lady_branwyn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lady_branwyn) wrote2010-01-01 08:10 pm
lady_branwyn) wrote2010-01-01 08:10 pm
Entry tags:
Hornblower Fic: Cannon in D, Part 3
Hey, lookee! More of this!
Title: Cannon in D
Characters: Bush, Hornblower, OCs, historical people
Warning: None
Note: If only they were mine, but the boys belong to the Hornblower Estate.
**************************
“Hoyle Bennett at your service. I am attached to the staff of the Embassy in Vienna. I trust that your journey was not unduly onerous?”
“No, it was not very onerous at all,” Bush replied, wondering what “onerous” meant.
“Good. We will have to bring the guns in through that main entrance, but unfortunately, we must wait until all the guests have alighted.” Bennett fanned himself with a handkerchief.
Gerard ordered the men to stand at ease. Bush longed to sit on a gun carriage—the long walk on the uneven cobblestones had left him weary—but he’d be damned before he showed such weakness before the men. He watched as the first coach pulled up to the broad steps. The footmen glittered with gold lace, and the mounted escort wore the dark green of the Russian Army. A tall man stepped out and looked up at the palace with mild interest. Though his ginger hair was thinning about the temples, he moved with a languid grace. He didn’t seem to notice that the three eighteen pounders were pointed directly at him. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice much of anything, sweeping past his aides and guards without a glance.
“Alexander, Tsar of All the Russias. God save him, God save the Russias.” Bennett murmured. He made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
The coach rattled away, and the next one took its place. Bush could not identify the colors or cut of the uniforms of the escort, but this part of world was rife with two-bit kingdoms. The coach door opened and two guards stepped out, followed by a broad-shouldered man in a garish uniform. He was strikingly handsome, and his dark hair fell in curls to his shoulders. He wore the high boots of a cavalryman, and his legs were heavily muscled under the buff breeches. He walked with a slight swagger, his cape swirling in his wake.
“And that, Captain, is the infamous Joachim Murat.”
“Napoleon’s marshal? What is he doing here?”
“He is still King of Naples. He betrayed his master Napoleon in order to keep his throne, though the Allies may yet regret their agreement—he is still a reformer and Jacobin at heart. A most dangerous man.” Bennett shook his head.
As if he could hear them talking, the marshal glanced in their direction. His eyes widened at the sight of the guns on their squat wooden carriages. When he saw that Bush was watching him, he raised a hand in friendly salute to a fellow officer. Surprised, Bush returned the gesture from long habit then cursed himself for showing such courtesy to a murderer and tyrant. He had never felt any personal hatred toward the crews and officers of the French ships he fought. They were only Frenchmen, after all, and no doubt they had been misled by the lies of their own government. This marshal, however, was a different matter entirely. A man could be known by the company he kept, and this man was a friend and brother-in-law of the Corsican.
Murat went forward to where the horses stood in their traces, and he lifted their hooves one by one, carefully examining them, with no regard for his elegant uniform. He spoke with the carriage driver and then with his guards, and then the marshal hurried up the steps in a flourish of blue velvet.
The rest of coaches were slowly emptied of their cargo of noblemen. "Ah, that should be the last of them,” Mr. Bennett said as the final coach rolled away.
They dragged the cannon up the steps and into the palace.
"Heave, you sons of a gun!" young Gerard shouted, working alongside the men. The sentries watched with bored interest.
"This way, this way." Mr. Bennet beckoned them onward.
Title: Cannon in D
Characters: Bush, Hornblower, OCs, historical people
Warning: None
Note: If only they were mine, but the boys belong to the Hornblower Estate.
**************************
“Hoyle Bennett at your service. I am attached to the staff of the Embassy in Vienna. I trust that your journey was not unduly onerous?”
“No, it was not very onerous at all,” Bush replied, wondering what “onerous” meant.
“Good. We will have to bring the guns in through that main entrance, but unfortunately, we must wait until all the guests have alighted.” Bennett fanned himself with a handkerchief.
Gerard ordered the men to stand at ease. Bush longed to sit on a gun carriage—the long walk on the uneven cobblestones had left him weary—but he’d be damned before he showed such weakness before the men. He watched as the first coach pulled up to the broad steps. The footmen glittered with gold lace, and the mounted escort wore the dark green of the Russian Army. A tall man stepped out and looked up at the palace with mild interest. Though his ginger hair was thinning about the temples, he moved with a languid grace. He didn’t seem to notice that the three eighteen pounders were pointed directly at him. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice much of anything, sweeping past his aides and guards without a glance.
“Alexander, Tsar of All the Russias. God save him, God save the Russias.” Bennett murmured. He made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
The coach rattled away, and the next one took its place. Bush could not identify the colors or cut of the uniforms of the escort, but this part of world was rife with two-bit kingdoms. The coach door opened and two guards stepped out, followed by a broad-shouldered man in a garish uniform. He was strikingly handsome, and his dark hair fell in curls to his shoulders. He wore the high boots of a cavalryman, and his legs were heavily muscled under the buff breeches. He walked with a slight swagger, his cape swirling in his wake.
“And that, Captain, is the infamous Joachim Murat.”
“Napoleon’s marshal? What is he doing here?”
“He is still King of Naples. He betrayed his master Napoleon in order to keep his throne, though the Allies may yet regret their agreement—he is still a reformer and Jacobin at heart. A most dangerous man.” Bennett shook his head.
As if he could hear them talking, the marshal glanced in their direction. His eyes widened at the sight of the guns on their squat wooden carriages. When he saw that Bush was watching him, he raised a hand in friendly salute to a fellow officer. Surprised, Bush returned the gesture from long habit then cursed himself for showing such courtesy to a murderer and tyrant. He had never felt any personal hatred toward the crews and officers of the French ships he fought. They were only Frenchmen, after all, and no doubt they had been misled by the lies of their own government. This marshal, however, was a different matter entirely. A man could be known by the company he kept, and this man was a friend and brother-in-law of the Corsican.
Murat went forward to where the horses stood in their traces, and he lifted their hooves one by one, carefully examining them, with no regard for his elegant uniform. He spoke with the carriage driver and then with his guards, and then the marshal hurried up the steps in a flourish of blue velvet.
The rest of coaches were slowly emptied of their cargo of noblemen. "Ah, that should be the last of them,” Mr. Bennett said as the final coach rolled away.
They dragged the cannon up the steps and into the palace.
"Heave, you sons of a gun!" young Gerard shouted, working alongside the men. The sentries watched with bored interest.
"This way, this way." Mr. Bennet beckoned them onward.
no subject
You should totally consider Yuletide next year! Hornblower's a Yuletide fandom. You'd make loads of people happy with one fell swoop. (Not that you're not making three or four of us happy at a time around here.)
no subject
The research part isn't too bad because, long before I found fandom, I was a fangurl of the Napoleonic Wars.
Murat just kind of shoved his way into this story. I have no idea how it happened.
Here is a picture of him--hot stuff, definitely the cutest of Napoleon's marshals. :) Oddly, despite his well-documented vanity and love of fluffy uniforms, it sounds like he was a conscientious and well-intentioned ruler of his little kingdom.
no subject
no subject