Chapter Three - Assault
Horatio's hands gripped hard on the rail.
In all his young life he had not known pain like this. Mixed with the shock, there was still a little disbelief that this could happen to him. His life had always been lonely, but safe. In his mind, he could not reconcile the ordered world of the Navy that he had known so far with the terror and brutality of the midshipman's berth.
Most of the others had avoided him after last night's brutal beating, only one, a man called Clayton, had at last come over and helped him rise and wash his face. The fearful looks that the others cast towards Midshipman Jack Simpson had been almost as eloquent a warning as the beating.
The ship's bell sounded the end of his watch, the watch that he had feared he would never get through without collapsing. The wind was biting, but he was afraid to go below. Instead he tried to find a spot on deck, somewhere where he could shelter a little. Slipping beneath one of the ship's boats where it hung suspended he found the refuge already occupied.
Blue eyes met dark, and dropped again at once. Archie pulled back, further from Horatio, but he did not run.
"This was what you meant," Horatio whispered. "You tried to warn me."
Archie would not meet his look. "Go home," he whispered, "you can still go home."
"No." Call it pride, call it stupidity, but he had insisted on joining Justinian and he felt that he could not endure to run back home like a whipped hound. He would stay if it killed him. "You haven't gone."
"Can't." Archie did not say more, and Horatio did not ask more. He did ask something else, however. "That fit you had...."
Archie shrank even further away, his face starkly miserable. Horatio persevered, "Shouldn't you have seen the doctor?"
"Hepplewhite?" Just in that single word, Archie's voice conveyed that that had been a stupid question. Horatio could think of nothing more to say, and so stayed silent.
"You should leave," Archie burst out again. "He hasn't ... that beating ... you don't know yet. He'll do worse if you stay, much worse. You should go."
Horatio shook his head violently. "No."
They stayed there, huddled some distance apart, until after darkness fell.
#
Horatio stared at Simpson, torn between terror and exaltation as he got to his feet. He didn't care what Simpson claimed, he was sure it could not be right for a senior midshipman to make a menial out of his juniors.
When first ordered to clean the man's shoes, still on his feet, he had, reluctantly, buckled under. But when one heel had ground down hard upon his hand, then something in him had snapped and he had spat deliberately upon the surface.
Simpson rose slowly, with his customary angular swagger. One of the most terrifying things about the man, Horatio thought, oddly clear-headed in his fear, was that there was no way of ever telling what he would do next. It would never be good, of course, but there were so many ways in which it could be bad....
A hand shot out without warning, and twisted one of his arms sharply behind him, so that he gasped in pain. "That," the hated voice hissed, "That was not a clever thing to do," the grip jerked sharply, "I think," and suddenly Simpson was laughing, his own particular kind of laughter, "I think that merits a lesson! Now–" another jerk, "you will come with me."
Horatio tried to struggle, but his twelve year old strength was useless. He was shoved roughly towards the door, but before they could reach it he suddenly felt himself loosed, in the same moment that Simpson let out a sound almost like a howl.
Horatio twisted round, in time to see the look of blank terror on Archie's face as he dropped the bloodied knife he had been holding, and backed. Simpson was clutching his thigh, where blood was welling, but the wound did not seem to be handicapping him seriously. With another animal like sound, he threw himself straight at Archie, who made no attempt to resist. Horatio, knowing any intervention by himself would be useless, fled frantically onto the deck, and bolted straight for the officer of the watch, so fast that he almost collided with him.
"He'll kill him! You must come! He'll kill him!" Although Horatio was almost incoherent Lieutenant Danvers did get the notion that there was something very wrong in the midshipman's berth and hurried there at once.
It was as well for Archie that Clayton had been stung into intervention and, though no match for Simpson in strength, had at least provided something of a distraction. Danvers's sharp "What is the meaning of this!" cut through even Simpson's fury and the mess fell silent in seconds.
Danvers was not an unfair man, but neither did he possess any great qualities of perception. Finding no-one, not even Horatio (who was by now so shaken he could hardly speak at all), prepared to explain what had happened he simply apportioned blame amongst all three of the midshipmen involved in the fighting and went straight to recommend beatings to Captain Keene.
Not even Simpson was about to risk starting further violence under those circumstances, but no-one in the berth doubted that his revenge would be extracted.
#
"You've got to stop it, sir!"
Edward shook his head. "I have no authority."
"But it's not right! Archie was trying to help me! And Clayton was trying to help him."
Edward looked at the boy in some concern. He'd noticed Horatio had been quieter than usual, but had blamed the effort of his new duties. Was there something truly wrong here?
Horatio didn't seem to want to tell the tale, but he eventually made a clear sounding job of it. He had, in fact, understated the violence, but Edward could not know that.
"I will speak of this to the captain," he said, "but it will require more than your word alone. You understand?"
"Oh, yes, sir." Horatio seemed blithely confident, "But the whole mess saw. If they're given a chance to speak, I'm sure they will."
Edward felt an almost frightening rush of protective anger. When had he begun to care so much about this boy? It was hideous to think of Horatio being attacked by a brute more than twice his years. He would dearly have liked to take the flat of his sword to Simpson.
He wished he could feel as confident that the man would get his comeuppance as Horatio did.
#
"There is nothing I can do", Edward said gently.
"But..." he realised that Horatio was fighting back tears of anger.
"None of them supported your claims," he said, "Not even Mr Clayton or Mr Kennedy."
"Do you think me a liar!" Horatio demanded furiously.
"No. I do not think it. But the decision of the captain must be final." He teetered on the edge of saying he was sorry, but he had already said more than he should. "A beating ordered by the captain, well, young men survive. It is the life of the Navy, Mr Hornblower, and you must learn that."
Horatio simply turned away, his refusal to accept the words patent. Edward could hardly blame the boy, he barely accepted them himself. However it was not the beatings that concerned him so much as the thought of what the man Simpson might do afterwards if even a part of Horatio's story was true. Something was very wrong in the midshipmen's berth, but he was too junior here to put it right without having more to go on than just Horatio's word.
Yet how could he possibly leave the boy to further brutality? There must be something he could do.
#
"Mr Kennedy." The boy flinched at the words, and as he turned obediently Edward was struck by how ill he looked, surely worse than a single beating could account for, even a severe beating delivered to one still a child. He had been stoical about it, Edward recalled, or perhaps simply paralysed; it had been Simpson, the grown man who had struggled and cried out and made an exhibition of himself. He could hardly believe this washed out looking boy before him was the same one whose high spirits he had disapproved of so short a time before. It must be Simpson, a newcomer to the ship, who had caused this change.
"Why did you attack Mr Simpson," he asked straight out. The boy simply shrank away, his face a wretched mask. Edward was about to demand as an order that the question be answered, but checked himself. There was something very wrong here, and though he could demand an answer with threats he could not ensure it would be truthful.
"Mr Hornblower," he said quietly, "claims that Mr Simpson was attacking him and that you came to his defence. Is this false?" Nothing moved in the boy's face. Edward, as he had planned, took that for acceptance. "Why did you not say so?" No response still. "Did you want Mr Hornblower to be branded a liar?" These words were harsh and, as he had hoped, did get a reaction. The boy gasped, and after a pause, shook his head very slightly. "Because you were afraid, then? Afraid of Mr Simpson?" No answer. "Mr Kennedy," Edward said severely, "I consider it most regrettable that you should withhold help from one I believed you to consider a friend because of fear," he had hoped to spark a sharp response, but the boy just shrank a little. "It is too late to raise the matter with the captain again, but we can take steps for the future. If you wish to be worthy of your position on this ship, then if Mr. Simpson should again attack Mr Hornblower you will come straight to me. You understand. To me?" He spoke the last words with great emphasis, but without too much hope. This youngster seemed a weak reed to rely on.
Kennedy's eyes lifted to his face for the first time, but dropped again quickly. Edward thought he caught a nod but was not sure. It was probably the best he could expect.
He would speak with Clayton as well. There seemed more hope for success there. Truth was, he was desperately worried. The thought of brave, vulnerable, young Horatio trapped in a mess which had reduced a lively imp like Kennedy to a silent wraith was sickening. Dammit, he'd got far too fond of that boy! And yet, how could he not? Horatio was something exceptional, in the short time he had known the boy he'd seen that much, and he prayed that he could keep him from being marred before he was grown.
Horatio's hands gripped hard on the rail.
In all his young life he had not known pain like this. Mixed with the shock, there was still a little disbelief that this could happen to him. His life had always been lonely, but safe. In his mind, he could not reconcile the ordered world of the Navy that he had known so far with the terror and brutality of the midshipman's berth.
Most of the others had avoided him after last night's brutal beating, only one, a man called Clayton, had at last come over and helped him rise and wash his face. The fearful looks that the others cast towards Midshipman Jack Simpson had been almost as eloquent a warning as the beating.
The ship's bell sounded the end of his watch, the watch that he had feared he would never get through without collapsing. The wind was biting, but he was afraid to go below. Instead he tried to find a spot on deck, somewhere where he could shelter a little. Slipping beneath one of the ship's boats where it hung suspended he found the refuge already occupied.
Blue eyes met dark, and dropped again at once. Archie pulled back, further from Horatio, but he did not run.
"This was what you meant," Horatio whispered. "You tried to warn me."
Archie would not meet his look. "Go home," he whispered, "you can still go home."
"No." Call it pride, call it stupidity, but he had insisted on joining Justinian and he felt that he could not endure to run back home like a whipped hound. He would stay if it killed him. "You haven't gone."
"Can't." Archie did not say more, and Horatio did not ask more. He did ask something else, however. "That fit you had...."
Archie shrank even further away, his face starkly miserable. Horatio persevered, "Shouldn't you have seen the doctor?"
"Hepplewhite?" Just in that single word, Archie's voice conveyed that that had been a stupid question. Horatio could think of nothing more to say, and so stayed silent.
"You should leave," Archie burst out again. "He hasn't ... that beating ... you don't know yet. He'll do worse if you stay, much worse. You should go."
Horatio shook his head violently. "No."
They stayed there, huddled some distance apart, until after darkness fell.
#
Horatio stared at Simpson, torn between terror and exaltation as he got to his feet. He didn't care what Simpson claimed, he was sure it could not be right for a senior midshipman to make a menial out of his juniors.
When first ordered to clean the man's shoes, still on his feet, he had, reluctantly, buckled under. But when one heel had ground down hard upon his hand, then something in him had snapped and he had spat deliberately upon the surface.
Simpson rose slowly, with his customary angular swagger. One of the most terrifying things about the man, Horatio thought, oddly clear-headed in his fear, was that there was no way of ever telling what he would do next. It would never be good, of course, but there were so many ways in which it could be bad....
A hand shot out without warning, and twisted one of his arms sharply behind him, so that he gasped in pain. "That," the hated voice hissed, "That was not a clever thing to do," the grip jerked sharply, "I think," and suddenly Simpson was laughing, his own particular kind of laughter, "I think that merits a lesson! Now–" another jerk, "you will come with me."
Horatio tried to struggle, but his twelve year old strength was useless. He was shoved roughly towards the door, but before they could reach it he suddenly felt himself loosed, in the same moment that Simpson let out a sound almost like a howl.
Horatio twisted round, in time to see the look of blank terror on Archie's face as he dropped the bloodied knife he had been holding, and backed. Simpson was clutching his thigh, where blood was welling, but the wound did not seem to be handicapping him seriously. With another animal like sound, he threw himself straight at Archie, who made no attempt to resist. Horatio, knowing any intervention by himself would be useless, fled frantically onto the deck, and bolted straight for the officer of the watch, so fast that he almost collided with him.
"He'll kill him! You must come! He'll kill him!" Although Horatio was almost incoherent Lieutenant Danvers did get the notion that there was something very wrong in the midshipman's berth and hurried there at once.
It was as well for Archie that Clayton had been stung into intervention and, though no match for Simpson in strength, had at least provided something of a distraction. Danvers's sharp "What is the meaning of this!" cut through even Simpson's fury and the mess fell silent in seconds.
Danvers was not an unfair man, but neither did he possess any great qualities of perception. Finding no-one, not even Horatio (who was by now so shaken he could hardly speak at all), prepared to explain what had happened he simply apportioned blame amongst all three of the midshipmen involved in the fighting and went straight to recommend beatings to Captain Keene.
Not even Simpson was about to risk starting further violence under those circumstances, but no-one in the berth doubted that his revenge would be extracted.
#
"You've got to stop it, sir!"
Edward shook his head. "I have no authority."
"But it's not right! Archie was trying to help me! And Clayton was trying to help him."
Edward looked at the boy in some concern. He'd noticed Horatio had been quieter than usual, but had blamed the effort of his new duties. Was there something truly wrong here?
Horatio didn't seem to want to tell the tale, but he eventually made a clear sounding job of it. He had, in fact, understated the violence, but Edward could not know that.
"I will speak of this to the captain," he said, "but it will require more than your word alone. You understand?"
"Oh, yes, sir." Horatio seemed blithely confident, "But the whole mess saw. If they're given a chance to speak, I'm sure they will."
Edward felt an almost frightening rush of protective anger. When had he begun to care so much about this boy? It was hideous to think of Horatio being attacked by a brute more than twice his years. He would dearly have liked to take the flat of his sword to Simpson.
He wished he could feel as confident that the man would get his comeuppance as Horatio did.
#
"There is nothing I can do", Edward said gently.
"But..." he realised that Horatio was fighting back tears of anger.
"None of them supported your claims," he said, "Not even Mr Clayton or Mr Kennedy."
"Do you think me a liar!" Horatio demanded furiously.
"No. I do not think it. But the decision of the captain must be final." He teetered on the edge of saying he was sorry, but he had already said more than he should. "A beating ordered by the captain, well, young men survive. It is the life of the Navy, Mr Hornblower, and you must learn that."
Horatio simply turned away, his refusal to accept the words patent. Edward could hardly blame the boy, he barely accepted them himself. However it was not the beatings that concerned him so much as the thought of what the man Simpson might do afterwards if even a part of Horatio's story was true. Something was very wrong in the midshipmen's berth, but he was too junior here to put it right without having more to go on than just Horatio's word.
Yet how could he possibly leave the boy to further brutality? There must be something he could do.
#
"Mr Kennedy." The boy flinched at the words, and as he turned obediently Edward was struck by how ill he looked, surely worse than a single beating could account for, even a severe beating delivered to one still a child. He had been stoical about it, Edward recalled, or perhaps simply paralysed; it had been Simpson, the grown man who had struggled and cried out and made an exhibition of himself. He could hardly believe this washed out looking boy before him was the same one whose high spirits he had disapproved of so short a time before. It must be Simpson, a newcomer to the ship, who had caused this change.
"Why did you attack Mr Simpson," he asked straight out. The boy simply shrank away, his face a wretched mask. Edward was about to demand as an order that the question be answered, but checked himself. There was something very wrong here, and though he could demand an answer with threats he could not ensure it would be truthful.
"Mr Hornblower," he said quietly, "claims that Mr Simpson was attacking him and that you came to his defence. Is this false?" Nothing moved in the boy's face. Edward, as he had planned, took that for acceptance. "Why did you not say so?" No response still. "Did you want Mr Hornblower to be branded a liar?" These words were harsh and, as he had hoped, did get a reaction. The boy gasped, and after a pause, shook his head very slightly. "Because you were afraid, then? Afraid of Mr Simpson?" No answer. "Mr Kennedy," Edward said severely, "I consider it most regrettable that you should withhold help from one I believed you to consider a friend because of fear," he had hoped to spark a sharp response, but the boy just shrank a little. "It is too late to raise the matter with the captain again, but we can take steps for the future. If you wish to be worthy of your position on this ship, then if Mr. Simpson should again attack Mr Hornblower you will come straight to me. You understand. To me?" He spoke the last words with great emphasis, but without too much hope. This youngster seemed a weak reed to rely on.
Kennedy's eyes lifted to his face for the first time, but dropped again quickly. Edward thought he caught a nod but was not sure. It was probably the best he could expect.
He would speak with Clayton as well. There seemed more hope for success there. Truth was, he was desperately worried. The thought of brave, vulnerable, young Horatio trapped in a mess which had reduced a lively imp like Kennedy to a silent wraith was sickening. Dammit, he'd got far too fond of that boy! And yet, how could he not? Horatio was something exceptional, in the short time he had known the boy he'd seen that much, and he prayed that he could keep him from being marred before he was grown.