He is, quite simply, the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
When he is lying in my bed, asleep, sprawled out like a wanton Greek
god with his hair loose and fanned across my pillow, I know that I am as
close to perfection as a flawed mortal man like myself is ever likely
to get. And I know that I am flawed; for all my crew looks to me for
their lives, for all the lives I have taken, for all the battles I have
won or lost, I am simply a man with a man’s weaknesses. And my biggest
weakness is Archibald Kennedy.
Please believe me, I fought it for the longest time- oh, how I fought.
I fought the almost overwhelming urge to follow him, undress him with
my eyes, to take him into my cabin and make him mine. I did try. But in
the end I’m only a man, Mr Hornblower, a frail, weak mortal man. And
faced with such temptation, my weaknesses have overwhelmed me and I have
been lost. I have sold my soul for the possession of another, but I
cannot regret. God forgive me, I cannot.
I didn’t notice him at first; I saw him as just another Midshipman,
another man, a boy really, in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Well, perhaps that
is not precisely true. I thought of him as perhaps a source of trouble
on my ship, arriving as he did among the ill disciplined and poorly
trained rabble from the Justinian. Indeed, double-damned in my mind,
first for originating from that unlucky vessel, second for being the close
friend of you, Mr Hornblower. I was certain you were trouble, and I
made doubly certain to keep my eye on you.
You have proved me wrong.
Of all the young men who have served under me, you are by far the one
most likely to become great in the annals of the British Navy. As time
went on, it became apparent to me that this was so. I knew you were
destined for greatness. I have groomed you, instructed you, tried my best
to impart to you some of the knowledge and, dare I say, wisdom that I
have gathered in my years of service. So proud was I of you and your
accomplishments, I began to watch you in earnest. And it was then that I
began to notice him. Midshipman Archibald Kennedy, your friend, young,
strong, and oh so very beautiful. I can remember the first time I
noticed him as something other than a faceless figure, so vividly. It is when
you were both off watch, standing on deck and looking over the ocean.
You turned to him and spoke something and he laughed, throwing his head
back and showing off the perfect lines of his throat, red-blond hair
whipping around his face. I remember being startled by the sudden irrational desire to kiss that throat, to bite it gently in love play as I gathered that soft, wild hair in my hands. And I remember being instantly horrified, because this man wasn’t
a man, he was barely more than a boy! A boy under my service and in my
care, something that it is my duty to protect, not to prey upon. So I
throttled the thought, strangled it, smothered it, buried deeply it
within the darkest recesses of my mind.
But it would not go away.
Indeed, as my own respect for you slowly grew into something resembling
paternal pride, I found myself noticing him more and more. As I
instructed you, tried to teach you what I knew, he was always there in the
background, hovering respectfully at a distance and looking at us both
with cold blue eyes. Indeed, the more I spoke to you the colder his gaze
became until I found myself wondering whether it was jealousy, jealousy because of the attention I granted you. For a time I harboured the wild, irrational
hope that maybe he wanted me in turn, but I soon dismissed this fond
fantasy. It is for certain that he tried to draw my focus to himself, but
once it was there he did not appear to want it, his whole manner
becoming as chill as the ice that froze his face. Whenever I found myself
looking for him I found him by your side, staring at me out of the corner
of his eye, angry, resentful.
You, of course, had no idea that anything was wrong.
This went on for some time. If I wanted to see him I had only to look
for you because I knew he would be there. And for a time, looking was
enough. I knew that I could never have him, and to my pride, I never
tried to bring him to me. My weakness remained something that only I was
aware of, a fact that soothed my fevered mind, fevered with fantasies of
him. Until a night came when the presence of someone standing at my
cabin door was announced by the rapping sound of knuckle on wood, and
God help me, that someone was he. Enough remained of my tattered pride to
beckon him in with the aplomb and self importance that a Captain is
supposed to possess, and to rather coldly inquire why he had dared disturb
me at this hour. And he looked at me down that snub nose of his and
told me that it was about you.
I know you want him, he said. I know that you undress him with your
eyes. I know what you have planned for him, and I want to save him.
As I sat there with my mouth agape, speechless for the first time in
years he outlined his ‘compromise’. He planned to substitute himself for
you, to give himself in your place. I was mystified, trying to
understand his words. Then my understanding slowly dawned. He thought that
you were the one I wanted, the one I was dreaming of, the one I desired.
He thought I was watching you!
I could not help myself. I threw my head back and laughed out loud, and
I saw the fair skin of his face flush with anger and embarrassment. He
ground his teeth and rushed to the door, and I was barely fast enough
to prevent his escape. I wrapped my hands around his upper arms, feeling
the solid muscle jump beneath my fingertip, realising dimly that this
boy was not really a boy but a man grown and strong, and I kissed him.
Kissed him hard and kissed him soft, putting all my pent up emotions, my
desire and frustration into that kiss. He accepted the kiss but did not
return it, his eyes closed and a single tear trickling down his cheek. I
wiped it away, and lead him by the hand to bunk. I sat him down and I
knelt before him. I told him that it was not you I wanted. It never had
been. I told him that you were as important to me as my own son-
paternal love, full of pride, but ultimately sexless. I told him that it was
he I had been watching. Him and no other. I told him that he was
beautiful. I told him that he was desirable. I told him that I wanted him.
He turned his face away from me as I spoke. My words gradually faltered
and stopped entirely, and I continued to gaze up at him in hope. He was
near, so near to me, I could not stop myself. He smelled of clean soap
and sea-salt. I placed a hand on his thigh- he jumped but otherwise
remained still. I rested my hand there for a second, and he shuddered but
did not push me away. Then I began to slide my hand ever so gently
towards his groin, and when I reached my target he gasped and arched his
back. Using all my skill, I kissed and caressed him until he relaxed in
my arms, until he began to moan sweetly, until his fear of me and other
men ebbed and the pleasure truly began for him.
That night, I made him mine.
As he sleeps in my bed, his lips bruised from my kisses, I cannot find
it in my heart to regret my actions. He is too young, yes, a man who
was but recently a boy, but he is still a man. And he may not be disposed
by nature to be a lover of fellow men, but I have not mistreated him. I
know he has been hurt. I have seen the scars with my own eyes, and I
know better than to even lay beside him when he is asleep, let alone try
to caress him. I know that that either will provoke a violent and
unthinking reaction from him that he cannot control. And I have found that
he simply will not take certain positions during lovemaking, no matter
how much I urge him. I do not want to know any more about it. I know
that if I ever do learn the name of his attacker I would be forced to hunt
the scum down and punish him, and I know that that would raise
questions, uncomfortable questions that I could not face lest my answer doom
both my lover and myself. The world will tear us apart soon enough
h, and it is my wish to delay that parting for as long as I am able.
You must never learn of this. I know that as a young, idealistic man,
enthusiastic in the service of your King and Navy you would have
difficulties understanding what I feel for Archibald Kennedy. But I do care
for him, in truth I do. And I know that in turn, he cares for you. This
is why I have forbidden him ever to speak of what we have together, not
to anyone and especially not you. I have seen the distaste in yours
eyes and your face whenever love between two men is brought up in your
presence. You cannot even make light of it as your shipmates do, such is
your disgust. I am unable to foretell what your reaction would be should
you learn of what Archie and I share, but I know that it would be
violent and ugly. I know you would not, could not understand. Better you
should never learn at all.
I know that he is not entirely happy with me. This kind of lovemaking
is not part of his nature as it is mine. Perhaps it is the abuse he
suffered before he came to me or perhaps he fears the ever-present risk of
being caught. Whatever the reason may be there is something preventing
him from completely enjoying my attentions. There is something that
stops him from abandoning himself to me, from loosing himself utterly in my kisses.
There is a voice deep inside of me that says it would be best to let him
go, but I cannot do that. I have worked so hard for all of my life in
service for others. Is it so hard to believe that maybe I might want
something from the world in return? I want him. I want to watch over him
as he sleeps. I want to keep him close and make love to him all night
and all day. I want him to care for me. I want him to dream about me when
I am not with him.
I want Archie to love me as much as I love him.
END OF PART TWO
