satyricon au go go

Man Overboard

Under the Milky Way

Archie surfaced first. Moments later Horatio broke through the water, dark hair streaming behind him. They swam together, splashing playfully, circling each other. Horatio duck dived down, gliding back up to the surface in an elegant parabola, skimming alongside Archie as he paddled. Their eyes met. Horatio swam towards him their lips met in a kiss, their arms enfolded each other and they started to sink down into the sea together, sliding below the surface until the broke apart and swam back up to the sky, breaking through with a gasp. Horatio flashed him a cheeky grin, rolling over in the small waves like a dolphin, stroking out towards the keel, hiding under the curve of the boat, his intention clear. Slightly hidden from above.

"Sir!" came the voice from above. It was Matthews. "There's a breeze, Sir. She's only slight, we might not catch her..."

"I'll come aboard," Horatio declared instantly. Archie looked shattered, like a child denied his pudding, but he followed Horatio up the ladder to drip naked upon the deck.

Horatio snapped off orders on the setting of the sails before retiring to his cabin to change.

Re-emerging, he found Archie near silhouetted against the sun, standing all alone, clad in only billowing shirt and trousers, fair hair streaming behind him as he held onto the ratlines fo'rard. Horatio cocked his head slightly, gazing up at the sails. The breeze was freshening. Coming foward without a word he gathered Archie's hair into a soft plait, playing it through his deft brown hands, tying it carefully with a ribbon. He slipped his arms around Archie's waist and they stood together, tasting the salt from the small waves that broke apart down the sides.

"What's their game?" insisted Oldroyd. "I thought Mr Hornblower was the Captain's boy."

"That's enough," snapped Matthews. He glanced towards the two young men. They seemed happier than he'd seen either of them in quite a while. He turned back to Oldroyd. "Mr Kennedy needs a friend like Mr Hornblower, especially after being so ill. You saw what they did to Mr Hornblower in prison. They did worse to Mr Kennedy." He didn't need to add what they were all thinking, what they had helped to do to Mr Kennedy, making him the butt of Mr Simpson's games. They’d all seen the scars on the boy’s back when he’d come aboard. Matthews was determined to enforce a new code of behaviour, and he knew he was supported by Styles and Mr Hornblower at least. No one said anything about Mr Kennedy's fits, not that he'd had one in a while. Just nightmares, the result of too bad cheese. Mr Kennedy's occasional lapses were covered by the more experienced seamen. He still looked so sick and fragile at times, as though he wanted to cry, but had forgotten how. They'd help break the lad. They had to help make him again. Either that or be reported for their part in Simpson’s cruel games.

They’d set out from the prison upon their unexpected release in a small barque which Horatio had paid for from the gold Captain Pellew had given him to pay for provisions for his men during their prison stay.

They’d quickly traded up to a small square rigged brig, English originally, and now English again after they’d come along side her at night and boarded her. They’d set out from the coast, away from the privateers that hunted up and down the ports, into the shipping lanes in the hope of meeting the Indy or taking an even bigger prize, but for the last three days they had been becalmed. Rather than being tired, bored or despondent, the crew had treated their situation like a holiday.

The Airfix was a good, comfortable, dry little ship, well provisioned, and it was their own little world, away from the war, imprisonment and punishment. Life had settled back into a comfortable routine. It was a happy ship, and they might have been on a summer cruise.

Horatio had glanced up at the sun as he came on the deck. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He’d stripped down to his skin on the deck where he stood and dived over the side, where Archie was already splashing about. The crew took little notice. Horatio’s daily swims had become part of the ship’s routine. He liked to swim around the little Brig, to regain his strength after captivity, and he’d encouraged Archie to do the same.

Horatio was shaken awake gently from his dream. It was Matthews, his face creased with worry.

"Sir, it’s Mr Kennedy, sir. He’s gone up, and he won’t come back down again. He’s been up ever such a long time."

Horatio went from drowsy to wide awake in a second, swinging from his cot and grabbing his coat.

He looked up at the mast. He couldn’t see Archie. His heart lurched, but he gritted his teeth, clapped on and climbed.

He swung out onto the masthead with an enviable natural ease.

Archie was standing on the larboard yard, just one hand holding him, neither acknowledging Horatio nor any of his surroundings. If he should have a fit...That was what had brought Matthews to fetch him.

"Archie? Archie, what are you doing up here. You can’t see anything." It was a dark night, a dark moon.

"It’s quiet," Archie answered at last.

"Archie?"

Archie was staring out to space again. Horatio looked about him, it was black all around, with only a few points of light to guide them. This high up it was like they were sailing through the stars.

"Archie?"

"I never wanted to see you again," Archie spoke at last, surprising Horatio with the depth of bitterness. "Not ever. Death was preferable."

Horatio’s face crumpled, struck by the words. Horatio’s guilt was an easy target, and Archie’s words always found their mark.

"Simpson shot me and cast you adrift. I never wanted to hurt you, to leave you like that. I had no choice," he tried.

"I hated you," Archie announced with feeling. "You abandoned me. You were always better than me. You always will be."

"Archie, it’s not like that. You taught me everything I need to know. I would never have survived without you."

"Maybe that was my mistake. I created my own nightmare. Everyone treats me like a liability. I’m here on sufferance, tolerated only because you say so, and it’s unbearable."

"For god’s sake, Archie, you’re my friend. I never meant to hurt you."

"You couldn’t have done a better job if you tried. You destroyed my life."

"I didn’t do that. Simpson did. Don’t blame me for what he did to you."

"Why couldn’t I have stood up to him, like you did?"

Horatio looked away, he had no answer. "I..." he gulped. He couldn’t say the words. The words of comfort Archie craved. "Archie, don’t do this, please. Come down. Please. you’re scaring me."

"You have no idea what fear is."

"Yes, I do," Horatio answered irritably, tired of being emotionally bullied.

Archie shook his head sadly. "No, you don’t. Not you. Never you, Horatio. You’re too good. Too brave. Too clever. Too pure. Fear is for mere mortals, for the weak willed and hopeless, like me."

"Archie, come back down, please," Horatio asked, not wanting to make it an order. His next request would be.

Archie looked at him blandly. "What’s the matter, Horatio? Afraid I’ll fall?" And with that, he let go.

Horatio lunged forward and snagged his coat, and when Archie struggled he grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back hard.

It was a test. Archie was testing him. Horatio felt his life thus far had been nothing but a series of tests.

"Go down. Don’t fall," he ordered. He grabbed hold of Archie’s hands and clapped them to the rigging, emphasising his words.

They climbed down in silence. Matthews watched them come down. Mr Kennedy looked slightly flushed, but Mr Hornblower was as pale as a watery moon. And he was trembling. He tried to climb down with some sense of decorum, but he was on deck only moments before he was retching over the side. Matthews melted away discretely.

"I’m sorry, Horatio," Archie said at last, as Horatio spat up the last of his dinner over the rail.

Horatio straightened and turned, wiping his mouth, face streaked with tears, silver in the moonlight.

"One of these days I won’t be here to catch you," he muttered.

"What if I don’t want you to?" Archie asked.

Horatio couldn’t answer. He sank down onto the deck, resting his head against the coarse, cold metal of the cannon, unable to stand anymore.

"I want you to be well, Archie, but you have to help me. You have to be strong."

"I can’t. They took that from me. They took everything I had."

"I know what they did to you, Archie." Horatio started.

"No you don’t," Archie cut him off.

Horatio looked up, dark eyes peering up under dark curls.

"Tell me, then. Tell me what they did to you."

Archie shook his head. "I can’t."

"Tell me. Tell me so I know."

So Archie told him. Horatio wasn’t sick again, but he went several shades of grey.

"You’re not a coward, Archie," he spoke at last quietly. "You survived. You will get better."

"How can you be so sure?"

Horatio smiled wanly. "Because I have faith in you. Now," he stood on shaky limbs and offered Archie his hand "I need a drink."

Matthews quietly took command of the brig, as relieved as Horatio to see Mr Kennedy get safely below.

Matthews heard shouting come loudly up from below. Violent oaths and accusations on both sides echoed through the small ship, followed by deep heavy thumps, the scrape and crash of furniture. Matthews nodded to himself. A real to do, all right. It had been brewing for a long time. Then, alarmingly, the storm below stopped, suddenly, in a silence that made all aboard hold their breath.

Horatio had Archie pinned to the wall. The tears and screaming had ended suddenly with a violent hair grabbing kiss. His passion surprised him, terrified him, but Horatio was already lost to the storm. They tore at each other’s clothes desperately, his hands scrabbling over Archie’s bared chest. He needed to feel him warm and alive in his arms. He needed to hold him tight, for fear of losing him. He needed to taste him, take him. They fell in a tangle of limbs onto the floor. Archie moaned his protest softly, pushing at him, but Horatio did not hear him with the blood pounding in his ears. Only when he was done, when he pulled away, the roaring inside him banking down, when Archie turned away from him, accusation in his eyes, did he realise what he’d done.

"Archie, I..." he tried, tears welling up.

"You can’t help yourself, can you. Always have to be in command." The blue eyes were burning with bitterness.

Helplessly, Horatio stroked the blonde hair. Archie tried to shrug him off.

"I can’t loose you. I need you," he tried, helplessly.

"You want, you need. What about me?"

"I thought..." Horatio hung his head, kneeling beside Archie, shoulders slumped. Tears welled up in his eyes, but Archie did not see them.

He stood, naked in the lamp light, a vision in longing and sadness. He poured two glasses of port, crouching again to hand one to Archie, who was now slumped against the cabin wall. Archie took the wine, took a long swallow, his eyes never leaving Horatio’s. He tasted the laudanum in it.

"Your solution to everything, Horatio?" he asked, a sting in his voice. "I’ve submitted to you. What more do you want?"

Horatio stroked Archie’s cheek softly, in spite of the glare his touch evoked.

"Your happiness."

"Then let me go."

Horatio shook his head, mouth pressed firm. "I can’t do that. I need you too much. I won’t let you throw your life away just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t let him win. I won’t let him win. I...I care for you, deeply, Archie. I wish that was enough. I wish I could take back all the cruelty Simpson did to you, what I did to you, but I can’t. Please forgive me, Archie. You’re my friend and I’ve no wish to see you hurt, or see you suffer like this." He pressed forward, holding Archie’s shoulders and kissed him, a gentle kiss, yet firm. Archie opened up to his insistent lips and tongue, and he tasted the laudanum and port, bitter and sweet, on Archie’s tongue. Archie, already slipping, gave into the kiss, gave himself up to Horatio. Horatio drew away slowly, only enough to breathe, his face still lingering close to Archie’s. He picked up the remainder of the port, swirling in the glass. "Drink," he pressed it to Archie’s lips. "You need rest."

Archie swallowed obediently. "I need to be free of dreams," he agreed, drinking deeply.

Horatio smiled and licked at the drops that had fallen from the glass onto Archie’s chest. He trailed wet kisses across the pale skin to Archie’s nipple, licking the tiny puckering point, teasing with the tip of his tongue. Archie exhaled, eyes closed at the sensation, the empty glass tilting loosely in his hand.

Horatio gathered him in his arms and heaved him into his tiny cot, smoothing him down, setting his hair and shirt to rights, arranging the blankets tenderly about him. He had a sudden vision of tending Archie’s lifeless body; he choked down the sudden rush of bile, sitting on the edge of the cot, trying to still the shivering that gripped him. No. He would not lose Archie, he told himself again. He bade him good night with a soft kiss upon his forehead and tried to compose himself.

Matthews was at the wheel. All was well. Or at least, as well as it could be.

"Is Mr Kennedy alright, Sir?" asked Matthews.

Normally Horatio would tell Matthews to mind his own damn business, but he couldn't bring himself to adopt the aloof persona of a Captain, even a nominal one. Time enough to restore discipline and good order tomorrow, he checked the sky, today, he corrected himself, when the sun rose, he bargained. His mind was all a jumble and he still trembled slightly and he wished he'd taken some laudanum himself. Matthews was looking at him with kindly and expectant concern.

"No, he's not," Horatio admitted freely. "He's sleeping, that's all. He's been so melancholy of late. They did..." he stopped himself. "They broke his spirit as well as his body. I don't know how to help him."

"Some men don’t want to be helped," Matthews suggested softly, very aware of his place, yet knowing the young man needed to talk. He knew Mr Hornblower hated to show weakness. He also knew Mr Hornblower was floundering, out of his depth.

Horatio turned away from the kindly eyes, shaking his head. "No. He wouldn’t have waited for me if he didn’t want me to catch him. He’s lost, but I will reach him. I have to." Horatio’s whole face was contorted in grief. "I gave him up for dead."

"We all did, Sir," reminded Matthews.

"How can I forgive myself for what I’ve done to him?"

"It wasn’t you that done it, Sir."

"He blames me."

"You’re an easy target, Sir. Simpson’s dead. You’ve been promoted while he was being tortured. Bound to make a man bitter, Sir."

Horatio leant against the rail. "I don’t know what to do."

"Maybe if we had some action, Sir, a good cutting out would set him to rights."

"My orders don’t include cruising up and down the coast in search of a prize just to make Archie feel better," Horatio sniped primly.

"I think there’s a certain latitude allowed, Sir," pressed Matthews, a twinkle in his eye. "I mean, would it matter if we were a few days late, if we had a prize in tow?"

Horatio smiled ruefully. "No, I suppose not." He had heard of other Lieutenants doing just that, making their names and fortunes in taking liberties with their orders. And there was the morale of his men, they all needed the excitement of the hunt, the chase.

He nodded and asked Matthews to make a slight adjustment in course.

"Aye aye, Sir," Matthews flashed him a grin as he steered on their new heading.

Horatio stayed firmly below while Archie had the watch, not even coming up for the tradition of the noon observance, signalling his displeasure, more at himself than Archie, nevertheless he stayed sulking in his cabin.

Archie set the sextant down with slightly trembling hands, and noted down the position of the sun himself.

"It’s just that you gave him such a scare last night, Sir," Matthews tried.

"That’s enough," Archie snapped.

"Aye, Sir, it is." Matthews agreed

Archie paced over to the rail, watching the water race by, a lone figure, ostracised by Horatio and the men.

Horatio was disturbed from his books by shouts, clattering and the stamping of feet. He came up on deck to find a crowd huddled on deck. Styles was dripping wet. Matthews was pressing down on a pile of wet rags on the deck.

The pile of wet rags was Archie. Matthews stopped when the crowd parted to let Horatio in.

"It’s no good, Sir," he announced sadly. He stood up, away from Archie, soaked and still on the deck. "He just fell..." Matthews started, but Horatio held up his hand, not wanting to hear any more.

"We could keep trying, Sir," Matthews offered.

Horatio shook his head. "No, let him go." He shut his eyes, struggling to hide his grief from the men, a futile gesture as they all knew and shared his grief, anyway.

At that precise moment Archie gasped and flopped on the deck like a landed fish. Matthews caught him, thumped him hard on the back and Archie spewed up several cups worth of sea water.

Styles helped Horatio bundle Archie below, swaddling him in warm ships blankets.

"Why, Sir?" asked Styles, as Horatio wiped Archie’s face dry.

"I don’t know. I think he feels he’s lost all honour, all hope. You know what Simpson did to him. Just about everyone knows. Well, it wasn’t a game, and Archie wasn’t that strong."

"But Simpson’s dead, sir."

"Not to Archie," Horatio answered quietly.

Horatio sat by the cot, long legs stretched out, reading, dozing, occasionally going up on deck, but Matthews had all in hand. This was not the voyage he had planned.

Archie woke with a deep weariness, disappointed to learn that he was still alive.

"Would you like a little food?" Horatio asked quietly. Matthew’s had arranged for some ship’s soup and bread be set aside for Mr Kennedy, should he want it.

Horatio fed Archie, it was almost habit, and neither of them spoke, there was nothing to say.

The rum was laced with laudanum again. It loosened Archie’s tongue as Horatio tucked him into his own cot with weary fondness.

"If at first you don’t succeed," he smiled beatifically up at Horatio. "Try, try again."

"Ssh," Horatio shushed him with his finger placed softly upon his lips. "Goodnight, Archie." Horatio disentangled himself. "Go to sleep."

He came up on deck, grateful to swallow fresh air. On the quarterdeck at least he felt in command. He checked the course, rearranged the sails more to his liking so they caught a little more wind. The brig was quiet, nothing but the creak of timbers and the singing of the rigging. Here was peace.

Archie was woken from his slumber by a rolling crash and scrape, yelling, shouting, gun fire, carronades going off with their deeper boom, more yelling, the clash of steel, the thump of feet, and, more horribly, in the middle of it all, Horatio’s sudden shriek of pain, a scream that pierced Archie through and through.

Boarded! They were being boarded by privateers. Archie threw himself out of the cot onto unsteady feet. He snatched up pistol and powder and the knife from the table. He peeped outside the cabin. There was no one below decks yet. He ducked out and ran down to the hold. It wasn’t cowardice. The brig had surrendered, and the hold afforded the only place to hide, until he might be able to free his shipmates.

It was only a small prize crew. They were just about matched, man for man. Horatio’s crew were locked down forward. It was only a short matter of waiting in his cramped hiding spot until the boarding crew had gotten into the ship’s spirits. Archie cut the throats of three easily before he took the keys and released his crew mates from the fo’c’sle, to much muted cheering and back slapping. He directed them up onto the deck. Archie ran along below decks as the fighting broke out again above.. He found Horatio bleeding on his cot where he’d been thrown, unguarded. Archie locked the door and joined his men on deck, the night lit with the flare of pistols. Archie drew his sword and plunged into battle. It was a short and brutal fight, Archie and his men taking no mercy and no prisoners in revenge for the running through of Mr Hornblower before he could offer his surrender.

Horatio. He looked dead, but he had not yet succumbed. Archie unfolded Horatio’s coat, waistcoat and shirt carefully, revealing the ugly sword stroke.

"They ran him right through," announced Matthews unnecessarily.

"Yes, I can see that, Matthews," muttered Archie between gritted teeth, observing the equally bloody exit wound above Horatio’s hip that bled from the other side. Horatio moaned softly as he was moved, rolled onto his side so Archie could press canvas to the wound to bind it.

"Will he live?"

Archie shook his head. "I don’t know," he admitted.

Life aboard the brig returned to its normal routine, at least for the first three watches, until it was reported to Archie that what they feared but not spoken of had come to pass. Horatio had a fever.

"What’ll we do?" panicked Oldroyd. He, like most of the men, regarded Horatio as their lucky talisman and had developed quite a superstition about it. To lose him was unthinkable.

"Quiet!" Archie snapped. "Matthews, Styles, stay here. The rest of you get back to your stations." The entire ship’s crew had crowded in the doorway. "Now!" Archie bellowed, making Horatio whimper. He turned back to his friend as the men fled.

"I spent enough time in the Justinian’s sick bay to learn something of a surgeon’s work," Archie reminded. The men exchanged incriminating glances amongst themselves. "We must bleed him to reduce the strain on his heart. He must have soup only. He must have quiet and he must have rest." These were Archie’s orders.

They held Horatio’s thin arm out over the bowl. He winced as they cut him. Archie forced himself to watch the blood slide across the pale skin and drip down to gather in the bowl, waiting painfully until the bowl was three quarters full. It looked about right. He bandaged Horatio’s arm and drew the blankets about him again. Horatio, weak and confused by the fever let himself be arranged. He drifted into sleep, feeling faint.

Archie came on deck, training his features into an expression of command.

"How is he, Sir?" Matthews had to ask. Archie’s expression broke, and he looked more like the frightened boy he really was. "I don’t know, Matthews."

"You’ve done everything you could, Sir. The men know that. You’ve nothing to blame yourself for."

Archie nodded. He appreciated Matthews concern. It didn’t stop the drowning of guilt that swamped him though. If Horatio died...the irony and cruelty would be unliveable.

He studied the charts instead, hoping to meet one of the blockade before they reached Gibraltar. He hoped at least if they did meet with one of their own ships, they had an adequate surgeon aboard.

The sun was warm, the breeze as sweet as could be. Archie was confident enough to let out the topgallants to catch it. His little ship leant into the tops, hoping the young man’s eyes would catch sight of a sail, but nothing yet.

As beautiful as the day was, Archie took no joy in it. Satisfied that the little ship was sailing as well as it could be, he went below.

Sweat poured from Horatio, making his linen shirt and dark curls both stick to his skin. Archie brought a glass of water to his lips and made him drink, but Horatio was insensible to his presence. Today Horatio’s fever would reach it’s crisis.

Archie held his hand softly, kissing each finger in turn. "Don’t leave me, Horatio. Please, I couldn’t live without you." He pressed the clammy hand to his cheek.

Horatio’s pulse was still racing all over the place, his skin burned. Archie, mouth set tight, reluctantly added a third incision over the vein in Horatio’s arm, letting the blood drain into the bowl, watching Horatio settle at last and slip into a deeper sleep. Archie gently placed the lightest of kisses upon Horatio’s heated forehead, kissing him goodbye, wishing with all his soul he could say he was sorry.

Archie came on deck, utterly lost, more so when Matthews turned to him expectantly.

Gauging Mr Kennedy at once, Matthews hopes sank.

"Matthews," Archie’s voice croaked. "I have to stay below, with him."

"Tonight will tell then, Sir," Matthews surmised, knowing the crisis was near.

Archie looked absolutely stricken, the sudden vision of him and Matthews sewing Horatio into a hammock with two round shot at his feet by dawn’s early light impossible to push away.

He glanced up at the sails, opened his mouth, but no sound would come out. No orders, nothing.

"It’s alright, Sir. I’ll make sure she sails smooth and quiet," Matthews assured.

Archie nodded and disappeared down the ladder again.

Archie stayed with him for two watches, falling asleep eventually from the constant steady rocking of the brig. The bell sounding the last watch and the stale smell of cooking from the galley brought him jerking to wakefulness. He fumbled for his tinderbox, struck off a spark and lit the candle. Dark eyes were staring at him, making him start for a moment.

"Horatio?" he pressed the candle closer.

The handsome face frowned and turned away from the light.

Archie set the candle back down on the table, taking a wet cloth to dab at Horatio’s forehead.

"Would you like that soup now?" Archie offered, cleaning up that pretty face as best he could.

Dark eyebrows creased together for a moment in thought.

"Yes," the achingly familiar voice rasped. "I think I’d like some soup. Thank you, Archie."

Archie beamed, ran to the door and yelled down to the galley. "Murdoch, the Captain wants soup."

"Aye, Sir!" Came the cheery reply, followed by a roaring cheer through the small crew as the news spread.

Horatio heard the cheer, smiling shyly. "Is that for me?"

"Yes. They love you. We all love you." Archie glanced away, embarrassed. "We were worried about you. But you’re going to be better now."

The soup arrived, piping hot, and Archie had to blow on each spoonful before he fed it to Horatio.

The day after his fever broke Horatio dragged himself up onto the quarterdeck. Sick, dizzy, in a good deal of pain, it was important not to show weakness. He stood wanly in the sun, one long thin arm hanging on to the shrouds to keep him upright. Archie deferred to him but he shook his head.

"She’s yours, Archie. I’m just taking the air."

Archie grinned, drew himself up a little, roaring out orders, though he did glance back to Horatio on occasion - to make sure he approved, he knew Horatio hated crowding sail or an untidy ship. But the sails were fine white curves, the deck clean and blanched from the holystones that morning, the cables and ropes all ship shape and Bristol fashion, the Brig’s small carronade secured and tidy, ready for action. There was nothing for Horatio to find fault with, and his benevolent smile conveyed as much.

They took the noon observance and the drum was beating the hands to dinner when the call came from the tops. A sail to larboard.

"Is it one of ours?" asked Archie, training Horatio’s glass on the distant sail, before handing it back. The answer was unsure.

"Make the private signal," Archie ordered, and hoped to god the signal wasn’t out of date.

Horatio was leaning against the rail, telescope trained on the distant sail. "Oh my god," he whispered.

Archie snapped round, pulse suddenly beating double time.

"It’s the Indy," Horatio exhaled.

Archie nodded. His brief command was over. They were home, at last.

When Archie asked for a sling, not wanting to risk ripping open Horatio’s wound by having him climb up, Captain Pellew saved him the indignity by climbing down on to the deck of their little brig.

"Well, Mr Hornblower, I see you’ve been having adventures. But you’ve found your own way home."

"Mr Kennedy had command, Sir. I was wounded in a recent action." Horatio clarified, nervous under the Captain’s unflinching gaze, especially when the dark eyes raked him up and down in response to his admission of the injury.

"You’re alright now, Mr Hornblower?"

Horatio nodded.

The Captain turned to Archie, who stood to one side as though awaiting a beating.

"I’m indebted to you, Mr Kennedy, for the safe return of my Lieutenant, crew, and a small prize. Well done."

The heat of the sun, the movement of the deck, the excitement of the Captain’s approval and warm regard suddenly all proved too much for Horatio and he crumpled into Archie’s arms with almost no warning.

"Get him below, Mr Kennedy," ordered the captain. "And make sure he’s comfortable. I’ll send over the surgeon at once."

"Aye, Sir," agreed Archie, struggling under Horatio’s lanky frame. Styles and Matthews moved in to pick up the slack and carry the unconscious officer below decks.

"I’m sorry, Sir," Archie tried to explain to an obviously unhappy Pellew. "His fever broke only yesterday. He only came on deck to show the flag, as it were."

Pellew nodded gravely. "How serious is it?"

"A sword wound, Sir, gone straight through. We were boarded and there was some heavy fighting before we retook the ship."

"Prisoners?"

"No, Sir."

Pellew arched an eyebrow at that, but could well imagine what had happened once the very popular Hornblower had been cut down. Pellew would have done the same.

Horatio was painfully embarrassed by all the fussing, and relieved when the Captain and his retinue of surgeon, Bracegirdle and Bowles had left.

He smiled up at Archie.

"The Captain has ordered us to keep abaft of the Indy. You’re to be transferred when you’re well enough," informed Archie. "The Captain thought these quarters might be more restful."

Horatio nodded. At least in the captain’s cabin here there wasn’t any through traffic. Horatio glanced at the door, and Archie closed it, granting some privacy. Lips touched lightly, hands touched grateful flesh, but that was all. Horatio tired easily and was soon asleep.

Archie stepped up onto the quarterdeck. The Airfix was sweeping water down her sides, keeping pace with the Indy. He stood proud on his quaterdeck as they flew through the blue ocean.

Captain Pellew watched over the small ship with the eye of a parent. He watched the young blonde midshipman order the topgallants struck, and watched his men race up to obey his order with creditable speed. The little brig straightened, slowed a little, now trailing slightly behind the Indy like a duckling to the mother duck. Pellew nodded to himself. Young Mr Kennedy would come along quite well, emulating his friend. Horatio. The Captain felt the now familiar pang as he thought again of the little brig’s precious cargo. "Take good care of him, Mr Kennedy,’ he murmured. "Take good care of him."

Horatio reclined somewhat selfconsciously in a chair rigged on the quarterdeck for that purpose.

The sails of the Indy were a collection of small white spots on the horizon. The day was perfect and Archie’s smile was glorious. Everything was under control. He was in command of his world, for once. Not that Archie was a little corporal, not at all, but when they shared a cot Archie liked to be in control. To lose control was too much like...Simpson. Horatio fenced the dark feelings that rose up inside him behind a name. It still haunted him. God only knew what real life nightmares made Archie cry out in the middle of the night. There had been no nightmares of late. Maybe it was the laudanum. Maybe Archie was happy. Maybe both. The sun shone in his hair and his smile. Horatio wondered how far out they were, he’d lost track of the days during his fever, but didn’t want to ask Archie, he didn’t want their piece of freedom to end, either.

Archie rested a warm hand on his shoulder. "Have you seen a better day for sailing, Horatio?" he breathed.

"I cannot recall any," Horatio assured. He reached up and caressed the hand on his shoulder. He looked up and they shared a smile.

"Is there much pain?" Archie asked.

Horatio shook his curls, lying, but keeping face. Archie’s fingers stroked the back of his neck, the soft skin beneath his collar. Horatio closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing into the chair, arching his hips almost involuntarily. Archie’s hand slipped down, spreading out over his spine, a touch of promise, then slid back up to ruffle his hair. Not on the quarterdeck, though the heat between them was enough to melt ever candle on board.

Horatio linked his fingers with Archie’s again. A promise. A touch of flesh.

The little brig swept on through the ocean, never out of sight, or the thoughts of the Indy.

In spite of Horatio crying out each time his wound was accidentally pressed or prodded, the pleasure was worth the pain. Archie had slept with a number of men and women in the acting fraternity before his father had sent him to sea, lest he should embarrass the family any further, and, given the mood and will to express himself, was a very creative and cheeky lover, able to make Horatio feel like a clumsy lubber in his touches and kisses.

Horatio had been delivered to the dock at Portsmouth pink, bathed, well fed and rested, all to the satisfaction of the Captain. Archie and Horatio gave up their prize, somewhat regretfully, but spent the advance on their anticipated income by taking rooms at one of the nicer inns that made up the seaport. One with clean linen and a sturdy bed with a soft mattress. It was luxury, and after gorging themselves on three ducks, two trout, mutton and pudding washed down with wine and port that more closely resembled the real thing than what passed for port and wine from the ships stores all they wanted to do was sleep, but another hunger kept them awake.

Archie smiled, flashing his dimples. He loved Horatio. He loved Horatio like this, arching back against the pillows, eyes closed, hair awry, tanned skin rising and thrusting up against Archie. Archie loved to take him like this, like a woman, like a man, burying himself deep, touching places Simpson had never touched. He himself was unclean, but Horatio belonged to him. Horatio cried out, in pain and pleasure Archie couldn’t tell. He smoothed the skin, rubbing his hand up and down his flank. His mouth was open, Archie pressed forward and sank into those lips. God, he was so beautiful. Horatio’s arms circled Archie , returning the kiss. Suddenly Archie was no longer making love to Horatio, he was making love with Horatio. The tenderness in Horatio’s touch was enough to send him over the edge. Archie’s breath came in hot gasps against Horatio’s throat. "Oh -my-God," he panted. Horatio held him close, smiling beatifically like a sated painting , stroking his hair softly.

Grey, predawn light, muted by thick fog, filtered through the paned window. Horatio suddenly had to get up and relieve himself. He tried not to disturb Archie but the brush of his skin against Archie’s brought Archie instantly awake.

"Ssh, it’s only me," Horatio smiled and reassured him with a gentle touch. Archie blinked at him for a moment, unseeing, then his eyes focused and he relaxed. Horatio kissed him gently on the forehead, then grimaced. He really had to go. Too much rich food after ship’s rations. Archie chuckled at his discomfort. They each had their weaknesses. And their strengths.

They lay together in the bed again, not wanting to move, not wanting to leave their world, bound by the walls of the room. Funny, how they’d won their freedom, only to recreate their prison. Only it wasn’t a prison, more of a sanctuary.

Horatio wriggled, trying to get comfortable, muscles worn tired. Archie ducked down and kissed Horatio’s wound, still red and puckered. He laughed softly. "You look like the crucifix at our Church, lying there like that." And he did, wounded, beautiful, barely tangled in the sheet. Archie traced the line so very gently, yet still making Horatio wince. "Except, I think, you are even more beautiful." Archie leant forward and kissed those lips again.

Horatio studied his friend as he drew back, thinking that he’d only seen elaborate carvings like that in catholic churches, the thought occurred to him that perhaps Archie’s mother might be a papist. He trace Archie’s lips with his fingertips. "Do you have any brothers, Archie?"

"No," answered Archie softly.

"Would your father..."

"No," Archie answered, in friendly but firm tones. He rolled onto the pillow beside Horatio. "He set me up in the Navy. That’s more than I’ve a right to expect."

"What would you have done, I mean..."

"If I hadn’t gone to sea?" Archie came to the point. His face softened into whimsy. "I don’t know. An actor, a bad one, possibly, a writer, a poet..."

"Poet? Do you write, Archie?" Horatio was enthralled, but a squall passed through Archie’s eyes. "Not anymore," he answered quietly.

"Read me one," Horatio pressed, enthusiastic.

"No."

"Write me one, then."

"I have no paper."

Horatio, grinning widely, rolled onto his stomach, presenting broad, tanned shoulders and the smooth skin of his back.

Archie looked trapped for a moment, then as he warmed to the idea, his dimples deepened.

It was the most erotic experience in both young men’s lives. Archie, tongue peeping out of the corner of his mouth, trying to remember the words. Horatio lay, resting his head on the pillow, eyes closed, waiting for each touch, each stroke of the pen, feeling the ink cool and wet, then drying slowly on his skin. Archie managed four verses in his slightly sprawling copperplate. The blunted quill traced a lazy flourish down Horatio’s spine. Archie kissed one buttock.

"Done, my love."

"Read it to me," Horatio asked quietly.

Archie smiled and shook his head. He handed Horatio a glass of wine, and his lover rose up, dark hair tumbling down to partially obscure his words, his declaration of love. The man had no right, no earthly right to be so enthrallingly beautiful. Perhaps too beautiful to keep.

Shortly after their late and lazy breakfast the Captain sent a summons for Horatio.

"Shall I keep the room, Sir," Archie asked pointedly, acutely aware of Horatio’s superior rank.

"Yes," Horatio bade him, leaving in a stumbling hurry, slinging on his old midshipman’s coat as he ran.

The Captain walked a circle around him, making the young man blushed. The Captain smiled, pleased to see some colour in his cheeks.

"And how are you, Mr Hornblower? Your wound is healing?"

"Yes, Sir," Horatio answered, surprised and embarrassed by the captain’s concern.

"Look at your old coat," The captain flapped it open. It was in a sorry state. "But we’ll get you a new one, soon enough, eh, Mr Hornblower?" he teased. Horatio nodded mutely.

The Captain suddenly frowned.

"Mr Hornblower, you have ink on your back."

Horatio blushed furiously. The sweat from his skin had wet the ink and stained his shirt.

"What have you been up to?" The Captain was shaking his head, but his voice was soft. He turned Horatio around, gently tugged the coat from his shoulders, saw the smeared blue stains on his shirt, and unable to contain his curiosity he tugged he shirt free and lifted it up, seeing the words that were written there. Horatio doffed his shirt without a word, pulling it over his head, standing thee, half naked and lovely, presenting himself to his Captain.

Horatio felt his Captain’s hands resting warm on his shoulders, heard his soft exhale of breath as he read the words of love and longing inscribed upon his back.

"Read it to me, please, Sir," Horatio asked.

Captain Pellew swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and in an uncharacteristically halting voice he read aloud the words.

Horatio smiled, the smallest ttear falling down his cheek, so small the Captain did not see. Archie spoke to him with his Captain’s voice.

Pellew closed his eyes for a moment as he read the last word.

Horatio turned, eyes bright, and it took everything Pellew had to stand firm and dismiss the young man with a kind word, a mild warning about foolishness, to watch him go lithly over the side with a grace that still took his breath away, the ink echoed faintly on his shirt, words of love binding him to someone else.

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