Eleven: Mysteries Are Revealed

La Sombra appeared in his typical surprising fashion. They had camped on the beach in Brest – a rare thing, but Horatio couldn't bear the confines of his cabin any longer. The masked leader had appeared at the fireside suddenly, taking most of the crew aback, but just bringing a smile to the captain's lips. An extra shadow appeared in the flickering flames, beside Horatio.

"You are very brazen – sitting on enemy territory." The announcement of his arrival made the men jump, but Horatio barely flinched, though he was as startled as the rest.

"I had the confidence that you would be nearby." He replied. The guerrilla and his four followers were invited to join them, and they did gratefully – the four soot-covered men preferring each other's company as opposed to the Hotspur crew, but La Sombra sat with Bush and Horatio. Bush talked with him lightly, about nothing in particular. But Horatio sat in silence, barely touching his food, staring at the fire. He watched the sparks crackle along the dry wood, consuming it feverishly. He did not notice when Bush stood and left. Nor did he notice La Sombra's scrupulous eyes.

"Do you love her?" Horatio nearly jumped into the air when the man spoke. He looked around.

"What?"

"The woman you're thinking of. Do you love her?" Horatio stared in shock as his companion, who just returned the gaze levelly. It unnerved him. "Come, sir, you do not think I am stupid."

"No, but…" He trailed off. Dare he mention the kiss? He sighed heavily and stared back at the fire. "How is it one person can have such a hold?"

"I don't know."

"My memory is consumed by her every waking minute and more so when I sleep. I dream of her every night and wish that I woke to her beside me." If Horatio had been able to see under the mask, he would have seen a blush. "I think I could love her. I think I do love her. But she is to marry, and that is best for her." He shrugged, trying to make it meaningless. "I could offer her nothing."

"Oh, quite the contrary, sir, I believe you could offer her everything she could ever wish for." The voice was so quiet in reply, Horatio wasn't sure if La Sombra had actually spoken at all. He made to rise, but Horatio halted him by lifting a hand and resting it on his elbow. Halfway to standing, the mysterious man looked down at him.

"Sir, if I may be so bold…" The masked stranger sat back down again. "I want to ask about our last… you see, I would like to know…" How could he phrase this? It was a tentative subject, and such bold questions were not in his nature – despite Admiral Pellew's belief.

"If I am a sodomite?" La Sombra asked lightly. He laughed. "No, I am most certainly not." Horatio was bewildered now – it seemed a curiously obvious answer.

"Then, why –"

"I don't know." He stood again and bowed quickly. "My men and I will be nearby, I assure you no one will know of your presence but us. Sleep well, Horatio." It took a few moments for him to realise that he had never told La Sombra his title – let alone his first name.

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Admiral Pellew bowed to Mr Brocklehurst as the proprietor greeted his guest in the drawing room.

"Ah, Admiral. What can I do for you?" Mr Brocklehurst had certainly seemed less serious since the engagement was announced. Pellew smiled slightly.

"It is rather what your daughter can do for me. You see, I was hoping for an audience with Miss Brocklehurst." The father looked a little chagrined at that.

"Alas, she has gone to visit Miss Taylor again, despite my express wish for her not to. Elizabeth is a very loyal friend." Pellew frowned.

"Indeed. Well, it is rather urgent I'm afraid. Do you have the address of the Taylors?"

"No. Apparently it is quite a distance though. I can certainly get Giles to send word to her of your visit."

"Yes. I guess that will have to do." Pellew rubbed his chin thoughtfully before taking his leave. "Thank you, Mr Brocklehurst." That was very insightful, he added silently, before heading back to his ship and instructing them to set sail for Brest. There was more happening there than just Bonaparte.

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"Fine morning, captain." Observed La Sombra from behind Horatio, making him jump. He turned to see his companion dressed, as always, in black, masked face tilted to the sky and gloved hands clasped behind his back. He rocked briefly on the balls of his feet and smirked at Horatio. "Let us hope it says so fair." Their mission had been delayed two days already from poor weather – first, thick overpowering sea fogs that meant they couldn't see beyond their noses and the next and almighty storm, and it had been too dangerous in the woods, as was proven when a tree was hit by lightening and had nearly burned half the forest if they hadn't intervened.

"Indeed, sir." The captain smiled. The sun was bright and fresh – the sky clear of all clouds, and the wind was a brisk, cool westerly.

"Now," his friend said, treading towards him, "what is the task this time?" Horatio laughed.

"We are simply to scout the area and send a report to the admiralty. Boney's been up to something along this coastline for a long time and this is a regular foray. And besides, I thought you only appeared when in need and knew everything, especially what to do." La Sombra shrugged lightly, his face sparking playfully. He was in high spirits today, the captain observed, and found his own lifted too.

"Ah, but this is merely a leisure visit, sir, I assure you." Horatio harrumphed before replying:

"Then I pray it remains leisurely."

"Oh, I doubt it will." La Sombra quipped, before moving further away to talk to Bush. He shook his head at the irrepressible leader, continuing to unload the quarter boat.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur, mais…" The guerrilla follower looked bashful. "You are ze Capitan 'Ornblowurr."

"Yes."

"I am a great admirur of your wurk, monsieur." Horatio felt flattered, and gave a shy smile.

"Thank you."

"Non, merci beaucoup. You are an inspiration to us." The man bowed low. "I am an 'umble followur of La Sombra, and it is an honour to meet you."

"I rather think I should be thanking you, sir. You and your fellows have saved us on more than one occasion." The man grinned widely and bowed low to the ground.

"It is our duty, monsieur, to our country and our leadur." The man left, and was replaced again by La Sombra, who laughed at Horatio's blushes.

"My men are very loyal, sir. And they are much in awe of you."

"I'm not sure –"

"Don't ask why, sir." La Sombra interrupted seriously. "You know what you have done for their country and your men. To them, your deeds and your name is enough to give them heart." He paused meaningfully. "You are so much to the rest of us, and yet you do not see yourself in such a light." He sounded almost curious. "The ultimate symbol of selflessness."

The scouting party was just one of three, spread out across the stretch of land beyond the landing beach, scouring the area for any signs of Bonaparte. The documents Horatio had retrieved before had signified a strong concentration of activity in this vicinity, and Admiral Pellew had expressed a strong wish for him to explore it further. Horatio looked at those around him; Styles, Matthews and La Sombra. Bush was leading another, together with two of La Sombra's men, and Horak leading the third party with the last of the guerrillas. The marines were staying on the beach, to guard the boat and cover a retreat. They were all on their bellies, wriggling over the tough grass to look into the next hollow of ground. The previous one had been empty – bereft of even wildlife. Now, they peered over the natural ledge into the hollow, pistols by their cheeks. Nothing.

"Look." Styles hissed suddenly, pointing downwards. Amongst a throng of ferns was a boot. Quickly and surreptitiously, the four descended and approached the ferns. Horatio leant in and grasped the boot and pulled. With a crash and crack of breaking undergrowth, a body appearing, half-stiffened in rigor mortis, and the skin a pallid grey-blue colour underneath republican uniform. La Sombra sucked in his breath, grabbing Horatio and yanking him away from the body.

"What is it?" The captain queried.

"Disease. Look." Around the corpse's mouth and eyes were swarms of flies, feasting on what looked like crusted green-yellow pus. All of them instinctively took another step back. "They were here. But something poisoned them, and they've gone." Horatio looked around, scanning the trees.

"Well, they must be nearby – the body's not more than two days." As if in answer there were shouts and cracks of musket fire. Breaking into a run, he realised it was Bush's party. Swearing, he quickened his pace, drawing his sword at the same time. Matching him step for step was La Sombra, face drawn in a pale line. He would be worrying for his men. They began to scale the slope, but breaking through the trees were Bush and his party, closely followed by republicans, some on horseback. La Sombra fired his pistol at the same time as Horatio, felling two Frenchmen. Bush was soon next to them, and they began a desperate retreat. They were joined by Horak's party at the lip of the slope to the beach, but the republicans closed in around them, forcing them along the ridge as opposed to down it. The guerrilla leader took them into a dense patch of trees where the horses couldn't follow. Crouching down, every man loaded their pistol. One of the blacked-out rebels shots an approaching republican.

"Ready to make your last stand?" Bush whispered, somewhat good-naturedly.

"Not quite." La Sombra replied, shooting another Frenchman and reloading.

"Well I don't see a way out." Horatio argued.

"See where this thicket thrusts out?" The leader nodded his head in the direction of the jut of trees. "It goes partway down to the beach, and the rest is covered by bushes and nettles. I'll cover your retreat if you get to the boats." A bullet ricocheted off a tree trunk nearby.

"But what about you?" La Sombra shot his pistol before answering.

"I'll be all right. I've never been caught before." He flashed a wicked grin. "Now go, before the French reach the beach." Horatio opened his mouth to protest, but Bush grabbed his arm, and he led his men away from the guerrillas as the fighting broke out anew. The trees were tightly clustered together for a good few feet down the slop, keeping the Hotspur crew well hidden. At the edge of the thicket, high brambles and ferns were pockmarked with nettles and wildflowers. This was their escape route. One by one, the captain ushered them down – sending Horak first and Bush in the middle to protect their whereabouts.

"Just you and I left, Matthews." Horatio murmured.

"Aye, aye sir." Matthews crept into the undergrowth as the shots came nearer. La Sombra was retreating too. For a moment, Horatio considered going back and helping. "Captain! Sir!" Matthews hissed, beckoning to him; with a regretful glance and reluctant sigh, he started his passage downwards. From behind, he heard more cracks of muskets and a distinctive cry of pain. Horatio froze, looking back up the slope. Matthews stopped too, his grey head further down. The cry was odd – a strange sound in battle, though they weren't sure why. It seemed out of place, and the captain couldn't connect it with the masked leader he knew.

"Matthews, with me!" He called in a hushed voice, and ran as fast as he could back to the thicket. Lying half sheltered by a tree at the edge of the thicket was La Sombra, panting with his eyes closed and teeth gritted. "La Sombra!" He called, and the man opened his eyes, the blue marred with agony. He could see the black shirt slick and shining with blood on the right shoulder, a musket-shot hole in the cloth.

"My pistol arm." La Sombra groaned. "It's ruined."

"But you're not yet, sir." Horatio leant down and helped him to his feet as Matthews shot an approaching republican.

"All my men." La Sombra gasped fitfully as they escaped down the slope. "Dead… Oh Lord…" Horatio shushed him as they reached the rocks bordering the beach. Gunfire exploded around them, and he could hear Bush shouting instructions. They reached the boat and took cover behind it. The masked leader had lost too much blood to stay steady on his feet, but Horatio could see the exit wound through his shoulder blade as he lay the young man down in the sand. All of a sudden the firing stopped. He looked up, startled by the onslaught of silence.

"Mr Bush. What's happening?" His lieutenant stood.

"All dead sir." Horatio grimaced.

"There'll be more. Prepare the boat to return to the ship." It was Bush's turn to grimace. The captain looked questioning.

"Sir." He looked at the boat and his heart plummeted. "They managed to scupper it with musket fire before Mr Horak mounted an attack on his arrival. Without his quick thinking, the marines would have been killed." The boat was punctured with several sizeable holes – it would sink if they tried to row it. After thanking Horak for his bravery, Horatio resigned himself to the fate that he was to die on the beach. The Hotspur was at a significant distance out to sea, around the next headland, so as not to be spotted, and he had no way of getting word to them for a rescue.

"I am sorry you are to die alongside me." La Sombra told him as dusk fell and the sea mists came in. Horatio tutted.

"You won't die. Besides, if it were to come to that, then I will be honoured to die at your side." The masked man laughed quietly, wincing as the makeshift bandage covering his wound moved. It was a torn shirt from a fallen marine, tied around the outside of his shirt, as he had refused to remove it.

"It would be more of an honour if I could fight."

"There's fight left in you yet." He laughed again, then groaned.

"Please, don't make me laugh." They were interrupted from further conversation by Horak standing and pointing out to sea, calling:

"Sail ho!" Horatio stood too, and followed the midshipman's direction. Sure enough, on the horizon and rapidly approaching, were billowing white sails. "I can't make out the colours sir."

"Glass." He instructed, and aimed it at the ship. "Colours are hidden, Mr Horak." He lowered the telescope. "We have to assume the worst, gentlemen." He looked at the dejected faces, and then to La Sombra, propped against the hull of the ruined boat. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, sir." Styles sighed. "We'd have followed you all the same – whatever happened." Horatio felt touched at the loyalty, and it warmed his heart and brought a smile to his lips, which was shared by La Sombra – whose curl of his mouth was jaded by the pain from his shoulder. He sat beside the wounded man and turned the telescope over and over in his hands, staring at the dusk glinting dully from the polished wood and glass.

"The mists are coming in fast. And thick. We won't see anyone until they're upon us." He told the captain, a breathlessness to his voice.

"Are you all right?"

"Well enough, I assure you."

"Your wound is very serious, you know. If we don't get you to a surgeon soon –"

"Then I will die. I know the consequences, Horatio." He replied wearily. There was a moment of silence as Horatio pondered his words. They were announced with defeat.

"How do you know my name? I don't even know yours." There was a rasping chuckle, and the black-clad man shifted slightly in the sand – trying to alleviate the throbbing in his shoulder.

"I know more about you than you would think." But however much the captain cajoled, La Sombra would say no more on the subject. Instead, he expressed his wish to sleep. He couldn't deny the request, and so left him to sleep – wile away the hours until the French came upon them. It was not a heroic last stand, as he had wished once. But, Horatio decided, he needed no heroic gestures, for who would remember them? Not Elizabeth…

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The muffled splash of oars arrived at the stranded crew of the Hotspur suddenly, and they all jumped to their feet, ready for the battle. They heard the crunch at the hull of the boat hit the sand and the splash of feet jumping into the shallows to pull it ashore. Dim shapes appeared in the fog, and Horatio tilted his pistol.

"Hornblower, man, is that you? Don't shoot." Demanded a familiar voice. Horatio, stunned, called:

"Lower your weapons, men. Admiral Pellew!" He resisted the urge to embrace the tall frame of the Admiral as his features became distinguishable. "We thought… when we saw the sails…"

"Quite." Pellew said abruptly. "We've brought two more boats. Get your men in them quickly."

"Sir. What about..?" He indicated to the still sleeping La Sombra. Pellew looked mildly surprised. "He's hurt badly and needs a surgeon immediately."

"We'll take him to my ship. You go with your men back to the Hotspur." He winced.

"Sir. If it's all right with you, I'd prefer to accompany him to your ship…" Resignedly, Pellew agreed, his eyes betraying more than he said, but Horatio was too occupied with La Sombra to notice.

Pellew's surgeon was an experienced man named James Fairweather. He took one look at La Sombra, who had fallen quickly into unconsciousness in the boat, and ushered them into his room. Laying him on the table, he stirred and moaned but didn't wake. Horatio looked almost as pale as the patient, and Pellew surreptitiously watched him closely.

"He's got a fever, I can break it, but first let's see this wound." Fairweather announced confidently after feeling the man's forehead. Horatio stuttered excuses about returning to the Hotspur. He left the surgeon carefully unwinding the temporary bandage before unbuttoning La Sombra's blood-soaked shirt. Fairweather frowned and stood back. "Now. That is odd."

"Yes. It is." Pellew agreed; something just short of triumph in his voice. "Send for Captain Hornblower, I wish for his presence." Horatio was stopped as he was waiting for the boat to be lowered by one of the crew, telling him that Pellew required him immediately. Frowning, Horatio returned, and opened the door to the strangest sight he had seen in a long time.

La Sombra lay on the table, with Pellew and Fairweather standing next to him, deep in discussion. The injured man's shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a thin, lithe, pale body, wrapped tightly with white bandages around his chest. The shoulder wound was bound, though bright red blood was faintly showing through already. His hat had been removed, revealing a knot of golden hair on the top of his head – in a familiar shade and longer than normal.

"Sir. You wished to see me?"

"Ah, yes. Mr Hornblower." Admiral Pellew beckoned him in, and then indicated to La Sombra. "I was wondering if you could tell us what this is about. You see, we are in rather a conundrum. The bandages, Mr Hornblower, what are they for?"

"Sir?"

"We have come to two conclusions." Pellew continued sharply, staring intently at Horatio. "Can you tell us what these are?" He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure on how to reply. "Well, our patient here may have been previously injured of course – but that would suggest blood, and it is rather surprising if he had survived a chest wound. So that would leave us one other option."

"Sir. I don't quite follow."

"He's hiding something, man!" Pellew stormed suddenly, frustration in his face. There was silence. Slowly, Horatio moved beside La Sombra, reached up and unpinned the hair, which fell in a soft wave off the table, hanging like a sheet of gold. His heart was pounding, and he reached around and untied the black silk mask covering La Sombra's face. The room was tight with tension, and Horatio pulled the mask off – slowly, and a little reluctantly. The eyes were shut and seemingly peaceful, for the brows were relaxed. A small, straight nose was covered in freckles, which spread over high cheekbones above full pink lips. He felt sick.

"Elizabeth…" He whispered, his voice barely audible. Suddenly acutely aware that her torso was exposed, he blushed and wrapped the shirt around her again, covering her modestly. Pellew nodded to Fairweather, and they left, leaving Horatio with the girl. "Oh Lord, what have you done?" He groaned, touching her frail fingers inside the black gloves.