It was a golden medallion, embossed with the likeness of a Barbary lion and suspended by a green and gold silk ribbon. Hassan pinned the first on Wake, clasping his hand and saying shyly in English, “Thank you.” The others received theirs, and the audience, led by the sultan, burst into applause.
“Well, I never . . .” Wake said to Rork beside him, who answered with a laugh, “Well, sir, now you have!”
Hassan held up his hand and the room instantly was quiet. “And now, may each of you feel the healing touch of Allah upon you. May you always remember the peace of Islam and the gratitude of the faithful. May your lives know joy and your families know the blessing of children. May you remember my kingdom—the land of the Atlas, the Sahara, and the Ocean—with memories other than pain. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Peace be unto you for the rest of your days.”
“Guess you’ll be a hero back home now, Peter. They might even decide to keep you around,” said Woodgerd under his breath.
“Maybe. And you can charge double for your services, Michael.”
“Nah, already tried. Sonovabitch said I’m under contract. Can’t raise my fee.”
***
After Marrakech, Rabat seemed dull, but that was fine with Wake. There was one thing at Rabat, though, that brought life back into Wake’s body more than all else—the smell and sight of the ocean. He was stronger now, taking long strolls and even pushing himself up off the floor with his arms. It had been more than a month, and his wounds had closed, the muscles still sore but gaining strength. Now that he could, Wake reveled in breathing in the thick sweet air deeply, filling his lungs as he walked the ramparts of the royal palace overlooking the old fortress by the river’s mouth, with the sight and sounds of the sea before him.
The American ambassador, Pickering, had met them as soon as they arrived. He explained he had sent messages off to Washington and the American fleet in Europe advising them of the hostage situation’s outcome, but the only reply was a terse telegram from the admiral’s staff at Genoa: “No warship available. Arrange fastest transport to Genoa for Wake and Rork.”
Since commercial traffic was nil at that moment, the quickest transportation heading toward the Mediterranean turned out to be HMS Doris, which the British ambassador said would be visiting the port sometime in early June. The Brit offered the Americans a ride, saying the Royal Navy would be proud to convey the heroes to their own fleet.
Wake was more than ready to leave Africa. He wanted to return to his own people. Recuperating in luxury, the decadence and boredom bothered him. But not Rork, who proclaimed that now he knew, “how that tough ol’ soul, the Bishop o’ Waterford, must live, amongst splendor an’ glory. Aye, sir, the life o’ the idle an’ fancy rich is for me. I could get used to this.”
The regimen included diplomatic functions among the small international community, and Wake saw Henri and Catherine Faber often. Henri was quiet about the ordeal he had gone through, refusing to describe it even when pressed by the others over brandy. He would simply thank God for their deliverance and hug his wife. He was very friendly to Wake each time they met and on several occasions they exchanged knowing glances, then nodded without words.
Though he was certain she wanted to, Wake and Catherine never spoke alone. He was afraid to allow that to happen. He knew he did not love her, and that she did love her husband. But Wake still felt a pang of hurt, which he couldn’t explain and made him feel guilty. So he stayed away from her except for public events.
May turned into June and the heat of the desert overpowered the sea breezes. Wake remembered the overland journey through the vast wastelands shimmering in the heat of April and couldn’t imagine what they must be like in June. His uniform, a new one courtesy of Sultan Hassan, was growing too warm for long walks. He lost track of the days. Wake looked out at sea and longed to be free.
Then, one morning he heard a shout of joy in Gaelic followed with, “By all the saints, ain’t she a pretty sight!” and Rork burst into his room saying the Doris had just steamed into the open anchorage.
***
It was an emotional sendoff at the dock. Sokhoor was there representing Sultan Hassan. Standing next to Woodgerd was a company of infantry and troop of cavalry rigidly in formation, looking their most resplendent. Most of the foreigners in Rabat showed up. Pickering was there, frail next to the others as he handed over some mail to Rork. He wished Wake luck and thanked him once again, saying that the American reputation had been immeasurably boosted in the Arab world by his actions.
Woodgerd came up and quietly said something to Rork, who roared with laughter. Then the colonel offered his hand to Wake. “Peter, I hope we meet again, in far better circumstances and far nicer surroundings. Rum’s on me.”
In spite of his initial dislike, Wake had grown to respect the man. He hoped that they would meet again. “I’d like that, Michael. And yes, the rum is definitely on you.”
Wake had been searching but didn’t see the Fabers. As he was about to step down into the launch he suddenly heard Catherine call to him. “Wait one moment, if you please.”
He turned and saw the two of them. She stood there, her beautiful hair done up in the twist he had remembered, and it was all he could do to take his eyes from her as Henri shook his hand.
“Thank you, Peter. From the core of my soul, thank you. For all that you have done for Catherine and for me. You
