Fic Post
Hornblower/A Place of Greater Safety crossover. Rated G.
Hornblower finds his lips involuntary pursing with distaste as the man he has been ordered to transport steps aboard. He suddenly thinks of Bush’s words earlier that day when Hornblower informed him of who their passenger would be. ”Well I won’t be shaking hands with him, I can tell you that. I’d never get the blood off, for his hands must surely be saturated in the stuff.”
Hornblower is not offered so egalitarian a gesture as a hand shake, the man clutches his bag and states in slowly constructed English, “I am Maximilien Robespierre. You are Captain Hornblower?”
Hornblower is surprised at how ordinary the man seems, he looks like a clerk, not a revolutionary, or a bloodthirsty dictator. He nods in acknowledgement, “You will be shown to your cabin where you will be expected to remain. You will be permitted an hour’s exercise a day, escorted by a contingent of my marines. I want no trouble on this voyage.”
Robespierre offers no resistance or argument, “I thank you for your hospitality, Captain.” In truth Hornblower has found the whole meeting somewhat anticlimactic.
~
Hornblower had not stated when Robespierre was to take his hour’s exercise and is irritated to find that he prefers to do so at dusk for this is when Hornblower himself prefers to walk the decks. He considers ordering the marines to ensure their guest adopts another routine but in the end decides that this would be churlish. It is easy enough to nod and walk on when they meet.
He is disquieted the night Robespierre does not appear. Pellew had been explicit in one particular instruction to him, ”I don’t care how you do it but by God make sure you get him there alive. The last thing we need is for him to throw himself overboard.” Hornblower had been given an incredulous look when he had declared that surely Robespierre would have killed himself by now if he intended to. Pellew’s voice had been softer than his look when he replied ”A man can only wade through so much blood, Horatio. Eventually it will drown him.”
He promptly finds his marine sergeant and enquires why their passenger has altered his routine. The sergeant shrugs and tells him that Robespierre had asked to be left alone this evening. He hesitates before offering further explanation, “Sir…it is the fifth of April. I assumed that was why he wanted to be left alone.”
At Hornblower’s blank look the sergeant provides further illumination, “Desmoulins was guillotined on the fifth of April, Sir. They say they were great friends and Robespierre did nothing to save him, don’t they?”
Hornblower thanks the sergeant for the history lesson, turns on his heel, and heads towards Robespierre’s cabin, with his assurances to Pellew that he would deliver Robespierre alive foremost in his thoughts.
~
Hornblower does not knock before he opens the door; it takes a moment for his eyes to find what he is looking for and he is about to shout out for someone to fetch the doctor when the slumped figure on the floor speaks in French, “What do you want, Captain? As you can see I still live and I dare say I will until morning. That is my punishment you see, I live and live and live.”
Now that his initial panic is over Hornblower finds his nose wrinkling at the smell of alcohol permeating the small space of the cabin, he suspects is has been sloshed about. He has no sympathy for this self indulgent fit of maudlin introspection, replies in Robespierre’s own tongue, “Pity so many other’s can’t say the same, that they live. What did the Capet women ever do that justified their deaths apart from to be born in the circumstances they were? What did the little Dauphin do? They are just at the top of a pile of bones of your creation. ”
Hornblower feels a sudden surge of red hot anger in his chest as Robespierre suddenly laughs, “What did the child who does not survive the winter for lack of bread do? Or the man who toils in the sun all day for your British sugar as the sweat runs down the marks the lash has left? Or the woman who powders the sores on her face before going to her street corner? We are all victims of our birth, Captain, some just delay paying off the debt for longer.”
“Do you not regret any of them, man?” Hornblower closes his eyes each night and sees the faces of the dead, some he can name, were known to him, even loved by him. Many he cannot. He glimpsed them once and their meeting was the other man’s end.
Robespierre’s reply is not as strong as his previous words, “I regret them all.” He curls his knees up to his chest at that, rests his forehead and Hornblower hears him mumble, “Camille…my beautiful Camille…forgive me…” Then there is a sharp intake of breath and he raises his head to speak to Hornblower once more, “It is why I do not kill myself. I fear they are waiting for me. That he is waiting for me. Or worse that there would be nothing and my suffering would be over. I think I deserve to suffer a little longer, don’t you?”
Hornblower feels a strange intimacy in this moment, there is even a heartbeat or two when he considers telling Robespierre about Archie. Why he cannot say. He does not speak of Archie, of the grief and guilt that gnaws at his guts at best and crushes his heart in his chest so that he feels he will stop breathing at worse. Instead he answers Robespierre’s question.
“Yes. You do deserve to suffer.”
With that Hornblower turns on his heel and departs to resume his walk.
Hornblower finds his lips involuntary pursing with distaste as the man he has been ordered to transport steps aboard. He suddenly thinks of Bush’s words earlier that day when Hornblower informed him of who their passenger would be. ”Well I won’t be shaking hands with him, I can tell you that. I’d never get the blood off, for his hands must surely be saturated in the stuff.”
Hornblower is not offered so egalitarian a gesture as a hand shake, the man clutches his bag and states in slowly constructed English, “I am Maximilien Robespierre. You are Captain Hornblower?”
Hornblower is surprised at how ordinary the man seems, he looks like a clerk, not a revolutionary, or a bloodthirsty dictator. He nods in acknowledgement, “You will be shown to your cabin where you will be expected to remain. You will be permitted an hour’s exercise a day, escorted by a contingent of my marines. I want no trouble on this voyage.”
Robespierre offers no resistance or argument, “I thank you for your hospitality, Captain.” In truth Hornblower has found the whole meeting somewhat anticlimactic.
~
Hornblower had not stated when Robespierre was to take his hour’s exercise and is irritated to find that he prefers to do so at dusk for this is when Hornblower himself prefers to walk the decks. He considers ordering the marines to ensure their guest adopts another routine but in the end decides that this would be churlish. It is easy enough to nod and walk on when they meet.
He is disquieted the night Robespierre does not appear. Pellew had been explicit in one particular instruction to him, ”I don’t care how you do it but by God make sure you get him there alive. The last thing we need is for him to throw himself overboard.” Hornblower had been given an incredulous look when he had declared that surely Robespierre would have killed himself by now if he intended to. Pellew’s voice had been softer than his look when he replied ”A man can only wade through so much blood, Horatio. Eventually it will drown him.”
He promptly finds his marine sergeant and enquires why their passenger has altered his routine. The sergeant shrugs and tells him that Robespierre had asked to be left alone this evening. He hesitates before offering further explanation, “Sir…it is the fifth of April. I assumed that was why he wanted to be left alone.”
At Hornblower’s blank look the sergeant provides further illumination, “Desmoulins was guillotined on the fifth of April, Sir. They say they were great friends and Robespierre did nothing to save him, don’t they?”
Hornblower thanks the sergeant for the history lesson, turns on his heel, and heads towards Robespierre’s cabin, with his assurances to Pellew that he would deliver Robespierre alive foremost in his thoughts.
~
Hornblower does not knock before he opens the door; it takes a moment for his eyes to find what he is looking for and he is about to shout out for someone to fetch the doctor when the slumped figure on the floor speaks in French, “What do you want, Captain? As you can see I still live and I dare say I will until morning. That is my punishment you see, I live and live and live.”
Now that his initial panic is over Hornblower finds his nose wrinkling at the smell of alcohol permeating the small space of the cabin, he suspects is has been sloshed about. He has no sympathy for this self indulgent fit of maudlin introspection, replies in Robespierre’s own tongue, “Pity so many other’s can’t say the same, that they live. What did the Capet women ever do that justified their deaths apart from to be born in the circumstances they were? What did the little Dauphin do? They are just at the top of a pile of bones of your creation. ”
Hornblower feels a sudden surge of red hot anger in his chest as Robespierre suddenly laughs, “What did the child who does not survive the winter for lack of bread do? Or the man who toils in the sun all day for your British sugar as the sweat runs down the marks the lash has left? Or the woman who powders the sores on her face before going to her street corner? We are all victims of our birth, Captain, some just delay paying off the debt for longer.”
“Do you not regret any of them, man?” Hornblower closes his eyes each night and sees the faces of the dead, some he can name, were known to him, even loved by him. Many he cannot. He glimpsed them once and their meeting was the other man’s end.
Robespierre’s reply is not as strong as his previous words, “I regret them all.” He curls his knees up to his chest at that, rests his forehead and Hornblower hears him mumble, “Camille…my beautiful Camille…forgive me…” Then there is a sharp intake of breath and he raises his head to speak to Hornblower once more, “It is why I do not kill myself. I fear they are waiting for me. That he is waiting for me. Or worse that there would be nothing and my suffering would be over. I think I deserve to suffer a little longer, don’t you?”
Hornblower feels a strange intimacy in this moment, there is even a heartbeat or two when he considers telling Robespierre about Archie. Why he cannot say. He does not speak of Archie, of the grief and guilt that gnaws at his guts at best and crushes his heart in his chest so that he feels he will stop breathing at worse. Instead he answers Robespierre’s question.
“Yes. You do deserve to suffer.”
With that Hornblower turns on his heel and departs to resume his walk.