Chapter Text
“Well, I was a mere passenger on the schooner on my way to Gibraltar when this Spanish frigate blocked our path.” Hornblower listened, completely enraptured by the Dreadnought’s account. “We were outmanned and outgunned and should we have run, we certainly would have been outpaced.”
“Did they fire without warning, sir?” Mr. Bowles asked.
“Oh they had the decency to fire a warning shot. The audacity of them. Three supply ships taken by the French in as many weeks and now the Spanish think they can do the same? Well, this was one ship they would never take.” Hornblower smiled.
“So. I assumed command of the schooner, gave the order that we should attempt to take her. Now of course I knew that our chances were slim but I took comfort from the fact that we were forced to destroy their prize. And had I not acted, the schooner and her supplies would at this very moment be in the hands of the Spanish.”
“What of the crew?” Pellew asked quietly, his lips compressed as if in pain.
“You have a question, Captain?” Foster asked provocatively.
“I was merely wondering how many of the crew did the Spanish take from the sea?”
“I have no idea.” Foster said contemptuously. “At the time, my mind was engaged in more important matters than arithmetic.” Silence reigned around the table, though Hornblower had a smile playing about his lips.
“Am I to assume, Captain Pellew, that you would have surrendered?” It was a brazen thing to say to a fellow Captain; bordering on dishonor.
The men were uncomfortably silent, their knives and forks stilled.
“This is neither the time nor the place, sir, to discuss tactics,” Pellew answered tightly.
“Nonsense! We are all men of the sea, here. You!” Foster placed his hand on Hornblower’s forearm. “How would you have reacted under such circumstances?”
Pellew felt a flush of hot anger rise through him. He should have known better than to match verbal spars with Foster. The man was no different now than when they were mids. His uncanny ability to discern, in the span of an hour, Pellew’s regard for Hornblower - it was unnerving to be reminded of it. To use the young man’s admiration against him made Pellew’s bile rise to his throat. He was master and commander here. Not Foster.
“I think perhaps-” Pellew tried to intervene.
“Come on man,” Foster said patting the midshipman’s hand. “Out with it.”
“Well,” Hornblower cleared his throat, uncomfortable, trying for a diplomatic response. “I am pleased the Spanish have been deprived of our supplies, sir.”
Foster chuckled and saluted the young man with his cup. “Ah! See! Now there is a smart lad.”
Hornblower, sensing he had offended his captain, looked at Pellew, who did not meet his eyes and had a dark look on his brow.
Mr. Bracegirdle shook his head in admonishment, and Hornblower lowered his gaze.
Sir Edward suddenly stood. “I take my leave, sir,” he told Foster. As he quit the room, he heard Foster’s brash and calculating last shot, “I fancy you shall do fine, young man. I fancy you shall!”
*~*~*
At the conclusion of the meal, which continued in awkward halting conversation after Pellew’s departure, Mr. Bracegirdle excused himself to go and look for the captain. He had served with the commander since his midshipman days, some 15 years prior, when they were both still junior officers. Though Edward had never given him any specifics, he knew that Foster’s jealousy of Pellew’s capabilities and swift promotion through the ranks, had landed him on the receiving end of Foster’s subtle but vicious harassment. He rather suspected this was one of the reasons Pellew had taken young Hornblower under his wing. Pellew had seen in the young man’s brief naval experience something of the same torment that had plagued his own. Tonight’s performance, for that was what it was to Foster, was in keeping with his former efforts to discredit his adversary at every turn. Little did Foster understand, thought Bracegirdle with smug satisfaction, that Pellew was much beloved aboard the Indy .
The lieutenant saw his captain standing at the wheelhouse, worrying his hands behind his back. Approaching with uncustomary noise so that Pellew would not be startled, he saluted him. “Sir.”
“Mr. Bracegirdle.”
They stood in silence a while. “He will only be here a few days at most, Edward,” said Bracegirdle in what he hoped was a supportive tone. He saw Pellew’s shoulders stiffen.
“And how much damage can he cause in those few days?” Bracegirdle wasn’t sure if Edward were speaking rhetorically, but he decided to answer anyway.
“Every man jack on this ship is your man, Edward. Your man. Not Foster’s.”
“Not quite every man, I think, Anthony,” responded the captain ruefully.
The lieutenant turned and looked the older man in the eye. “He is young and starstruck. As we all are at that age. But he is loyal to you, and you are the one who holds his respect.”
Pellew looked down as if uncomfortable with the praise. After a moment he returned, “I swore I would never let that man’s tyranny reign over another soul if I could help it.” His voice bit through the wind and his clenched teeth. “I will not rest easy until that man is off my ship. Away from my men. Away from me,” he added quietly.
The deck was quiet. All but the two men on watch were below. Bracegirdle laid his hand on Pellew’s arm. “This is not the Esther, Edward.” The captain met his gaze, startled and resigned. He inhaled and squared his jaw.
“No. It damned well is not.”
*~*~*
The next morning found them with a fair breeze and calm seas. Bracegirdle however, could tell that the captain was troubled despite the weather. His eyes were rimmed in red and his brow was furrowed. He looked as if he’d had a sleepless and troubled night.
As he took stock of his captain, he watched Dreadnought Foster arrive on deck, look around to ascertain the situation, and then determinedly make his way towards Pellew. Moving toward his side, he clapped Pellew on the back as he spoke a hearty good morning, and assumed a position next to him, arms akimbo. Bracegirdle missed neither his commander’s grimace at the physical contact, nor the repositioning of his feet on the wheelhouse to inch himself away from Foster.
“Mr. Bracegirdle!” called out the captain.
“Aye, sir.”
“Take us into Gibraltar, if you please. Let’s make use of this breeze. We do not want to keep Captain Foster delayed longer than necessary.”
“Nonsense, Captain! It will be a pleasure to catch up with you and Mr. Bracegirdle on old times.”
“I regret that I will have to forgo that particular pleasure, Captain Foster. Mr. Eccleston,” he turned to the first lieutenant, “the deck is yours.” Eccleston saluted, and moved to mount the steps to the wheelhouse, as Pellew turned to return to the great cabin.
Foster halted him with a hand under his arm, which was both deceptively aggressive, and intimate. In a low tone he murmured, “Careful now, Edward, or I’ll think you’re running away from me. You used to enjoy our games of cat and mouse on the Esther, from what I can recall.” He flashed a malicious grin at Pellew.
Heart pounding, Pellew could feel his stomach roil, but he’d be damned if he let this poisonous viper see him show anything but cool indifference. “You are quite at your leisure without a ship, Foster. I, however, have no time for games. I leave you to your reverie.” Turning on his heel, he felt Foster’s fingers unclench his bicep as he strode toward his cabin with purposeful steps.
Pellew stood stock still in the cabin once the door closed behind him. His teeth were clenched so tightly that his jaw ached. The noisy exhalations from his nose sounded absurdly loud against the wooden walls. His arm still tingled where Foster’s fingers dug through. Unbidden, images of those fingers on other parts of his body rose before his mind’s eye. One hand at his throat, one hand roaming; hot noxious breath and spittle invading his mouth and nose as that face loomed over him. Unconsciously, Pellew touched the small scar on his chin, diagonal and silvery with age. Cut against the corner of the midshipmen’s mess table one evening when he’d been caught unaware. Pellew’s tongue suddenly unstuck from the roof of his mouth and he gasped aloud for breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. There was a warm pressure on his shoulder. Startled, he acted on instinct, pulling the dagger out of his belt and whirling around.
“Anthony?” He gaped, confused.
Bracegirdle’s eyes were wide, his lips opened slightly. He took a step back from the knife, his hand leaving Pellew’s shoulder. “I called you three times, but you didn’t respond,” he offered in explanation. He paused for a long moment. “You thought I was Foster.” It was a statement. Not a question.
Pellew took a ragged breath, wiped his sweaty brow, and viciously sheathed his dagger with shaky hands. “I don’t know who the devil I thought you were,” he rasped bitterly.
Bracegirdle moved closer again, now that Pellew appeared himself. “Why don’t you sit, sir.”
“I don’t need to sit,” he spat viciously. “I need a damn drink.” Striding to the wall behind his desk, he pulled a decanter and two glasses out of the niche. His hand shook as he poured two generous measures of the madeira. Bracegirdle remained silent, observing his friend with an increasingly furrowed brow. “I need that bastard off my ship, Anthony.”
“We will be there in a matter of hours.”
“It’s not enough.”
Bracegirdle sighed. “I can’t create the wind.”
Pellew whirled around, his face furious. “You think I complain merely for my own dislike of that detestable Goliath, hm? You know what he is like! What he is capable of! A few hours? My god, man, in a few hours he can have any of the midshipmen he wants!” His voice was shaking with rage and some of the fine madeira spilled over the side of the glass. “He was aboard that schooner for no more than 3 hours before he commandeered her and blew her to smithereens. Less than 3 hours!”
“He wouldn’t dare to try that on your ship--”
“The hell he wouldn’t. And you know it, Anthony.” He paused and took a drink. “But mark my words, if he does...I will shoot him myself.” Gulping down the remaining liquid, he took a deep breath. “I want a Marine at him on all times. He is not to go to the midshipmen’s mess without my knowledge.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And don’t stand there at attention, Anthony. Drink your wine,” commanded Pellew.
“I’m on duty sir, is that an order?”
“No, it damn well is not,” retorted Sir Edward who hadn’t seen Bracegirdle’s teasing smile. “Please,” he added in a tone straining not to be a command, “drink some wine.”
Bracegirdle regarded his captain for a long moment. It was unnerving to see him so agitated. “Nothing will happen to any man on this ship at the hands of Foster. I promise you that, Edward. He will be off your ship by evening. You can sleep tonight.” Their eyes met and held. Pellew gave an almost imperceptible nod. Bracegirdle rested his hand on Pellew’s shoulder. “He has no hold over you anymore, Edward,” said the lieutenant quietly. “You have risen above him.” He squeezed the older man’s shoulder and left.
Sir Edward let out a shuddering breath, stood straight, and jutted out his chin. “Get a hold of yourself, Pellew” he spoke softly to the empty room. Picking up Bracegirdle’s untouched glass, he downed it in one go. “Four hours.”