Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.

Before I go any further - I apologise for my poor French! I'm using my limited knowledge and the internet to do it.

Enjoy


Two: La Sombra

The ship creaked and rocked on the waves, and Horatio Hornblower stood to attention before the Admiral, callused, square hands clasped behind his back. For someone so young, he was remarkably mature, and yet remarkably good-looking. He was tall and fairly lean, but muscular and solid. His dark brown – almost black – hair was forever in unruly curls, tied with a ribbon at the back of his neck. He had an angular jaw, a tiny cleft in his chin and hollowed cheeks below bright, intelligent eyes, the colour of coffee. His expressive eyebrows gave away most of what he thought, but not today. Admiral Pellew in front of him, his auburn hair laced with silver, his lined face grave.

"Four days ago, you put your ship in danger off the coast of Southern France. Foolishly."

"Yessir." Horatio answered expressionlessly.

"You were under strict instruction to acquire no unwanted attention, but… Many of your men were killed and some, including yourself, were caught." Horatio bit the inside of his cheek and flushed. "Yet, you escape unscathed." Pellew stopped his pacing and narrowed his eyes at the captain. "How?" He asked slowly.

"He called himself La Sombra. Sir." Horatio answered, allowing himself to make eye contact. Pellew blanched in surprise.

"La Sombra."

"Yessir. A masked man, sir, with several followers."

"Clad all in black?"

"Yes." Horatio was so surprised, he forgot his courtesy. Pellew ignored it.

"Yes, I have heard of a man. Young, only appears when one is in need." He rubbed his chin, bowing his head in thought. "Well, that will be all Mr Hornblower." Horatio bowed, then hesitated.

"Sir?"

"Yes man, what is it?" Pellew had already begun to rifle through his papers. Horatio bit his lip.

"La Sombra. Are there many reports on him, sir?"

"Several." Pellew watched the younger man closely, then strode over to his bookcase and opened a glass-front door. After a moment of perusal, he selected a brown leather book and slapped it on the table in front of Horatio. "They are all noted in there, sir. Now, if you don't mind…" Horatio bowed again, and opened the cabin door to leave. "Before I forget, Horatio, you are to come ashore with me tonight. Some noble or other is having a dinner in Portsmouth and I am instructed to bring one of my commanders."

"Yessir. I'll see you ashore, sir." Horatio smiled, and left.

"La Sombra." Pellew chuckled to the now-empty cabin, shaking his head. He sat and picked up a map. "I'm sure I shall hear more of such ridiculous escapades before the year is out." He glanced to the door where Horatio had just left. "I only hope they are good reports."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Hotspur was all but deserted as Horatio boarded his sloop. After the grandeur of Pellew's Indefatigable, his cabin seemed rather small and almost squalid. His sea chest sat open, papers and clothes and instruments spread across every surface. He cleared a space and settled down; running his hands curiously over the cover of the book Pellew had given to him. The leather was old – cracked and worn at the corners as opposed to smooth and silken like a new binding would be. The pages inside were thick and yellow and the writings were small and loopy to begin with, changing hand several times and stopped nearly two-thirds into the book. Obviously there was more to be said in this story, Horatio mused, opening to the first page and reading the date. Two years ago, the first encounter with La Sombra. He looked around to check there were no men near to his door, and pulled a lantern from its hook, settling it next to him to fight the dusk gloom creeping through the sloop. Tucking his hands close to him, Horatio began to read;

…La Sombra appeared like a ghost, clad in black. His guerrilla followers were similarly dressed – their faces blacked out with soot. La Sombra, a small man by any proportion, is one of few words and brave actions. He led us through the forests to the bridge where our comrades were scheduled to meet us. And then he disappeared like a shadow – no trace of his presence…

…The French revolutionaries had been tracking us for days and were close. La Sombra came to us in the night and led us behind enemy lines. He refused to fight alongside us, but he and his guerrilla men attacked like things possessed when we were almost discovered by revolutionary scouts…

…Our duty was to reach the battery and put it out of action, but we were cornered by French. La Sombra and his men appeared from the woods like ghosts and killed every one. Without a word, La Sombra placed a soot-cross on each forehead of each man he had killed…

…He used gunpowder to form an 'X' in the earth, and used a pistol to light it. It seemed folly – there was nothing on the end of the powders, but it seemed that all La Sombra wished to do was to scorch a mark in the ground…

…His mark is a cross. He carries two pouches – soot and gunpowder – and employs both to leave his signature. He is truly a madman. But a great madman, and one I would fight side by side with…

"Sir?" A knock at the door stirred Horatio from his readings.

"Come in." He smiled at his first lieutenant. "Ah, Mr Bush." William Bush smiled at his captain and gave a quick bow.

"Admiral's compliments, sir. It is time to go ashore."

"Ah, yes, thank you." Horatio rose, leaving the book on the table, and brushed down his coat. Tilting his hat over his hair at a jaunty angle, he looked enquiringly at Bush. "How do I look?"

"Very dashing sir." Bush smirked, and Horatio tutted, but said nothing, simply led the way on deck and into the boat to take him from their anchorage to the quayside. The oars stilled their splashing, and Horatio stepped off the boat onto the solid stonework of Portsmouth dock. Home… He bowed to Pellew who waited on the quayside at the top of the steps.

"Good evening, Mr Hornblower."

"Good evening sir." Pellew indicated to a waiting carriage. "Thank you sir." He gripped the sides and hoisted himself into the trap, careful not to jab anything with his sword. He sat on the velvet-covered benches, wishing that it were a more comfortable journey and the whole of Portsmouth had not been laid with cobbles as they trundled their way through Portsmouth to the outskirts, where the houses were manors and the grounds were acres of greenery and there were views of the sea – the ships like toys in the port. A servant opened the door and Horatio stepped down, looking up at the manor as Pellew disembarked. It was a white, flat-fronted building with a pillar-steadied porch covering a green front door with coloured glass. Lanterns spilt golden pools on the marble steps, and more light poured from the tall windows. Faintly, Horatio could hear merry-making above the snort of the horses and the scrape of hooves on gravel.

"Don't just stand there, man." Pellew snapped, leading the way and nodding shortly to the doorman who opened the door two a mahogany-panelled hallway.

Great portraits hung on the walls, and a crystal chandelier drooped over their heads. Mahogany furniture flanked them, down each cream-painted wall. A wide staircase, laid with scarlet carpet, led into the upper floors, and more scarlet rugs lined the floor every six paces. Doors led off the hallway both left and right, and the doorway at the end of the hallway, past the stairs, emitted smells of cooking. A door opened to their right and a gentleman emerged in a tailcoat, holding a silver-topped cane.

"Ah! Admiral!" The man cried. Pellew smiled tightly and bowed.

"Mr Langdon."

"Come, come, man, join the fray!" Mr Langdon chortled, waving a fat hand at the two. He was short and rather rotund, with a pink face and red button nose above a large grey moustache. He wore a grey wig with great pride, never realising that it never sat quite right. He owned much of the estate around Portsmouth and even more in London, and was ridiculously rich, as well as proprietor of this such establishment, Pellew told Horatio under his breath, and it would do well to entertain his humour.

The room was distinctly red – red carpets, curtains and furniture coverings. A large tapestry hung on the wall near an enormous fireplace and more mahogany furniture lazed over the room. Women in full skirts and elaborate hair dotted the room amongst cigar-smoking, brandy-drinking men in evening coats. Mr Langdon made a beeline for a table near the centre of the room.

"Pellew, I would like you to meet my wife, Cecilia." A lady of tall and bony proportions stood and dipped in a curtsey. She had a long, thin neck and sharp features, with hazel eyes and flaming-red hair. Pellew and Horatio bowed. "Mr Brocklehurst, and his wife – my sister – Emma." Two more stood. Mrs Brocklehurst was very much like her brother – plump and pink-cheeked, it far better suited her than her sibling – and Mr Brocklehurst was a tall, grave man with little to say unless it was serious and important. "This is Admiral Pellew and…" Mr Langdon looked enquiringly at Horatio, who opened his mouth to speak.

"Captain Hornblower, of the Hotspur." Pellew interjected quickly. Horatio clamped his jaw shut, and bowed low to hide his offence.

"Ah yes. Quite an infamous name you have, Mr Hornblower." Mr Brocklehurst announced, sitting back down from where he had risen in greeting. Horatio quirked a smile.

"Thank you sir." Mr Brocklehurst raised and eyebrow and harrumphed as if it were not such a compliment as Horatio was assuming. A young lady still sat at the table, and Horatio tried not to look at her too closely, yet found his gaze drifting. She wore a dark blue dress, and her satiny honey-coloured hair in ringlets tied high on her head, as was the fashion. She was calmly inspecting her fingernails. Through the folds of her dress, Horatio saw a delicately curved woman, and found her fascinating.

"Admiral Pellew, Mr Hornblower, this is my daughter, Elizabeth." Mr Brocklehurst said shortly, noticing the young captain's gaze. At her name, Elizabeth glanced up and caught Horatio's look with a glint in her eye.