#caudebec

[sanguinarysanguinity]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @boatcats, thank you!

-

A few hours after Lieutenant Livingston's interview, the Seine, first backed by the tide, then released by it, began bringing down the grisly remains of the night's work. Le Havre's fishing fleet brought in a ghastly catch. In two cases the remnants of a man were still identifiable. In neither case was the man Bush.

Hornblower retired that night in the blackest solitude he could remember. His loneliness of the night before was trifling, a nothing. It might have been relieved simply by summoning Dobbs or Howard to him, and at no greater price than being perceived as human. Such imposture now seemed despicable. His humanity was proven; his loneliness unalterable. There were no words sufficient to the profundity of his sorrow. He had once had a friend. That friend was no more.

He was woken in the dark hours by Brown, a candle in one hand and Dobbs just behind him. Dobbs had thrown on his uniform coat over his nightshirt; his bare calves showed beneath.

"Sir... sir..." Brown said, and Hornblower tried to rouse himself, visions of Quiot leading a sortie against Le Havre during the night… But no, he had been foiled too thoroughly for that…

"Sir, a boat has just arrived at the quay," Dobbs said. "The gunner of the Nonsuch and two men more. Captain Bush is with them."

Captain Bush.

Hornblower barely noted the curious phrasing -- Captain Bush is with them, when it should have been Captain Bush leading them -- before he had thrown back the covers with such urgency as to nearly upset Brown's candle.

-

Tagging @vastwinterskies, @hms-ratfiish, @chiropteracupola, @beanarie, @petralemaitre, @phoenixfalls, and anyone else who would like to play.

[tgarnsl]

🌤️ (for a Hornblower fic especially!)

From Caudebec, my Hornblower amnesia story:

—

“Come in,” ordered Hornblower, crossing the room to the table and pouring himself another glass of wine. “You can sit down by the fire.” He drained the glass and turned around to where William now sat in the armchair. He could only imagine how he must appear to the shade of his dearest friend: his jacket gone, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his shirt open to the throat. Perhaps it was right that William should see him in such dishevelment; it was more fitting for a coward and a sinner such as he to be so unkempt, instead of the image of the polished and refined lord he worked so hard to present to the world.

“Sir?” asked William, and the restraint Hornblower had built up so carefully for weeks shattered at last.

“Never call me that,” he snapped, rounding on William with such fury that the man actually shrank back against his chair. “He called me that, not you.” It took Hornblower’s addled mind a moment to realise that William’s eyes were wide with fear, and the sight of the poor creature huddled before him was enough to douse the anger that burned in Hornblower. “William,” he said, overcome with guilt, “Oh, forgive me, William, I forget myself.” He knelt before William and took William’s rough, scarred hands into his own.

William was trembling but he swallowed hard and looked Hornblower in the eye. “Tell me, my lord,” he said quietly. “Tell me what it was you wished to say to me.”

Hornblower caressed William’s hands for a long moment, gathering what little strength he could from the touch of his friend, before rising to his feet and turning his back on William. He rested a hand on the chimneypiece, the stone strong and reassuring, and drew a last, deep breath.

“When the Court of Inquiry convenes tomorrow I cannot have you tell them about the letters,” he said. “If the Court asks how you have been regaining knowledge of your former life you must only say that it was through conversation with me. Are we clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” said William, then: “Can you tell me why?”

Hornblower stared into the crackling fire for a moment, the flicker of the flames across the wood soothing in their movement. “I can,” he said carefully, “But if I tell you it may change everything. Those letters —” The fire popped and spat in the silence between his words. “They contain things that no decent man would wish to know. Wicked things.” His hand tightened around the chimneypiece as with the grim unreality of a nightmare he felt his heart break with the knowledge of what he knew he must say next. “I am a sinner, William, in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the law. Those letters bear the proof of it.”

“Horatio,” said William gently, and Hornblower’s soul ached to hear his name spoken in the voice of the one he had once loved so dearly. A hand touched his shoulder but he shied from it, unable to look upon William’s familiar face for fear of what he might see there.

“You cannot know what you ask of me,” Hornblower said. “You were an accomplice in my offence.”

William drew a sharp breath. “Sawyer?” he asked, but Hornblower shook his head.

“No. Do not ask this of me, William, not if you wish to carry on as you did before. Take me at my word that you do not want this part of your past to taint your future.”

A hand touched his shoulder again, but this time Hornblower did not shy from it. “Tell me,” said William. “Please. All I ask of you is to tell me the truth, no matter how ugly it may be.” Hornblower turned to him then, and saw behind the carefully neutral expression the unspeakable grief etched into every line of William’s rugged face. “Tell me who I was, sir,” he said, his fingers digging into Hornblower’s shoulder. “It’s all I ask.”

Hornblower held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “As you wish,” he said, his voice weary and broken. “Sit down.” The letters were in the secret compartment of his trunk where he had left them: he removed the oilskin packet and drew up a chair across from William’s. “I wrote this to you the morning after I received my promotion to commander. You were still laid up in hospital at the time — God only knows what I was thinking in sending it to you.” He found the letter easily enough, the thin paper as soft as silk from years of handling. “Shall I read it to you?”

“Please,” said William.

Hornblower unfolded the letter, trying to ignore the trembling of his hands, and cleared his throat. “‘B,’” he began. “‘I stole away from you while you slept — I daresay you will forgive me after last night.

There are no words that can convey the magnitude of what you have done for me. Curious, how one little thing can cause such a shift — and yet is it not the smallest actions that always lead to the greatest of outcomes? I was adrift, lost at sea, but you found me and drew me homeward again. A strange and uncommon sentiment has come over me, one I scarce thought I would ever know; I place no trust in hope, as well you know, but yet I cannot help but hope you share this sentiment.

Perhaps it is too much to hope — perhaps I am foolish to think we share something greater than comradeship and if that is so, burn this letter and we shall speak no more about it. But if I am right, wait for me at the King’s Wharf two days hence.

Your obedient and most devoted friend,

H.’”

He refolded the letter and slipped it back in its oilskin case. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. Only when he caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye did Hornblower realise that William was holding his broken watch, tracing the inscription on the inner lid with his finger. His eyes glinted glassy in the flickering light.

“I’m sorry,” said Hornblower. “William, I’m sorry.”

William drew a ragged breath. “Did I love you?” he asked.

Hornblower nodded. “Yes. More than I deserved.” He closed his eyes against the tears that pricked them. “And I — I loved you, in my way. But I fear I was never any good at it.” He cleared his throat, mortally embarrassed, and rose from the chair to stand once more before the fire. “Forgive me, William,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever must you think of me?”

William was silent for a long moment. “I think I must have been a fortunate man to have loved someone like you, my lord,” he said quietly.

“You were a brave man,” said Hornblower, remembering that night on the Renown when Bush had first pulled him into a kiss, so heady and sweet that Hornblower had clung to Bush for some moments after it ended, astonished to find that the ship should swing at anchor so in such calm waters. Bush had been quite concerned at his silence, insisting that Hornblower lie down in the cot beside him, and Hornblower had obeyed, utterly at a loss for what to do. He had never before had a friend like Bush who treated him with such kindness. He had never even been kissed.

[tgarnsl]

🌀? (It seems like a suitably nautical emoji, if a slightly ominous one...)

Thank you for the ask!

Caudebec

France, 1819

Five years after the death of Captain William Bud in the disastrous raid to destroy Bonaparte’s powder barges at Caudebec, Lord Horatio Hornblower returns to the town to say his final farewell to his closest friend, only to find that Bush’s fate may not have been what he thought.

[tgarnsl]

constantlyinflux on Discord requested: shoot, skin, almost. 

(Slightly cheating on the first one. Send me some words and I’ll see if I can dig something out of my various WIPs!)

--

The letters were in an oilskin packet in his valise. The shirt was there too, folded inside the canvas bag with its river stones; he’d had no shot on hand with which to weight it down. He pulled the shirt out and pressed it to his face, breathing it in, but it a futile effort — whatever scent it might have held once long gone — and he cursed himself for his weakness. There was nothing there, no trace of Bush to be found, and he was a fool to think otherwise.

--

Will was looking at him strangely: Horatio frowned at him. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Turn your head that way, sir,” said Will, guiding Horatio’s chin with his fingers.

“Well, what is it?” He could feel Will’s fingers on his collar, fussing with the stiff band and the fabric of his shirt. He resisted the urge to slap Will’s hand away. “What on earth are you doing?”

“There now, sir,” said Will, his hand lingering at Horatio’s neck. “Your collar has been bothering me since we met. It’s as if you dress in the dark.”

Horatio scowled at him and pulled Will’s hand from his neck. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. His skin tingled where Will had touched it: he tried not to think about it too hard.

--

Will nodded and stroked Horatio’s cheek with the back of his hand. “You look almost like a passenger dressed so,” he said, gesturing to the coat. “I’ve half a mind to take you to a dance. I’ll dance with you, if you wish — no one will mind.”

“I don’t dance,” said Horatio, wishing he did.

“Then take a turn around the deck with me. It’s a good night for watching the skies — I’m sure you know more than I of the stars and their arrangements.” He offered his arm. “Walk with me awhile. There’s nothing improper about two friends walking.”

[fnielaubin]

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[sergephilippelecourt]

© Serge Philippe Lecourt, Monument aux morts de Caudebec-lès-Elbeuf.

Le monument aux morts de Caudebec-lès-Elbeuf trône sur une place de la ville et regarde fièrement vers l’horizon, celui de la victoire et d’un nouvel espoir. On peut lire cela dans les yeux creux qui donne pourtant un regard si profond à ce Poilu de calcaire.

Caudebec-lès-Elbeufs © Serge Philippe Lecourt, Monument aux morts de Caudebec-lès-Elbeuf. Le monument aux morts de Caudebec-lès-Elbeuf trône sur une place de la ville et…

[pedro1664]

Langue de bois.