Rork wrapped the makeshift bandages around Wake’s abdomen. “Now jes’ lay there for a wee bit an’ we’ll get ya to stop filling the damned desert with officer’s blood. Unbecoming, it is, sir. Bleedin’ like this in front o’ the men. Won’t do, sir. Won’t do a’tall.”
“How bad is it?”
“Thumped on the noggin, ya was. Concussed, I’m thinkin’ but that’s nary a worry, you bein’ an officer. Shot in the chest too, ye was. Through an’ through, so if we keep that clean an’ let it drain, no fever inflammation. But you’ll have ta keep the pressure on these wounds, though. We’ll do a fancy turn o’ sewing an’ stitch ya proper-like later, when we get somewheres safe.”
Woodgerd limped over, a gash across his thigh oozing over his trousers. Everyone Wake saw was wounded, even Catherine had a cut on her arm. The colonel looked down at Wake. “Well, Rork, our sailor boy here gonna live?”
“Yes, sir. The lieutenant will be right as rain in no time, Colonel. Jes’ gotta let him rest a bit.”
“He’ll have to rest while riding a horse, Bosun, ’cause we’re getting out of here. Right now.”
“Wait.”
They turned to see Sokhoor, looking like the specter of death itself with his arm now hanging, trudging toward them holding up his other hand. “I have something for Lieutenant Wake. To make the pain go away a little.” The scholar leaned down. “Here, Peter. Try to eat this. It will dull the pain so you can get on a horse.” It looked like crumbled spinach to Wake.
“Kif hash,” said Woodgerd with a nod. “That’ll do the trick all right.”
Wake was able to get some down his throat, flushed by water from a skinbag. He lay there for a few minutes, regaining his senses, while the others gathered weapons, food, and water for the journey. When they came back over to him he was feeling slightly stronger.
“I’m ready to ride. Just help me up.”
***
Rork rode next to him, steadying him as he swayed. While they rode, the bosun told Wake what happened at the end of the fight and why he was still alive.
“They was chargin’ an’ yellin’ to beat the band, they was, sir. Hellacious wailin’ o’ some kind. By that time the women you freed had opened up the crate with Sokhoor an’ the rest o’ the missionary menfolk. Ne’er saw clergy so violent as those boyos there,” Rork gestured forward where several of the missionaries were riding. “Took on those horsemen barehanded. Lost a bunch o’ them doin’ it, but they slowed the buggers down an’ we got about five o’ them nailed good with the rifles.”
“And Falah? I saw him about to kill me.”
“Bastard was shot nice an’ clean by that Froggie diplomat, sir. One shot, in the head. Wish it were me, but I was busy by me ownself. When the other bastards saw their lead devil, or whatever they calls themselves, fall down dead, they had a change o’ heart an’ took French leave on the double quick. Bound off to the east an’ those mountains—might be in that Timbuktoo place by now for all I know. “
Rork paused, embarrassed. “Oh, beggin’ your pardon, sir. I suppose we shouldn’t be sayin’ French leave anymore. No sir, not after what I saw these Froggie lads do today. Ne’er knew the French could fight like that. An’ they’re God preachers, too!”
“Everybody wounded?” asked Wake as he started counting the survivors.
“Everbody that lived. Couple o’ the ladies and several o’ the men didn’t make it.” Rork put a hand on Wake’s shoulder. “But your plan worked, sir. An’ more’s alive than woulda’ been on that voyage to slavery.”
“Now we just have to get to Marrakech and the protection of the pasha.”
“Aye, sir. I’d rather see Key West coming o’er the horizon, but any port in a storm, eh?”
***
The fire was kept dim that night. Sokhoor warned that the ShayTaan Taalib might have reinforcements, find them, and finish them off. Wake huddled under a bournous and blanket. He’d been eating the hashish all day and evening to dull the throbbing waves of pain that swept through him without warning. Rork, Sokhoor and a couple of the missionaries were out on the perimeter on guard. Others around the fire were lying still, some moaning in pain.
On the other side of the fire Catherine lay on her side, Henri behind her, his arm resting across her. Both were asleep, folded into another completely, their faces calm. Wake thought of Linda in their bed in Pensacola. Of his children. His life back home that was so distant from this harsh world. It was like a dream.
He studied Woodgerd, who had just finished cleaning a rifle. The man’s eyes were sunken and grim, but still determined. Wake suddenly wondered if the soldier had another side.
“You ever have a wife, Colonel?”
Woodgerd stared at the coals. “Still do. She’s back home.”
“Why’d you leave her?”
“Money. No work for a man without honor who’s been cashiered from the army. Why hire you when there’s all those heroes coming home? Had to leave. Only one thing I’m any good at and that’s soldiering, so I decided to go to Europe for a year or so. That was eight years ago. Money was good so I stayed. She comes over sometimes. I go back sometimes.”
“But you found enough work to make it worth it?”
“Hell, yes. They didn’t care anything except that I was a veteran, seen the elephant in combat. I’m good at training and commanding and I don’t run off. The Piedmontese paid me pretty good. Then the Venetians. Then the Greeks. Egyptian Khedive for a couple of years. And now the Moors. The friggin’ sultan pays me better than any of ’em.”
“And you send it home to your wife?”
“Yep. What the hell am I gonna spend it on
