He smiles at me, and it lights his face.  I cannot help but smile back, loving him.  He is my true north – fanciful, perhaps, yet an undeniable truth.  Before Horatio came, I was lost.  Now, there is a way back for me, and it is Horatio.  In his presence I feel alive again.

This is doubly true today; his excitement at the prospect of shore leave is so contagious that I find it hard to concentrate on my duties without grinning at him.  The Captain has granted us a whole two days ashore in Portsmouth and it is Horatio's first leave since we joined the Indy some months ago.  Oh, he does not make his anticipation obvious, of course.  Horatio takes his responsibilities very seriously, and would never wish to give the men the impression that he is eager to leave the ship while there is still one rope left which may be coiled more neatly.  But as he goes about his duties for the hour before we are due to leave, the excitement sparkling in his eyes is evident to any who know him well, and his lips are losing the struggle not to curve into a smile.

No sooner does the boat leave us ashore than we are accosted by the whores who ply their trade at the dockside.  It must be lean pickings indeed for them to try so hard for two midshipmen: they know as well as any naval officer how poorly we are paid.  I laugh with them as I steer Horatio through their number.  His cheeks are red, and his eyes seem glued to the cobblestones in front of his feet.  I am reminded again how young he is; only a year younger than I, but we are worlds apart.  Yet when we are settled in a snug tavern where the food and ale are good and the crackling of the fire is enough to drown out the sounds of rain outside, I can imagine we are the same.  Laughing with Horatio, entertaining him with wild tales of places he has not yet seen, I am content.  His laughter is my happiness.

Eventually, Horatio levers himself, somewhat unsteadily, to his feet.  When I too rise, I find that the room behaves in an unpredictable manner, and realise that I have imbibed more than is usual.  The ungainliness of Horatio's movements beside me leads me to the conclusion that the same is true of him.  Somehow though we find our bedchamber, and enjoy a spirited argument while we undress as to who will have the most comfortable part of the bed.  And then I am sinking in softness, in sheets that do not smell of the sea, and Horatio is commenting on how peculiar it is to be in a bed that is stable on the floor.

"Stable?" I echo in tones of disbelief as the walls of the room move around me.  "You should try this side, Horatio – it tosses worse than the Indy in a storm."

"You, Mr Kennedy, are drunk," he tells me.

"Drunk?"  I sit up, indignant at the charge.  The room spins briefly, but then stops.  "I shall show you who is drunk, Horatio.  Mr Hornblower, sir."  And I do.  For no sooner do I lunge for him than I miss, and fall face-first into the pillow where his laughter drowns out my own.

It takes us some time, but eventually we have the sleeping arrangements sorted to our satisfaction, and conversation lags as we both settle deeper into the unaccustomed softness of a mattress.  It is then, when the light is out and we have been quiet for a few minutes, that he speaks.

"Those women, at the dock."

"Hmmmn?"  I am not quite asleep, but it is close.

A long finger pokes into my ribs.  "Archie."

I sigh.  Loudly.  "What?"

"Those women," he says again.  I fight the temptation to tell him he has already said that.  It will only delay sleep further, and there is never any point arguing with Horatio.  He always wins.

"What about them?"

"The things they were saying… "  Embarrassed, he tails off.  Only briefly, I find to my disappointment.  "How did you know what to say to them?"

"You'll become accustomed to them, Horatio," I tell him.  "They are on every dockside of every port in the world.  The language is different, but the business is the same."

There is a silence.  Just as my eyes are closing and I am beginning to hope that this is it, he speaks again.

"Have you ever been with a woman, Archie?"

I almost choke as I come fully awake again.  Horatio, asking me something of this nature.  He must be more drunk than I had realised.

"No."  With another companion I would embroider my earlier tall tales, but there is no need to do so with Horatio.  Rolling to face him, I find the moonlight through the window is enough for me to see his face.  He is waiting, half in hope and half in shame for me to ask him in return.  I know the answer before I ask, but it is cruel to let him know I do.  "Have you?"

He is silent for a moment.  "No," he admits, and it sounds reluctant.  "I have never even kissed one.  What is it like to kiss, Archie?"

Now it is my turn to feel embarrassed.  "I don't know," I confess.

He is staring at me.  "But – but you are older than I, you have been at sea so much longer.  How can you not know?"

"As you point out, I have been at sea," I remind him.

The bed suddenly shakes as he breaks out into laughter.  "I'm sorry, Archie," he gasps out, "I had not realised.  I cannot, after all, imagine you kissing Lieutenant Eccleston!"  He chokes then, "Or even – " and here his voice grows hushed for a moment – "the Captain.  Oh Lord, can you imagine!"

I try to smile.  "I think perhaps you are drunk, Mr Hornblower.  I wish you a good night, for I am sure it will not be a good morning for you."

And, a little surprised that I managed to get that out without stumbling over my words, I turn over and pull up the blanket.

The chuckles stop soon after that, and then I am aware of him moving close behind me.

"Archie?"

His hand is on my shirt, stroking the sleeve.  "Archie, how would – how would I meet a woman?"

I answer the question that he really wants to ask, perhaps because I do not know the answer to the one he has asked.

"You do not have to go to the docks, Horatio," I reassure him.  "There are even places where you can hire a room as well."

"As well?"  he echoes, puzzled for an instant.  And then he understands.  "You think I would go to a whore?"  He is furious, pulling away from me.

I am silent, damning the ale I have drunk and the lack of clarity in my head.

"I am not like that, Archie."

I remain silent, knowing that I have offended him.  I was wrong to say what I did.  He is not like anyone I have ever known, and sometimes I forget that.

He moves closer against me, and I feel his warm breath on my neck.  "Archie," he starts again, "I do not want a whore, who wants me only because I have paid her.  I want somebody who cares about me."

I nod, my throat tight.  I know what he means.

"Yet how am I to find a sweetheart when we are at sea so often?"  He sounds so sad.  "And any woman I would want for my sweetheart would not expect to be so used."

He's leaning over me, and I'm aware suddenly of his hand brushing back the hair from my face.  I freeze.

"Archie, I want to know what it's like."

My heart is pounding so loudly that I am sure he can hear it.

"Archie…"  His ale-soaked whisper is against my ear.  "I know that men can be together in that way.  The captain of the Marie Galante – in his cabin, there was a book.  I did not understand all the text, the French was strange in places, but there were pictures.  It cannot be so very different, surely.  Please, Archie, I want to know."

My throat is full again, this time of bile.  He does not know what he is asking.  "Horatio – "

"Please, Archie."  He has rolled so that his body is pressed tightly against mine, and I can feel him breathing, fast and excited.  "Please…."

I turn to face him, trying to find the words I need, but instead his kisses rain down on my face, desperate and innocent, and I am lost.

I show him what he wants to know.  I let him use my mouth until he is wild with passion, and then I turn over for him.

He lies on top of me afterwards, kissing my skin, gasping his gratitude.  I keep my face buried in the pillow and close my eyes against the burning sting of tears.

After all, it is not so high a price to pay for Horatio's friendship.

 
End