It was a bit like jumping off the cliff in Santo Domingo in that once the decision was made he didn't stop to think, just went ahead and did what had to be done. Except that this time he wasn't saving his own life, only Horatio's, and whereas his earlier plunge had left him feeling giddy at barely escaping death, there was no joy in this experience, and there would be no escape.
He wasn't afraid, not of the court. They could do nothing to him that the Spaniard's bullet wasn't already doing, and once he spoke they would no longer pose a threat to Horatio. He wasn't afraid of death either, if only because he hadn't yet let himself think that far ahead. He had to appear in court before they could question Horatio; after that, nothing would matter.
He put one foot in front of the other, slowly and methodically and above all stubbornly. The pain was so intense that it blocked out everything around him—the whispers, the stares—and narrowed the world down to the aisle, the witness stand, and Clive's hand against his back. It was hard not to make a sound, but he had a great deal of experience in fighting pain, and he was equal to the task.
Suddenly, his leg buckled beneath him, all its strength gone. He thought he might tumble to the ground, but Clive caught him and held him up. Ignoring the fresh stab of pain, he continued his trek down the aisle.
And then he was there. He thought Clive might have said something, but he didn't hear it. Then the doctor moved aside, and Archie was alone.
He took his place in the witness stand, standing stiff and straight by sheer force of will against all the protests of his body. Pellew and the others asked him some questions about Sawyer and his time on the Renown, and he answered automatically and without looking at them. His voice sounded frustratingly shaky to his ears, but he could be heard, and that would have to be enough.
Finally, they stopped dancing around the issue. "Did you witness Captain Sawyer's fall?" someone asked; he couldn't concentrate enough to distinguish their voices anymore, and it made no difference to his response.
"Yes," he replied, and was pleased to hear his voice sound stronger, as though it knew that this was the important part.
"Was he pushed?"
He wished they would stop prolonging the inevitable, although he felt oddly stronger now, resolve supporting him even as his body seemed ready to give in and collapse. "Yes," he answered firmly.
And then, finally, the moment everyone had been holding their breaths for arrived. "Who pushed him?" That was definitely Commodore Pellew, sounding almost pleading as the fate of his favorite lieutenant hung in the balance. He needn't have worried; Horatio was safe now.
Archie took a deep breath and jumped. "I alone pushed him," he declared, choosing his words carefully so that the blame would fall on him and no one else. "I alone pushed Captain Sawyer into the hold," he repeated, and then it was over.
Everyone began talking at once. Pellew said something and men came and pulled Archie from his place. He was glad; now that the deed was done, it was all he could do to stay on his feet. He saw Horatio at the doorway and met his gaze across a sea of movement as the courtroom was cleared. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes were full of sorrow and disbelief. It had to be done, Archie tried to tell him. There was no other way. But Horatio didn't understand, or else refused to accept it, and then Archie was dragged away.
They took him to an empty room and stood there in silence. He was absurdly tempted to strike up a conversation, but he couldn't find the energy to speak. He was spared the effort, though, because Clive came in a moment later, followed by the members of the tribunal. Pellew stood stiffly before him, but there was a hint of pity in his stern expression.
"You have been found guilty of mutiny," he declared unnecessarily. "Your fellow officers have been cleared of all charges." His eyes flickered toward Archie's then, and Archie wondered if he suspected the truth, but then his gaze fixed on the wall behind Archie's head as he continued. "The punishment for such an offense is death, but Dr. Clive reports that hanging would be...superfluous." Archie almost laughed, it sounded so ridiculous. "Therefore, you will be returned to your cell." The "until you die" was understood. Pellew looked like he might say something else, but then he turned to leave the room.
"Take him away," Hammond said, and the three men filed out.
Clive gave Archie a look of pity, and he suppressed a flash of anger at the doctor for his part in this sordid affair. The doctor had helped him when he needed it; there was no use in dwelling on the past, not with death looming so close.
He was half dragged, half carried back to the cell. The other bed was empty; Clive had pronounced William sufficiently recovered to be out of bed that morning, and now he was a free man. The guards released him, and Archie collapsed on the bed, his last vestiges of strength finally expended. Clive helped him out of his uniform, no longer necessary, then proceeded to change the bandages over his wound. Archie had neither the strength nor the heart to remind him that there was no longer any reason to try to heal him. He lay back and let himself finally relax; it was over.
In truth, everything was over, at least for him. The fear that had been held off until now finally pushed its way into his mind. He was afraid to die: afraid that there would be nothing waiting for him afterward, and afraid that there would be something and it wouldn't be good. He had committed enough sins in his lifetime to doubt that he had a place in whatever sort of Heaven there might be.
He almost wished he had died quickly, without having to consider such things, except that then Horatio would have been left alone to face the charges and would surely have been found guilty. At least this way he could go to whatever fate awaited him knowing that his death had brought some good to the world; he had given them Horatio.
As if on cue, Horatio appeared, or rather, Archie first noticed him leaning against the bars of his cell. He stopped to shake the Clive's hand as the doctor left; Clive murmured something, then left them alone. Horatio settled himself in silence at the foot of the bed, looking steadily at his friend. He seemed to consider his words for a moment before merely asking "Why?"
Why? Because I'm already as good as dead. Because the world needs you a lot more than it does me. Because you're the best friend I've ever had and I owe you more than any sacrifice can repay. "Look at me, Horatio," he said. The words came easily now, to his relief. "There's not a gallows in the world that can touch me now."
Horatio clearly wanted to argue, but he couldn't with the truth right in front of him. "Archie..." he murmured. Archie felt a surge of emotion at merely the sound of his name in that sad tone, and he knew he had done the right thing.
"It doesn't hurt, Horatio," he assured his friend. It was a lie, but he didn't have Horatio's scruples getting in the way of such necessary untruths. "Don't let them see it hurts," he added. Who had said that to him? Horatio was looking at him with such...love, he supposed it was, although the word had never been spoken between them, and so he said what he wouldn't tell anyone else: "But..." he hesitated briefly, but continued, "I am frightened."
"You're the bravest man I know, Archie!" Horatio protested, and Archie had to laugh, which he regretted instantly as a stab of pain went through him. Perhaps Horatio was more capable of lying than Archie gave him credit for.
"A little prone to panic," he said, a vision of himself by the bridge at Muzillac coming into his mind. He had done many things he regretted over the course of his life, short as it was going to be. He regretted that he couldn't take them back, even by trying to be brave now.
"Archie, you're the one who jumped off a cliff with a man who can't swim and another who's afraid of heights," Horatio reminded him, smiling now.
Archie laughed. He hadn't stopped to consider such things before he jumped. He hadn't been afraid then with his friends at his side, and damned if he was going to be now with Horatio here. "So I am," he agreed.
"No panic then," Horatio said. This comfort was more effective for being true, and Archie felt a little better.
"And none now."
Horatio was suddenly serious again. "And none when you stood up in court and took the blame." The fool still didn't understand. He was used to being the hero, the one who saved people; he had never learned to let other people save him. Archie almost pitied him for having to stay behind and accept this gift of life when he didn't know how to receive.
"Poor Horatio," he said. "So quick to give, so slow to accept the simplest gift. You've done the same for me and others besides a thousand times." Surely Horatio could see that he, of all people, deserved this. Archie would not have gone to such lengths for anyone but him, his dear and noble friend.
"But never at such a dear cost," Horatio objected.
What cost? Archie wanted to ask. I would have died anyway, soon enough. I've only lost a few days, and my honor, which will be of little consequence to me once I'm dead. But Horatio would have argued, and he hardly wished to spend his last minutes arguing with his dearest friend, so he simply said, "Please take what I offer. Just take it and say goodbye." Speaking was becoming difficult, and all warmth seemed to be draining from the room. So this is what death feels like, he thought, and he was surprised to find he wasn't so afraid anymore.
"Archie..." Horatio's voice came through the encroaching darkness, soft but full of feeling, a last tether to the world of the living. "I'm honored to have served with you." From Horatio, the rising star of His Majesty's Navy, that was the greatest compliment Archie could have asked for, and he knew without asking everything else that was contained within that declaration, everything that Horatio could never find the words to say.
"And I to have known you," he returned. Everything was darkening about Horatio's saddened face, and Archie wished to see him smile one last time. "You see?" he asked. "Better already." Horatio was there and would be all right, and it truly didn't hurt anymore. Perhaps this was not such a bad way to die after all. He gave a small smile, and then—