Captain Horatio Hornblower woke with a bad taste in his mouth and a peculiar ache all over his body. He had yet to open his eyes, but it seemed a laborious task; as if his body had conspired with his mind to lure him away from the act of waking, to spare him the pain of consciousness. He must have had a temperature. His nightgown was soaked to his body and his sheets hugged him like fire embraces logs in a furnace.

At last his eyes were charmed open by a noise: a young man entered his little cabin. On every journey he took, after a few weeks spent on the sea together Hornblower usually knew every soul on his ship, but despite having been out on the open sea for over a month, this pale but kind-looking youth seemed to be a stranger to him. The fair-haired newcomer was swift on his feet as he closed the distance between door and bed and soon a curiously cold hand was lying on Hornblower's forehead.

'The fever is not gone yet,' he remarked.

'Who are you?' demanded Hornblower. His voice was so hoarse, the 'you' never actually left his mouth.

He was surprised by the confident intimacy the man dared to show towards his Captain. He couldn't have been more than a mere hand on the ship and as such he had no business in his Captain's quarters, let alone around his bed.

But as the face hovered over him for a moment, something brushed the edge of recognition in Hornblower's mind. It wasn't the face, it was the brightness that sat on it and the solace it brought. He trusted this face, he trusted the hand on his forehead. He also realized this man wasn't part of his crew, yet he belonged here.

'Don't you know me?' asked the stranger, a bit hurt. He withdrew his hand and straightened up, looking down at Hornblower questioningly.

'I think I do.' Hornblower gave in. 'But not here. Not right now.'

'The fever is not gone yet,' repeated the youth, as if it were the explanation for everything.

'Would you tell me your name?' Hornblower asked politely. He didn't know why he felt the need to be courteous with this subordinate of his, but he gave in to his intuition.

'They call me the Guest,' smiled the other.

What an odd name, thought Hornblower, but he didn't have time to open his mouth again, because the Guest spoke:

'What about you? Do you know who you are? Do you know what happened?'

Hornblower knew who he was, but the other question was a tricky one. Something happened. Suddenly an unpleasant memory started clawing at his soul and he wanted to cry out from the emotional pain it caused… He had an urge to scream, but if he had succumbed to it, the dead would have woken up, so he had to do the second best thing: he had to talk.

'I dreamed' he said. 'Let me tell you my dream.'

The Guest nodded, and so Hornblower began.


He holds him with his glittering eye—

The Wedding-Guest stood still,

And listens like a three years' child:

The Mariner hath his will.


And now there came both mist and snow,

And it grew wondrous cold:

And ice, mast-high, came floating by,

As green as emerald.

And a good south wind sprung up behind;

The Albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play,

Came to the mariner's hollo!

It was the dead of winter and the air was icy cold, it pinched every man's cheek rosy red. The snow was falling, but there was no wind; the ship rested on the water like a hatchling in its nest, waiting to be fed. For days and days we waited and silently prayed for a breeze, but God seemed to have forgotten us. We were lost on the wide sea.

After a week the bird came. It already perched on the railing when I arrived on deck that day, on the day when the wind started to blow. It welcomed me there every dawn for days to come and I marveled at its beauty – I'd never seen an albatross from so short a distance. First, I didn't dare go near him lest I scare him away, like every man on the ship did who had work near the railing. I had my walk on deck every morning as usual and walked past it, stealing glances at it and it waited until my walk was done. It always gave a squeak before it left.

The men were happy, for the ship was on the move and they praised the bird for it. He became a constant presence on the ship, a loyal companion of mine on my morning walks; he didn't just sit any more, he flew around the ship, keeping me company. I found myself drawn to him, I wished to understand his language, I longed to touch his shiny feathers.

Soon my wish was granted, for he let me close, this unpredictable maverick of the sea. I fed him fish that my men had caught and he let me stroke his soft wings while he ate. The tips of my fingers had never known such bliss, neither had my heart. Each morning after he left I thought I understood his squeak better.

Then one day a storm came and it brought him on its back. His screaming was louder than any thunder. The violent wind got hold of him and, treating him like some kind of plaything, tossed him about above our heads. At last the cruel gale threw him against the sail and he got tangled in the rigging. He cried and fought to break free but his struggle resulted in long rips in the reef above.

The men stared at me and waited for me to act. I only had eye for the bird…

Hornblower stopped for a moment and tried to catch his breath.

'Do you know what happened?' asked the Guest again.

Hornblower felt faint for a moment, even though he was lying in bed. His eyes widened and he looked at the Guest with a horror-stricken face.

'I do,' he whispered.

'God save thee, ancient Mariner!

From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—

Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow

I shot the ALBATROSS.

And the good south wind still blew behind,

But no sweet bird did follow,

Nor any day for food or play

Came to the mariner's hollo!

'Where is he? Where is Bush?' he breathed. His deep blue eyes were suddenly filled with desperation and just a little hint of madness. He made a weak effort to sit up, but the Guest pushed him back by his shoulders.

'He rests. He's unconscious, but he's still with us.' The young man tried to soothe him.

Hornblower felt inconsolable. Of course, it wasn't a dream, however much his feverish mind preferred remembering it as such. He forced himself to recall the true events now, letting the pain flow through him, letting it devour him if it must. He deserved it after all.

It was the dead of winter and the air was icy cold, it pinched every man's cheek rosy red. The ship was stuck on the water, it refused to move even an inch without the gentle persuasion of its only lord, the wind. The crew complained more and more as the days flew by for having to face the elements with bare hands and bare neck every day, since only a few of them owned clothes that fit that dreadful weather.

Bush spent as much time on deck as any other man, but never a curse left his lips. Hornblower and he gravitated around each other more than ever before. The Captain needed silent reassurance that their current sad situation wouldn't last forever and Mr. Bush's presence alone was enough to make him look at the future a tad bit less cloudily. They'd survived so many tough adventures together after all; what was a little stagnation if they could face it together? Hornblower enjoyed Bush's company, even if it only meant standing near him and looking out over the water by his side. Horatio wasn't exactly a man of many words anyway.

He didn't know why Bush sought him out as often as he did, but it was evident that he too felt a strong need to trod in his wake all the time. Recently he developed the habit of waiting for Horatio on deck every morning when he first mounted the stairs. The Captain liked to drank in the view of Bush's profile at dawn when he had his first glimpse of him leaning on the railing, staring out to sea.

Hornblower couldn't help but grow tender and soft around Bush as he eased into their slowly changing relationship and he relished every moment of the time they spent together. He often thought about Archie those days, wondered what he would say and came to the conclusion that he would only ever want him to be happy.

Something else changed as well. On the very day Bush first waited for him on deck, the wind arrived.

When he first took Bush's hand in his, it was pale as ice and red like the reddest rose along the cracks where the blood sat congealed and angry. It was too cold for it to flow. Hornblower kissed the hand and somehow managed to turn the key in the lock before Bush's lips sealed his. A whirlwind swept through the tiny room and it led them to a safe haven, from where the cold was completely shut out – there was only skin and warmth. The tips of Hornblower's fingers had never known such bliss, neither had his heart.

First they were cautious and silent in their passion, but hungry nonetheless and they succumbed to it in the ungodly hours when the world's eye was blind to them. Soon enough though, Hornblower felt there was no harmony anymore without William's fingers in his hair, without the man's beating heart shielding his and they became more daring, welcoming even the Sun as audience to their tryst against Horatio's tiny window. Horatio treasured William's words, perhaps even more than the closeness of his body, because they were wise and brave and loving, they blanketed the ever-lonely Captain and convinced him he was safe. Yet in the end, words were their undoing.

The storm started with a name: Archie. William confessed he'd loved Kennedy. They had met in secret, they had moved together, their bodies mirroring each other's helpless tremors. Many dark corners of the Renown witnessed their embraces. William said he wanted Horatio to know, because it lifted a weight off his chest, but Hornblower didn't want to hear of it. He must have known before. Why didn't Archie tell him? Did he care about him at all? He sent Bush away with harsh words and was left alone to deal with the green-eyed jealousy that swallowed him whole.

That's why he sent Bush up the ropes later that day. Hornblower needed to show a new recruit that even the officers were fresh hands once, and so had to climb. The young rogue refused to ascend no matter how much they'd beaten or threatened him. The Captain wagered the youth would change his mind once an example was set.

Hornblower knew Bush hated to climb, but he called his name anyway. He wanted to take him to task for what he did, for lying to him, for hurting him. When he gave the command, Bush tried to reason with him; he called him aside and showed him the same sore and bloody hands Horatio lavished with kisses every night for the past two weeks.

'I've been out all day, my hands are too numb. I can barely grip with them,' Bush explained. 'With respect Captain, you should send someone else.'

'I gave you the command, William,' Hornblower hissed at him. 'You will obey.'

Bush simply nodded and set to the task in front of him.

He climbed higher than he should have. It was a nasty fall. And it was all Hornblower's fault…