. This is a sorry state I have brought myself to. A sorry state, indeed. Dying inside because I am about to lose what I never had. I must not let this happen again. Duty. Honour. ... Horatio. 'Though the earth be removed, though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea ...' 

"Hold your fire!"

Is that your blessed voice, Mr. Kennedy? Thank God. Thank God. I should pray more often.  "Give covering fire!"  But no, she's hit and he's stopped. Dear God, he'll never make it! I could reach him in time, if these men were not blocking my way. "Mr. Kennedy!" I should have known he would. Had to. It is his right, I suppose. Hurry, please. Poor girl. My poor Horatio.

"Mr. Kennedy, just look after him, will you?"   Of course you will. Didn't require my asking. A lovely man you are, Archie Kennedy. I can see why he ... Mustn't think of that. A battle yet to be fought, in which we all might perish. Might? No, we shan't. Not for France.  Never!  Would you like to be the Earl of Edrington, Mr. Kennedy? Give me your hat and cloak, and I'll sail out to sea ... Good God, it's a sorry state I've come to. Mustn't think of that now.

 

Well. Here we are, between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, as the sailors say. Of the two, I'd prefer to deal with the Devil.

"Fire!"  Insufficient. Damned insufficient. Damn all Frogs to hell. And now I've forgotten the damned prayer. "Stand firm, men!" Hundreds of the bastards. Where are you, Horatio?  Ah, of course. Beside Mr. Kennedy.

"Fire!"  Did you think of him when ....? I'll never know. All for the best.

Canon fire? Oh, thank you, Ned Pellew. And they're on the run. What a pleasant sight that is. Well done with this place, indeed. Well done. 



"I hope we will meet again, in a nobler cause than this has been."

"So do I, my lord," replied Captain Pellew. The lines of anxiety etched by the events of the last few days were still apparent in his brow as he and his officers took formal leave of the Major and his men.

"However, I am not entirely unsatisfied with the events of the expedition." Edrington smiled enigmatically.

"My lord." Pellew cast a sideways glance at Horatio, who cleared his throat.

The officers saluted, and Edrington turned crisply and was away.

Pellew gazed after them for a moment. "Shouldn't you be about your duties, Mr. Hornblower?"

"Aye, sir."

Horatio turned and walked slowly away, keeping his back to the sea, looking for some duty to be about. Suddenly a young soldier stood before him, and Horatio recognized Major Edrington's aide. His red uniform bore signs of recent repair; a bandage around his wrist peaked from beneath his coat sleeve. He looked to be no older than Horatio himself, and he was thankful the young man had come through what was likely his first battle with no greater injuries.

"Sir. From 'is lordship. Wiv 'is compliments. Sir."

The corporal saluted crisply, and hurried after his comrades, giving Horatio no chance to reply.
He examined the bundle in his hands, somewhat heavy it was, and wrapped in brown paper. He thought about taking it below. He glanced upwards, and noted that Pellew was still watching the boats laden with lobsterbacks pulling away. With trepidation, he gently pried the paper apart with one finger.

A bottle. Horatio unfolded the little note tied to the neck and deciphered the somewhat untidy scrawl. "Not meant to be enjoyed alone. -- H."

"What??"  Horatio heard Archie's familiar voice at his elbow.  There was no point in trying to conceal the Marsala, which Archie had obviously seen.

"I hope you weren't thinking of keeping that to yourself," he said.

Horatio turned and looked out at the endless sea. He could hear Kennedy's steady breathing behind him, could almost feel the smile on the man's face.

"As a matter of fact, Archie, I wasn't."

End - Part I        Stalemate (sequel)

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