After more than three months, I have finally finished the last chapter of Raise the Bloodied Banner (more on that at the bottom). I have, in the meantime, been quite kept up by Skyrim, Victoria II, and, oh, having enrolled at the University of Warwick to study history. While this leaves me with less free time than before, it also gives me access to a wonderful library, which means my work is much more accurate before. Accordingly, I add to the sources for the story in general and this chapter in particular the following sources:

1) The London Gazette from 17 January 1794, containing dispatches about the Fall of Toulon and the operations of Sir William Sidney Smith, GCTE

2) William Doyle, The Oxford History of the French Revolution (Oxford 1989)

3) Malcolm Crook, Toulon in War and Revolution

4) V. G. Kiernan, The Duel in European History (Oxford, 1988)

I have also perused a map of the city of Toulon in 1840, which I have uploaded here: : / / goo . gl / Pm95A5

This chapter clocks in at 14k words, making it almost twice as long as the last chapter. I just couldn't stop ...

The Eagle's Wings

Toulon, November 1793

A few houses down the road, a red-hot cannonball crashed into a house wall, sending rubble and dust flying in the street, followed by muffled screams. A passerby had been struck by a large brick and did not stir. Lelouch observed the scene, slowly tapping the half-franc coin on the table. "A misfire," he said after a moment's consideration, "from the battery at La Poudrière. They're bombarding Malbousquet again. The next shot won't go over the fort."

Rolo grinned at that. "Really, how do you know?"

"Because the ball came from the west. The only Republican battery in that direction is La Poudrière, and the only one of our forts west of the city is Malbousquet." He put aside his coin, took the napkin, dipped his index finger into his wine and drew up a crude sketch. "They've tried that before, remember? In September, when they first laid siege."

"Uh-huh. Only they didn't have enough guns then to properly bombard anything. A single battery, I think."

"Yes. Now they've got fifty, wherever they got three hundred cannon. Not that it matters, they're not using them properly."

"What do you mean?"

"Malbousquet is irrelevant. True, Toulon cannot be assailed without the cover provided by the fort. But as long as the Allies control the bay, any assault on the city must fail."

"Because our fleet means the Allies retain the initiative and can easily reinforce the city by sea."

"Precisely." He continued his sketch. The Royal Port of Toulon lay in one of Europe's largest natural harbours, a large bay protected by a peninsula and divided into an inner and an outer harbour by two fortified languets. The bay was surrounded on all sites by rough mountain ranges, cause both of its choice as the Mediterranean port of war of France as well as its total economic dependence on the naval Arsenal and its dockyards. The city itself he indicated as a semi-circle residing in the north-eastern corner of the inner harbour. "Of course," he continues, "the Republicans have their grand batteries of La Convention, les Sans-Culottes, and la Montagne and several smaller ones supporting them." Three quick dots indicated the batteries, the first just north of Fort Malbousquet west of the city, the second and third on the western shore of the inner harbour. "Still, none of them are in a position to effectively bombard the Allied fleet in the harbour. They'd need to take Forts Eguillette and Balagnier on the western languet first to do that, and the English securely hold that area."

"I've heard it called Little Gibraltar," Rolo mentioned. "Not without reason."

The serving maid came with their stew and Lelouch handed her five franc – much more than he would have liked to pay, but food was expensive in Toulon these days, even with the British fleet transporting food from the Italian ports. The price of bread, in particular, had exploded in spite of ample stores of wheat after the seizing of the city's mills by the Republican force had necessitated the transport of grain to the Balearic Islands for milling. They ate silently. The food was worse than the last time they'd eaten here, and the meat in the stew seemed to have come from an indeterminate animal that had died of old age at the end of a long and fulfilling life, then left to rot in the sun for several days.

"Have you been to the postmaster's office yet?," Rolo asked after a while.

"A while ago. I think I'm starting to annoy him."

"And?"

"What, and?"

"What news?"

Lelouch did not answer. A platoon of the city's National Guard had arrived to clear the street from rubble. He shifted a little to avoid being seen by their leader; he too wore the white cockade, as did Rolo. Still, he had no interest in being drafted to help. His friend repeated his question. "None," Lelouch replied. "The ship from Genoa brought some mail, but none for me. At this point, I doubt anything will come."

"You're taking this rather well."

He sighed. "I'm not, really." They had left Venice near five months ago. In all that time, he had heard not one word from his Cecilia. By now, their child must have been born – no word, either. It was as though the never-ending flood of his letters had been spirited away from the postilion's chest by a malicious spirit. Fear and suspicion in equal parts robbed him of all repose and were a constant weight upon his mind. Anything would be better than this, even (he shied away from the very thought in terror) a few lines in the cold unforgiving hand of Father What's-his-name informing him of the death in childbed of both Cecilia and their child. At least then, he would be freed of that constant anxiety, and have a grave to visit. You didn't visit Nunnally's grave, you fool. But that had been different – for Nunnally had never truly left him. In these days, she was with him more than ever, when every look from the ramparts of the beleaguered city reminded him of the vow he had sworn.

And yet, that vow was further and further from his thoughts every day, whilst the suspicion grew that he had never been more than a passing fancy to Cecilia.

They finished their meal and left the restaurant.

Lelouch and Rolo had taken up residence in the Rue des Jacobins near the mercantile port in July. Subsequently, after Toulon's notables had executed a counter-coup against the increasingly unpopular Jacobin municipality, they had lived in the Avenue de la Republique. In August, when the city under Republican duress had invited the Allied fleet into its port, they had been in the Rue d'Orléans. They had not moved once. Now that the English, Spanish and Sardinians had a fleet of thirty-three sail and nine hundred guns in the harbour, and the Republicans were entrenched in the mountains surrounding the bay, Lelouch gloomily thought, they were likely to end up in the Rue du débris. The last other major city of the south that had dared rebel against the National Convention, Lyon, had fallen early in October and seen a blood tribunal murder some two hundred brave and loyal souls, and Marseille had received a similar fate earlier in the year. Toulon might be held by twelve thousand soldiers of the Allied armies, but would it hold?

No matter, thought Lelouch, whether the city falls or not. I promised Cecilia I would wait. And what if he should wait forever?

The mighty arc of forts that surrounded the city was held by the regular troops of the Allied army. The Toulonnais National Guard was small, ill-equipped, nearly untrained and mistrusted by the Allied commanders; so their duties did not extend beyond keeping the Republican faction in the city in check and clearing rubble. Since that did not satisfy Lelouch, he and Rolo had volunteered for the 600-strong battalion Royal Louis, but even that was only trusted with the least important stretches of the walls. The Allied commanders' mistrust, Lelouch had discovered, was not entirely unjustified – he knew of at least three fellow volunteers who had certainly not signed up for their love of the King. In fact, Toulon's rejection of the Republic and allegiance to Louis XVII had been unenthusiastic and driven by necessity. He had considered informing their commanding officer of the Jacobins in their midst, but had eventually decided against it: there might come the time when he would need their help, and assuming he acted fast enough, that knowledge might serve as leverage. If worst came to worst, he could still destroy them any time with ease.

Lelouch and Rolo reported to the land Arsenal and were handed their guns and a pouch of ten cartridges each. They would have to return them to the Arsenal at the end of the day, lest the Republicans inside the city gain hold of weaponry to turn against them.

Their company was posted near the Pare d'Artillerie, a large ravelin in the west of the city surrounded by water on all three sides, with the military port behind it, designed by Marshal Vauban himself. To the west, Fort Malbousquet was indicated by a low glacis, surmounted by the British flag. There were about a dozen volunteers from their company on the ramparts, idling about. The cannons had likely not been fired since the great marshal's time, either. The city simply had no powder and no shot to spare to waste on misses. Of course, the fleet in the harbour and the arsenal had held vast quantities of powder at the beginning of the rebellion, but the English fleet had taken care of that.

Since their commanding officer was just as idle as his men, Lelouch and Rolo sat on the crenellated battlements of the ravelin. "Do you sometimes wonder if we're ever going to fire these muskets?," Lelouch asked his friend.

"I imagine when the enemy is at the walls every gun will be needed. Either that or they'll lock us up and keep us under watch with the galley slaves. There's still many Republicans in the city, and Admiral Hood and General O'Hara know that. They don't trust the militia one bit."

"Though of course they trust Don Lángara and his Spaniards even less."

"Heh, true. It's a wonder they're still not firing at each other. Seriously, I thought they'd come to shots when Lángara brought the Reina Luisa and those two other liners – what's their name? – alongside HMS Victory after Gravina's injury. In fact, I'm still not sure if Hood was right to ignore that insult …"

Lelouch laughed. "How's that even an insult? After Gravina was injured, by right a Spaniard should have replaced him …"

His friend rolled his eyes at that. "Oh, come on. You know that the command almost went to Valdez. He didn't get it because, for one, only a small proportion of the troops in the city is Spanish, and for another, he threatened to attack Admiral Hood aboard the Victory."

"Else your limeys would've made sure the top three positions in the Allied force are all held by Brits …"

"Considering the mess you Spaniards made during disembarkation, I can't blame them …"

"We Spaniards?"

"My limeys?"

"Well, you did … what's that?" Lelouch's attention had been caught by a party of half a dozen riders who were moving coastwards between their ravelin and Fort Malbousquet. They wore the blue coats of the Republican army, some with scarlet or blue, most with white lapels. Judging from their golden epaulettes, the gold-brocade and the tricoloured sashes slung around their waists, they all appeared to be high-ranking officers, but they were led by a man in a plain blue coat without and markings of rank. Lelouch had to laugh at the sight. "Look at him," he answered Rolo's puzzled glance, "he sits in the saddle like a peasant, no, worse, like a bourgeois. If I'd have to guess, I'd say he's some dentist or lawyer from Paris who fancies himself a general. Probably is on a good footing with some representatives …"

Rolo reached for his rifle. "Damn, they're close," he murmured. "Think I might have a shot?"

The officers seemed to be deliberating something, constantly interrupted by their leader's insistence on galloping up and down the deserted field, wildly gesticulating. They seemed to be discussing something, or more like, taking dictation from the unassuming man in the plain uniform. Lelouch chuckled. "A moving target, at three hundred yards? Never. They're not going to come much closer either."

Rolo's answer was to load and level his rifle, leaning on the battlements to stabilise his aim. "I don't need to hit anyone," he explained. "But you said it yourself, a sack of potatoes rides better than that man. If the horse shies …"

"I see … worth a shot, I guess."

Roll grinned down his rifle. "That's what I'm saying. I told you about my four older brothers, right? We used to hunt a lot on, er, Lord Haliburton's estates. Mostly deer, the occasional stag. There wasn't much else to do … There were some two dozen sets of antlers in the parlour; when I was a boy my grandfather used to tell me stories about them. I later realised he made them up … Anyway, one day we were stalking a huge twelve-ender – three of us, we'd been following the beast for six hours. I'd gotten close enough for a good shot, or so I thought …"

Lelouch frowned. The French officers had come even closer and seemed to be evaluating something in the bay. The strength of the Allied fleet, perhaps? But that had not changed in weeks, there was nothing new. He tried to follow the leader's hurried gestures and make out some meaning. He pointed across the bay a lot, towards the rocky languet nicknamed Little Gibraltar by its occupants.

"They're no longer moving," Rolo murmured. "I won't get a better shot. What do you think?"

"Wait. I want to know what they're discussing."

"What? Lelouch, they're still three hundred yards away. You can't possibly hear them."

He ignored him. "It's to do with the rock, that much's clear. Perhaps they want to bombard L'Eguilette, protect their battery at les Sans-Culottes?"

"I'm not going to get a better shot than now."

Lelouch bit his tongue as he tried to recall the outline of the bay in his head. The enemy batteries were placed on a ridge parallel to the western shore of the inner harbour, but about half a mile land-inward – too far away for the guns at L'Eguilette and the other English forts around the hill of Little Gibraltar. "No," he muttered, "this isn't a defensive action. They're aiming for something else here. Perhaps they think they can take Malbousquet under crossfire if they take Gibraltar …?"

Rolo sighed. His finger was coiled around the trigger. "We spoke about this not half an hour ago. Didn't you say yourself that the key to Toulon was control of the bay?" And, softly, he squeezed the trigger.

The shot that had been supposed to make the leader's horse shy had found a different target – Lelouch was surprised at how accurate Rolo's aim had been; at three hundred yards, he would have expected the bullet to impact anywhere but the unassuming officer's black bicorne. Pierced, it had fallen to the ground, triggering exclamations of surprise and fear from the other officers. The leader's grey pranced nervously around, and it took the man a moment to get his horse back under control. Rolo uttered a curse. "I think we have to pay for the cartridges if we use one …"

The officer looked up at them. He was young, not much older than either of them, a prominent nose in a dark, sharp face, dark eyes and hair. When he identified their position by the powder smoke, he looked straight at Lelouch, and it seemed for a moment as though their eyes had met. A light shiver ran down his spine. A moment later, the party of officers calmly made their leave.

"Well, there goes that …," Rolo said. "I would have made it with a better weapon. Anyway, Gibraltar."

Lelouch gave a cough. "Ah, yes. You were saying?"

"Gibraltar. They want to control the harbour by seizing Little Gibraltar. Which, I'm reminding you, is precisely what you told me half an hour ago." He laughed. "Damn it, at least listen to yourself. Anyway, what do you think about this?"

He took his time answering. The sky had cleared up, and the fortified languet was clear to see to the south. A crescent, he reminded himself as if it made a difference, the hill culminated in a concave bay with a fort on either corner, both held by Britons. Half a mile to the west, a rocky knoll which might be fortified should the need arise.

In the military harbour lay the French fleet of the Mediterranean. Thirty ships of the line of battle alone, magnificent in size and splendour, led by their flagship, the Commerce de Marseille, which at 120 guns was one of the largest ships in the entire world, surpassed only by Spain's Santissima Trinidad. Thirteen frigates, the wolf packs of the high seas, built to outrun any ship they could not outgun and outgun any ship they could not outrun; besides, twelve sloops of varying size. Thus was the entire force of the king of France in the Middle Sea.

A closer look, of course, would have revealed the extent to which the fleet had been rendered toothless and incapable: the guns removed to arm the fortresses, the rigging disabled, the powder magazine guarded by Englishmen, the sailors imprisoned upon their ships like the convicts from the chain gang on the galleys in the dry-dock. What would happen with them once the siege was lifted? To keep them imprisoned would cost the Allies dearly, the cheapest option being transfer to a Republican port on the Atlantic. But that would restore at least three liners and countless trained seamen to the enemy …

"They need to save their fleet," Lelouch finally said. "A presence in the Mediterranean is essential to the Republicans' interest, especially now that they are at war with Spain, England, Sardinia and all the other powers in the area. In the unlikely event that the city should fall, they will try and keep the English from burning or seizing the fleet by instituting a comprehensive barrage on the Arsenal."

"Well, yes. But what about taking Little Gibraltar?"

They were interrupted by a deep and dull bang followed in quick succession by seven more. The noise came from the south-west. "It has begun," Lelouch said. "They're bombarding L'Eguilette."

"Now there's only one question left," Rolo pointed out. "What if the city should fall?"

Over the next few weeks, they made their inquiries. While the bombardment of Little Gibraltar, now augmented by a further fortress atop the hill dubbed Fort Mulgrave, continued with ever-increasing fury, a melancholy veil had sunk over the city's Royalist party. An assault on the fort on the 18th had been thrown back under great losses. In return, the military governor, General O'Hara, had on the 23rd of the month led a bold sortie against the enemy batteries. The assault had failed, O'Hara captured by some Corsican nobody: the most extraordinary thing about the captain, major or colonel (depending on which account one believed) being an exotic name, Napolitano or Napoleone di Buonaparte. The Allied commanders had issued a proclamation assuring the populace of the impregnability of Toulon, but everyone knew they were surveying for the eventuality of an evacuation of their forces.

Rolo had gone to a captain in the English fleet and Lelouch to Don Lángara to make discrete inquiries regarding provisions made for civilian British respectively Spanish subjects who might be stranded in the city. Don Lángara had taken up residence in the Hôtel de Marine of the city with the majority of his staff – Lelouch and half the city with him suspected that was because he wanted to be as close as possible to the disarmed French ships, in case the English made any move to seize them for themselves. After introducing himself as a gentleman of Cadiz, he was led inside by a subaltern staff officer. "His Excellency is quite occupied," the man warned him, "You may have to wait for a few minutes. Have a seat."

A few minutes turned out to be the better part of an hour. When he was at last called into the admiral's study, a large room that might previously have served as the dining room of the Admiral of the Levant, he found it packed with naval officers in dark blue coats and scarlet waistcoats richly decorated with gold brocade and army men all in white. Most everyone was screaming, he heard suggestions, boasts, curses. He could not discern who was the admiral, if he was present at all.

"Shameful, isn't it." Lelouch turned at the sound of the voice. He had been addressed by a young officer without markings of rank, an army ensign of the line infantry. Tall, handsome, blonde and blue-eyed, well-spoken. That, together with his white uniform, reminded Lelouch uncomfortably of Mao. "They're debating the best preparations against the French general attack. Tell me, señor, where is the point of having a chain of command from the meanest tar to the grand admiral when every officer thinks he should have a say? Every man you see in this room, including myself, is well-born. You, too, have the bearing of nobility. Ancient and honourable names, the flower of their nation."

"And yet?"

The officer smiled thinly. "Every man who holds a commission in the forces of Spain is of noble blood. And every patriotic nobleman wants a commission. Actual abilities … are in short supply, to say the least. Worst of all, every officer thinks he has a right to be heard. I imagine the final decision on this matter, which should have been decided in an hour, will be made sometime within the next few days."

Lelouch suppressed a sigh. He really didn't have the time for that. Somewhat helpless, he looked around the room. "Anyway … you wouldn't possibly know where to find the admiral?"

"Not here. He has withdrawn to a … quieter place an hour ago; I wish I could do the same, but I am needed here. However, I am certain His Excellency would not be disinclined to talk to the long-lost scion of an old line, Señor Zapata de San Luis."

It took him a moment to understand what was being said. The name sounded strange to his ears, which had long been used to hearing M. Lamperouge instead. How could he have forgotten? However, the more interesting question was … "How do you know my name?"

The other man's smile widened. "Allow me to state some observations I have made. You are a Spaniard from Cadiz or thereabout and of good birth, that much is clear from the way you speak. Your confidence is astounding, to think the admiral would just receive you, so I consider it likely that you are of noble birth. You wear a civilian coat and no cockade or mark, but there is gunpowder under your fingernails and if you would show me your hat – yes, I thought I had seen a pinhole. A member of the militia, then? Or perhaps a Republican insurrectionist? Your eyes betray you for the former, señor. One more thing – why might you be here? Clearly, you have come to negotiate your passage out of a doomed port. That's what everyone else is here for, at least. Assuming that is the case – I see it is – you are utterly destitute, or at least what counts for destitute in our world. Else you would have found it much easier to buy your way out of the town …"

"No ships have been leaving the harbour for months."

"Señor de San Luis, please. Surely you must know that everything has its price. For the meanest thief, honour and respectability are but a featherstroke away. Give a vagabond gold, and he will be a king. Even men can be bought, often at a price that may surprise you. A way out of this town is the simplest task compared to that. In any case, that does not yet explain how I identified you. The answer is insultingly simple: you see, I am an avid reader of the papers. In the Diario de Cadiz from 25 March of last year, there was an annonce describing the disappearance of two children, Lelouch and Nunnally de Zapata de San Luis. The precise wording escapes me, but the description of the brother matches your physiognomy, as do the other facts. You must have quite a journey behind you. I hope you and your lady sister both are well."

Lelouch ignored the question. "It's been a year. Why do you remember? It didn't concern you."

"I remember. In any case, the moment you opened your mouth I thought it might be you, and your words have concerned it. Let us then return to the matter at hand. You seek passage home to Cadiz for yourself and your sister? A wise decision, certainly. And please, in the name of our friendship allow me to arrange for suitable passage aboard a ship of His Most Catholic Majesty's navy. I would be honoured to have you join me aboard the Sirena, which is a most handsome frigate of thirty-four guns and only three years' age, and on which myself and my unit will be leaving the city. The crew and my men both are gallant and well-behaved, so your sister would have nothing to fear. There is nowhere you would be safer."

Lelouch's eyes narrowed. "And where is the hitch?"

The officer took a step back and raised his hands. "I assure you, señor, I see this as a favour from one gentleman to another. There are no strings attached. All I desire is to be considered a loyal friend to your family, as you must understand I am a second son, who will never hold land and title. In a sense, I seek a new family, which must only serve to advance our mutual interests."

There was something about the ensign's eyes that made Lelouch mistrust him. Greed, there was, and cold calculation. Ambition. Something about them that said: perhaps more. But what could there be? It was widely known that his father was not rich, and that there was no retribution to be expected. Which left as the best explanation Lelouch had the hope for patronage – even a poor nobleman was still a nobleman, which was better than a commoner. Clearly the man desired military advancement – and, lacking means, patronage was still the best means to achieve that.

I don't really have a choice, do I?, Lelouch wondered. He did not care to return to his father for even a single day – he had a mission to fulfil. Indeed, he had thought about simply staying in France joining the rebels fighting her from the inside – anything else felt like retreat. But Toulon would fall, and then he would die (and be reunited with Nunnally), without being a single step closer to the culmination of his sacred quest. Sometimes, you had to castle to win the game. And so, Lelouch suppressed a sigh and said: "Thank you for your offer. I must inform you though that my sister … that I am travelling alone, that is, with a friend."

He could not tell the other man's thoughts, but his eyes displayed obvious disappointment. "Of course," he assured him, his voice markedly colder, "that is just as well."

At once Lelouch realised what had been the officer's intentions. Being a second son, his ambition would always be limited by his status as a commoner, but Lelouch was irrationally certain that he had intended to marry Nunnally, then make her their father's heiress by disposing of him. Marry Nunnally, the words echoed in his head. "I am afraid I did not get your name, señor," he coldly inquired.

The officer bowed with a flourish. "I have the honour to be Schneizel Rey y de Lara de La Carrera, ensign in the Royal Regiment of Seville, at your pleasure. My father was Arturo Rey, 7th Marquis of La Carrera, and my brother Ulises Rey now is the eighth man to hold that title."

Lelouch nodded, then put his hand on the hilt of his sword. When he spoke, his voice rose loud and clear above the arguments of the Spanish officers surrounding them, and some even listened up. "I am Lelouch Zapata y de Lamperouge. My father is Carlos Zapata, 11th Count of San Luis. Noble señor, you have gravely insulted myself and my sister, whose honour demands satisfaction of you. Consider this my challenge."

Suddenly, they had every man's attention as Schneizel gasped in utter confusion. "Señor, what … is the meaning of this? Tell me how I have insulted you, and I will gladly make amends." Someone in the room muttered "coward", but he was hissed down.

"You know full well, señor, how you have insulted my sister. No amends can be made. Please name your seconds, and choose your weapons."

"I do not know." And to those around them, he added, loudly: "God be my witness, I know not how I have offended this gentleman. No man can be challenged without reason, and there is no shame in refusing a groundless summons."

Lelouch punched him in the face.

Fury lent force to his arm, and Schneizel tumbled back into the crowd. Someone grabbed Lelouch's wrist and held him back from following up on the attack. When his opponent regained his balance, he saw blood dripping from his nose. "You shall have your satisfaction," Schneizel uttered between closed teeth. "Now. Outside. Pistols. Martinez …"

"Hold on, gentlemen," someone said. "You can't fight now, we're at war!"

"True," another officer added, "duels between nations take absolute precedence. As long as Spain is at war with France, Spaniard cannot fight Spaniard."

Lelouch grit his teeth. "… well then. I retract my challenge – for now. But the insult still stands, and can never be washed clean unless by blood. Mark my words, and let all the honourable gentlemen of the arms of Spain be witness: by my honour, Señor Rey, once this war is over, I will find you, and, hopefully, I will kill you."

Without waiting for a response, Lelouch turned and walked towards the door. A colonel and a brigadier stepped out of the way. He left the room, and the building.

It had begun to rain. It was cold, and a sharp wind hurried along the quay, making the disarmed ships' rigging sway as though still maintained. Every moment, he expected sails to unfurl. "How did it go?," someone asked him from behind. Lelouch turned and beheld his friend, leaning against the wall near the entrance of the Naval Arsenal.

He blinked. He hadn't actually managed to make any inquiries. "Nothing," he said. "You?"

Rolo shook his head and closed up to him. "They keep insisting the city will withstand, but when I made some more inquiries the captain claimed they didn't have the space for additional passengers. Which is quite absurd, considering that they're spreading their sailors out amongst the fleet to man the seized French vessels. If you ask me, they don't give a damn about us."

"We still have to leave the city."

"So you've decided? That you're not going to wait for Cecilia any longer?"

The rigging swayed in the wind. Cecilia? Cecilia had forgotten him. Lelouch stepped out on the quay into the shadow of the gigantic wooden hulls of the captured French ships. "Say," he asked his friend, "how many men do you think one needs to man a frigate?"

After Lelouch had explained his plan (Rolo called it idiotic and ridiculous and several other things), the friends walked into a tavern in the mercantile portion of the harbour. Toulon was, after all, a major port, though the blockade and siege had put an end to trade and commerce. No ships ventured from the harbour any more, but the sailors, Lelouch had reasoned, were still there. And even if that wasn't the case, the dockyards of Toulon had regularly employed three to five thousand persons at any one time, which, in a city of thirty-thousand inhabitants, meant they were likely to find someone who suited their needs. Indeed, the run-down tavern contained at least a dozen unwashed thugs who were likely to be sailors. Most were French, but the others hailed from all sorts of nations; from Russians over Turks to negroes and Yankees. They seemed sullen, many were drunk even though it was not even midday.

They walked up to the master of the house, who was reading a dirty and crumbled copy of the Gazette de France, dated to last month. "Good man," Lelouch said to him, "where might one find hearty seamen for an endeavour of some risk?"

The man briefly looked up from his journal. "Ain't no ships leaving the harbour. You want one of the peddlers from the east gate."

"On the contrary, my enterprise is indeed one that requires sailors. It is not an easy task, dangerous and likely in numerous ways illegal; and beside without remuneration …"

The landlord closed his paper. "We are honest, law-abiding folk here. Out of my establishment, sir."

Lelouch sighed and shared a look with Rolo. Perhaps he should have phrased this differently. But damned be he if he gave up this easily! Resting his hand on his sword's hilt, Lelouch stepped into the centre of the room and asked in a loud voice: "Which of you rats is not yet ready to die a criminal's death?"

Rolo deeply sighed.

"And what's that supposed to mean?," a rough and hostile voice asked. A sailor in striped trousers and an open vest, of huge stature and a mean face. Hard muscles outlined under his shirt. The other patrons watched with bated breath.

"Er, he didn't mean it that way …," Rolo began, but Lelouch cut him off.

"Surely even you sorry lot must know what fate awaits you? When the city falls, you will make the intimate acquaintance of Madame Guillotine. By which I mean you will lose that ugly head of yours, which might well be an improvement."

"Keep up such talk and your face will be quite a deal uglier than mine, Monsieur."

"Lelouch …"

He smirked at the sailor. "Then surely you prefer death to life, ignominious defeat to glorious victory, and the kiss of the guillotine to that of a lover?"

"Say what you must, I will mess you up after that."

Lelouch's smirk widened. "Now we're talking. See, even to you gentlemen it must be obvious that the city is going to fall before the end of the year. Reliant as she is on supplies, material and even manpower from overseas, it is a triviality to state that Toulon will not withstand an extended siege – not against the amassed forces of France. And even you must realise that the vengeance of the Jacobins will be swift and terrible, and that innocence alone will not save you. Heads will roll and bloods will flow. Might well be yours. Unless … you work for me."

"This situation is becoming increasingly bizarre," the sailor remarked, hostility replaced by puzzlement for the moment. "If you want us to work for you, why insult us?"

"He's got a point, you know," Rolo commented.

Lelouch ignored both of them and spoke to the other sailors in the tavern, who had followed the exchange with unadulterated interest. "What I propose is not easy. You will work hard and long, by day and night. You will face violent opposition from all sides. It is illegal and treasonous. And indeed, success is anything but certain. But if we succeed … you will live, and live free." He smirked and raised his arms. "We will steal a ship."

The seaman frowned. "Let me make this clear. There is no hire, and we might well die."

"Indeed."

The man crossed his tattooed arms and looked around the tavern room. Then, he sighed. "My name is Boussier, rated able. I'm in."

Lelouch unrolled the map on the table and pinned it down with two iron tankards. The forty-odd men in the room crowded around him, trying to get a good look. "There are thirteen frigates and twelve sloops in the harbour," Lelouch explained. "Obviously, any liners are right out. We simply do not have the necessary manpower to man a larger vessel. The frigates: the Perle, Aretheuse, both of forty, the Aurora, the Alceste, the Ulysse, the Iris and the Montreal, the Serieuse, the Courageux, the Iphigenie and the Topaze of thirty-two guns each. The forty-gun Junon is in ordinary, and two fourtier-frigates were in building when the English entered Toulon. Sloops: Poulette, Proselite, Bellette, of twenty-six, Caroline, Auguste, Sincere, Mulet, Mozelle, Emproye and Pluvier of twenty each, the Tarleston, Petite Aurore, Alerte and Bretoane of less than twenty guns."

Boussier stepped forth. Lelouch had originally not taken kindly to the idea of delegating part of their organisation to their hired cronies, until he had seen the experienced sailor's talents in action. Beside having served successively as boatswain, helmsman, and chief mate on various ships and vessels, the man had proved to be discrete and thorough at gathering information and procuring supplies, well-loved, respected and feared by the hands he had recruited, an excellent connoisseur of the city, the harbour and the surrounding waters, and quick of mind and spirit. Lelouch had put him in charge of the deck department, with other recruits responsible for the separate masts, stores, et cetera. "We have spent most of last week reconnoitring the harbour. The Aurora, Topaze, Bellette, Proselite, Sincere, Mulet, Pluvier and Mozelle have during the past weeks received increased attention by the English, who are fitting them out for service, while the Emproye and the Petite Aurore have been handed over to the Neapolitans respectively Spaniards. The Iris and the Montreal have the French powder magazines aboard and are heavily guarded, and the Lutine has been transformed into a bomb ketch and is also heavily guarded. Now, the Courageux, Iphigenie, Bretouane and Alerte display serious damages to hull and rigging. I doubt they are seaworthy. That leaves the Alceste, the Ulysse, the Serieuse, and the sloops Poulette, Caroline and Auguste for further consideration."

Lelouch had in the meantime reached for a quill and noted down the locations of the vessels on the map, each indicated by its name in a small, neat and narrow hand. "Now, we decided not to take one of the sloops. It would have been easier – I hear you murmur – but our plan relies on the gratefulness of the British. A sloop will not inspire much joy in the English commanders. A frigate will. You know best how useful, and how expensive, a good, French-built frigate can be, you who have build and manned them. Mr Haliburton, please."

Rolo stepped to his side. "I have been observing the guards in the harbour. Their activity has greatly increased in preparation for what is sure to be the evacuation of the Allied expeditionary force. Guards have been installed on all aforementioned vessels as well as the ships, and patrols survey the dockyard at night time. Obviously, the guards on the ships cannot be avoided and will have to be disabled and placed in custody. However, we should be eager to avoid the patrols, which are usually platoon-sized. The Alceste and the Serieuse are both moored in the centre of the patrols' circuit, which leaves the Ulysse with the greatest window of time for operations. She's a thirty-two guns frigate of the Magicienne class, two years old and in excellent condition. She has a full complement of rigging, though she's been disarmed and holds no stores beyond what we have smuggled aboard during the last two weeks." He gave a light cough. "This endeavour relies on speed and preciseness. You have all been assigned to a section. Immediately before we engage, Mr Lamperouge and I will compare our clocks with those of the section leaders. We have at most thirty minutes to get the Ulysse moving until the patrol returns. We want to manage in twenty-five. Gentlemen, do we have your consent?"

A choir of "aye"s resounded in the smoky tavern room. "Excellent. The British have begun embarking their troops today, as have the Spaniards. The Italians will likely follow tomorrow. We reason that the British fleet will leave Toulon tomorrow night. That is when we must act. Assemble in the Rue de l'Arsenal at eight in the evening, but be inconspicuous – the city is uneasy. There will be riots, I am certain. Once we join you, we will gain access to the Arsenal and commence the operation. Be armed, and above all, be punctual. Are there any questions?"

The friends didn't bother to pack anything, or clear out the room they had rented. Some clothes, along with more essential supplies, had already been smuggled aboard the Ulysse by the dockworkers in their conspiracy, everything else they would have to carry on their person and otherwise rely on the generosity of the English (a people, as Rolo snidely commented, not known for charity). Rolo had taken the receipt signed by a representative of Mr Rothschild over the value of his Venetian residence, which his former butler had sent by courier early in July, and sewn it into the lining of his waistcoat. That receipt, Rolo had assured him, could instantly be transformed into bags of golden guineas (or a neat bundle of banknotes) at any bank in Great Britain and quite a few in overseas. When Lelouch expressed his doubts about the usefulness of a mere slip of paper without any relation to real gold or silver, Rolo expressed his indignation. "The word of a British gentleman is worth as much as gold, sir. And amongst all British gentlemen, none is so honourable and upright as a banker, and the most upright of banks is the Bank of England. I tell you, I freely say that the day the Bank of England fails to exchange a ten-pound note for nine guineas two crowns and two shillings, or nine guineas and seventeen shillings, or forty crowns, or two-hundred shillings, and so on, lightning shall strike me and the earth shall swallow me!"

"We do hope not," Lelouch had dryly replied and given way. The only things he had taken were the clothes on his body, his hat with the white cockade and his sword. They left the key to their room in the hallway and left the house. Outside, they were met by a soldier in an English midshipman's uniform. "Are you the Sieur Haliburton?," he asked Lelouch.

"That's me," Rolo replied for him. "What is it?"

"Admiral Sir Samuel Hood requests your presence aboard HMS Victory, at once. It's urgent."

The friends shared a worried look. Someone must have sold them out, Lelouch thought. He'd known it was a bad idea to meet the entirety of their crew in person …

"Can my friend accompany me?"

"Is he a British subject?"

"A Spaniard."

The midshipman thought about it, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. If you will follow me."

They were led to the harbour, where the three men entered a small rowing boat. The cadet brought them out into the bay. HMS Victory, the flagship of the Allied fleets, lay just outside the harbour basin, a monstrous whale painted in bright red. A 104-guns First Rate, the ship was already old, as evidenced by the wormy and mossy hull near the waterline. She would not remain in service for long. As they approached, a pilot ladder was let down from the deck (the midshipman and Rolo climbed it without breaking a sweat).

Lelouch was not surprised to see the deck in a state of great upheaval. Beside a handful of civilian émigrés from the city, everyone seemed engaged in some kind of labour: a dozen sailors on their knees scrubbing the deck, many more up in the rigging performing repairs, or moving the cannons that had been used for the new forts back into position. The midshipman led them across the deck into the great cabin. The admiral's dining room was crowded, many people here were civilians. Slowly Lelouch and Rolo made their way to the front. "Quiet!," a strained voice shouted over the uproar, "Every one of you will be heard, I promise, but please be quiet!" The speaker: blue eyes and a prominent nose in a weathered red face, a powdered wig and gold embroidery on his coat. The admiral, Lelouch presumed.

Admiral Hood's plea did nothing to calm the crowd, indeed seemed to prompt it only to more insistent begging. Most of the civilians were French, but a handful of English voices could be heard amongst them. Every one of them, Lelouch realised, had been selected to flee the country and the Terror with the aid of the British navy, out of thousands who had been desirous to leave. How many were they? Many families, eighty heads in total, he estimated. One could barely move nor breath in the ship's great cabin, but the Victory could easily hold twice that number in refugees – likely, most of them would be dumped at Gibraltar. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to be fearful of being refused a place on board, as petitions were made, bribes were offered and children were soothed. Whenever Admiral Hood tried to speak, he was screamed down …

"SILENCE!" The shout rolled like thunder over the exiles' bickering, and immediately the clamour subsided.

Admiral Hood grimaced at the shouter. "Thank you, Captain Smith," he sourly commented, then rose to his feet. "Mesdames et Messieurs," he began in heavily-accented, but otherwise impeccable French, "I assure you, there is no need for such distress. His Britannic Majesty's forces will see to your safety. Now, as you will know, Little Gibraltar has fallen. Under overwhelming attack from the enemy, the expeditionary force of the Allied Monarchs is evacuating Toulon. I have given orders for some two thousand refugees like yourself to be taken into the fleet. All of you have been taken on as passengers to England. The captain will fill you in on the details, if you will follow Captain Knight …"

"ALL PASSENGERS, WITH ME!"

Admiral Hood looked down at a list before him. "Mr William Wesson, Mr Gordon Russell, Mr Roger Wright, Mr George Sutherland, Mr and Mrs Malcolm Crook, Mr Robert Haliburton, Captain Sir Sidney Smith, please remain."

The cabin slowly cleared. With moderate interest Lelouch watched those who remained – the civilians clearly were down on their luck, some sailors, some travellers. The captain caught his attention – evidently, he was the one who had silenced the mass before. Dressed in a navy uniform, he wore the ribbon of an unfamiliar order on his chest. His waist was adorned by a sabre in a steel scabbard and a pair of pistols stuffed in his sash. Such martial adornment was belied by his physiognomy, which with a high brow, large nose and eyebrows, red cheeks and a head of tangled dark locks, which produced in the onlooker more the impression of a scholar than of a soldier.

"Gentlemen, Madam, in the name of His Majesty's Government I want to express my sincere regrets for the pains you have suffered these past months. Please be assured that you will be lodged in the greatest possible comfort in the great cabin and are very welcome to join myself and Captain Knight at the captain's table." He let his eyes wander over the civilians and frowned. "Pardon me, it appears I omitted one of you …"

Lelouch indicated a bow. "Lelouch Lamperouge," he said in English, "at your service, sir."

"And you are a British subject?"

"He is with me," Rolo quickly indicated, but he cut him off.

"A Spaniard."

The admiral frowned. "And you didn't think to leave the room when I didn't call your name? In fact, why did you not go to my Spanish colleague?"

He briefly smiled. "Don Lángara did not prove cooperative. So now I am looking to make my luck in the forces of the king of England instead." That was, of course, a lie. The perfidy and duplicity of English diplomacy were legendary, as was the incompetence of the British army. Even if England should break with their customs, the very numbers were against them as the French population was more than double that of Britain. And whereas Lelouch had previously believed that the revolution could not withstand the combined forces of Europe, France had been remarkably tenacious these past few months. No, there was only one state that would resist France until the end and offer him the opportunities he needed to fulfil his vow – Austria.

But he did need the admiral's support, and it couldn't hurt to pander to him. Rolo had caught on at once, and added: "Indeed, that is also my wish. We wish to enlist as soon as we reach London."

The admiral's frown deepened. "Well, I am not going to keep you from it. I am certain we can find some arrangement. Now, if you would excuse us, I have something to discuss in private with Captain Smith …"

Sir Sidney shrugged. "What does it matter? Half of Toulon knows, and the other half will know tomorrow. It's very simple: sir, I do not have enough men."

"Need I remind you that you are a volunteer? You arrived here from Constantinople only … what, two weeks? ago and hold no official command. You're on half pay and should be glad I agreed to that plan of yours at all. Perhaps they do things differently in Sweden … But I am not going to order my lads to go on a suicide mission."

"It is not a suicide mission, I assure you. We do not expect any contest – the bombardment for the French general attack will keep the Jacobins in their houses. Even with Don Langára's three gunboats and his promise to take care of the ships in the bay, twenty-three officers and a company of men are not enough to take care of the French fleet within our window …"

That caught Lelouch's attention. "Excuse me," he interrupted, "may I ask what precisely it is you intend to do?"

Hood seemed irritated by his interruption, but Sir Sidney jumped at the opportunity. "Certainly. Obviously, capturing the French fleet is our priority, but we cannot man and outfit all of them. We are going to burn the rest and destroy as many harbour facilities as we can. That should disable the French Mediterranean power for years to come."

Lelouch shared a glance with Rolo. "We would be honoured to serve under you, sir," his friend said. "If you will have us."

The admiral laughed. "There you have your volunteers. I'd suggest you get on with your preparations. Dismissed."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?," Rolo muttered under his breath. "Hood was going to offer us a way out, no strings attached. Now we'll be running two conflicting operations at the same time, while being under … roundshot!"

Before they even had the time to duck, a red-hot cannonball impacted in the water beside their boat, drenching them in foam and splash water. Lieutenant Priest, helmsman and commander of the gunboat HMS Wasp laughed at the enemy's aim as he firmly steered them towards the dockyard. "They must be celebrating their victory – they're already drunk!"

"Silence now," another officer hoarsely said, Lelouch could not see his face in the dark. "We're already in the harbour. We don't want them to hear us coming."

A conflagration had broken out in the city's poorest quarter and the shine of burning houses illuminated the sky. The sky would be brighter still once their work was done, Lelouch grimly thought. Under cover of dark, the small detachment of volunteers had set out in the tender HMS Swallow, three English and three Spanish gunboats. All the while, the enemy kept up the fire from Little Gibraltar, though the majority of the Allied fleet had already left the bay and thus was out of range. Malbousquet to the west of the city had fallen late in the afternoon, and after brief rest the enemy had entered the defenceless city. Consequently, Sir Sidney had ordered the officers to equip themselves with swords and pistols, and the seamen with cutlasses and carbines. "You see those?," one of the officers pointed out to Sir Sidney a group of huge hulks with house-like superstructures moored between the military and the mercantile port. From tiny windows, formerly gun ports, were dimly illuminated. "Those are the floating prisons of Toulon. Each holds a hundred prisoners. Unchained, and strengthened by years of hard labour. Like as not they'll try something to escape the conflagration. Best we avoid them."

Smith examined the hulks. "We'll keep them down with a few rounds of grapeshot. Lieutenant, bring us quayside and be ready to enfilade the prisoners' landing area while we go on land. Securing the dockyard gates should gain us some time." The same order was signalled to the rest of the little flotilla, and they quickly landed on the quay. Sufficient sailors and gunners were left behind to cover their retreat if necessary, or evacuate if they should be overwhelmed.

There was neither time nor need for judicious manoeuvring – silently they hurried across the Arsenal. As they approached, however, Lelouch realised that something was wrong: the gates to the Arsenal were bathed in the light of torches. They found the dock-gates guarded by a detachment of National Guard. They wore the white cockade and did not turn hostile on them, but neither would they cooperate. No wonder, Lelouch thought, the English promised to defend them if they revolted against Paris. And it has only brought them blood, fire and pestilence – and now we are going to destroy their navy. They must think the English used and betrayed them. Closer inspection revealed that some of the men were Spanish soldiers, and their commander cordially greeted the English arrivals. But beyond that, a more personal anxiety gnawed at him: he had not expected the gates to be guarded. How was he supposed to get his men inside the city? He glanced at his pocket watch, it was ten past seven in the evening. Less than an hour until the appointed time.

After a moment's hesitation, Sir Sidney ordered Ensign Ironmonger of the Royals to stay behind with ten men and guard the guards. "But sir," the man protested in a hushed voice, "if worse comes to worst, we will be overwhelmed. If you would engage with your entire force …"

Sir Sidney cut him off. "We don't have the time for that. Contest of any kind would endanger our entire operation. Try not to anger them, return to the boats if they turn on you. On then, lads – let's get to work. And remember, there is no problem that cannot be solved by judicious use of explosives." Said it, stripped off his gloves and at once began with the preparations. They had previously been divided into groups of ten, and within those groups spread out over the harbour. Sir Sidney returned to the ships to bid the commander of the Swallow tender direct his broadside against the galley slaves, who by now were proving jealous spectators of their operation. Assuring the prisoners that no harm would come to them should they remain quiet, this additional provision combined with the enemy's crossfire kept the slaves subdued.

Lelouch's group boarded the liner Commerce de Bordeaux – he noticed with satisfaction that the guards had already left the city – and immediately begun positioning combustibles on the ship, as the powder magazines had already been emptied. In between placing two bombs in the mast-house, Rolo took Lelouch aside. "What are we going to do about the other thing?," he whispered as he tried to stow away a small barrel of gunpowder inside a pile of rope, "The men are locked out of the Arsenal, and by the time we'll be done here, the Ulysse – the harbour – will be no more …"

He grimaced. "I've no idea. There must be some way, though. What do you think?"

"What I think? Honestly? I think it's time for you to admit that your plan is not going to work."

Never. "To leave without at least striking one blow would be shameful, don't you agree?

His friend merely rolled his eyes.

They spent the better part of the next hour making preparations, until a majority of the ships and all of the warehouses had been taken care of. The enemy forces had entered the city, and come within shooting distance of the harbour, which had not permitted them to also prepare the westernmost ships – including, luckily, the Ulysse. Anxious not to let the enemy see the inadequacy of their force to mount any sort of resistance, Sir Sidney had had their ships' guns and a handful of fieldpieces keep up a crossfire of grapeshot. The enemy had not stayed out of the way after that. Around the same time, they received reinforcements in the form of the fireship HMS Vulcan, which had been placed between the men of war, to be abandoned and ignited. The arrival of the Vulcan and its reinforcements also silenced the galley slaves.

"Good work, lads," Sir Sidney said when the officers and the two civilians returned to him for further orders. "We're done here until the signal from Victory. Lamperouge, I want you to go see how the Spaniards in the basin are doing."

"Yes, sir." There was his chance – the Spanish detachment had been directed in the opposite direction from the gates, preparing the vessels in the three basins at the south-eastern corner of the military harbour, but if he was fast enough, perhaps he would be able to slip past both Smith's men and the guards at the gate and make contact with his own crew. He shared a quick smirk with Rolo, then hurried off.

It was eight o'clock.

The basins lay in darkness. All three contained vessels in varying states of completion, two frigates and one ship of the line, huge and black against the night sky. The Spaniards were nowhere in sight, but then again they would be hiding as much as they were …

"Put your hands up," a calm voice said in Spanish, and a hard metal object was pressed against his neck, "and identify yourself."

With only a slight hesitation, Lelouch did as asked. He had not heard the man coming, which was disconcerting. "My name is Lelouch de Lamperouge. I serve under Sir Sidney Smith in the enterprise of destroying the French fleet."

To his surprise, that did not deter the Spaniard. "I thought as much," he said without lowering his gun. "Come with me, please." – and nudged him forward. Lelouch was led aboard one of the frigates, which was lacking mast, castles and gun ports but had already been given a fully planked weather deck. He was met there by a group of Spanish officers and seamen doing … very little.

"So you were sent by the English officer, were you?," their leader, a captain, asked in broken English.

"To inquire as to your readiness to set fire to the hulks, indeed," Lelouch replied in his native tongue.

That prompted chuckling from the officers. "A Spaniard in English services. Do you know the punishment for treason?"

Lelouch scowled. Who was the traitor here? "What is one treason between allies? I understand it is customary to return breaches of faith in kind."

"What are you implying, señor?"

"It appears evident to me that you have been idle instead of preparing the ships for destruction. Is that how Spanish honour treats agreements?"

"I do not have to justify myself to an English lapdog …"

"No," said another voice from behind him. The voice was familiar, suave and pleasant. "but this gentleman here has to justify himself to me. Señor de Lamperouge."

Lelouch turned and grimly nodded at the Spanish ensign. Figured. "Señor Rey."

"Ensign," the captain bristled, "What is the meaning of this? I ordered you to finish the schematics …"

"Quiet, captain," the ensign briskly said without even glancing at his commanding officer. To Lelouch's great surprise, the senior man obeyed. "You must understand that Spain has no interest in seeing the balance of power between France and England upset further. It was bad enough that we had to permit England to claim part of France's fleet for herself, when they will only turn it against us in a few years' time. Now, señor, have you come to give me satisfaction?"

"I did not expect to find you here, but I will be glad to take to the field of honour at once. Clearly Spain can no longer be at war with France if her soldiers refuse to fight her? Name your weapons and permit me to fetch my second, and we can fight within the hour."

"We can fight now. I see you carry a pistol, that will be agreeable to you. Martinez will stand as your second, and Maldini as mine."

Lelouch ground his teeth. He would have to load himself, then. "I accept." With a look behind him, he added: "The deck is twenty paces long. We shall fire at ten."

The two seconds quickly got together to discuss the details of the engagement while Lelouch with surprisingly calm hands loaded his pistol. The matter was complicated by first offence: whilst Lelouch claimed that Schneizel Rey had insulted his sister's honour, he had also struck a blow against him after Schneizel had failed to acknowledge the insult. The blow, of course, was unforgivable between gentlemen, so that they finally settled on Lelouch being considered the challenger and Schneizel the challenged. This gave Schneizel the first shot.

Lelouch had his gun examined by the seconds, then loaded under their supervision. Martinez and Maldini marked twenty paces on the deck planks with a piece of chalk, to be visible in the moonlight, and the combatants took their ground. The other man was a dark silhouette against the moon.

"Señor de Lamperouge," the captain asked, "are you ready to receive Ensign Rey's fire?"

Slowly, he turned sideways to reduce the target for his opponent. "Yes."

"Ensign Rey. Cock your pistol, and prepare to fire." The other officers took as many steps back as the narrow deck would allow.

The officer raised and aimed his weapon. Lelouch took a deep breath and stared down the barrel.

"One …" For a moment he was reminded of Sir Sidney, surely waiting for his return with good news, then of Rolo, who would not leave the city without knowing what had happened to him. That would fit him well – but if his friend had a shred of self-interest in his head, he would leave as long as he still had one. Lelouch hoped he would. "Two …" Only half a year ago, he had thought another duel on the shores of the Lido di Venezia. He had nearly died there, but he had gone to the field with neither regret nor fear. He wondered what had happened to Cecilia after she had betrayed his love, and if their child was still alive. "Three!"

A shot rung through the nightly air, nearly drowning the distant cannonblasts. Smoke filled the deck between the combatants before it then dispersed. Lelouch felt nothing.

"Ensign Rey has missed. Ensign Rey, are you ready to receive Señor de Lamperouge's fire?"

"Yes."

"Señor de Lamperouge. Cock your pistol, and prepare to fire." He raised his pistol. Somewhere in the distance, a bright light appeared in the sky, probably from an exploding shell. Taking aim, he knew, was dishonourable … but, quite frankly, he didn't give a sodding fuck about honour right now. He carefully aimed at his opponent's chest. "One … two …" For you, Nunnally. "Three." He pulled the trigger.

A tremendous explosion drowned out all other sound, a great shock through him to the ground. All of a sudden, the night turned bright as day. "They've done it!," someone shouted, "The English bastards!" Lelouch quickly picked himself up and glanced at his target. Schneizel had also been thrown to the ground, but seemed unharmed. Then, he looked over the railing.

The harbour stood in flames. Even from a quarter mile's distance he could feel the heat on his face. Two frigates in the centre of the dockyard had completely disappeared – blown up with the powderstores aboard them, Lelouch knew. Every other ship in sight, excepting the three prison hulks, stood in flames. Amidst the inferno, he could make out human figures, cheering their work. He felt like joining them. The water was pure black against the bright orange of the fires.

Lelouch holstered his pistol. He was loath to interrupt the duel, but he had to join Rolo and the others, inform Sir Sidney of the Spaniards' betrayal …"

"This isn't over yet!," Schneizel shouted, "the next shot is mine! Kanon, Kanon, give me a new gun!"

Lelouch turned and walked off the ship without being noticed.

"Where've you been?," the captain irritatedly asked when he returned to report to Sir Sidney. He had not found the time to return to the dock gates to see his crew. "And why aren't the ships in the basins burning?!"

"I was … held up. Anyway, the Spaniards betrayed us. They have no desire to burn the ships."

The sailor uttered a curse. "Do we have to do everything ourselves? I'll collect a party. In the meantime, get your friend off that frigate."

"Beg your pardon?"

"He's still aboard the Commerce de Bordeaux …"

Lelouch didn't stay to listen. As fast as his legs could carry him, he ran to the ship in question. The Jacob's ladder was still intact, so that he could climb on its deck, which he found rife with flames. The mainmast had collapsed and barred the way into the aftcastle. "Rolo?;" he shouted, to no reply. He must be on one of the lower decks … Breathless, Lelouch looked around the weather deck. The mast was not yet burning, so perhaps he might have climbed over it … but then he spotted a hatch between the mainmast's stump and the foremast, which stood wide open. At a run he entered the upper gun deck. Empty, a long, low room. Except for where the mainmast had fallen, tearing a long unsightly scar in the ceiling, and part of the poop, the gun deck had not even caught on fire. Still, the deck was filled with dark, dense smoke. Having made the mistake of breathing, Lelouch was caught in a violent coughing fit; once it had subsided, he removed his cravat and tied it around his mouth and nose. He had lost too much time, Rolo must be further down …

The flames and smoke were more intense on the lower gun deck, and debris covered the floor planks. "Rolo! Robert!" A loud crack from above him (a cannonball?), a dark rumbling, then suddenly the ground gave way under his feet as the ship slowly tilted starboard. He quickly caught himself and stumbled further along. "Rolo!"

He thought he'd heard a voice from the other end of the room, where the flames were the thickest and the smoke densest. And was that over there a human figure, or merely a hammock? Lelouch's coat sleeve caught on one of the hooks for gun chains, and he slipped out of it. "Rolo, are you there?" He hurried further down the room. A plank broke away where his foot had been a second earlier and he accelerated to a run. Lelouch entered the room –

Rolo stood there in his shirt and waistcoat, his stock immaculately tied, kindling the fire with what appeared to be pages from the ship's log. He looked up from his work when a breathless Lelouch entered. "Lelouch? What are you doing here?"

"Saving your life, fool," he managed to gasp out from underneath his mask. "C'mon, you're going to suffocate in here."

Rolo frowned. "Now that you mention it, the air is rather thin. Still, I have to ensure the flame catches properly … our goal is to disable the French fleet, after all, not lightly inconvenience it."

"It is, you do not, and you're coming with me," Lelouch resolutely said. "You're going to die in here if you stay a moment longer. You hear that? The harbour is under fire, and if we get another hit, the Commerce is going to crash right into the quay. I'm not going to lose you today, friend. Now, hurry …" As if to illustrate his point, a large ceiling beam crashed into the ground just beside them.

Rolo looked at the beam, then he gave Lelouch a wry smile. "As if I could ever refuse you," he cryptically said. "Let's go, then. This boat will have to burn well enough on its own."

The way back was complicated by some minor obstacles, including the complete disappearance of the stairs. With some puzzlement the friends stood amidst the flame at the bottom of the hatch to the upper gun deck. "You think there's another way up?," Rolo asked as he fished a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to mouth.

"Not this way …"

They looked around. "Seems like we're stuck here, then."

Lelouch ground his teeth. He would not give up so easily. "Never. I still have a duel to finish." Make that two.

Rolo seemed somewhat puzzled. Then he laughed. "Oh, God. I leave you alone for all of half an hour and you get yourself into a fight? How did you ever make it to eighteen years?"

For a moment he was offended, then he had to join in the laugh. "Who knows. Anyway, seems like you're right after all … we're stuck. For now. Once the ship comes down around us, we'll have an exit. If we're still alive." He coughed.

"That's quite unlikely, considering the barrels of powder we placed in the keel are going to explode any minute now."

"Oh God, Rolo …" He sighed. "Please be a little bit less competent in the future. Ah, well. In the meantime, let's open a gun port to let some fresh air in …"

Rolo blankly stared at him. "Lelouch."

"What?"

"Gun port."

"Gun … oh." He cursed himself for not having that idea earlier. The ship had been completely disarmed by the English, but the ports in the hull remained. Those here on the lower gun deck, where the heavy 36-pounders would have been positioned, each was three feet wide and half as high. More than enough for a man to climb out … Like a single mind and body they jumped for the tarboard gun ports. The ports were normally opened by pulling on a pair of chains, but those had not been oiled in half a year – Rolo ended up kicking the hatch open.

They shared a look. "After you," Rolo then said.

Lelouch took a deep breath, then climbed out of the gun port. Once he had finally untangled his feet from the chains, he awkwardly clung to the port's edge and looked down. The Commerce de Marseille lay at a good ten degrees' starboard tilt, making the tumblehomed hull of the ship a giant slide. Lelouch uttered a curse, then he kicked himself off from the hull as well as he could. The impact in the warm water pressed all the air from his lungs and submerged him for a moment. Gasping for air, he surfaced to watch Rolo make an infinitely more elegant dive.

"Can you swim?," Lelouch gasped once his friend had surfaced.

"Kind of … you?"

"Well enough. C'mon, let's get out of here." They swum towards the quay. Thankfully, the harbour wall was outfitted with regular rungs which they could climb. Their clothes were soaked when they at last stood on firm ground again, but the flames quickly dried them. "We should return to the men," Lelouch said. Not that he was tired or anything.

"Lelouch?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. You saved my life."

"Think nothing of it."

There was a long moment of silence. Then, Rolo asked: "What about the other thing?"

"We'll see …" A cannonball struck the ground next to them. The flare of the flames must have rendered them a distinct target to the French gunners on the hills around he city. That sound, was that musquetry? "Let's go." Behind them, the Commerce de Bordeaux exploded. Burning shrapnel hit the ground around them. Lelouch walked on unflinchingly. "Don't look at it," he warned Rolo with a satisfied grin.

It was nine o'clock.

They found some of the other officers and men where they had moored their boats. The Vulcan had disappeared in a blaze of fire, and they were busy helping the surviving seamen out of the water. "What happened?," Lelouch asked Lieutenant Tupper as he got on his knees to help him save a young midshipman from the water.

"Some fool set fire to the Iris, who had the powder stores aboard. We're lucky we survived the falling debris. My bet: those Spaniards."

"The Spaniards refuse to burn any of the ships," Lelouch informed him.

"Not ours. Don Truxillo, Don Cutiella, and Don What's His Name are with us with a mortar boat … and of course the three gun boats that were withdrawn from us half an hour ago. Those serve under English command, not Spanish."

"I see. What about the basins, then?"

"Sir Sidney took fifty men to see if anything could be done."

They pulled the seaman up to the quay and Lelouch rose, beckoning Rolo to follow. "What is it?," his friend asked.

"Sir Sidney has taken fifty men to attack the Spaniards."

"Oh God, you can't be serious about joining them …"

He smirked. "I'm not. We've got something else to do."

They found the dock-gates guarded by only the English detachment under Ensign Ironmonger of the Royals. "Where's the rest gone?," Lelouch asked the young man.

"Fire-fighting," the ensign answered with a ready laugh. "Trying to save what they can, the traitors. Took a load of our mind once they were gone, though."

"What about the enemy, then?"

That wiped the smile from Ironmonger's face. "Taken over most of the city. Only place they don't hold yet is the Arsenal. We kept them at bay with a few volleys, so they've left to find an easier way in … the harbour wall between the Arsenal and the mercantile port, perhaps. How's it going out there? We heard the explosions and were worried."

"We're doing fine. Listen, we need to get through the gate. Special orders from the captain."

"Huh? That didn't come up during briefing. What kind of special order is that?"

"The 'blow up stuff and wreak havoc' kind of special order. Now, we don't have all night."

"I … I will need independent confirmation of that …"

"Damn you, man!," Lelouch shouted at the ensign. "Don't you see what's at stake here! The entire Mediterranean theatre, nay, the entire war depends on us destroying those maps! Now you can either let us through and be a hero, or you can refuse us and be court-martialled for disobedience. Which will you choose?"

The poor boy gulped and flushed red. Then, he quickly nodded and cried a croaky command for his men to open the gate just briefly enough for Lelouch and Rolo to slip through. "That wasn't very nice of you," Rolo scolded once they were out of hearing.

"All's fair in love and war. Let's just hope he doesn't run off in search of Captain Smith to confirm his order. Now, let's go see if any of our men have waited for us."

The Rue de l'Arsenal was as much of a ruin as the rest of the city, and it was close enough to the harbour to be hit by stray cannonshot. By now, Lelouch had almost gotten used to the never-ending and increasingly precise hailstorm, but he was still anxious to move through the rubble quickly, especially when he spied at the opposite end of the street uniforms, torches, chevaux de frise and a field piece. "They're gone," Lelouch muttered after they had reached the halfpoint of the street. "Fuck."

"Psst! Over here!" The man drew them into an alleyway.

"Boussier, is that you?"

"Aye. Some of the men jumped ship, though. We've twenty-one left."

"Sorry. We were … held up."

"Spare me the details. Are we ready to go?"

"Yes. The gate is guarded. Is there another way in?"

"Not to my knowledge, unless you want to enter via the breach."

Lelouch chuckled. "Not if I can avoid it. Follow me, gentlemen."

Hesitantly the seamen broke from the shadow of the alley. He led them back to the gate. "Ensign, it's me. We're done here, open up."

After a long moment of anxiety, the young officer's face appeared behind the portcullis. "Who … who are these men?"

"Allies. Now, open up. The enemy is approaching."

"I can't … I can't do that …"

"You can, and you will. That is a direct order from Captain Smith."

The invocation of the Swedish knight's name served wonders. Once again, the portcullis was hesitantly raised up and Lelouch and his crew entered. "Your country will reward your sense of duty …"

"We'll see. I have to go find the captain."

Lelouch left him to it as he led his men behind the burning general magazine. Once they were out of sight, they switched to a run. "The whole harbour is burning," Rolo explained to Boussier, "but the Ulysse should be fine. You think you'll manage to get her out?"

"If the English boats haven't left yet, I'll manage. I know this harbour well."

They reached the Ulysse without attracting much attention from the French gunners, though a lucky shot killed two of their men and wounded another. Rolo had turned to check on the wounded man, but Lelouch had forbidden it. "We've not time for that," he declared. "Eighteen men and the three of us will have to suffice."

As he had suspected, the frigate had not been reached in time by the English sappers, and had not been touched by the fire. At once, Boussier took the command of the vessel. "Up in the rigging, lads!," he shouted, "get her sailing!" While the sailors climbed the ratways to open the sails, which had been restored to some extent during their preparations, Rolo called his attention to something on the quay. A group of men in white uniforms running towards their ship. Spanish soldiers?

"More importantly," Lelouch pointed out, "it seems the English are leaving." Indeed, the remaining gunboats were just passing out of the harbour. Probably they had left someone behind as a rearguard, as was evidenced by the sound of musquetry. The vessels in the basins still lay dark and unburned.

"We're ready to move," Boussier shouted and grabbed the steering wheel. "Life anchor!" Were those French soldiers there? In the flare of the conflagration, he saw planted bayonets gleaming as the battalions ran towards them.

"Make haste."

"This is not a horse," the seaman complained, "a ship needs to be handled carefully …"

"We don't have the …" Just as he said it, a fresh breeze came up and billowed the sails. A ruck went through the frigate as she slowly began to move. Lelouch quickly caught himself, then looked back at the quay. The French were still far, the Spaniards had almost reached them. One of their faces, he recognised.

He bolted to the midship portside, where they were still dragging along a planked gangway hooked to the railing. Even so, he found himself unable to life the oaken board. "Rolo, quick!" At once, his friend realised his attentions and jumped to his side. The first Spaniard set foot on the gangway. Together, Lelouch and Rolo lifted the ladder from the railing and dropped it into the harbour. The frigate almost noticeably accelerated.

"This isn't over, Lamperouge!," Schneizel shouted from below.

"Agreed, it isn't!," Lelouch shouted back. "I promise to find you, Señor Rey, and if it takes me decades – the next time we meet, I will see you bleed!"

The Spaniard laughed. "We shall have to see …"

Later that night, when they had left the harbour and joined the English fleet, Lelouch had the Union Flag raised and had Boussier signal HMS Victory, offering the frigate Ulysse to His Britannic Majesty's navy and asking for additional sailors to help man her to keep up with the fleet. He was quite surprised when, at daybreak, instead of an answer Admiral Samuel Hood, Captain Sir Sidney Smith and several sailors came aboard in a dinghy. "How dare you?," asked Hood the moment he set food on the deck planks. "Your action yesterday endangered our entire operation. What made you think I would approve of such an independent attempt? What made you think we had the capacities to man yet another French frigate? And why on earth did you not ask for my assistance?"

"Because you would not have approved, sir, surely. And as you can see, we succeeded on our own."

"Bloody damn right I wouldn't have approved. And yet here you are begging for men and material to man your ship. I should have you keel-hauled for reckless sabotage of military operations, piracy, and insolence."

Lelouch bowed. "The Ulysse is yours, Excellency. She is a fine ship, and will serve England well in the wars to come, I am assured."

"Indeed she is," Sir Sidney approvingly added, looking around the upper deck. "I am tempted to take her for myself. French ships tend to be ill-built, with too many nails and green timber, but I can tell that this Ulysse shares none of those deficiencies. She will have to be renamed, of course, there already is an HMS Ulysses … how about HMS Diamond?"

Hood gave a deep chuckle. "By God, I hope you will never serve under me ever again, captain, or you will be the death of me."

"Much obliged. Anyway, I think these two young gentlemen who risked their life for the greater glory of old England are worthy of a reward."

Lelouch hesitated, glanced at Rolo. Then he said: "There is but one thing I desire, sirs, and that is to carry on the battle against the French. Until today, I thought that I would not find British hearts and minds constant in this matter, that only Austria and her allies would carry on the fight until victory. However to see the gallant behaviour of Captain Smith and of the many men employed under his comment, and the incomparably duplicitous tricks of my own countrymen … has practically reversed my opinion in this regard. The only thing I ask for is to be commissioned into His Britannic Majesty's army."

"That is also my wish," Rolo added at once.

Lelouch bit his lip. "Rolo … you don't have to follow me," he murmured.

His friend refused to budge. "No, sir, I do not. But it is my wish – if you will permit me – to remain by your side, no matter what may come."

Wordlessly – speechless, perhaps – Lelouch smiled and shook his friend's hand.

Admiral Hood gave a light cough. "Very well then. Captain Smith should be glad to take you two on as midshipmen …"

"Pardon me," Lelouch interrupted, "but that is not what I meant. With all due respect, this war will not be won on sea. It is the army that I … that we wish to, nay, need to join."

Relief showed on the admiral's face. "Very well. That will be a bit more difficult, but still manageable. Let me think … the colonel of the _th Light Dragoons is my cousin and should be able to commission you two as cornets. Will that be acceptable?"

With a smile, he bowed his head. "We could ask for nothing more."

When the two officers had left, Lelouch stepped to the bow of the ship. The cold wind hurt on his face, but the air was clean and salty. The inferno of Toulon seemed all but forgotten. All around them, the English fleet prowled the sea under full sail, a magnificent parade of oak, rope and linen. At last, he thought, 'tis done. No longer would he have to apologise to Nunnally for his inaction. When he closed his eyes, the sharp, icy December winds felt like her caress. He wondered where Cecilia was, and their child, and if there had been a point where she had loved him like he had loved her.

Rolo stepped to his side. "Are you alright? You seem … well."

He opened his eyes and looked straight ahead. "I'm fine. In fact … for the first time in what seems like an eternity … I feel alive. At last, I feel like I can win this war all on my own … but it's not that simple, my friend, is it?"

"It never is."

"Then let us fight on nevertheless. For this … is only the beginning."

The beginning of your Requiem, my beloved sister.

Please review.

And that, my friends, marks the final chapter of Raise the Bloodied Banner. However, as Lelouch says, THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY. Keep an eye out in the next weeks for the first chapter of my next fic, The Flight of the Eagle, which will be the continuation and sequel of Lelouch's, Cecilia's, and Nunnally's stories throughout the Napoleonic Wars. If you would like me to notify you of it, please state so in a review or a PM to me and I'll send you a message once the first chapter has been uploaded. Stay with meeee!

Notes to Chapter 16

1) I refer to the map I linked above for a street plan of Toulon, to this ma : / / goo . gl / LVVhMX for a depiction of the fortifications of Toulon and its hinterland during the siege.

2) I somewhat downplay the insensity of the Siege of Toulon since Lelouch and Rolo both had an upperclass standpoint. In spite of British grain imports, the city not only saw a famine during the siege, but also epidemics due to the overpopulation caused by refugees and soldiers moving to the city.

3) The Pare d'artillerie was a mistake on my part ... apparently, it only means artillery bastion as opposed to being a specific place. Oops.

4) HMS Victory, Lord Hood's flagship at Toulon, is the same ship that Nelson commanded from at Trafalgar (though she was overhauled in the meantime - think red paintjob instead of black and yellow), and today is the oldest ship in active service (though no longer afloat) and the flagship of the Lord High Admiral. She's drydocked in Portsmouth as a museum ship.

5) C'mon, you can't tell me you don't know who the French officer is. If you're reading this, you should know.

6) Oh fuck yeah Schneizel.

7) The Diario de Cadiz didn't actually exist yet until the 1800s, but there was bound to be some Cadiz newspaper in 1793.

8) The ship names are all authentic. The Ulysse did not actually exist in 1793 Toulon.

9) The House of Rothschild was only just beginning to expand outside Germany at this time. It was propelled to fame by the four sons of Mayer Amschel Rothschild of Frankfurt / Main, who settled in Austria, France, Naples, and England and built vast banking empires from there.

10) Malcolm Crook is the author of one of my source books. Sir Sidney Smith actually existed and was one of the most badass figures in the British Navy during the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. Napoleon at St. Helena reminiscened about Smith's involvement at the Siege of Acre, stating that "This man has made me miss my destiny." He was called the Swedish Knight because he was originally knighted by the King of Sweden for service during the Russo-Swedish War 1788-1790 ... however, he was ostracised amongst his English colleagues because many English officers had died on the opposing side, many due to his own part. Later in life, Smith specialised in inshore operations. On one occasion, he rowed a boat into a French harbour, burned several storehouses there, and was hindered from leaving by adverse winds. Since he was on half-pay at the time and didn't count as a combatant, he was accused of arson, found guilty, and escaped to England.

11) Captain Knight commanded the HMS Victory at Toulon. Lieutenants Priest and Ironmonger also were part of the English detachment under Sidney Smith, as were the three Spanish officers. I have played up the drama between the English and Spanish a lot, while they were certainly suspicious of each other, no actual treason occured. But hey, back then, Schneizel wasn't involved.

12) The galleys of Toulon were made famous by Les Miserables, though by the time Jean Valjean was imprisoned there they had been replaced by land-based buildings.

13) The duel is based on Barry Lyndon's final duel against his stepson Lord Bullingdon.

14) Gun ports really were that big. Tumblehome means that the ship is broader at the waterline than at the railing, and was used to avoid being boarded, avoid deck superstructures reaching over, and permit the use of heavier guns on the lower gun decks.

15) HMS Diamond was Sir Sidney's flagship during his time as commodore of the Western Frigate Squadron, a 5th rate 44-gun heavy frigate. It was not a captured French ship, but it's a nice idea. The concerns he voices about French ships are real, though it is often claimed the French were better shipwrights than the English. French ships certainly were faster, but also had worse production values and were too heavily-armed, causing frequent structural damage and complaints whenever French ships were assigned to a British admiral's fleet.

16) The _th Light Dragoons are to be pronounced the Blankth Light Dragoons, in the old Regency tradition.