“Glad to see you, my lord, glad to see you,” said the latter. “Haven’t had a moment since Monday. Glad all went well.”
“Thank you, sir. May I present the officer responsible for the naval ceremonial?”
“You may.”
The King turned his eyes on Hornblower; light blue eyes, prominent,
“Captain Horatio Hornblower,” said St Vincent, and Hornblower did his best to bow, as his French émigré dancing teacher had tried to teach him ten years before, left foot forward, hand over his heart. He did not know how far down to bend; he did not know how long to stay there when he had bent. But he came up again at last, with something of the sensation of breaking the surface of the water after a deep dive.
“What ship, sir? What ship?” asked the King
“Atropos, twenty‑two, Your Majesty.”
Sleepless during the previous night Hornblower had imagined that question might be put to him, and so the answer came fast enough.
“Where is she now?”
“Deptford, Your Majesty.”
“But you go to sea soon?”
“I — I —” Hornblower could not answer that question, but St Vincent spoke up for him.
“Very shortly, sir,” he said.
“I see,” said the King. “I see.”
He put up his hand and stroked his forehead with a gesture of infinite weariness before recalling himself to the business in hand
“My great‑nephew,” he said, “Prince Ernst — did I speak to you about him, my lord?”
“You did, sir,” answered St Vincent.
“Do you think Captain Hornblower would be a suitable officer for the duty?”
“Why yes, sir. Quite suitable.”
“Less than three years’ seniority,” mused the King, his eyes resting on Hornblower’s epaulette. “But still. Harmond!”
“Your Majesty.”
A glittering figure with ribbon and star came gliding forward from the semi‑circle.
“Present Captain Hornblower to His Serene Highness.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
There was a smile in the pale blue eyes.
“Thank you, Captain,” said the King. “Do your duty as you have done it, and your conscience will always be clear.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Hornblower.
St Vincent was bowing again; Hornblower bowed. He was aware of the fact that he must not turn his back upon the King — that was almost the sum of his knowledge of court ceremonial — and he found it not so difficult to withdraw. Already there was a line formed of people waiting their turn to reach the royal presence, and he sidled away from them in St Vincent’s wake.
“This way, if you please,” said Harmond, directing their course to the farther side of the room. “Wait a moment.”
“His Majesty’s service makes strange bedfellows sometimes,” said St Vincent as they waited. “I hardly expected you would be saddled with this, Hornblower.”
“I — I have not yet understood,” said Hornblower.
“Oh, the Prince is —”
“This way, if you please,” said Harmond, appearing again.
He led them towards a diminutive figure who awaited them with composure. A young man — no, only a boy — wearing an outlandish uniform of gold and green, a short gold‑hilted sword at his side, orders on his breast, and two more hanging from his neck. Behind them towered a burly figure in a more moderate version of the same uniform, swarthy, with fat pendulous cheeks. The boy himself was handsome, with fair hair falling in ringlets about his ears, frank blue eyes and a nose slightly turned upwards. The burly figure stepped forward, intercepting the approach of the group to the boy. Harmond and he exchanged glances.
“Presentations should be made to me first,” said the burly figure; he spoke thickly, in what Hornblower guessed to be a German accent.
“And why, sir?” asked Harmond.
“By the fundamental law of Seitz‑Bunau only the High Chamberlain can make presentations to His Serene Highness.”
“Yes?”
“And I, sir, am the High Chamberlain. As you know.”
“Very well, sir,” said Harmond with resignation. “Then may I have the honour to present — Admiral the Right Honourable Earl St Vincent; Captain Horatio Hornblower; Lieutenant Anthony Bracegirdle.”
Hornblower was about to bow, but out of the tail of his eye he caught sight of St Vincent still holding himself ponderously erect, and he restrained himself.