His Heart's Obsession by Alex Beecroft

Robert in about the admiral’s plans to harry the harbour at Guadeloupe, to test the strength and temper of the French fleet in the hopes of mounting an assault on the island.
    Their mutual excitement over the idea, the high spirits and pleasure with which they capped one another’s ideas and finished one another’s sentences, goaded Robert to interrupt. “Sir, might I take a moment to ask you an unrelated question?”
    On the other side of the table, Hal bent down to tempt the tavern’s elderly dog to take a piece of mutton fat.
    Hamilton pushed away his plate and leaned back, propping a foot on the sturdy footboard of the table and cradling his wine in one long-fingered hand. “Certainly. What is it?”
    Robert told himself firmly not to waver. Bravery, remember? Get it out now, before Hal sits up. “I wondered, sir, if you would give me your opinion on sodomites in the navy.”
    For a second, Hal stopped—frozen and crystalline as he had been in Robert’s room. A long second, like the indrawn stillness of the world between looking down at the stab wound and feeling the pain. Then at last he moved. He patted the dog with a jerky, heavy-handed pat and sat up. The front legs of his chair rapped with a sharp smack on the ochre tiled floor. Wiping his fingers on his napkin, he fixed Robert with a gaze so sharp it would have cut through steel.
    “What a filthy topic to discuss over dinner.” Hamilton also straightened, his ease disappearing into prickly discomfort. “Must you speak of it?”
    “I must, sir. There is a young man I know, whose inclination I suspect. It is his ambition to join the navy and I would value your advice on what to say to him in return.”
    Lowering his glass into the puddle of ruby port, where he had drawn an impromptu map, Hamilton leaned forward. “You must tell him no, Mr. Hughes. I wonder that you need to ask.”
    “Merely that to my knowledge we’ve never hanged anyone for it. I thought perhaps you took a lenient view.” Robert tried to weigh how much he needed Hamilton to betray himself—to shock Hal out of his obsession—against how badly he did not want the captain to suspect the truth. Fortune might favour the brave, but that seemed small comfort to the dead.
    Hamilton’s clear gaze clouded slightly. “I admit the punishment is extreme.” He pinched the brow of his nose and sighed. “If I had my way, I would only drum them out of the service. Such an inclination certainly deserves the pillory, but death? I’m not sure.” He took a deep breath, as though the subject weighed on him, tired him out. “On land I would say ‘Let them live.’ But in the service? No. Imagine if you had to share a cabin with one. Think what the men would feel! Lying packed so close, they must touch one another as it is. The thought of rubbing up against a man of that sort while you slept! Do you not feel the instinctive revulsion of the thing?”
    Robert couldn’t help himself; he glanced nervously at Hal. The younger man’s white, bloodless face stabbed him with remorse. Yes, Hal, I know I’m cruel. Forgive me? “To tell the truth, sir, I don’t. If they keep themselves to themselves, what harm does it do?”
    “The shame to the ship! A happy ship is a place where every man can trust his mates to be there for him. Where he does not have to wonder about ulterior motives and double meanings and unsavoury goings-on in the dark. And the boys! What parent would send their sons into the service if it became known we tolerated such obscenity?” As he pressed the point, Hamilton’s voice sank into an angry, embarrassed whisper. He shook the thoughts away. “No,” he said, more strongly. “I thank God that there are no men of that kind in my fleet, and if I have my way there never will be. Don’t you agree, Morgan?”
    Silent to this point, and unmoving, perhaps hoping that stillness would lend him invisibility, Hal was goaded at last into a response. He looked up from his plate with a