“When do you think you’ll go home?”
“Contract’s over in six months. Going home then. Might stay back there this time and curl up with the woman for good. How about you, sailor?”
Wake thought about that. “Don’t know. Depends on this,” he pointed to his chest. “My assignment is for another two years. If this doesn’t heal, I’m sent home on half-pay. They won’t take me back on active service if I leave wounded. Too many officers in good shape to let me back in. I’ve got to heal up.”
“If I were you, I’d take the half-pay and go home to my wife and family. Do something else for a living.”
Wake huffed with a sour laugh. “Well, you’ve got some company on that idea, Colonel. My wife wants me to quit the navy. Or she’ll quit me.” His voice faded. “Might already have. I’m not sure I have a home to go back to.”
Woodgerd pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too.” He paused, then said, “Aw hell, call me Michael. After the mess we’ve been through, we should be on first names. Besides, I’ll damn well admit it, you’re a pretty tough fighter too, Wake. Never thought I’d say that about a sailor squid. If it weren’t for you leading the way back there and busting out of the crate at the beginning, we’d all be slave meat for some bastard in Mali. Imagine that, me a slave in Africa?”
Woodgerd’s expression made Wake laugh, which made him hurt. “Michael, call me Peter. You’re not so bad either, for a hide-bound soldier. Guess we both have woman trouble. Going to have to solve that mess sooner or later.”
“Yeah, well, we need a little more luck, yet. We ain’t home safe, not by a long shot.” Woodgerd sighed as he leaned back on his good elbow. “At least we had some luck today. That was looking bad there for a while.”
“It was the kiss of Allah, gentlemen,” uttered Sokhoor as he entered the glow of the fire. “Not luck at all, but the gentle kiss of Allah, which he bestowed upon us today.”
Woodgerd grunted but Sokhoor ignored it and continued. “Allah gave you wisdom, Peter, in planning and leading our escape from the boxes. He gave you strength, Colonel, in fighting those Devil’s infidels who outnumbered us so fearfully. When it appeared as though you, my dear friend Peter Wake, would die at the hands of that blasphemer Falah, Allah gave the gift of true sight to our dear Henri, so that in the midst of that chaos he could end the threat to your life. And now, Allah gives yet another kiss of healing to you, my friend. He smiles upon you, Peter, for you are a man of peace in your heart.”
“Thank you, Sokhoor. And I do thank God.”
The scholar sat down next to Wake. “Allah has shown his mercy upon us all and has helped us smite those heathen monsters, those defilers of my blessed and merciful faith. Let us be thankful to the God of us all—of Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed.”
Seeing Wake’s reaction, Sokhoor touched his shoulder. “Oh yes, my friend, please know that Jesus, whom we call Isa—peace be upon him—is one of our most beloved prophets. He is smiling tonight, Peter, for one of his flock has been saved.”
Sokhoor raised his hands to the black sky and chanted in Arabic.
After a pause he bowed to Woodgerd. “And if you would be so very kind, Colonel, please relieve me on the guard. It is time now for your turn. It has been a very eventful day for me and my body is weaker than my soul.”
The colonel groaned as he stood. “Better weak than dead.”
42
Peace Be Upon You
They rose before dawn and slowly helped each other’s battered bodies get up into the saddles. The line of riders plodded away from the sky lightening in the east and toward Marrakech. Woodgerd had suggested a circuitous route, to foil any pursuers. But Sokhoor pointed out that all of them were wounded and needed medicine, and that two of their number—one of whom was Wake—were critically hurt. Time, he said, was of the essence. So they stayed on the main track northwest, everyone gazing at the horizon and expecting the enemy to attack at any time.
Wake, empty of strength, dehydrated and without any more hashish, willed himself to keep going, a mile at a time through the dust haze and suffocating heat. That night, as he shuddered in the cold and watched the woman he had almost fallen for that night at the castle in Porto Fino curl up with her husband near the campfire, he thought of Florida and his own family. He slid into sleep and reveled in the cool ocean breezes of his past, his dream taking him back to stolen nights with Linda at Useppa Island.
Seeing his friend’s expression, Rork told Woodgerd and Sokhoor that Wake’s mind was likely far away in a nicer place with the woman he loved. The scholar said that was the very best medicine.
The next day they neared the southwest gate of the city at Bab al-Ahmar. While still some miles away, Sokhoor hailed a man from among the gawkers who had gathered around staring at the bloodied column of foreigners and told him to take a message to the Kasbah of Abdel Aziz, Pasha of Marrakech. Sokhoor told the man to say to the officer of the guard that Mu’ al-Lim Sokhoor, Vizier al Hassan, SulTaan al-Maghrib, was entering the city and required assistance immediately.
“We will have help soon, God willing, my friends. This time we will be entering the city officially, as the envoys of the great sultan of Morocco, and our reception will be far different. Our danger is over now,” the scholar told his companions as the walls came into view, with the great minaret towering above.
An hour later, after threading their horses through the growing throng of curious onlookers,
