Crossing the Bridge

Archie’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the sick berth gradually. It was not as crowded as he had expected it to be. The malingerers and lightly wounded had been long since shooed away. Only those most affected by yesterday’s action remained. With a dismissive wrinkle of his nose at the foul air, he bolstered himself and entered.

He crossed the room, nodding at the men who were conscious, throwing a quick glance over their conditions. He tried to smile supportively, but his mind was too occupied for the expression to appear sincere.

Hornblower had not been wounded seriously. A Frenchman’s blade had found it’s way past his right arm in the melee. The cut had not appeared to be very deep and it was cleaned and wrapped with little ceremony. Horatio had actually been more upset by the damage done to his shirt than to his flesh. But the next morning, when Archie had come to get him for breakfast, Hornblower could barely stand. One would have thought in his weakened state he could have been ordered about with impunity. To Kennedy’s dismay, he discovered differently. It had taken a good two hours and all the charm that he could muster to coax the feverish lieutenant into reporting to the sick bay—and he had come dangerously close to simply carrying Horatio there at that.

The loblolly boy hovering over the hammock stepped aside deferentially as Archie approached. Horatio appeared to be sleeping; his chest rose and fell with shallow—but even—breaths. His face, flushed and glistening with sweat, seemed relaxed.

"He’s been resting for a while now, sir." the boy offered helpfully. "Took him a bit to get settled…impatient to get well, I suppose…" He darted a glance between the blond officer and the patient. "Sir, if you won’t be needing me…?"

Kennedy tore his eyes away from his friend. "Hmm…? Oh. No…no…we’ll be fine, thank you." He answered, forcing a cheerful grin. The young attendant smiled back and hurried off to his other duties. Archie’s gaze fell back to Horatio.

He was unused to seeing Horatio so helpless. True, he had seen him ill or wounded before, but it was not the norm…and definitely not the image Archie had formed in his mind of his friend. Horatio would pull through, of course; he always did, after all. And certainly, of all the fates for Horatio Hornblower to meet, succumbing to a mere fever was the least likely. For a brief moment, Archie’s stomach twisted as he considered a horrifying possibility, but common sense quickly got the better of him and he freed himself of the thought entirely. There was nothing that could be done to change matters. And there was no reason to be maudlin about it in any case. He picked up the cloth on the stand next to the hammock, wrung it out and gently wiped Horatio’s burning face.

The lids flickered for a moment, then opened to reveal two chestnut eyes peering blearily from underneath. Horatio conjured up a weak smile for his friend. "Archie…"

Kennedy smiled down at him kindly. "Good evening, H’ratio…comfortable?"

Another feeble grin. "Hardly." His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Archie dipped the cloth in the basin, startled at how quickly it had absorbed the heat from Horatio’s skin. "I didn’t mean to wake you…"

"I wasn’t asleep." He closed his eyes as Archie mopped his forehead a second time. "Thank you…"

"How’s that arm of yours?"

"No worse than yesterday."

Archie smiled again, running the cloth down Horatio’s neck and across his shoulders. He should have known not to expect his friend to speak honestly about weakness. "Any better?"

Horatio stared back at him solemnly. "There’s no reason for me to be here. I don’t *want* to be here..."

There was something unsettling about the sound of his voice. Archie swallowed but betrayed no other sign of discomfort. "I doubt very much that ANYONE wants to be here, Horatio." He immersed the washcloth once more and wrung it out, wiping the feverish brow again. "And you’ll be finished with this place soon enough…"

Horatio sighed and closed his heavy eyes again. "I can’t sleep here…"

Archie continued his ministrations, now keenly aware of the childlike quality in his friend’s voice. He could sympathize, recalling the restless nights he had spent on the few occasions he had found himself in the sick bay. But it was unlike Horatio to have such petty qualms…or, at least, to voice them. Kennedy hung the rag over the side of the washbasin and dried his hands on his trousers. "Perhaps I could bring you something to pass the time…a book maybe…?" He offered up a teasing smile as he pulled up a chair. "I can’t think of anything better to induce sleep than those navigation texts of yours…"

A faint sound masquerading as a chuckle came from the invalid. "Shakespeare, more like…" Horatio whispered thickly.

"I wager you’ve never given the Bard a decent trial, H’ratio." He sat back in the chair, his expression light while his eyes scrutinized the uncharacteristically lethargic man before him. "Perhaps I should read one of his plays aloud to you. Then you would appreciate him…"

"Yes…" The immature voice revealed itself again. "…Father read to me…when I was a boy…"

Archie leaned forward, his brows pinched in worried concern, but his tone still as conversational as ever. "He read you Shakespeare, Horatio?"

There was a weak shake of the head in response. "Stories…" Horatio rambled on breathlessly, "…about battles…"

"Oh, yes?" It was a perfunctory reply, given more to fill the air than anything else. How was it that staring at an ill man could be so discommoding?

"…And adventures…" Horatio continued on deliriously, "…and heroes…" Archie could not be sure, but he thought he saw Horatio wince at the last word. "I’m sorry…" Hornblower’s voice cracked, "I’m so sorry about the bridge…"

There was only one bridge that had occupied their thoughts of late, and Archie for one had no desire to revisit the debacle surrounding it. "No need to trouble yourself about France now, my friend…" he soothed, grabbing the washcloth again and swabbing the damp brow.

"Not France…Rome."

The perplexing response distracted Archie sufficiently that he stopped mid-task. Recovering as quickly as he could, he nonchalantly resumed his attempts to cool his friend’s fever-wracked body. "Rome, H’ratio?"

"The army of Porsena…thousands of men…marching straight toward the bridge over the Tiber…" He smacked his parched lips together.

"And the Romans fended them off, did they?" Setting aside the cloth, Archie grabbed the pitcher next to the hammock and poured some water into a mug lying nearby. He put his hand behind Horatio’s head, frowning to himself at the sweat-dampened curls and skin that was hot to the touch. "Here, drink…" he insisted, holding the cup to Hornblower’s mouth. Horatio obeyed, choking on the foul water as he swallowed. Archie paused to allow him to catch his breath, then offered him another sip. Horatio refused it with a stubborn shake of his head. Sighing, Archie carefully eased him back onto his pillow. He didn’t have the heart to fight him.

"Not the army…Only a few guards at the bridge…" Horatio corrected, returning to the story. "Three men…"

"Only three, Horatio?" Archie shrugged his brows sarcastically, "Poor management of resources to my mind. Little wonder Rome fell…"

"It didn’t…not then…" The dark eyes seemed duller than usual. The hands that typically accentuated every word their owner spoke seemed lifeless as they rested at his side. "One of the men...Horatius…told the Romans to…"

"Horatius?!" Kennedy smiled despite his worry and grunted in amusement.

"…To hew down the bridge…" Hornblower labored on, ignoring the comment—or perhaps being oblivious to the fact that it had been made. "…While he and his two friends kept Porsena’s men at bay…" A bead of perspiration trickled past his temple as he spoke.

"Brave men…" Archie commented, reaching for the cloth once more. "Or fools…"

"Just as the bridge was about to fall, Porsena’s horsemen dashed towards them again…and Horatius told the others to run for their lives…that he would keep the road…alone…"

The story was unfamiliar, but somehow its turn of events was not at all surprising to Archie. He ran the moistened towel over the fevered cheeks, frustrated his efforts did not seem to be providing any relief to Horatio. "So what happened then? Was he lost?"

"He did not leave his post…not until he heard the bridge fall and he knew the city was safe…even when an Etruscan dart put out his left eye…Horatius did not falter…" Hornblower swallowed uncomfortably and his face twisted into a grimace. "He did not falter…"

Archie tried desperately not to roll his eyes. "No, of course not…"

"And when they got closer…he cast his spear at the foremost horseman…and leaped into the river…armor and all…"

"Here," Archie coaxed, putting the cup to Horatio’s lips again. "Have another drink…"

Horatio managed to push it aside with a feeble wave of his left arm, determined to continue. "And when he reached the other side, shout after shout greeted him upon the bank…then Porsena’s men shouted also…" The pain evident in his expression increased as he quoted what could only have been a familiar phrase ingrained in his memory by frequent repetition. "For they had never seen a man so brave and strong as Horatius."

Laughable. That was the first word that came to mind to describe the reverence with which Horatio spoke. Not that he would have said it with any less flair had he been recounting the dramatic tale, but Archie found the mode of expression so unnatural in Hornblower as to be ludicrous. His worry and his inability to soothe his friend conspired to drain Kennedy of what little patience he had for such nonsense. He gave a derisive grin. "No doubt they would have been overwhelmed had they ever made the acquaintance of Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, RN." Archie checked his sarcasm, taking stock of the exhausted, forlorn look in his friend’s eyes. His tone softened. "You must drink, H’ratio. Sit up…I’ll help you…" Again, he supported Horatio’s head, holding the cup while Hornblower gulped greedily at the water.

"I’m no Horatius…" The invalid finally said sadly, slumping back into his hammock.

Archie rearranged the blanket covering him. "A good thing for you, sir, or you would be out one eye…"

"I’ve faltered…"

"Not to my recollection…"

"I could not hold the bridge…"

"You’ve held many bridges, my friend, and for far less noble objects than Rome."

Horatio blinked in surprise before considering the words. "Do you mean that?" He asked sleepily.

"Have I ever been insincere?" Archie could not help but chuckle at the pathetic expression of disbelief his friend shot at him. "I mean, when it’s important…"

Horatio sighed and shifted uneasily in the hammock. "Archie…I don’t want to be here."

"Then…recover."

"I’m not sick…"

"No. You’re a stubborn fool." A wicked grin parted Archie’s lips. "Just like that clot Horatius."

And weak though it was, Archie could not help but be encouraged by the smile that greeted him in return.