*The Untold Story*

Explanation: ‘Retribution’ left a lot of unanswered questions, and ‘Loyalty’ created a lot more. This is just an attempt at answering some of them, which at the same time gets rid of ‘Retribution’’s most disliked feature....

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1. Kingston

A strange world that of the Navy. A world of hard words and harder rules, governed by the iron Articles and the unwritten laws that are scarcely less stern. A world where we are taught to speak truth, yet schooled to deceive, expected to honour loyalty, but sacrifice any life if the service should demand. Virtue is praised, yet above all demands stands the reverence for seniority, no matter how rotten and corrupt. Hold your tongue, turn your eye and you’ll be called a good man.

Outsiders might wonder why we accept it, this strange life that takes so much of value from us. Horatio would say: Duty. To me that’s just a word – though I’d not tell him so. A dangerous word sometimes, the name of ‘duty’ can be used to justify many crimes. I think the Navy takes us young and moulds us in its shape. The cost is high, it’s always high, but how can we count it when we’ve known no other values? This life is in our blood and bones and flesh, how can we seek change when it’s too late to change ourselves? We play by Navy rules because they’re all we know, have ever known. And some of us – including Horatio – play hard because we want to win. On their terms of course, because that’s all there is.

I certainly thought I’d lost in a major way in Kingston. Not that I had regrets, but bitterness, quite a lot of that. It was hard, although unlike Horatio I’d always known there are some battles you just can’t win. You can beat the French or the Spanish or even the Simpsons of this world, but you can’t beat the Naval establishment, by their rules or anyone else’s. So Kingston wasn’t a great shock, but it was hard.

It ought to have been a surprise to find I wasn’t dead, but at first I was just too ill and weak and in pain to think at all. Later I’d got past the time to feel surprised, but was very puzzled. I remembered dying, but this definitely didn’t seem like any kind of afterlife – apart from anything else I was still wounded. It didn’t seem like a prison either, although the door was kept locked, more like a small bedroom in someone’s house. The only people I saw those first days were a doctor and one attendant whose names I never learned. They weren’t disposed to answer questions, except for one.

Horatio was safe. The doctor did tell me that. Acquitted of all charges. Knowing that, well it wouldn’t be quite true to say I didn’t care what happened to me, but I’d expected to be dead anyway, and everything else I’d ever had to lose was gone already. And I was drained, utterly spent in mind as well as in body. I’d been under strain so long. That trial hadn’t been an end I would have chosen, but it had been an end. Finding myself alive was almost an anticlimax. So I did what the doctor told me, didn’t persist with questions that went unanswered, and waited.

Days passed, I felt myself grow stronger. Then one evening I heard the doctor speak to someone else after he passed out of the room, and a moment later Commodore Sir Edward Pellew came in.

Surprise doesn’t begin to describe my reaction, although anyone else would have surprised me just as much. More important, I didn’t know what to think about his appearance here. I only knew the bare outline of what had happened at the trial, but enough to know he’d done little to defend Horatio. That was not what I would have expected from the Captain I’d served under in the old days, but I could only assume he was sacrificing us all in the interests of his career. I’d had too much else on my mind to think very much about it anyway.

“What have you to say for yourself, Mr Kennedy?” was his opening line, barked in his best quarter deck manner.

Careful, careful, mustn’t trust him an inch. “I have nothing to say, sir.”

“Nothing to say? By your own confession you are guilty of the heinous crime of mutiny and you have nothing to say?”

“Nothing to add, if you prefer, sir.”

“You stand by your previous statements, then?” He was still barking at me as though we were back on the deck of the Indy and I’d just committed some dereliction of duty.

“Entirely, sir.” Head up, don’t let him see you scared.

“You understand the consequences, do you? There’s a rope round your neck, boy, and I can see to it that you do hang. No easy death from a convenient wound. Knowing that, is there nothing more you want to say? Do you think I don’t know there was far more happened on Renown than was ever revealed in court?”

Why was he doing this? Was he trying to force an admission against Horatio? Why? “I have nothing more to say.” I had to keep my voice very low to stop it shaking.

“You prefer a felon’s end?”

“If I must.” And that was truth. “But if that’s what you intend for me – sir – why are you here alone?”

“Are you questioning my actions?” The bark was fiercer than ever, if I’d been standing I’d likely have taken a step back. As it was I had to draw the longest breath I could manage without too much pain.

“No. Merely enquiring.” I had to pause, to be sure I was about to make reasonable sense, there was something here I didn’t understand at all. “I don’t know how I came here, or even where here is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not official. If you’ve only just found out about it, if you meant to take me in custody, you’d have a squad of marines.” Unless he hoped to trick me into some further confession, but however much he’d changed for him to be trying to convict Horatio made no sense. There was nothing he could gain by that, not with one scapegoat already present for slaughter. “And if you’re behind this, and I can’t think of many other men in a position to be behind it, you didn’t go to all this trouble to see me swing.”

He nodded, just once, as though I’d passed some test. Which I realised much later was exactly what I had done. He’d been pushing me to see how I held up, trapped and vulnerable and alone.

“This is a house I rented. As to why you’re here, the answer is that you interfered with my plans.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No. Of course you don’t. Nevertheless you managed to prevent an objective I had gone to some lengths to achieve. However, I am well aware that no-one deserved to be convicted of mutiny because of the events that took place on Renown.”

“If you know that then why, why….” The words choked me. If he knew that why hadn’t he stood up for us more in court, why had he ever let things go so far?

“There was a reason.” For a moment he spoke quite gently, but in the next sentence his tone was brisk again. “You did not deserve to die a convicted mutineer, even if you did bring it on yourself, and that is the first reason you are here. The second reason is that, although you have overset my plans quite badly, it is possible things may be salvaged.

“I need a man to undertake a certain mission. It’s dirty work in some respects, difficult and certainly dangerous. It is also completely unofficial, for very good reasons. No senior officer, other than myself, will know anything about it. However, I give you my word it is in the best interests of our country.”

I digested that. “Do you mean you want me to do this mission?” It seemed faintly unlikely. Despite being responsible for my commission he’d always seemed to regard me with a somewhat jaundiced eye. I could remember a time when that had hurt.

“You are the best available at the present time. In fact you are really the only possibility available.” Well, that would keep me from getting conceited, especially as he was definitely looking jaundiced again. “I need a man whose disappearance will not be marked or commented on. That rules out any currently serving officer, and I know of no-one else remotely suitable. You are officially a dead man, very useful.”

“So what is it, this unofficial mission?” At a guess some kind of spy-work, not a pleasing prospect. But why a secret from the Admiralty?

“It would not be well advised of me to tell you that unless I have your acceptance.”

“Under the circumstances, do I really have a choice?”

“Oh yes,” he said unexpectedly. “To use a pressed man on a business such as this would be most unwise. If you refuse, then I will supply a sum of money and arrange a passage to somewhere you will not be recognised – one of our colonies perhaps. I must impress on you that this will be a tricky business, quite unlike anything in your previous experience and somewhat unsavoury. And with a decided risk of an unpleasant end.” Well, that last at least was nothing new. “If you are successful, however, then I may be able to arrange full reinstatement.”

Reinstatement. Into the Navy? Restoration of name, future, friendship? No. No, that couldn’t be. I couldn’t risk letting myself believe that that could be. “Reinstatement?” my voice whispered. “How?”

“That also I cannot explain at present.”

Did I trust him? No. I would have called him a straight dealer once, but that would have been before the court martial. Anyway, I never wholly trusted anyone except Horatio. But what did I really have to lose? Only a life that had been stripped bare. What would I do with that life if I turned him down? Wear it out forever mourning my losses?

“You are fatigued.” I’d not realised until he spoke again my eyes had closed. “You need not give the answer now.”

“No. No, I mean –” I’d spoken a bit too hastily, my breath caught unsteadily and threatened to tip me into one of the agonising coughing fits that had only just grown less frequent. I tried to hold my breathing, biting hard on my lip until I felt it possible to risk letting a breath out. Breathing partly steadied, I was somewhat chagrined to find Pellew holding a glass of water to my mouth, but took some of it anyway.

“Thank you. Don’t go. I’m– I’m all right.” A few more steady breaths. Damn, but I hated being wounded. “I’ll do it. On one condition. Tell Horatio. Tell him I’m alive.”

“He knows.” Once again that brief note of gentleness.

“He does?”

“Yes. I did not intend to tell him at first, but when the time came for him to leave Kingston, well, I had come to fear that not telling him might cause recent events to put a great strain on his performance of his duties. He visited here once, but you were unconscious at the time. Understand there can be no further contact between you. That would put both of you in grave danger, as well as your mission.”

“I understand, sir. As long as he knows.” Of all the hard things, that had been the hardest. Knowing the pain my end would cause him. Death in battle or from disease, that would be a hard blow, but an accepted hazard of the life we lead. But a death such as mine, well, if things had been reversed, to have seen him die disgraced, condemned, by the unjust spite of a vindictive tribunal, that would have crippled me. Horatio is stronger, of course, but he feels things deeply. It was terrible that the only way to save him was by dealing a hideous wound. Necessary, as amputation can be necessary, but none the easier for it.

Even Pellew must have understood a little of that if he’d told Horatio the truth. Or come to understand it.

But I mustn’t dwell on that too long, or he would think I was overstrained and leave. The healing wound was throbbing with an insistent pain and my head felt like it had turned to lead, but I badly wanted to know exactly what it was I’d let myself in for. Another deep breath.

“Do I get to hear what I’m supposed to do now, sir?”

2. HMS Hotspur

Hare, the acting Commandant of the garrison, was a man who resembled his name to an almost ludicrous degree. He had a long face with a pointed chin, thin grey hair that stuck up and large teeth. He also had a hare’s nature in some respects, dim-witted and cowardly, but mixed with a degree of weak-natured malice that was all too human. In fact he was a distillation of Lt Buckland’s worst qualities. Which was a very good thing, partly because he was easily fooled, and partly because if I’d actually liked him my task would have been far worse than it already was.

Hare was also extremely bad at explaining things. I had to listen to a good quarter-hour of drivel, before I could even pick out the salient parts.

“Let me see if I understand, sir. There is a ship on its way from England, expecting to rendezvous with another craft off the coast not far from here. In fact it will be met by the Loire, which should be sufficient to see off a sloop, but you want me to have guards posted in case any of the men should make it ashore.”

“The secret must be preserved,” Hare wittered, “If word got back to England, then we would would all face great, er, displeasure. Yes. It might even cause a further outbreak of war. That will come, we know that will come, but it wouldn’t do for we here to be responsible, good heavens, no.”

What a self-centred idiot. “I’ll see the guards posted, sir.”

“Kincaid, you must remember I command in the, ah, absence of the Commandant. Everything done must be done on my authority.”

“Not to worry, sir. I’ll tell the men the orders come from you.”

“Very well, very well. As long as they know who is in charge.”

What a usefully self-centred idiot. He’d just given me complete licence to mess-up the guard dispositions and get away scot-free. Although Hare could hardly be blamed for not guessing what I meant to do. I had an excellent record of efficiency so far, after all.

“And we must, er, arrange signals to the Loire, we don’t want to ah, frighten them off too soon, do we?”

“I would have thought frightening them off too soon would be a very good thing, sir. They won’t be able to learn anything that way.”

“No, no, these are our enemies, Kincaid.” For a moment the pointed face looked rat-like. “Enemies of our blood and bone and freedom! We are at war and they deserve to die.”

“We’re not at war, sir, not at the moment.”

“The French are not at war. Our war shall never cease!”

“Start shooting and the French may well be at war again, sir. I thought we wanted to avoid that.”

“It won’t happen if the Loire does her work properly.” Hare giggled. “The ship will simply disappear, vanish without trace.”

Make that a vicious, self-centred idiot. Unfortunately he could occasionally display the utter obstinacy of the very weak, there would be no use in arguing. However with any luck I could misarrange the signals so the British would have quite enough time to get away before the Loire came into view.

I very much hoped that HMS Hotspur (Hare had known the ship’s name, it meant nothing to me) would have the sense to make off once the expected rendezvous failed to materialise. That was before I knew the identity of Hotspur’s commanding officer, of course.

Having expected the ship’s arrival, we had her under observation from the start. It was impossible to miss the boat coming ashore, although I did manage to confuse our response well enough that most of the ineptly posted guards never got the message. However I couldn’t prevent the sighting of two suspicious looking characters who might almost as well have been carrying a large sign saying ‘We are Spies’. Even at that distance I recognised one of them.

Horatio.

I nearly panicked then. My instinct was to rush down and join him – an action which would very likely have got me shot by my closest friend, not to mention completely blowing my mission. What saved me was the sight of the man taking aim at the two running figures. I’d shot him before I even realised I might be seen, but as the echo died away, sense returned. This was not the way. Two minutes later I’d misdirected some of the troops, with a story about more men landing further down, and was leading another group in what I firmly hoped would be the wrong direction. It was messy improvisation, touch and go, but it did work. They got away.

There was still the Loire to reckon with, and I suffered agonies, for the delay while Hotspur waited to pick up her missing shore party had been sufficient for the signals to the Loire to get through despite my earlier precautions. But I should have known Horatio would be equal to the challenge. As for my own double-dealing, no-one suspected it. I must count that far more luck than judgement, although it owed something to vivid imaginations as well. By the time I reported back to Hare, half the troops were swearing that the woods had been crawling with enemy men.

Hare was frantic, cursing the Loire, our troops, myself, but he was not suspicious. What preoccupied him more than anything was the probable reaction of our Commandant when he returned.

“He must have seen it all!” he wailed.

“How, sir? I thought he was conferring with Ulysses in England?”

“He was, but he managed to get himself a posting on Hotspur. How do you think there was time for us to learn of Hotspur’s mission? The Commandant undertook to provide a delay while Ulysses got a message to us.”

“The Commandant was on Hotspur?” What amazed me was not that this should be so, for I did not doubt of Ulysses’s ability to arrange it, but that Hare, knowing this, should have given the orders that he had. “Sir, have you wondered how he will react to nearly being blown up by the Loire?”

“The Commandant,” said Hare, “would have been proud to lay down his life for Ireland.”

That was possibly true, but I did not think he would have wished to lay it down in so utterly unnecessary a manner. On the other hand, that Hare had hoped to get him killed was all too believable. And no concern of mine. It did, however, seem like quite a good time to extract a bit more information.

“What about the Duc who sent the message to England, sir? Has he been arrested?”

Hare chewed his lip. “Now that’s, er, rather an odd thing. Yes, a very odd thing, really. Turns out the man left for America two months ago, before the message was ever sent. Yes, very odd, because that, ah, has to mean another person sent it. I don’t understand. No-one understands that at all.”

I thought I might. “Then it was sent by someone using his name and knowing his contacts. Someone who was very anxious to use another’s name.”

“Another traitor you mean? Oh excellent, excellent. Should be possible to discover who! Yes, I’ll pass that to Paris. They’ll be pleased with me.”

A witch-hunt nicely set in motion, all to divert suspicion from my real guess. A persecution of men who were innocent, though enemies. God, what was I becoming?

All in all, a very bad day. When I got out of Hare’s office I was violently sick.

3. Before the Storm

“How much have you been drinking, then, my lad?”

I spun round. O’Donnell. Not good. O’Donnell was far from stupid. He was a recent arrival, a lieutenant like myself.

“Actually I think it must have been something I ate.” The lie came fluently, I was practised.

“Which would explain your arranging the world’s slowest set of signals for the Loire as well?” Hell, how did I bluff this one out? “No need to look so sheepish, then. Not many men can boast of having started a war.”

Steady, steady. “Hurried it up a bit perhaps.” I tried for an insouciant shrug. “I’m tired of the waiting game. About time Bonaparte and his cohorts followed through on some of their promises.”

“Spoken like a proper gambler.” He sounded half-mocking and half-impressed. “Now I know why you won’t play dice, it’s far too dull for you. Now I wonder, Kincaid, I really wonder why you deserted to the Irish Legion?”

“It’s no secret,” I told him casually. Naturally, I’d needed a cover story, and had picked one close to the truth. Perhaps a bit too close for comfort. “The top-brass wanted someone to blame for one of their cock-ups. You could say I got the short straw.”

“Because of being Irish?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not that it matters.”

“Uh-huh. Proper little patriot aren’t you? I notice you haven’t asked why I’m here.”

“I assumed if you wanted me to know you’d tell me.” And I didn’t really want to hear. There was always the possibility I’d sympathise. I had developed a most troubling tendency to like O’ Donnell already.

“No one reason. I fought for King George for ten years, then I got to wondering why. They’re happy to have Catholics die for them, but won’t permit anything else. No voting rights, no office holding. Of course there’s the right to pay rents and taxes, I mustn’t overlook that. Not that I’ve suffered myself, but I’ve heard plenty of stories about the English landlords, and some at least are true. So I thought, why fight for them? I owe no loyalties there. Things might even be better for my countrymen under Bonaparte, at least it’s worth a try. And that, my friend, makes me an idealist and you an opportunist.”

“Anything wrong with that?” I said lightly.

“Not at all. Mercenary fighting is a grand old Irish tradition. And you’re honest about it. I like fighting myself, I don’t pretend otherwise.”

“A clear fight, where you can get at the enemy,” I said with the vehemence of truth.

“You’re right there. A clear fight then, if we have to start the war ourselves.”

I should cut this short, but.... “Did you know about the Irish Legion, before you came over.”

“I’d heard rumours. There are stories amongst the Irish officers.” Nothing new, and nothing I could use. “Had you heard them, then?”

“No,” I lied. “I knew nothing about this beforehand. I just thought the French might use me.”

“Ah, well, you weren’t wrong there. Although after today, maybe you should put that the other way around. You want to go into the village and drink to renewed war?”

I shook my head. “I really do have a bad stomach. I was planning to turn in early. Some other time, perhaps.” I really didn’t want to start making friends here.

Started a war. I supposed I had, although not single handed. Naturally I’d sent back the information about the troops in training, the build-up on this stretch of coast. Reporting on that sort of thing wasn’t the reason I was here, but it had turned out a useful bonus. I thought I could guess what had followed.

Obviously Admiral (as he now was) Pellew couldn’t take the report of a highly unofficial spy to the Admiralty. In fact even the report of an official spy likely wouldn’t be enough for the government to act on. But a responsible Admiral wouldn’t simply let the build-up go on while Britain did nothing.

So... fake a message. A message from a Frenchman to a friend in England, asking for a meeting somewhere near a certain, very important, stretch of coast. And give the job of conveying the friend to the supposed rendezvous to an officer who could be counted on to exceed his orders....

So far so clear, but how did Ulysses come in? Was his learning of the message an accident? Or was it a design, a calculated risk taken in the hope of trapping the man at last?

......... “An accusation against such a man cannot be made lightly or easily. He has an unquestioned reputation, considerable social standing and many influential connections. I cannot accuse him without solid evidence. The accusation would not be believed and he would be alerted to the fact I know, which so far he is not. I need proof, proof which cannot be argued with. And I need a man to get it. A man who can disappear without questions asked. To raise the least suspicion would be fatal, to the goal and very probably to the man as well. Understand this is not a minor matter. The amount of harm a man in such a position is capable of doing is incalculable.”.........

Horatio. How much had he known? Perhaps very little, I’d learned for myself that Pellew believed in telling men as little as he could. Had he been sent in blind, Pellew simply deducing what he would do when the rendezvous failed to appear? Very likely. No doubt he had relied on Horatio’s own ability to extricate him. Perhaps he had even relied a little on me.

How Pellew came to learn of Ulysses – as the man chose to be known in France for purposes of secrecy – and of the Irish League in the first place, I don’t know. Perhaps one of the League’s members had thought again and chosen to desert a second time. Perhaps he had simply noticed certain leakages and done a bit of subtle investigating. Perhaps both – or neither. But he was right about the need for solid evidence. Unfortunately in more than six months I still hadn’t managed to get it.

He was clever, Ulysses. Clever and careful. Not even Hare knew who he really was, although it wouldn’t be any use for my purposes if he had. The information sent across the channel was carefully presented, there was nothing that could point to any one man. I knew. I’d burgled the Commandant’s office to read the dispatches.

And time was running out. One way or another we’d be at war again before long. Since coming here I’d learned details even Pellew hadn’t know. The Irish League wasn’t the half of it. Ulysses was constructing a network throughout the Navy. His own ship was manned by carefully selected individuals, ready to change sides at a moment’s notice. There were other Naval officers, some in high positions, already converted to his cause; still others not yet approached, who it was thought might change sides when the moment came. And there was a network being constructed in Ireland itself by a contact of Ulysses, reading between the lines I thought a brother. This was much less far advanced, landowners being, on the whole, reluctant to join the cause. However massive disruption in the Navy might well inspire the waverers. At the least, if Ulysses’s plans were fulfilled, the Navy would be thrown into complete chaos, and there might well be an uprising which, if it did not throw the British out of Ireland would provide great opportunities for the French, perhaps even lead to a French invasion.

But virtually all of this I’d gathered by word of mouth alone. No proof. Nothing to offer the government. I could just imagine what they’d make of the testimony of a self-confessed mutineer. And nothing at all on Ulysses himself.

I was getting desperate, and not just for altruistic reasons. I didn’t think I could take this life much longer.

I loathed the lies, the constant wariness, the need to hide my real self. I loathed existing in shadows, I always had. Too much of my life had been spent that way. I wanted, I’d always wanted, to be able to stand straight in the sun. To look anyone in the eye and have nothing to hide. And I’d had that, for far too short a time, back on the Indefatigable. Had that and lost it, and if I couldn’t get it back soon I was going to crack. My dreams were agony already, the nightmares almost preferable to the memories of better times. I wanted to drink myself into a stupor but did not dare.

I must try not to hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope, or rather its destruction, had nearly killed me before now. No, I must not hope I could go back.

Why did I want to anyway? After Justinian and Renown, why should I want to go back? If I could survive this, there would be other futures open.

Because... the Navy was all I knew, all I’d ever known. I could take other paths, but I couldn’t imagine myself succeeding. I wasn’t shaped for anything else. And I did want success. Not to the same degree Horatio does, I didn’t care if I never became an Admiral, but I did want to prove I had some use, some value. However flawed the service was, I had been made as I was by it, and it was too late to form myself into another mould. If I wanted a life that would give me satisfaction it was the Navy or nothing.

And perhaps I was overly cynical, if I’d seen the worst of the Navy I’d also seen the best and I missed the best of it with all my soul. A hard life, but fulfilling, except in the very worst of times, and nothing is perfect after all. I was still letting Kingston affect my judgement. That court-martial had not been real. No point in asking if it could have been.

And... there had only ever been one person who really cared what happened to me, and you couldn’t prize him out of the Navy with a crowbar. And although I didn’t really expect to serve with Horatio again, yet the service would be a link, and I needed that.

No. I must not hope. Must not think of Horatio. Must not think of the good times either, I needed to cling to cynicism in order to stay sane. Think of Ulysses. Of Ulysses, who I hated as I’d only ever hated one other man. Hate was a reason to hold together. I’d get him. I’d get him no matter what the price.

4. Plans Laid

Expeditions take time to arrange. This particular one also involved a great deal of cross-channel communication. From England came the messages of the Commandant, still aboard Hotspur, and of Ulysses, whilst my own dispatches travelled in the opposite direction. Whether Pellew had warned Horatio about either Ulysses or the Commandant I did not know.

I got another shock late in the day. We knew a good deal about the British plans by this time, but there were still some gaps.

“A nephew? Of Ulysses?”

“Yes indeed.” Hare told me. “A young man of considerable promise, from the, ah, messages, at least in his uncle’s opinion. Ulysses arranged for him to, ah, board the Hotspur”

“How, sir?” I demanded, just managing to refrain from voicing all the reasons why this seemed unlikely. I wasn’t supposed to know any of them. Sometimes it was a great strain remembering how much I was supposed to know. However Hare was not suspicious.

“He instructed the young man to pretend a great admiration for Hotspur’s commanding officer. He then asked that the young man should be recommended to the ship to, ahem, ‘get it out of his system’ was the sentence I believe was used. It seems that the Admiral was quite, quite unsuspicious.”

I very much doubted that, but all this gave me a sudden rush of hope. “He wrote that in the dispatches?”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Hare dashed my hopes. “The last messenger was a man deep in Ulysses’s confidence. Still wouldn’t tell his name, but he told me very much else.”

Damn. Damn. Still, Ulysses was getting careless.

“A man of considerable resource, sir. Do we know how he managed to get the Commandant aboard?”

“Apparently a man assigned to join mysteriously disappeared!” Hare gave another of his nasty little giggles. “Ulysses and a couple of his allies forged a record for the Commandant and recommended him.”

Well, that cleared that up. I felt cold at the thought of the other man’s most likely fate.

Hare blithered on, boasting of his information. “Ulysses learned of the intention to send Hotspur to France through the Admiralty. He even knew who the Admiral had picked to command before the officer knew himself! Some arrogant young toady of the Admiral.” I was schooled enough not to show any reaction to that. “He’s certain the Admiral will pick the same man to, er, lead the first shore party. With the Commandant and Ulysses’ nephew on board it should be easy to, ah, foil them! One at least is certain to be picked for the mission!”

“And the major shore raid, sir?”

“Ulysses has volunteered to lead that himself. However even if he is refused, we are well enough informed about their plans to have no problems! We must, we must have all quite perfect. The Commandant must be impressed!”

I knew what value to take that at. Still, once again he had left the arrangements to me. I had my own instructions, and this time they did not involve thwarting his plans too thoroughly.

I didn’t like this. I didn’t like it at all. The Admiral must be getting desperate to take such chances as these. Ulysses had to be stopped and quickly. His plans were getting close to fruition, on the outbreak of war the danger would be devastating. And the Admiral was, after all, a creature of the service. He would do what that demanded, by any means necessary. Including the use of a young protégé who – after our conversation in Kingston – I did not doubt he had a sincere affection for.

Strange that. After so brief a time in Kingston I felt I knew far more about him than I ever had aboard the Indy, where our contacts had been of the most formal. Rather uncomfortable too, since there was a continuous sense of being weighed against Horatio and inevitably found wanting. Actually I still felt that, but I had the sense of being weighed by a man, not simply a captain, and somehow that was easier.

I was a creature of the service, too, despite my current status. I would do as I was told. I did my best for Horatio by arranging for the prisoners to be held in a storeroom with a useful (if smelly) route to the outside world. Of course there also had to be a set of stocks – Hare was most insistent about that, but I ordered the men not to bother clearing the room out then inserted a couple of files beneath the clutter. I was sure I could rely on Horatio to explore every possible hope.

Well, pretty sure. My nights were more disturbed than ever.

The initial arrangements worked very smoothly, on all sides. Ulysses’s final message indicated that not all details had been worked out yet, which had Hare in quite a flurry. He was gnawing his nails to the quick on the final evening. I was waiting at a certain cove, the place that was used for rapid communications across the channel. Theirs anyway, my own communication point was a bit further down the coast. I’d volunteered for this job, gambling that there would be no further instructions for myself. This was no time to go missing in any case, it would probably be noticed.

The boat came ashore soon after nightfall. I took the papers and read them by lantern light. And could have whooped aloud. It was all there. Written in clear, not in code. He must have been in a hurry. All the details of the raid. And confirmation he would be leading the shore party. No doubt he wanted to be absolutely sure that Hare would know who he was when he came ashore, in case the Commandant could not be there. But it was enough to damn him. This letter could only have been written by one man.

I had him. I had him.

I put the letter inside my coat. I had him. I went back up to report to Hare.

I could have left then, made my way back out to the British fleet with the proof of Ulysses’s treachery. Except I could not. My instructions had been very specific on that point. The raid had to go ahead. He had to carry through the betrayal, if it was to be proved his treachery was fact and not malicious invention, forgery. An accusation against such a man cannot be made without rock solid evidence. The drama had to be played to the end.

But I had him.

He would pay. Not for treachery, not in my book. There are different kinds of loyalty and he may have felt himself a faithful son of Ireland. Not that I would dispute the government’s right to execute him, but I would not have felt personal hatred of him for that reason. But he would pay for what he had tried to do to Horatio.

No allegiance could justify that.

........... “He must have thought me a great fool, or an utter weakling. The arrogance of the man! I don’t believe he suspected my attitude for a moment, even though he knew his picked target was a man I had recognised long since as a great asset to the service. Did he really think me the kind of man to lend myself to so profound an injustice? Or believe me incapable of realising that what he proposed was in the worst, not the best interests of the Navy? Did he think me no better than that lazy fool Collins?

“As if there was any need to execute someone to conceal Sawyer’s state! As if we could not simply have emphasised the brave manner of his death and concealed all else! No, the route he wished to take would cause more damage to the Navy than any other. I daresay he hoped one of you would reveal Sawyer’s true state in self-defence or helpless anger, it could easily have happened. Besides even the dullest of men know mutiny most often happens upon ships which have been ill-run. It did Sawyer no credit to publicly proclaim that he could not control his officers. Convicting someone would raise – has raised – deeply awkward questions, spread unease and discontent. Oh, nothing that can’t be controlled, but it must have pleased him.

“And then to pick as his target the most promising of the officers, and the best regarded. Not only would our Navy lose an exceptional officer, there could be no surer way of spreading disaffection amongst the crew. Consider if he had been executed. How would the men who followed him devotedly react to that? I know well there were many such on the Renown. Anger, resentment, bitterness. It wouldn’t have brought the Navy to its knees, but he must have enjoyed his small, mean mischief.

“In that, at least, things are better for your intervention. We could have survived it, but it’s better not to have to…” ......…

(Which effectively told me that my end was unlikely to rouse much feeling among the crew, but I knew that already. I’m not like Horatio.)

Clever, clever villain. To attack the Navy in the guise of defending it was clever indeed. But his great mistake had been to assume no-one else possessed intelligence. He would die for that.

5. Under Attack

One of my chief worries was that I would actually be assigned to the party deputed to capture the raiders from the Hotspur. The last thing I needed right now was to be recognised. The possibility of a face-to-face meeting with Ulysses was even more of a worry, that would ruin all. Since Hare was by now expecting me to run everything for him, it required considerable care for me to convince him that with the Commandant due to return I should keep a low profile. It’s a testament to Hare’s stupidity that he actually agreed to that. He should have attempted to make me the target for the Commandant’s inevitable fury over that business with the Loire.

I spent most of the evening preparing for the cannon-fire that would be brought to bear on the British fleet next day. At least that was the intention. I had to be reasonably careful in my dispositions, the Commandant might well check them, and he wasn’t a fool like Hare. But if I was careful I could quietly mix powder with earth so the shot would fall short, maybe even disable some of the guns.…

So I missed the capture. I did not manage to miss an interview with the returned Commandant, to which all officers were called so he could throw his weight about and generally remind us who was in charge.

Commandant Wolfe was a thoroughgoing bully. Fortunately he was also the type of bully who likes to prey on the weak, and since they don’t come much weaker than Hare, he was the main target. Having cultivated an impassive demeanour on Renown, I generally got off with a few random barbs. All the same bringing the man down was going to be an absolute pleasure.

We got to see him vent his anger over the attack by the Loire (for which I did not altogether blame him), blast the arrangements that had been made that day (I have to admit he had a point), generally sneer at our inability to do anything right in his absence (not really fair given how well we’d managed the captures) and swiftly reduce Hare to a quivering jelly, which he took great pleasure in forcing through a strainer. He then found every fault he could think of with our current dispositions, made a few changes just to show he could, reissued orders about the main landing party – including firm instructions not to harm the man in charge – and, for good measure, reminded us we would be up all night and any man caught sleeping on duty would be shot. In other words, it was not an enjoyable reunion.

Wolfe kicked us all out eventually, which left me with a major problem.

Should I let Horatio and the others out?

I probably could, but it would almost certainly blow my cover completely. And that might yet be needed to see things through. And I could certainly get in a bit more sabotage, if I went about it carefully.

Horatio would manage things fine alone. He didn’t need me. Really.

And I was a creature of the service, and my orders were to see things through. Even if it meant risking the life of a man who has been more than a brother to me.

Perhaps that’s not quite fair. There were other lives. Others I might save if I stuck to orders.

Horatio would be the first to tell me to put him last. Then again, I never did think much of his judgement where his own preservation was concerned.

But I left him to it. And the event proved me right. Although when I heard how he actually did get out of the stocks (they didn’t find the files) I very much regretted not being there.

I wasn’t present when Ulysses and his men were taken prisoner either – that one required a bit of ingenuity to get out of. I’d learned by then that his nephew hadn’t been captured with the raiding party, I assume Wolfe or someone must have told him, but what his reaction was I never heard.

I knew that Ulysses wasn’t intending to stay in France – his plans were too big to be abandoned. He planned on making an ‘escape’ with a couple of officers who were in on the plot also. The nephew was due to stay, though, and become part of the Legion. So his not being there might have been a minor annoyance to Ulysses, but no doubt he could have adapted to it. All that’s by the way, though. I didn’t think much about it at the time.

I was with the guns when our ships began to come in. That was a bad moment. I had no choice but to open fire. Fire on my own compatriots. No choice. I’d done all I could to minimise the damage, but all the same.... I still dream of it. I had no choice.

It was at that point that someone shouted at me. “You! Lieutenant!”

I turned to confront Black Charlie Hammond.

Oh hell.

Pure shock first, then a wild thought that if I was quick I could shoot him. Then I realised he was speaking again.

“Just got word the prisoners have escaped. I’ll be having a few words with Wolfe about that later on, but we need to catch them first. Get some men to cut off the escape routes, I want them cornered quickly. And I want word sent, so I can see them in person. I’ve been looking forward to this. Do you hear me?”

I had just enough presence of mind left to say, “Yes, Sir.” Then he was gone.

The bastard. He hadn’t even recognised me.

Yes, he’d only seen me once, and no doubt I looked a bit different then. But this man tore up my life to satisfy his own warped ends and he hadn’t recognised me.

The bastard. The bastard.

But I had to let him go... for now. I pulled half the men off the guns and sent them to cut off routes to the local settlements, on grounds the fugitives would likely head there to look for a boat. Which was the last thing Horatio was likely to do, but then that was the point.

That done, I really wasn’t sure what to do next. Somehow I had to make sure the papers in my coat would reach the Admiral. Yet I might still be needed here. And it would be hideously easy to get shot by either or both sides. So incompetent an end would be downright embarrassing. Rather feebly I settled for finding a likely spot on the cliff to keep an eye on things. So it was that I saw the fleet come in. For a few hours we might get the whole area under our control. At last something was truly going right.

Perhaps I should start looking for someone to surrender to. But I found O’Donnell and a dozen men instead.

“What’s happening?” He was looking worried.

“It’s all shot to hell.” I told him “The fleet’s got through and we’re going to be wiped out. Get all the men you can and get them out of here.” Lies blossomed easily. “The Commandant’s ordered a general withdrawal.”

“He has?”

“Yes. He sent me with orders.” I willed him to believe me, the irony was that all except the part about the Commandant was true. “Go, man! There’s no time to lose!”

“Are you not coming?”

“I’ve still got some orders,” I told him. Hatefully he was looking concerned. “Don’t worry about me, O’Donnell. I always survive.”

He threw a salute, and left me with the knowledge that what I’d done might well be treason. But you can’t work with people and remain indifferent to them. O’Donnell, some of the men.… I didn’t want to see them die. I was arranging the escape of traitors, because I thought well of them – and my only regret was that I hadn’t managed to arrange the escape of a few more. That was something I’d never expected when I agreed to do this.

I had to end this fast, or I’d start forgetting which side I really was on. Or worse, wondering why I should take sides at all.

The next thing I found was Hare running one half of a scattered fight with some of our men. The British, that is. He greeted my arrival with obvious relief, and ordered me to take over.

I tried the same story on him I’d used to O’Donnell, but Hare was quite set against retreat for anyone other than himself. It would have been safest simply to let him go, but something in me rebelled. I was sick of playing the shadow game, and here was a man despicable from any point of view.

“Oh, no,” I jabbed my pistol into his back. “You’re not running out on your men, Hare. You are going to stand here and order them to surrender. Believe me, I’d enjoy shooting you.”

Hare’s eyes bulged, but he ordered the surrender. With a flash of the old spite he hissed, “Do you hope to gain mercy by betraying your countrymen?”

“You fool,” I said. “Do you really think only the Irish make good spies?” It was the last thing I got a chance to say before we were both made captive.

So I missed seeing the suicide of Black Charlie Hammond, otherwise known as Ulysses. But I didn’t really mind. He was dead, that was what counted. He has never haunted my dreams.

6. Aftermath

The hours that followed were not very pleasant. Obviously my immediate captors did not know I was on their side. However, well on into the afternoon I was taken from the hold of HMS Tonnant, where many of the prisoners had been herded, and escorted to the Admiral’s cabin to make my report.

Admiral Pellew listened, read the papers I was still carrying, and confirmed that it had given him all he needed to prove Hammond’s treachery to the Admiralty – and get them to investigate all his contacts. It was he who told me that both Hammond and his nephew were dead and that Wolfe had escaped in the confusion. Before I could ask any more he added that he had just received a report from another officer, who he had asked to wait on board. Of course it was Horatio.

I remember his embracing me, for the second time in our lives. I remember both of us trying to talk at once. I remember that we forgot all about Pellew, not even realising he had slipped out of the room. I remember we were impatient with questions, and barely clear in answers.

“Did you know about my involvement?” I asked him.

“Not until just now. The Commodore – Admiral – told me in Kingston he would make arrangements for your future, but he wouldn’t say what they were. I didn’t even know he had a man on shore.”

He told me about their escape and what followed. Then he told me of the decision not to make Hammond’s treachery public.

The world rocked. All this time, somewhere deep in my soul had been the promise that, if I succeeded, I could go back.

“It’s all right!” I must have swayed, for he grabbed my arm. “Archie, I hadn’t forgotten you! Listen to me.” The world was still swaying, I had to sit down. “Listen. You can still be reinstated. All that’s needed is for the Admiralty to claim the trial in Kingston was a staged affair through and through, arranged so that you could go under cover in France. No need to say why that was so necessary, no-one will ask. It’s a small enough price to pay for not letting it be known that they were fooled by Hammond. I’ve discussed this with the Admiral, he agrees. Archie, I give you my word, it’s all right.”

“I believe you.” Relief was making me even more giddy than shock had done. “You just gave me a jolt.”

“Did you really think I’d forget you?”

“No. Not forget.” Ask for self-sacrifice rather. He’s a creature of the Navy too. “It’s… been a strain.”

“It’s over now,” he told me. I was beginning to believe it.

We both had a few more words with Pellew before the fleet set sail. I had some questions for him.

“Did you send the message that was supposedly from the Duc, sir?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I could not take your reports to the Admiralty. It was the only way to get that stretch of coast explored.” From Horatio’s expression I could tell that that was news to him, but he said nothing.

“What about Wolfe and Hammond’s nephew, sir? Did you know about them?”

“I did not know about Wolfe at first, only when your reports reached me after Hotspur’s initial voyage. I was suspicious of Hammond requesting that his nephew should be posted to Hotspur, but I knew nothing against him for certain.”

“Jack Hammond was a traitor?” Horatio’s surprise was patent. “He killed one of the enemy, on the beach.”

“To keep up the pretence,” I said, unhesitatingly. It was something I might have done if really pushed, or panicked.…

“Sir–” Horatio hesitated a moment, then went on, “Why did you not tell me, sir?”

“Perhaps I was overcautious,” Pellew acknowledged, “But I simply could not risk alerting Hammond. I did not think it likely that you would let something slip, but the only way to be quite sure was not to tell you.”

“Sir,” I said, “Was there a particular reason why you chose Mr – Commander Hornblower for this mission?”

“You mean apart from his being the best of my young commanders?” Horatio looked typically embarrassed by that. “I must admit there was. Hammond did appear to have something of a personal dislike of you, Commander. I believe it may have stemmed from the fire-ship affair, which you emerged from with more credit than he did. It was hardly all-encompassing, but was exacerbated by your survival in Kingston and still further inflamed after your game of whist.” Whist? This was the first I’d heard of that. I made a mental note to ask Horatio about it later. “I did, in fact, arrange that game in the hope you would give him further cause to dislike you. I believed that appointing you to this mission might cause him to get careless, to make mistakes in his eagerness to bring you down. And I believe he did.”

I had one other question. “What will happen to the captured men, sir? Will they all be executed?”

“I do not think that likely. Probably only the ringleaders would have been given death sentences in any event, but the need to hush up the involvement of Captain Hammond will almost certainly result in all the men being granted their lives in return for their silence. I expect prison sentences of various lengths.”

That was a relief, although I’d not have shed tears for Hare.

It was Pellew himself who suggested I should sail back on Hotspur. For some old faces this was the first they knew of my survival, and I’ll swear that there were tears in Matthews’s eyes. Having always thought of him as Horatio’s man, I was deeply touched.

Naturally Horatio and I had a good deal more talking to do, in fact we talked through almost the whole of the night. He seemed surprisingly hard hit by the revelation about Hammond’s nephew.

“I thought he was struggling to adapt to the Navy, but I suppose that was all an act. He was attempting to cause as many problems as possible – and he cold-bloodedly gave Matthews a false order to withdraw.”

“I imagine so,” I said. “I don’t know details.”

“And I told him at the end that he had lived up to his family!”

“Well so he had,” I said. “He caused trouble for the British.”

But it was Kingston he was most eager to discuss.

“When you gave your testimony, was that all arranged with Pellew? Did you know he meant to fake your death?”

“Oh no. I thought it was all real. And Pellew wasn’t expecting my intervention, either. He never intended to fake my death. He intended to fake yours.”

“Mine?”

“Of course. Come now, Horatio. If Pellew had to pick one of us for a highly responsible mission, which do you think he’d choose?” I’m not sure Pellew was right in thinking Horatio suited to espionage, but if the Admiral was asked to recommend a man who could walk on water he’d probably give Horatio’s name. “Pellew was aiming to get you convicted so you could go under cover and catch Hammond for him. He had it all arranged with this doctor friend of his. Don’t ask me for details of how they worked it, I didn’t really want to know.” Especially as I’d been given to understand that using the method on a man in my condition had been a very risky thing and I almost hadn’t come round. “Pellew was planning to visit you after the conviction, and arrange for you to apparently commit suicide. I got quite a lecture for messing up his plans.”

A bit unfair that, seeing as I hadn’t known he had any plans to mess up. And a bit unfair to Horatio, too. Pellew had told me that asking for his consent beforehand simply had not been possible, he couldn’t risk Hammond sensing anything off-key in Horatio’s court room conduct. He’d also said that Horatio would never have refused the mission anyway, he would feel it his duty to accept. And that was true.

“That explains one thing that puzzled me very much,” Horatio said. “At one point it seemed he was trying to make Buckland the scapegoat, but he never did point out that he was present when Sawyer was relieved of command. In theory the senior officer on the scene is responsible for any action taken by his juniors. Apart from our hold meeting it was the only thing that could convict Buckland of mutiny, but he never mentioned it. He must have known harassing Buckland over events at the fort wouldn’t convict him of anything worse than incompetence. I suppose he never wanted to make him out a mutineer.”

“I’m sure he didn’t. Can you imagine Buckland doing spy-work?” I had to laugh at that.

Horatio had something else on his mind. “Did he ever speak to you about Captain Sawyer’s fall?”

“No. He never did. Why?”

“When I first told him the story, I was sure he thought I’d pushed him. Then, later, we had a talk in Kingston, before he told me the truth about you, and he said something about you doing what you saw as your duty. I thought then he believed you’d done it.” He was silent for a long moment, face tautly closed. “I didn’t push him, Archie.”

“Well, of course you didn’t. I know that.”

“You know? But in Kingston you asked me –”

“What you were going to say. I know you, Horatio. Are you telling me you weren’t about to confess to a crime you hadn’t committed to get the rest of us out of trouble?” He was silent. “Well, of course you were! I saw what happened, remember? You couldn’t have pushed him, not from where you were. And you’d never assault your captain, no matter how mad he was. Not your style at all.” I wasn’t sure whether to add one more thing, but in the end I did. “And if, for any reason, you did decide to push a man down a hatch, there would have been no witnesses and you’d have made very sure he wouldn’t wake up again. I never thought for a second you’d done it.”

He was very still, and when he answered me his voice shook a little. “I– hadn’t realised I needed to hear someone say that. Everyone else… everyone.…”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you Pellew doesn’t believe it, but I just don’t know. Why don’t you speak to him about it? I’m sure he’d listen. Oh, and for the record, Horatio, I didn’t push him either.”

“I know,” he said. “You’d have told me, wouldn’t you? Maybe not straight away, but at the last… you’d have told me if what you’d said to the court was true.”

“Yes, I would. Mind you, I might have pushed him if I’d remembered the hatch was there… though not if I’d known you and Wellard were on the scene. I’m not as honourable as you are.” We were silent for a moment. “Pellew does care about you, Horatio,” I told him. “Very much, I think. But he’s a naval officer before all else.” As you are.

He didn’t answer, but seemed to me still troubled. I knew he’d always thought of Pellew as more than a superior, or even a mentor. Plainly some of the recent revelations disturbed him, but I thought he’d work his way to understanding in time. In many ways he and Pellew are very much alike.

That’s pretty much the end of the story. Pellew was right about none of the prisoners being executed. He also told me, some time afterwards, that a list of men who had been approached by Hammond or other traitors had been obtained from Hammond’s papers. Under the circumstances prosecution was impossible, but the officers were forced to leave the service. Nothing much could be done to the civilians, except make sure they did not hold office, but they would be remembered and watched. Wolfe was killed a few months later, Horatio wrote me the details, but I never did learn what happened to O’Donnell. And I did get reinstated.

There’s one more conversation with Horatio that sticks in my memory. This was not long before Hotspur reached harbour.

“Bush tells me you’ve been seeing a girl in Portsmouth.”

“She’s just a friend, Archie,” he managed to pronounce that old excuse with an air of originality.

“You should marry, Horatio, make yourself a family.”

All right, that wasn’t one of my brighter moments. I knew he was lonely, with no family ashore, but I overlooked the fact that a man like Horatio is unlikely to make any woman a good husband.

“So should you,” he retorted.

“Not on a lieutenant’s salary.”

“I don’t think you’ll be a lieutenant much longer. The Admiral’s very pleased with you.”

He did seem pleased. That was a new feeling, but one I thought I could get used to.

“I’m sure he’ll find you a good posting, anyway,” Horatio said. “I’m sorry we can’t serve together.”

“I’ll miss you,” I told him. “But it may be just as well. A captain and first officer shouldn’t be too close.” He nodded, and I thought he understood. Close friendships can easily become a liability in war. Another cruelty of the service, the very dearness of our friendship meant we had to separate.

I suspect Pellew agreed with that one, for the posting he found me was to the Mediterranean, and it was some years before I saw Horatio again. There’s always a price in the Navy, a price for friendship, a price for success. All we can do is pay. But again, I shouldn’t be too cynical. It was the service that gave us that friendship in the first place, a bond strong enough to withstand any amount of separation. When we meet now it’s always as though we’d been no time at all apart.

It’s all a long time ago now, an untold story that few ever heard the truth of and fewer still recall. Perhaps some future historian will uncover it from the papers of the Admiralty or Sir Edward Pellew. Then again, perhaps not. Sometimes I wonder how many secrets of the wars of old were never told. I could never have fought the shadow war for long. But since that time I’ve had much respect for those who do.

And the naval life? It is a strange and harsh one, yet I’ve seldom been so glad of anything as of the chance to get back to it. If the costs are great, the rewards are great also. The Navy moulds us ruthlessly, but some of the men it’s shaped are the best that anyone could hope to know. And they are accepted. It was believing that the best qualities received the worst punishment that so embittered me in Kingston ... if that had been real, but it wasn’t real, it was a trap to catch a traitor and we did. At the day’s end, I’d not choose any other life. The stormiest voyage can bring the most fulfilment.

**The End**

**********************

Author’s Endnotes: The explanation given in Chapter Four seems to me by far the most logical way of reconciling Hammond’s ‘Retribution’ conduct with his unmasking in ‘Loyalty’ as a secret Irish nationalist in league with the French. Since I never did think that court martial was really in the best interests of the service, the idea that he never intended it to be made sense to me. However in that case Pellew in ‘Retribution’ was either a half-witted dupe or playing a game of his own. I always found Pellew’s conduct inexplicable if taken at face value anyway, so the idea that he was one step ahead of Hammond, instead of two steps behind, is attractive.

Whilst it’s not necessary to assume a fifth columnist amongst Wolfe’s men in ‘Loyalty’ it does make quite a lot of sense, not least in explaining how Hornblower and his men came to be locked in a room with a useful way out. Surely there must have been some storerooms available without a privy in them! The notion that the message from the Duc was a set up is not necessary either, but has the advantage of tying up a loose end. And it seemed a bit odd that Pellew, having been given evidence there was a leak, should have included the number one suspect in the second mission. Unless he knew who the traitor really was, but needed hard evidence.…

Hare and O’Donnell are my creations. Hare was a plot necessity, but O’Donnell was invented because I thought there should be one Irish nationalist who wasn’t totally unsympathetic.

Apologies to any Jack Hammond fans! I know the episode implied that he was not in on his uncle’s plot, but it was not fully conclusive. Once I tried out the idea that he was it worked so well, especially in explaining why he was posted to ‘Hotspur’ (of all ships) in the first place, that I couldn’t resist including it.

This was a difficult story to write because so much of it was plugging gaps. I’m not wholly happy with how it came out, but I badly wanted to fill in some background on the Hammond storyline, and at the same time answer some of the questions which loomed when viewing ‘Loyalty’ (How did Wolfe get himself aboard ‘Hotspur’? Why was he even in England?). I hope at least it made reasonable sense to readers.

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