Lydia, 1805
Honor (n): 3. Adherence to right principles
"Name?"
"Polwheal." the man answered, "James Polwheal."
Horatio examined the crewman before him, with shabby clothes and nervous hands. "You say you want to apply as my steward?" When Polwheal nodded, Horatio pressed on. "Can you cook?"
"A little, sir. I cooked for my family when times were rough."
That was satisfactory. Horatio nodded. "All right. Sign aboard." By the time Polwheal had finished signing, his hand had become steady.
Polwheal soon proved himself to be a cook of simple tastes, which was exactly what Horatio wanted. He was also content to not to discuss matters above deck, as though he knew Horatio did not want to talk about them. Polwheal did his job, and nothing more.
After five months at sea, however, Horatio began to develop an interest in the man. The silence in which the steward did his work was beginning to become disconcerting. So Horatio tried to get Polwheal to open up.
"Where do you come from, Polwheal?" he asked once, as Polwheal prepared his captain's bath. Polwheal barely glanced at his captain before answering. "Portsmouth, sir." and leaving it at that.
Another time, Horatio inquired about the health of Polwheal's parents. The steward had looked at him that time, but only for a moment, then murmured that they were both dead. For the first time since the journey had begun, his hand trembled. After that, Horatio gave up trying to talk to the man. But something still nagged at his brain. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd met Polwheal before.
After another month had passed, Horatio had had enough. He had to know. He'd pondered it for a long time, and now he thought he'd guessed the truth. When Polwheal had brought his dinner, he called for the man to wait. "Polwheal, lately I've begun to notice that you bear an uncanny resemblance to someone I knew, long ago."
"Really, sir?" Polwheal sounded indifferent...or was he only feigning it? Horatio continued. "He was a Midshipman with me, long ago. He had your eyes. We never knew his last name. We called him 'Old Sam'. Perhaps you met him?"
The steward grinned. "Indeed, sir. He was my mother."
Horatio nearly knocked over his glass in astonishment. He'd never expected that answer. "He was your mother?" he repeated, "To my knowledge, Polwheal, no man has yet birthed a child."
"Surely you knew, if you were a midshipman, that Old Sam revealed himself to be a woman, Samantha Nottingam. She had a hard life, sir. I never actually really knew her until a year ago."
"But if she was your mother, how could you not know her?" Horatio demanded. He needed to be sure Polwheal was not lying. If he wasn't, this was too incredible for words.
"She had me when she was sixteen, sir. Her father tried to betroth her to a rich man. Well, they married, she had me, then her husband found someone else and left her without a cent to her name. She couldn't keep me or leave me with her father, so she left me with a friend, Sarah Polwheal. Since I grew up with her, I took on her name."
Horatio was gaping in astonishment. Polwheal continued. "My mother only just managed to escape the brothel her father was making her work in. You see, she's with child again. She's not quite sure who the father is this time, though." Polwheal glanced out the porthole. "She came to me and told me everything. As we share the same eyes, I believed her immediately. I don't want her to suffer, sir, so I agreed to join the Navy. She told me your name, sir. I think she said you were one of the only men she had any respect for."
Horatio nodded, amazed. He'd never known, in all these years, that Samantha had had a child. She'd never even mentioned that she'd once been married. He looked back at the man, then froze, calculating rapidly. If Samantha had given birth to Polwheal at sixteen, Polwheal should be about fourteen. But this man looked so much older...Horatio came to his feet. "No more lies!" He said, raising his voice, "Tell me who you really are!"
In answer, Polwheal laughed. It was a laugh Horatio remembered well, like water dripping upon cobblestones. Polwheal sat down, still chuckling. "That was the best lie I've ever told. And I nearly convinced you! But I should have known you'd find me out." He raised his eyes to meet Horatio, lavender eyes that sparkled with mirth. "Yes, Horatio, it's me."
Horatio sat down heavily. "How did you get here?"
"You should know! You signed me on!"
"No, I mean...how did you escape the brothel? Are you really bearing a child?"
"Lord, no!" she said, looking disgusted, "No, I fled. I managed to convince my father that the owner of the brothel was demanding we pay him half our wages. In reality, I kept half for myself, planning on freeing myself when the time was right, and leaving to go to America. I was sure I'd be all right there. But my father was getting suspicious. I didn't want to have to put up with him again, so I took my money and few possessions and ran. I bought these clothes and passed myself off as a man. When I heard you were looking for a steward, I went to you immediately." she looked at him. "Are you going to dismiss me? I wouldn't blame you if you did."
Horatio had been prepared for this. "No. You've been through too much. Anyway, God knows how long we'll be away from England. As long as no one else finds out, you may continue to serve as my steward."
Samantha smiled and touched his hand. "I knew you wouldn't turn me away." She stood and became Polwheal again. "Shall I lay out your nightclothes, sir?"
After he had discovered her, Samantha became a different person. Her eyes always had a sparkle in them, and she became more friendly. More than once, Horatio heard her laugh issuing from the galley. But throughout it all, she kept up her charade, and no one found out her secret. She admitted to him one night, after Lady Barbara Wellesley came aboard, that she had feared the woman would find her out. "She's a shrewd one," she said, "but I convinced her I was a man."
Normally, Samantha remained below decks, cooking and aiding the ladies. But when the time came for the second and hopefully final battle with the Natividad, She asked Horatio if he wanted her assistance.
"I wouldn't ask this, normally, but the last encounter lost you a number of your men. If you need the extra strength..."
Horatio looked at her. "You are my steward, and a woman..."
"Like that makes a difference." she said, laughing, though this time, it sounded like a growl, "You know I can fight. 'Old Sam' had some skill with a pistol, remember? Anyway, I suspect you'll need all the help you can get."
Horatio considered her offer, looked directly at her, and finally nodded. She smiled grimly. "You won't regret it."
Horatio didn't see Samantha again for sometime, as he was busy preparing for the battle. When it truly began in full force, he occasionally caught sight of her running across the deck, bringing gunpowder, lighting fuses, even kicking a few men to make them go faster. But he had no thought to spare for her, as his mind was full of calculations, weather, and other conditions.
As evening fell, Horatio let out a snarl of fury. "Damn! We're nearly there, but we've lost so much!"
"Watch it, sir!" he heard behind him. The next thing Horatio knew, someone had pushed against him, knocking him to the deck. A second later, there was a cracking noise, as a cannon shot landed precisely where he would have been if the sailor hadn't pushed him out of the way. The man in question suddenly gave a shriek of pain. Horatio looked at the sailor, and saw, amid a stream of blood issuing from the man's face, a pair of lavender eyes. "I told you that you wouldn't regret letting me join." Samantha croaked, "Although I do, now."
When the battle was over, Horatio fell asleep almost immediately. But when he came to again, the first thought that crossed his mind was Samantha. He bolted from his chair and went to the Surgery.
He saw her immediately. She was one of the few people sitting up, but it seemed to take quite an effort. When she turned her face towards him, Horatio nearly gasped. A splinter, no doubt caused from the cannonball, had gashed her right cheek open. He could see white bone amid the red. It made him feel slightly nauseous. He looked into her eyes instead. "How do you fare, Samantha?"
She winced. "Not well. The doctor's an incompetent prig. He's run out of bandages for my face. To top it off, I've found another splinter that's going to be impossible to get out alone." She lifted her shirt slightly and showed him the long shard, inches from her heart. "I'd call Lady Barbara, who seems to know what she's doing, but I don't want her to know."
"Samantha, you'll die without proper care. You'll be found out soon enough, anyway. It's better for her to know than the doctor. Anyway, you're a damn good steward. I want you back."
She managed a smile. "Call the Lady."
Barbara soon proved herself to be above and beyond the doctor. She took one look at the splinter, not giving any indication of seeing the telltale signs of womanhood, and went to fetch the proper materials to remove the wood. When she had finally extracted the eleven inch piece of wood, she used strips from her own dress to bandage both wounds. It was only when she had finished that she smiled at Samantha and whispered, "I knew you were no man." But she said nothing about it to the others. Horatio's respect for her grew.
About a week later, when Horatio visited Samantha one evening, she abruptly mentioned her father.
"I wonder if Father will make me work in the brothel when I return. I doubt it. No man can be happy when he has a whore with this face." According to Barbara, the wound was healing, but it was doubtful that it would ever look right. Samantha shook her head. "He'll be furious, of course," she sighed, "God knows what he'll make me do now. Whatever it is, I'll probably start to miss the brothel."
Horatio considered the woman laying before him. "You could always continue your charade."
"Trust me, once my father found out I left the brothel, he probably started watching all the ships that returned to port. He'll know me. Even with this." She pointed at her cheek. In the silence that fell, she seemed to be considering him. Finally, she said,
"Horatio, I want to ask you for a favor."
Horatio looked at her, puzzled. "Perhaps. What is it?"
"Well, it's more of a question. As I am still your steward, I feel I can ask. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Samantha, you told me you can barely stand. What could you do?"
"Is it cold out, or is it just me?"
Horatio shook his head. "No, the weather has become a little cold."
"Then I have a duty, as your steward, to prevent you from becoming ill." When Horatio still looked nonplussed, she managed a weak laugh. "I still could keep you warm, Horatio."
Horatio's mouth dropped open. "Now you understand." she said.
"I can't, Samantha. You're still healing!"
"Don't worry about me, Horatio, I'm fine." Horatio was adamant. "I refuse. I won't let you suffer like that."
"Horatio, this is my choice. And if you'll just listen, I'll explain." Horatio leaned back. He was filled with curiosity. Why would a woman who had hated selling herself ask him for this?
"Horatio, for four and a half years, strangers have used me. I felt nothing but contempt for them. I hated what they were doing, every second of it." She looked at him. "In fact, the truth is that I have been used ever since I was eighteen. My father wanted me to do his work, give him an easy life by basically killing myself. If it wasn't for three men, I would have come to the conclusion that all men are to be loathed." She paused. "Those men were Clayton, Captain Edward Pellew, and you."
Horatio was astounded that she included him in that list. But somewhere deep inside him, he was pleased she thought so. Samantha continued.
"The truth is, Horatio, I don't know if I'll survive the trip home. There isn't anything on this ship that can prevent either of my wounds from becoming infected. If that happens, I'm a dead man." She swallowed. "But, if by some miracle, I do survive, what do I have to look forward to? A father's wrath, and another hellish job. Either way, my life shall be misery. All I ask is for one night where I can feel happy."
"But...why me?" Horatio stammered. She stared at him. "I told you, you are one of the only men I respect. Now Clayton's dead, and Pellew...I wouldn't ask him, even if he wasn't an admiral now. Anyway, Horatio, it's you who have been the most influential upon my life."
Horatio shook his head. "I can't. I..."
"I know." she said, quietly, "You're about to protest that you're married. You don't think I don't know? I read those naval papers. I heard about the wedding, and about the birth of your children. If I wasn't dying, I wouldn't ask you this, and you know it. But because I am, I ask you. You don't have to tell her about this."
As Horatio opened his mouth again, she cut him off. "Wait. I know why you can't. It's not my face, or my health, or the fact that we're friends, or the fear we'll be found. It's not even the fact that you're married. No, it's your honor."
Horatio gaped at her. It was almost as if she could read his mind. She smiled, knowing she had gotten it right. "Yes, I knew. You have honor, something that's ordinarily foreign to me. But I know you. You made a promise to your wife to love her forever. If you went back on your word, it would haunt you the rest of your life. And I don't want that to happen to you. I respect your feelings. So forget I ever asked." she turned on her side.
Horatio looked at her back, thinking about what she had said. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are right when you said that it would haunt me. But, if I didn't, and you died, I'd never forgive myself. I think a dying woman's last request is worth more than my honor."
Samantha looked back at him with those piercing eyes, and smiled. "Carry me to your room, then. No one must know of this."
One week passed, then another, and Samantha held on to her life. Horatio stopped visiting her, partly because she seemed to be in pain, and partly because of his guilt. After that one night, he had tried to ask her if she had been satisfied. But he got his answer when he saw a light coming from her face, illuminating her and making her look beautiful, in spite of her wound. But inside, he had begun to question if it was worth it. He feared what would happen if anyone ever knew. Maria would be devastated.
As evening fell, three weeks after the incident, Horatio received a message that Polwheal was asking for him. Summoning up his courage, Horatio answered the call.
Samantha was sitting in the hammock, her cheek un-bandaged. The wound had closed over the bone, but now the wound was tinged with green. She saw him looking. "The other one is worse. Horatio, I'm afraid it's the end for me." She took a labored breath. "I wanted to thank you for giving into a silly woman's whim. No man has ever done that for me."
Horatio managed a smile. "It was the least I could do for a friend."
"Nevertheless, I appreciate it." She breathed again. "Listen, I want to help you escape the wrath my father meant for me. When you come into port...I presume you will dock at Portsmouth?"
"It's likely." Horatio answered. She continued, "When you come into port, a man will meet you. You'll know it's my father because he'll have my eyes. He'll demand to know if you discovered a woman among your crew. Tell him that you did, but that you didn't find me out until it was too late. Then tell him what happened to me, leaving out, of course, what happened that one night."
Horatio flushed, but nodded. She seemed to relax. "One more thing, Horatio. In my sea-chest, there are two objects wrapped in cloth." She struggled for breath again. "One of them is a necklace my mother gave me. I kept it hidden in case Father wanted to sell it. I would feel privileged if your wife wore it. Or, in the worst case, you can sell it." She let her breath out in a hiss. "The other is my sword. I know it's just a cheap little thing, and that you have one much better, but I'd like you to have it."
Horatio nodded. "Whenever I see them, I will remember you."
She gasped for air. The end was fast approaching. "Good. I hoped...you would never forget me."
Horatio touched her hand. "Never, 'Old Sam.'" Her eyes, which had been glazing over, became clear once more. She lifted herself as high as she could, looking straight at him, and managed to laugh that dewdrop laugh once more.
"T-take care of yourself...boy."
She fell back upon the hammock, her head falling to one side. Horatio stared into those royal-hued eyes, now looking blankly at him, for about a minute, then reached over and closed them forever.
"I will, Sam." he whispered.
"Name?"
"Polwheal." the man answered, "James Polwheal."
Horatio examined the crewman before him, with shabby clothes and nervous hands. "You say you want to apply as my steward?" When Polwheal nodded, Horatio pressed on. "Can you cook?"
"A little, sir. I cooked for my family when times were rough."
That was satisfactory. Horatio nodded. "All right. Sign aboard." By the time Polwheal had finished signing, his hand had become steady.
Polwheal soon proved himself to be a cook of simple tastes, which was exactly what Horatio wanted. He was also content to not to discuss matters above deck, as though he knew Horatio did not want to talk about them. Polwheal did his job, and nothing more.
After five months at sea, however, Horatio began to develop an interest in the man. The silence in which the steward did his work was beginning to become disconcerting. So Horatio tried to get Polwheal to open up.
"Where do you come from, Polwheal?" he asked once, as Polwheal prepared his captain's bath. Polwheal barely glanced at his captain before answering. "Portsmouth, sir." and leaving it at that.
Another time, Horatio inquired about the health of Polwheal's parents. The steward had looked at him that time, but only for a moment, then murmured that they were both dead. For the first time since the journey had begun, his hand trembled. After that, Horatio gave up trying to talk to the man. But something still nagged at his brain. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd met Polwheal before.
After another month had passed, Horatio had had enough. He had to know. He'd pondered it for a long time, and now he thought he'd guessed the truth. When Polwheal had brought his dinner, he called for the man to wait. "Polwheal, lately I've begun to notice that you bear an uncanny resemblance to someone I knew, long ago."
"Really, sir?" Polwheal sounded indifferent...or was he only feigning it? Horatio continued. "He was a Midshipman with me, long ago. He had your eyes. We never knew his last name. We called him 'Old Sam'. Perhaps you met him?"
The steward grinned. "Indeed, sir. He was my mother."
Horatio nearly knocked over his glass in astonishment. He'd never expected that answer. "He was your mother?" he repeated, "To my knowledge, Polwheal, no man has yet birthed a child."
"Surely you knew, if you were a midshipman, that Old Sam revealed himself to be a woman, Samantha Nottingam. She had a hard life, sir. I never actually really knew her until a year ago."
"But if she was your mother, how could you not know her?" Horatio demanded. He needed to be sure Polwheal was not lying. If he wasn't, this was too incredible for words.
"She had me when she was sixteen, sir. Her father tried to betroth her to a rich man. Well, they married, she had me, then her husband found someone else and left her without a cent to her name. She couldn't keep me or leave me with her father, so she left me with a friend, Sarah Polwheal. Since I grew up with her, I took on her name."
Horatio was gaping in astonishment. Polwheal continued. "My mother only just managed to escape the brothel her father was making her work in. You see, she's with child again. She's not quite sure who the father is this time, though." Polwheal glanced out the porthole. "She came to me and told me everything. As we share the same eyes, I believed her immediately. I don't want her to suffer, sir, so I agreed to join the Navy. She told me your name, sir. I think she said you were one of the only men she had any respect for."
Horatio nodded, amazed. He'd never known, in all these years, that Samantha had had a child. She'd never even mentioned that she'd once been married. He looked back at the man, then froze, calculating rapidly. If Samantha had given birth to Polwheal at sixteen, Polwheal should be about fourteen. But this man looked so much older...Horatio came to his feet. "No more lies!" He said, raising his voice, "Tell me who you really are!"
In answer, Polwheal laughed. It was a laugh Horatio remembered well, like water dripping upon cobblestones. Polwheal sat down, still chuckling. "That was the best lie I've ever told. And I nearly convinced you! But I should have known you'd find me out." He raised his eyes to meet Horatio, lavender eyes that sparkled with mirth. "Yes, Horatio, it's me."
Horatio sat down heavily. "How did you get here?"
"You should know! You signed me on!"
"No, I mean...how did you escape the brothel? Are you really bearing a child?"
"Lord, no!" she said, looking disgusted, "No, I fled. I managed to convince my father that the owner of the brothel was demanding we pay him half our wages. In reality, I kept half for myself, planning on freeing myself when the time was right, and leaving to go to America. I was sure I'd be all right there. But my father was getting suspicious. I didn't want to have to put up with him again, so I took my money and few possessions and ran. I bought these clothes and passed myself off as a man. When I heard you were looking for a steward, I went to you immediately." she looked at him. "Are you going to dismiss me? I wouldn't blame you if you did."
Horatio had been prepared for this. "No. You've been through too much. Anyway, God knows how long we'll be away from England. As long as no one else finds out, you may continue to serve as my steward."
Samantha smiled and touched his hand. "I knew you wouldn't turn me away." She stood and became Polwheal again. "Shall I lay out your nightclothes, sir?"
After he had discovered her, Samantha became a different person. Her eyes always had a sparkle in them, and she became more friendly. More than once, Horatio heard her laugh issuing from the galley. But throughout it all, she kept up her charade, and no one found out her secret. She admitted to him one night, after Lady Barbara Wellesley came aboard, that she had feared the woman would find her out. "She's a shrewd one," she said, "but I convinced her I was a man."
Normally, Samantha remained below decks, cooking and aiding the ladies. But when the time came for the second and hopefully final battle with the Natividad, She asked Horatio if he wanted her assistance.
"I wouldn't ask this, normally, but the last encounter lost you a number of your men. If you need the extra strength..."
Horatio looked at her. "You are my steward, and a woman..."
"Like that makes a difference." she said, laughing, though this time, it sounded like a growl, "You know I can fight. 'Old Sam' had some skill with a pistol, remember? Anyway, I suspect you'll need all the help you can get."
Horatio considered her offer, looked directly at her, and finally nodded. She smiled grimly. "You won't regret it."
Horatio didn't see Samantha again for sometime, as he was busy preparing for the battle. When it truly began in full force, he occasionally caught sight of her running across the deck, bringing gunpowder, lighting fuses, even kicking a few men to make them go faster. But he had no thought to spare for her, as his mind was full of calculations, weather, and other conditions.
As evening fell, Horatio let out a snarl of fury. "Damn! We're nearly there, but we've lost so much!"
"Watch it, sir!" he heard behind him. The next thing Horatio knew, someone had pushed against him, knocking him to the deck. A second later, there was a cracking noise, as a cannon shot landed precisely where he would have been if the sailor hadn't pushed him out of the way. The man in question suddenly gave a shriek of pain. Horatio looked at the sailor, and saw, amid a stream of blood issuing from the man's face, a pair of lavender eyes. "I told you that you wouldn't regret letting me join." Samantha croaked, "Although I do, now."
When the battle was over, Horatio fell asleep almost immediately. But when he came to again, the first thought that crossed his mind was Samantha. He bolted from his chair and went to the Surgery.
He saw her immediately. She was one of the few people sitting up, but it seemed to take quite an effort. When she turned her face towards him, Horatio nearly gasped. A splinter, no doubt caused from the cannonball, had gashed her right cheek open. He could see white bone amid the red. It made him feel slightly nauseous. He looked into her eyes instead. "How do you fare, Samantha?"
She winced. "Not well. The doctor's an incompetent prig. He's run out of bandages for my face. To top it off, I've found another splinter that's going to be impossible to get out alone." She lifted her shirt slightly and showed him the long shard, inches from her heart. "I'd call Lady Barbara, who seems to know what she's doing, but I don't want her to know."
"Samantha, you'll die without proper care. You'll be found out soon enough, anyway. It's better for her to know than the doctor. Anyway, you're a damn good steward. I want you back."
She managed a smile. "Call the Lady."
Barbara soon proved herself to be above and beyond the doctor. She took one look at the splinter, not giving any indication of seeing the telltale signs of womanhood, and went to fetch the proper materials to remove the wood. When she had finally extracted the eleven inch piece of wood, she used strips from her own dress to bandage both wounds. It was only when she had finished that she smiled at Samantha and whispered, "I knew you were no man." But she said nothing about it to the others. Horatio's respect for her grew.
About a week later, when Horatio visited Samantha one evening, she abruptly mentioned her father.
"I wonder if Father will make me work in the brothel when I return. I doubt it. No man can be happy when he has a whore with this face." According to Barbara, the wound was healing, but it was doubtful that it would ever look right. Samantha shook her head. "He'll be furious, of course," she sighed, "God knows what he'll make me do now. Whatever it is, I'll probably start to miss the brothel."
Horatio considered the woman laying before him. "You could always continue your charade."
"Trust me, once my father found out I left the brothel, he probably started watching all the ships that returned to port. He'll know me. Even with this." She pointed at her cheek. In the silence that fell, she seemed to be considering him. Finally, she said,
"Horatio, I want to ask you for a favor."
Horatio looked at her, puzzled. "Perhaps. What is it?"
"Well, it's more of a question. As I am still your steward, I feel I can ask. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Samantha, you told me you can barely stand. What could you do?"
"Is it cold out, or is it just me?"
Horatio shook his head. "No, the weather has become a little cold."
"Then I have a duty, as your steward, to prevent you from becoming ill." When Horatio still looked nonplussed, she managed a weak laugh. "I still could keep you warm, Horatio."
Horatio's mouth dropped open. "Now you understand." she said.
"I can't, Samantha. You're still healing!"
"Don't worry about me, Horatio, I'm fine." Horatio was adamant. "I refuse. I won't let you suffer like that."
"Horatio, this is my choice. And if you'll just listen, I'll explain." Horatio leaned back. He was filled with curiosity. Why would a woman who had hated selling herself ask him for this?
"Horatio, for four and a half years, strangers have used me. I felt nothing but contempt for them. I hated what they were doing, every second of it." She looked at him. "In fact, the truth is that I have been used ever since I was eighteen. My father wanted me to do his work, give him an easy life by basically killing myself. If it wasn't for three men, I would have come to the conclusion that all men are to be loathed." She paused. "Those men were Clayton, Captain Edward Pellew, and you."
Horatio was astounded that she included him in that list. But somewhere deep inside him, he was pleased she thought so. Samantha continued.
"The truth is, Horatio, I don't know if I'll survive the trip home. There isn't anything on this ship that can prevent either of my wounds from becoming infected. If that happens, I'm a dead man." She swallowed. "But, if by some miracle, I do survive, what do I have to look forward to? A father's wrath, and another hellish job. Either way, my life shall be misery. All I ask is for one night where I can feel happy."
"But...why me?" Horatio stammered. She stared at him. "I told you, you are one of the only men I respect. Now Clayton's dead, and Pellew...I wouldn't ask him, even if he wasn't an admiral now. Anyway, Horatio, it's you who have been the most influential upon my life."
Horatio shook his head. "I can't. I..."
"I know." she said, quietly, "You're about to protest that you're married. You don't think I don't know? I read those naval papers. I heard about the wedding, and about the birth of your children. If I wasn't dying, I wouldn't ask you this, and you know it. But because I am, I ask you. You don't have to tell her about this."
As Horatio opened his mouth again, she cut him off. "Wait. I know why you can't. It's not my face, or my health, or the fact that we're friends, or the fear we'll be found. It's not even the fact that you're married. No, it's your honor."
Horatio gaped at her. It was almost as if she could read his mind. She smiled, knowing she had gotten it right. "Yes, I knew. You have honor, something that's ordinarily foreign to me. But I know you. You made a promise to your wife to love her forever. If you went back on your word, it would haunt you the rest of your life. And I don't want that to happen to you. I respect your feelings. So forget I ever asked." she turned on her side.
Horatio looked at her back, thinking about what she had said. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are right when you said that it would haunt me. But, if I didn't, and you died, I'd never forgive myself. I think a dying woman's last request is worth more than my honor."
Samantha looked back at him with those piercing eyes, and smiled. "Carry me to your room, then. No one must know of this."
One week passed, then another, and Samantha held on to her life. Horatio stopped visiting her, partly because she seemed to be in pain, and partly because of his guilt. After that one night, he had tried to ask her if she had been satisfied. But he got his answer when he saw a light coming from her face, illuminating her and making her look beautiful, in spite of her wound. But inside, he had begun to question if it was worth it. He feared what would happen if anyone ever knew. Maria would be devastated.
As evening fell, three weeks after the incident, Horatio received a message that Polwheal was asking for him. Summoning up his courage, Horatio answered the call.
Samantha was sitting in the hammock, her cheek un-bandaged. The wound had closed over the bone, but now the wound was tinged with green. She saw him looking. "The other one is worse. Horatio, I'm afraid it's the end for me." She took a labored breath. "I wanted to thank you for giving into a silly woman's whim. No man has ever done that for me."
Horatio managed a smile. "It was the least I could do for a friend."
"Nevertheless, I appreciate it." She breathed again. "Listen, I want to help you escape the wrath my father meant for me. When you come into port...I presume you will dock at Portsmouth?"
"It's likely." Horatio answered. She continued, "When you come into port, a man will meet you. You'll know it's my father because he'll have my eyes. He'll demand to know if you discovered a woman among your crew. Tell him that you did, but that you didn't find me out until it was too late. Then tell him what happened to me, leaving out, of course, what happened that one night."
Horatio flushed, but nodded. She seemed to relax. "One more thing, Horatio. In my sea-chest, there are two objects wrapped in cloth." She struggled for breath again. "One of them is a necklace my mother gave me. I kept it hidden in case Father wanted to sell it. I would feel privileged if your wife wore it. Or, in the worst case, you can sell it." She let her breath out in a hiss. "The other is my sword. I know it's just a cheap little thing, and that you have one much better, but I'd like you to have it."
Horatio nodded. "Whenever I see them, I will remember you."
She gasped for air. The end was fast approaching. "Good. I hoped...you would never forget me."
Horatio touched her hand. "Never, 'Old Sam.'" Her eyes, which had been glazing over, became clear once more. She lifted herself as high as she could, looking straight at him, and managed to laugh that dewdrop laugh once more.
"T-take care of yourself...boy."
She fell back upon the hammock, her head falling to one side. Horatio stared into those royal-hued eyes, now looking blankly at him, for about a minute, then reached over and closed them forever.
"I will, Sam." he whispered.