Broken Wing (29 page)

They were herded down the docks and past the city gates to be paraded through the street. The main thoroughfare was crowded with people of all nations and every imaginable dress. Gabriel could see Turks watching at a distance, sitting on carpets and rugs, smoking tobacco. There were Moors and Janissaries in billowing knee-length drawers, Berbers in hooded cloaks, and
renegados
sporting European fashions that spanned the past fifty years. There was a cacophony of shrieks and curses as they were jostled and pummeled by a crowd hurling imprecations, refuse, and abuse. Occasionally he could hear European voices shouting out questions, begging for news from home.

He was stumbling now; the
chevalier
would have to carry him soon, or leave him at the mercy of the guards and the crowds. A peaceful calm came over him. The voices around him receded to a soothing
murmur. The sun seemed brighter, colors more deeply varied and hued, and time seemed suspended. The buildings around him were impossibly lovely. Built around delightful courtyards, bedecked with galleries supported by elegantly arching pillars, their flat roofs and terraces were joined by ladders and bridges and capped with rooftop gardens that were much as he’d imagined them from Sarah’s balcony. His reverie was interrupted by a particularly vicious kick that sent him stumbling sideways, only to be righted by Valmont.

“Careful,
mon vieux
, if you fall here, you may never get up.”

Seized by a spirit of perversity, Gabriel stopped and turned to the mob, bowing and giving them a mock salute followed by a rude gesture as men stumbled into him from behind. The crowd roared with indignation. A whip cracked, laying a stinging stripe across his back just moments before a cudgel struck his head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Gabriel was lying down, his face pressed against clean fresh linen. Relief flooded him. It had all been a terrible dream. He could hear a soft voice, murmuring close by, and felt a cool hand against his brow.
Sarah
, he thought, smiling contentedly; come as always to rescue him from his nightmares. He reached for her, but the hand withdrew. He thought he could hear the roaring of wild beasts in the distance. That was strange. The bed creaked and his weight shifted as someone sat down beside him.

“Bienvenue, mon frère
, you have returned from the Elysian Fields at last. I am greatly distressed that you would go to such lengths to avoid me. I assure you, most sincerely, that in some quarters I am accounted an agreeable companion.”

Gabriel turned and looked into concerned gray eyes. “Valmont,” he croaked.

“Indeed, it is, my friend. You have been in a delirium these past few days. Ever since you were rude to our hosts
and they tapped you on your very hard head.”

Groaning, Gabriel raised his head and looked around. He was lying on a simple cot in a clean and spacious room. There were worktables along the wall, and busy men in European and Arab dress conversed earnestly in hushed voices in the corner. There were several other cots, but only three of them were occupied. He heard the unmistakable roar of a lion. Surprisingly, he was feeling little pain. Certainly his circumstances seemed to have improved. “Where are we?”

“We are in the
bagnio
of the Dey of Algiers, along with his menagerie, about three hundred other slaves, and various denizens of the criminal sort. Fortunately, we are housed in the infirmary. You are here because you are ill, they fear you will die, and you are considered valuable. I am here because I am thought to be eminently redeemable, though my family and several ladies of my acquaintance might disagree. Whatever were you thinking, provoking the crowd and our guards that way? I was certain it was the end of you. I was amazed when they picked you up and carried you here. Someone has marked you as a sound investment.”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel answered ruefully. “I find myself seized by a spirit of perversity at the most inconvenient times.”

“Ah, yes, I know that feeling well,” the
chevalier
said with a grin.

“Things seem to have improved, though. The accommodations are better and I’m feeling no pain.”

“I should hope not! You’ve been plied with enough laudanum to fell an elephant. You are still gravely ill, though, you may yet die, and the accommodations beyond this room are nearly as bad as they were on the ship. It’s filthy. Men are in chains, beaten and whipped, and most sleep in the open on bare ground. Those who have not been sold at auction are driven out to work at hard labor from dawn to dusk, and fed little better than we were in the hold. When your health improves, if we have failed to secure a prompt and healthy ransom, we will find ourselves joining them soon enough.”

“Thank you for your comforting words, Valmont.”

“You are most welcome, St. Croix. I confess, though, that I
am
somewhat troubled.”

“Truly? There is something that troubles you in our present circumstances, Chevalier?”

“Yes,” he answered, ignoring the sarcasm. “Consider that we were never brought before the Dey. The practice is to parade the new slaves before him, so he may choose those he wishes to keep or ransom. If we are sold clandestinely, we will not be listed, and therefore not protected or brought to the notice of any European embassy. It also means that that the buyer is taking a very great risk and must be expecting a worthy return. I know that I’m not worth such an extraordinary risk, so it must be you, St. Croix. Who are you?”

“I am nothing, and no one, Chevalier,” Gabriel
said, genuinely perplexed.

“That’s unfortunate. It would appear our new master may be in for a severe disappointment, which he will be more than likely to visit upon us.”

Gabriel moved restlessly as the effects of the laudanum began to wear off. Fatigued by the effort of conversing, burdened anew by the familiar pain in his arm and chest, he allowed himself to drift again, flitting in and out of consciousness.
Sarah, where are you? I’m so lonely here, so tired
, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find her again. The voice of the
chevalier
hummed steadily in the background until the nurses came and shooed him away. Exhausted, he drifted to sleep.

Suffering from massive infection, Gabriel hovered near death for several days. The chief surgeon had been promised a hefty purse of gold should his patient recover, and he applied all his knowledge and considerable attention to winning it. Dysentery and dehydration were treated with medicinal salts and copious amounts of liquid. He was sedated with laudanum to reduce his movement and his pain, and his chest was bound tightly to keep the ribs from grating when he coughed. His arm was broken and reset properly and the dead
tissue was cut away from the wound before it was treated with salt, stitched closed, then splinted and wrapped again. Fortunately, he remained insensate through it all. Young and strong, he slowly began to respond.

As his fever abated and his condition improved, the dosage of laudanum was gradually reduced. When he finally awoke, he was surprised to find that more than two weeks had passed. Concerned to see no sign of the
chevalier
, he managed to reach out a hand and catch the sleeve of one of the nurses. When he stopped, he asked him what had become of his companion.

“Gone, gone,” the man replied somewhat nervously. “Your friend has been sold. He has left the city.”

Exhausted by the effort, Gabriel closed his eyes again. In the short time he’d known him, he’d come to rely on the
chevalier
‘s vitality and relentless good humor. He’d been an amiable companion under trying circumstances, and he was going to miss him. He wished him well, wherever he might be.

Gabriel drifted in and out of sleep over the course of the next few weeks as his bones slowly knit and his body healed. Onions and oranges, white bread, raisins and figs, had all been added to his diet. Someone wanted him to get better, but after more than two months, he still had no idea who or why. It was early December now by his crude calculations, and the days were cool and wet. He was certain he had enough money to buy his own freedom, but he wasn’t allowed pen or paper, and was given no opportunity to write.
Sarah and Ross would be decorating for Christmas, expecting Jamie home from Truro, expecting him and Davey to arrive at any moment. Davey would tell them he was dead, drowned, and he couldn’t tell them otherwise. Sarah would … his heart clenched in dread and anguish, and he pushed all thoughts of home away.

A commotion at the doorway drew his attention. Several men had entered the infirmary, bearing a litter and talking excitedly in Arabic. From what little he could understand, the Dey was coming to inspect the
bagnio
. Money changed hands, a large purse was given to the surgeon, and then they came for him.

“Hurry, hurry,” the surgeon prodded, “you must leave immediately.” Gabriel resisted, struggling to climb to his feet, but the surgeon pushed him back. “No, no. You have been sold. You can no longer stay here. You must go to your new home. To your new master. Maybe he will let you write. Maybe he will ransom you. Go now. These men are here to take you to him.”

Feeling the first stirrings of hope since the beginning of his captivity, Gabriel offered no further resistance. They were hurried through the courtyard and out onto the street. Gabriel had been feeling much better over the past two weeks, and as his strength returned, he’d taken every opportunity to move about the infirmary, clutching onto tables and walls until he could manage on his own. He’d been careful to appear
dangerously fatigued, feigning collapse on occasion, thinking it prudent to appear as ill and weak as he could for as long as he was able. Now, as they moved through the city, he was watchful and alert. It wasn’t his intention to escape. Not yet. It would be far wiser to wait and see if he might arrange a ransom.

He was delighted nonetheless, when his escort made their way to the western gate and out of the city. With the walls behind him, his chances of escape had increased dramatically. He asked in broken Arabic where they were going, and was cuffed for his troubles, but he did receive a surly reply.

“We go to Bilda, slave, twelve miles to the west. We must carry you all the way when it is you who should be carrying us. Now shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

Gabriel suppressed a grin. Things were definitely improving.

Bilda proved to be better than he had dared hope. Nestled beneath the snowy heights of the Atlas Mountains, peaceful, lovely, and close to Algiers, it had become the preferred home of so many of the ruling Turks that it had no need for the garrison and fortifications that many other towns had.

They approached a large rectangular house that enclosed a tiled courtyard with two fountains, a beautiful trellised garden, and a lush grove of fruit trees. Gabriel noted two well-armed men guarding the entrance. Two more guards were stationed on the flat roof. The northern wall was given over to stables, and he caught a glimpse of delicately shaped muzzles and flashing eyes, no doubt belonging to the Barbary steeds Sarah so much admired. It seemed that his patron—he refused to use the word
owner
—was a wealthy man.

“You are here now, slave. Walk.” The litter was tipped over, spilling Gabriel into the dust. He rose quickly to his feet, brushing dust from his hands, smiling dangerously.

“You think to look me in the eyes, slave? You have much to learn.” The guard struck him a blow across the face, splitting his lip and drawing blood. “The master will soon have you begging and wagging your tail like the dog you are.”

Unable to help himself, Gabriel looked him in the eyes again, his own glittering and hard, and spat blood at his feet.

“You dare!” the guard roared. Throwing him down he pulled out his whip and began flailing away at him as the others joined in, kicking, and punching him as he lay on the ground, knees drawn to his chest, trying to protect his newly healed ribs. He suppressed a scream when his bandaged arm was struck with a vicious
boot. Fighting nausea, he reflected that Davey might be right when he said discretion was the better part of valor. His vision began to dim and he surrendered gratefully to the black wave that tugged at him, as an angry voice in the distance snapped commands.