lady_branwyn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lady_branwyn) wrote2010-01-09 10:05 pm
lady_branwyn) wrote2010-01-09 10:05 pm
Entry tags:
Hornblower Fic: Cannon in D, Part 6
And here's some 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.
************************
They were interrupted by a footman who had been sent to show the commodore to the dais on the other side of the courtyard.
“They must be about to begin. Mr. Bennett had to negotiate the seating arrangements, and I don't envy him. That's not an easy task when half the guests aren't on speaking terms. Well, good luck, Captain,” Hornblower said. They shook hands as if he were about to fight a shore engagement, then the commodore left.
Bush saw that the Tsar and Marshal Murat were already seated on the high dais. A row of columns ran along the each side of the courtyard, forming a shadowy alley, but the courtyard itself was brightly lit by torches and lamps. The audience sparkled with gems and gold braid.
The musicians hurried to their seats, and Beethoven took his place on the box in front of them. Though not a tall man, he had broad shoulders and the massive arms of a ship’s blacksmith. He glanced around to see that he had their attention, glowering from under his bushy eyebrows, then he waved his cane threateningly and the drums and trumpets began to play.
Bush had not been sure whether he would like such modern music, but this was fine and stirring stuff. First there was a French tune, and Murat’s riflemen fired a volley, aiming high into the air, and then the trumpets played “Rule Britannia.” Beside him, young Gerard was tapping his foot in time with the drums.
When the fiddles started scraping “God Save the King,” Bush drew his dress sword and began counting out the measures to himself. One-two-three. Two-two-three. Three-two-three. Four-two-three… The gun crews intently watched for his signal, and as he brought down the sword, they fired. The cannon flared then kicked back, unfettered by the ringbolts on a ship’s deck. Someone in the audience shrieked as a cloud of smoke drifted across the courtyard. The sailors were grinning and laughing like madmen.
They reloaded the cannon and fired again at Bush’s signal. Then it was the turn of the French riflemen. Bush watched as they loaded their arms and fired, loaded and fired again. The speed and precision of their drill filled him with grudging admiration. But then on the last volley, one of the shots was late, stuttering after the others. He would have thought nothing of it, thought that a rifleman’s hand had slipped on the trigger, if he had not seen the grey puff of smoke drifting from between two columns. Someone had fired from behind Murat’s troops.
From where they sat, the audience couldn’t have seen the shot, and the musicians played on, unaware of their danger. The trumpets and tubas were blaring “God Save the King” so loudly that no one would hear him shouting. Cursing his wooden leg, Bush ran as fast as he could toward the hidden assassin. He hoped that young Gerard would have enough sense to follow him.
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.
************************
They were interrupted by a footman who had been sent to show the commodore to the dais on the other side of the courtyard.
“They must be about to begin. Mr. Bennett had to negotiate the seating arrangements, and I don't envy him. That's not an easy task when half the guests aren't on speaking terms. Well, good luck, Captain,” Hornblower said. They shook hands as if he were about to fight a shore engagement, then the commodore left.
Bush saw that the Tsar and Marshal Murat were already seated on the high dais. A row of columns ran along the each side of the courtyard, forming a shadowy alley, but the courtyard itself was brightly lit by torches and lamps. The audience sparkled with gems and gold braid.
The musicians hurried to their seats, and Beethoven took his place on the box in front of them. Though not a tall man, he had broad shoulders and the massive arms of a ship’s blacksmith. He glanced around to see that he had their attention, glowering from under his bushy eyebrows, then he waved his cane threateningly and the drums and trumpets began to play.
Bush had not been sure whether he would like such modern music, but this was fine and stirring stuff. First there was a French tune, and Murat’s riflemen fired a volley, aiming high into the air, and then the trumpets played “Rule Britannia.” Beside him, young Gerard was tapping his foot in time with the drums.
When the fiddles started scraping “God Save the King,” Bush drew his dress sword and began counting out the measures to himself. One-two-three. Two-two-three. Three-two-three. Four-two-three… The gun crews intently watched for his signal, and as he brought down the sword, they fired. The cannon flared then kicked back, unfettered by the ringbolts on a ship’s deck. Someone in the audience shrieked as a cloud of smoke drifted across the courtyard. The sailors were grinning and laughing like madmen.
They reloaded the cannon and fired again at Bush’s signal. Then it was the turn of the French riflemen. Bush watched as they loaded their arms and fired, loaded and fired again. The speed and precision of their drill filled him with grudging admiration. But then on the last volley, one of the shots was late, stuttering after the others. He would have thought nothing of it, thought that a rifleman’s hand had slipped on the trigger, if he had not seen the grey puff of smoke drifting from between two columns. Someone had fired from behind Murat’s troops.
From where they sat, the audience couldn’t have seen the shot, and the musicians played on, unaware of their danger. The trumpets and tubas were blaring “God Save the King” so loudly that no one would hear him shouting. Cursing his wooden leg, Bush ran as fast as he could toward the hidden assassin. He hoped that young Gerard would have enough sense to follow him.