Part Two
Chapter One - Charges
He would have walked out, and left the young man with the formality of rank, the gulf between prisoner and judge, still intact between them. As he turned, however, Horatio said hoarsely, "Sir, I must ask. Can you give permission for me to visit the infirmary?"
Commodore Pellew, stopped, brought up short against the thing that he had deliberately left unspoken, lest speaking it should crack his carefully maintained control. It cost him a hard struggle to be able to say, with only a slight crack, "Yes, I can do that." And having done that much he found he had to turn again, and look back at Horatio Hornblower, not this time as an officer facing trial, but as a young man that he loved. Yes, loved.
"Mr Kennedy," he said hoarsely, "has a sound constitution. We must pray that that will be enough." The words were not enough, he could not leave things so. He went back to the young man, the boy he had met in Folkestone who now stood well above him, and reached out to rest a hand on his arm, even now the greatest gesture of affection he dared make. "God save us all, Horatio."
#
Horatio had shamed the Commodore, for he had held back from making the infirmary visit himself, and whatever reason he might give he knew that the root of it was fear. He did not want to face what he might find. Now though, he cursed his cowardice, and forced himself to make the visit.
It was not so bad as he had feared. He had cowered away from the thought of seeing a strong young man broken by pain and fever. Archie looked very bad, lying limp and pallid in the low bed, but he was in command of himself, and the eyes he turned to the newcomer were aware. Pellew saw the wariness in them, the same guarded, almost fearful, look that Horatio had given in place of the open welcome he had been used to seeing, and he cursed. Dear heaven, what had Sawyer done to his boys?
"How are you faring, Mr Kennedy," he asked.
"Well enough, sir." Pellew would have expected no other answer. His tongue felt tied, as he looked down at the blood stained bandages, and tried not to picture the ruin beneath. Why did this have to happen to Archie, who had had so much ill-luck in his young life? He hated always to see suffering he could not heal, to have to endure the outcome of matters over which he had no control.
The drawn face was oddly urgent. There seemed some message there that Pellew could not read. Frustrated by his own helplessness he turned to the doctor.
"How long since the bullet was extracted?"
"It has not been extracted, sir."
"Not extracted?" Pellew growled. "Call yourself a surgeon? You have been on land long enough, and you tell me the bullet has not been extracted?
The doctor drew himself up. "The patient, sir, will not permit me to operate."
Pellew swung back to the boy in the bed, and barely stopped himself from shouting. "Why will you not let the bullet be extracted, Mr Kennedy? Surely you know how important it is?"
"There is a risk."
"There is a greater risk in leaving the wound to fester."
"But it will give me at least until after the trial." Once again that strange urgent look. "You do not have to tell me, sir, that matters may be ... difficult." His voice was low now, for Pellew's ears only. "I may be needed. This may be needed." There was something he was not seeing, Pellew knew. A mere whisper now. "I will not let two lives be lost where one would serve."
The meaning sank in, and Pellew almost reeled with shock. Oh, but they were putting him to shame these boys, with their stark courage, facing the horrors he did not wish to confront. No! he wanted to cry out, It will not come to that! I will not let it come to that! Yet there were hard matters to be dealt with here and he could not say it.
He closed his eyes. "Justice will be done. I will see justice done." God above us, let me keep this promise....
Before leaving he turned to Clive and snapped, "I will send for another doctor. This case needs a second opinion." He would send the best that Kingston had to offer, although realism told him that still might not be very good.
"Is that really necessary," the doctor sniffed, "under the circumstances?"
"Under the circumstances it is all the more important to keep these men as well as possible," Pellew snarled. For the first time he glanced towards the second bed, and saw the other injured man – it must be Lt Bush – watching him cautiously. "I will see to it."
His boys. His boys, who he had cared for and watched over and helped to grow. Who he had had to send out into battle, again and again, fearing and suffering and once mourning for far too long. Not his own flesh and blood, but might as well be. He could not guard against sword or bullet or fever, but he would not let then die this way. Not disgraced and condemned, victims of a mad captain and neglectful Admiralty. He would not. No matter what the cost. No matter who he damned he would not accept this. He'd see the whole Admiralty in Hell first.
Chapter One - Charges
He would have walked out, and left the young man with the formality of rank, the gulf between prisoner and judge, still intact between them. As he turned, however, Horatio said hoarsely, "Sir, I must ask. Can you give permission for me to visit the infirmary?"
Commodore Pellew, stopped, brought up short against the thing that he had deliberately left unspoken, lest speaking it should crack his carefully maintained control. It cost him a hard struggle to be able to say, with only a slight crack, "Yes, I can do that." And having done that much he found he had to turn again, and look back at Horatio Hornblower, not this time as an officer facing trial, but as a young man that he loved. Yes, loved.
"Mr Kennedy," he said hoarsely, "has a sound constitution. We must pray that that will be enough." The words were not enough, he could not leave things so. He went back to the young man, the boy he had met in Folkestone who now stood well above him, and reached out to rest a hand on his arm, even now the greatest gesture of affection he dared make. "God save us all, Horatio."
#
Horatio had shamed the Commodore, for he had held back from making the infirmary visit himself, and whatever reason he might give he knew that the root of it was fear. He did not want to face what he might find. Now though, he cursed his cowardice, and forced himself to make the visit.
It was not so bad as he had feared. He had cowered away from the thought of seeing a strong young man broken by pain and fever. Archie looked very bad, lying limp and pallid in the low bed, but he was in command of himself, and the eyes he turned to the newcomer were aware. Pellew saw the wariness in them, the same guarded, almost fearful, look that Horatio had given in place of the open welcome he had been used to seeing, and he cursed. Dear heaven, what had Sawyer done to his boys?
"How are you faring, Mr Kennedy," he asked.
"Well enough, sir." Pellew would have expected no other answer. His tongue felt tied, as he looked down at the blood stained bandages, and tried not to picture the ruin beneath. Why did this have to happen to Archie, who had had so much ill-luck in his young life? He hated always to see suffering he could not heal, to have to endure the outcome of matters over which he had no control.
The drawn face was oddly urgent. There seemed some message there that Pellew could not read. Frustrated by his own helplessness he turned to the doctor.
"How long since the bullet was extracted?"
"It has not been extracted, sir."
"Not extracted?" Pellew growled. "Call yourself a surgeon? You have been on land long enough, and you tell me the bullet has not been extracted?
The doctor drew himself up. "The patient, sir, will not permit me to operate."
Pellew swung back to the boy in the bed, and barely stopped himself from shouting. "Why will you not let the bullet be extracted, Mr Kennedy? Surely you know how important it is?"
"There is a risk."
"There is a greater risk in leaving the wound to fester."
"But it will give me at least until after the trial." Once again that strange urgent look. "You do not have to tell me, sir, that matters may be ... difficult." His voice was low now, for Pellew's ears only. "I may be needed. This may be needed." There was something he was not seeing, Pellew knew. A mere whisper now. "I will not let two lives be lost where one would serve."
The meaning sank in, and Pellew almost reeled with shock. Oh, but they were putting him to shame these boys, with their stark courage, facing the horrors he did not wish to confront. No! he wanted to cry out, It will not come to that! I will not let it come to that! Yet there were hard matters to be dealt with here and he could not say it.
He closed his eyes. "Justice will be done. I will see justice done." God above us, let me keep this promise....
Before leaving he turned to Clive and snapped, "I will send for another doctor. This case needs a second opinion." He would send the best that Kingston had to offer, although realism told him that still might not be very good.
"Is that really necessary," the doctor sniffed, "under the circumstances?"
"Under the circumstances it is all the more important to keep these men as well as possible," Pellew snarled. For the first time he glanced towards the second bed, and saw the other injured man – it must be Lt Bush – watching him cautiously. "I will see to it."
His boys. His boys, who he had cared for and watched over and helped to grow. Who he had had to send out into battle, again and again, fearing and suffering and once mourning for far too long. Not his own flesh and blood, but might as well be. He could not guard against sword or bullet or fever, but he would not let then die this way. Not disgraced and condemned, victims of a mad captain and neglectful Admiralty. He would not. No matter what the cost. No matter who he damned he would not accept this. He'd see the whole Admiralty in Hell first.