“Yes, my Lord.”
Nothing mattered now. Nothing was of any value.
“And I have advised His Lordship,” went on Bentinck, indicating Collingwood, “that for the highest reasons of state it would be advisable to agree to the transfer.”
The imbecile monarch coveting the newlypainted toy. Hornblower could not keep back his protest.
“I find it hard to believe it necessary, my Lord,” he said.
For a moment His Excellency looked down in astonishment at the abysmal junior captain who questioned his judgment, but His Excellency kept his temper admirably all the same, and condescended to explain.
“I have six thousand British troops in the island,” he said in his harsh voice. “At least, they call them British, but half of ‘em are Corsican Rangers and Chasseurs Brittaniques—French deserters in British uniforms. I can hold the Straits against Bonaparte with them, all the same, as long as I have the goodwill of the King. Without it—if the Sicilian army turns against us—we’re lost.”
“You must have heard about the King, Captain,” interposed Collingwood, gently.
“A little, my Lord.”
“He’d ruin everything for a whim,” said Bentinck. “Now Bonaparte finds he can’t cross the Straits he’d be willing to reach an agreement with Ferdinand. He’d promise him his throne here in exchange for an alliance. Ferdinand is capable of agreeing, too. He’d as lief have French troops in occupation as British, and be a satellite—or so he thinks at present—if it would mean paying off a score against us.”
“I see, my Lord,” said Hornblower.
“When I have more troops I’ll talk to him in a different fashion,” said Bentinck. “But at present—”
“Atropos is the smallest ship I have in the Mediterranean,” said Collingwood.
“And I am the most junior captain,” said Hornblower. He could not restrain himself from the bitter comment. He even forgot to say “my Lord.”
“That is true as well,” said Collingwood.
In a disciplined service an officer was only a fool if he complained about treatment received on account of being junior. And it was clear that Collingwood disliked the present situation intensely.
“I understand, my Lord,” said Hornblower.
“Lord William has some suggestions to make which may soften the blow,” said Collingwood, and Hornblower shifted his glance.
“You can be retained in command of Atropos,” said Bentinck—what a moment of joy, just one fleeting moment!—“if you transfer to the Sicilian service. His Majesty will appoint you Commodore, and you can hoist a broad pendant. I am sure he will also confer upon you an order of high distinction as well.”
“No,” said Hornblower. That was the only thing he could possibly say.
“I thought that would be your answer,” said Collingwood. “And if a letter from me to the Admiralty carries any weight you can hope, on your return to England, to be appointed to the frigate to which your present seniority entitles you.”
“Thank you, my Lord. So I am to return to England?”
He would have a glimpse of Maria and the children then.
“I see no alternative, Captain, I am afraid, as of course you understand. But if Their Lordships see fit to send you back here with your new command, no one would be more delighted than I.”
“What sort of a man is your first lieutenant?” demanded Bentinck.
“Well, my Lord—” Hornblower looked from Bentinck to Collingwood. It was hard to make a public condemnation even of the abject Jones. “He is a worthy enough man. The fact that he is John Jones the Ninth in the lieutenants’ list may have held him back from promotion.”
A wintry twinkle appeared in Bentinck’s eye.
“I fancy he would be John Jones the First in the Sicilian Navy List.”
“I expect so indeed, my Lord.”
“Do you think he would take service as captain under the King of the Two Sicilies?”
“I should be surprised if he did not.”
That would be Jones’s only chance of ever becoming a captain, and most likely Jones was aware of it, however he might excuse himself for it in his own thoughts.
Collingwood entered the conversation again at this point.
“Joseph Bonaparte over in Naples has just proclaimed himself King of the Two Sicilies as well,” he remarked. “That makes four Sicilies.”
Now they were all smiling together, and it was a moment before Hornblower’s unhappiness returned to him, when he remembered that he had to give up the ship he had brought to perfection and the crew he had trained so carefully, and his Mediterranean station of honour. He turned to Collingwood.
“What are your orders, my Lord?”
“You will receive them in writing, of course. But verbally you are under orders not to move until you are officially informed of the transfer of your ship to the Sicilian flag. I’ll distribute your ship’s company through the Fleet—I can use them.”
No doubt about that; probably every ship under Collingwood’s command was undermanned and would welcome a contingent of prime seamen.
“Aye aye, my Lord.”
“I’ll take the Prince into my flagship here—there’s a vacancy.”
The Prince had had seven months in a sloop of war; probably he had learned as much in that time as he would learn in seven years in an Admiral’s flagship.
“Aye aye, my Lord.” Hornblower waited for a moment; it was hard to go on. “And your orders for me personally?”
“The Aquila–she’s an empty troop transport—sails for Portsmouth immediately without convoy, because she’s a fast ship. The monthly convoy is assembling, but it’s far from complete as yet. As you know, I am only responsible for their escort as far as Gibraltar, so that if you choose to go in a King’s ship you will have to transfer there. Penelope will be the escorting vessel, as far as I can tell at present. And when I can spare her—God knows when that will be—I shall send the old Temeraire to England direct.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“I would be glad if you would choose for yourself, Captain. I’ll frame my orders in accordance with your wishes. You can sail in Aquila, or Penelope, or wait for Temeraire, whichever you prefer.”
Aquila was sailing for Portsmouth immediately, and she was a fast ship, sailing alone. In a month, even in less with fair winds, he could be setting foot on shore half an hour’s walk from where Maria was living with the children. In a month he might be making his request to the Admiralty for further employment. He might be posted to that frigate that Collingwood had mentioned—he did not want to miss any opportunity. The sooner the better, as always. And he would see Maria and the children.
“I would like orders for Aquila, if you would be so kind, my Lord.”
“I expected you would say that.”
So that was the news that Hornblower brought back to his ship. The dreary little cabin which he had never had time to fit out properly seemed sadly homelike when he sat in it again; the sailcloth pillow supported once more a sleepless head, as so often before, when at last he could force himself to go to bed. It was strangely painful to say goodbye to the officers and crew, good characters and bad, even though he felt a little spurt of amusement at sight of Jones, gorgeous in the uniform of a captain in the Sicilian Navy, and another at the sight of the twenty volunteers from the ship’s company whom Jones had been permitted to recruit into the Sicilian service. They were the bad characters, of course, laughed at by the others for exchanging the grog and hardtack of old England for the pasta and the daily quart of wine of Sicily. But even to the bad characters it was hard to say goodbye—a sentimental fool, Hornblower called himself.
It was a dreary two days that Hornblower waited for Aquila to make ready to sail. Bentinck had advised him to see the Palace chapel, to take a carriage out to Monreale and see the mosaics there, but like a sulky child he would not. The dreamlike city of Palermo turns its back upon the sea, and Hornblower turned his back upon Palermo, until Aquila was working her way out round Monte Pellegrino, and then he stood aft, by the taffrail, looking back at Atropos lying there, and Nightingale at the careenage, and the palaces of Palermo beyond. He was forlorn and lonely, a negligible passenger amid all the bustle of getting under way.