The Spanish began to run. Those with weapons threw them down and ran toward the sea. Our men pursued and killed them. The battle was no longer before me. The only men approaching were carrying a wounded man or wounded themselves.
I glanced back and saw Gaston elbow deep in blood, surrounded by bleeding men and the rest of our surgeons.
My eyes wandered across the field and came to rest on a great black horse struggling to rise with a wounded flank and a broken leg. I knew he was not my Goliath; but I could not look away or ignore his pained cries. I waded into the field of blood, dead and dying horses, and men, and dove atop the struggling creature’s neck. I slashed his throat with a knife. Tears filled my eyes as the light dimmed in his. And then there was another animal breathing heavily beside him: another horse that could not rise and lay in agony atop his dying rider. I slit both their throats. I saw movement to my right and found a Spaniard fumbling with a broken hand to bring a pistol to bear on me. I shot him. And then it was on to the next horse and the next wounded man.
“Will!”
I recognized Cudro’s voice. I finished the animal I was on and looked for the next.
“Will? We’ve captured a commander. Morgan needs you to translate,” Cudro said.
I heard pained and labored breathing to my right. I looked to Cudro. He swam in my vision. I pawed blood and tears from my eyes and told him, “I am not done here. When I finish here, I will come.”
He appeared as appalled as I must have by the carnage. He studied me silently. I did not have time to attend him. I was sure I heard another wheezing horse. I went to find it.
There were other men on the battlefield now, killing wounded Spaniards and searching bodies for valuables. They ignored the horses. I was glad. I did not want them cruelly killing the horses. They were pigs of men and had no respect for anything other than their pockets.
“My love?” I heard some time later.
I looked to Gaston and found him crying.
“It is awful,” I said. “All these poor horses.” I looked around and saw I was more than halfway across the field. We stood alone in a mire of bloody mud and dead men and animals. There were still more horse bodies ahead that I had not seen to yet. “I am not done.”
He followed as I went to another horse. This one was thankfully dead: I closed his wildly staring eye.
Gaston’s arms closed about me and I held him in return. “I am not done,” I said.
“Then let us check them together,” he said.
“But you need to be mending men,” I said.
“There were not many, and the other surgeons can do without me for now.”
I released him and he followed me to the next body. The poor creature was breathing. His fur was matted with blood and sweat from its struggle to escape another horse that had fallen across his legs. I held little hope for him, but Gaston helped me move the dead animal and the poor horse made one more attempt to stand. To my delight, he succeeded. I spoke quietly to him as he stood exhausted with his head between his legs. He let me touch him and I was able to check his legs. He seemed sound. The soft mud had saved him. The same was not true for one of the animal’s riders: he had drowned in the mud beneath his mount.
“You can now be named Lucky,” I told the horse. I stripped his saddle and bridle from him and led him from the mud. There was a group of horses I had rescued standing near a clump of trees at the edge of the field. Their riders had been shot, but the animals were not wounded. I had cut saddles and other entanglements—including dragging bodies—from them and sent them to stand in the shade. Now I pointed Lucky toward them and patted his rump. He needed no further urging to leave the carnage behind.
I walked back to where he had been trapped and continued checking bodies. It went faster with Gaston helping me.
When we reached the end of the field I stopped and looked around again. The hill with the wounded seemed very far away, and I could not see our army. There seemed to be no Spaniards in sight, either. The sun was sinking over the sea.
I felt purposeless. There had been something I was supposed to do. I remembered. “Cudro was here. He said Morgan needed me.”
“Do not worry about it,” Gaston said. “That is done. This is done. Let us go rest.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oui. Come now,” he said gently.
I realized he was looking at me and crying, and not at the death at our feet.
“I am not well,” I said.
He smiled and looked around us with a sigh. “I do not know, my love: you might well be the only sane man here.”
“Have we won?” I looked toward Panama. I could hear musket and cannon fire.
“We will,” he said sadly. He led me up the hill to where the wounded had been. There were now a number of graves. Ten wounded men were sitting about watching us.
“We can go now,” Gaston told them.
They nodded and helped one another to stand. “We could use those horses,” one of the men grumbled.
My ire was pricked. The horses had done enough, and these damn bastards would only eat them.
Gaston said, “Will, help me with this,” before I could open my mouth to speak.
I helped him with the chest, and we followed the wounded men toward Panama.
“How many men died?” I asked in French as we passed the graves.
“Twenty-two that I know of; and we will lose more from wounds,” Gaston said.
“How many wounded?”
“Dozens, but it was not as bad as it could have been. Of course, the fighting in the city might be worse. But the Spanish seemed routed here.”
“How many of them are dead?”
Gaston shrugged. “We estimated around six hundred.”
“There are over a hundred dead horses in that field.”
“How many did you save?” he asked.
“Twelve. I should have shot them too, though. There will be no food here, and our damned brethren will just come and eat them. And I am sure Pomme is dead and some fat bastard ate him. And the only reason no one ate Goliath is because I burned his body!”
“Will?” He sounded calm, and his expression was bemused. “I need your help. I cannot carry you and the medicine chest… and care for the wounded. I would gladly abandon the medicine if I need to carry you—and tell the wounded to go to the devil; but that is not a thing I think you want me to do, is it?”
It was not. I shook my head, feeling like a scolded child.
“I have saved men today. I would have them continue to live, too,” he added. “If I cannot save men, I will go mad… too.” He grinned.
I had to smile. “I am sorry. This would not be a good place for us both to fall.”
He sighed. “We are never going to war again. I do not care who I have to kill to prevent it.”
We reached the edge of the city and a camp of sorts. The badly wounded men who could not walk had been carried here, and new wounded were arriving, though none of the wounds appeared mortal.
Gaston had us set the chest down near this new hospital and then he turned to me with a frown. “Can you stay in one place of your own accord? Or do you feel you might slip away?”
I knew what he asked. I did not want him to have to bind me, but I truly could not guarantee I would not wander off to help some hapless animal. “It is possible I will gather kittens to further weigh down the chest.”
He smiled wryly. “This is why I have been saving the drug. And since we do not know what Cudro told Morgan yet…” His grin widened. “Let us say you took another hit on the head. You have so much blood on you, no one will know if it is yours or not.”
He sat me down next to the chest, dosed me with laudanum, pretended to examine my head, and then bandaged it. “Now do not move,” he said.
He had given me a powerful dose, and I felt its pleasant tug. I nodded and smiled at him. “I will be well now—or at least well enough not to trouble you unduly.”
“If you are well enough, th
en I am well enough,” he said. “Now lie down and rest.”
I did, and when I next woke I was staring at Morgan. Everything smelled of smoke. I was in a very large church, lying on a pew that had been pushed against the wall. I could see other wounded men lying on other pews all around me. I supposed it was the new hospital. I did not remember being carried here. I felt guilt that someone had been so burdened.
Morgan was watching me peer around. He finally asked, “Do you know where you are?”
“A cathedral. We won.”
He sighed with relief. “Thank God you’re not addled. You seem prone to take blows to the head. You should be careful of that.”
I chuckled. “Thank you for that advice.”
He snorted. “Aye, we won. The city is ours: what’s left of it. The damn Spanish burned it as they fled. They also secreted a great deal of plate and gems from the King’s warehouse—and much of the Church treasure as well. They say they put it on a ship. So now I have to dispatch men to look for it. And more companies of men out to the plantations where the rest of the citizens have fled. We’ll be here as long as Maracaibo.”
“Wonderful,” I said.
“I came to see if you were well. I was worried when you did not come to translate.”
“Thank you for your concern. I am not dead. Nor have I escaped.”
My last was said lightly, but he stiffened as if I had given him a good jab. We frowned at one another as an awkward silence deepened.
Morgan abruptly stood. “Do you feel you will be able to assist with the translation?”
“Possibly. What will you need me to translate?”
“Interrogations, I need to know where they have hidden everything.”
“Nay,” I said simply.
He frowned at me anew.
I shrugged. “I will not watch men tortured.”
“What the Devil is wrong with you?” he asked.
“I am tired of seeing things I do not wish to see. Remember, I did not volunteer for this campaign.”
“I am not responsible for you,” he snarled, and then he left.
I wondered what he meant.
I sat slowly, like a man favoring a head wound, and it was not truly an act. Though my head did not ache, I did feel as if I had suffered a grievous wound. And since my head was bandaged, my mind named that as the seat of the harm, and thus my body moved accordingly with no thought toward artifice on my part.
I was wounded: Gaston had bandaged it.
I spied him at a cot across the room, examining a man’s bloody, chest bandages. I sat and waited.
I was safe.
When Gaston finished with that patient, he looked to me as he stood. He frowned when his eyes found me, presumably because I was now sitting and not still asleep as he had left me. I smiled and waved, and his shoulders slumped with relief and he grinned as he came to me.
“How are we?” he asked.
I closed my eyes and looked within at what I already felt was there. I stood in a maelstrom. I sighed and met his gaze. “I am caught in a tempest.”
He nodded his understanding. “We were fortunate; Cudro told Morgan you were wounded.”
“Morgan was here.”
Gaston sighed. “I saw him. I told him not to disturb you.”
“I do not know if he did. He was just sitting here when I woke.”
“What did he say?”
I told him.
My man sighed and smiled. “We will escape,” he whispered.
“Oui, I have no doubt. So the Spanish burned the city? Was that true?”
Gaston nodded. “They set fire to their homes and other buildings, but not the Church’s or King’s property.”
“How kind of them,” I said. I met his gaze again. “How are you?”
He thought for a time before answering. “I am well. Worried about you, tired of seeing needless bloodshed, and anxious about freeing us from Morgan, but I have firmer footing than I thought.”
“I did not expect to fall,” I said.
He shook his head with concern and denial, “Non, my love, I do not…”
“Non, non,” I said quickly. “I am not apologizing, or thinking you would ever require that. Non, I am expressing my surprise. I truly did not see it coming. I suppose my Horse found… everything more taxing than I understood. I have been busy putting one tired foot in front of the other for days now, and hating every minute of it… And, I suppose I should not be surprised.”
He chuckled. “I will probably fall next, so be prepared.”
“Well, as we have discussed before, I will always catch you, even if I am lying prone. I will at least soften your fall. I…”
I stopped, my imagery reminded me too much of the horse we had rescued lying trapped in the mud. I took a deep breath and tried to push such thoughts away.
Gaston was watching me closely.
I grimaced. “I think I should avoid horse metaphors for a few days.”
He embraced me. “I will hold you, and if necessary, the Gods will hold me.”
One Hundred and Eleven
Wherein We Face Fate
Morgan’s army remained in Panama for nearly a month. Gaston did not fall, and I got my feet under me. We stayed with the wounded and lived in the nave of the cathedral. Due to Spanish caution and buccaneer greed, it had been stripped of any item that might have religious significance. Thus, though there was still the thrill of fornicating in a church, I did not feel I was truly troubling any deity by possibly desecrating a place of worship.
We avoided everyone we could, and spent our days tending the wounded, exercising in an attempt to calm our Horses, and writing. We discovered a cache of parchment and ink, and initially I circulated among the dying transcribing final letters to their loved ones; until I finally decided what we might say to ours. At first I sought to impart to them the events that led to our being in Panama and how we knew not what would befall us. Then I began to write like a mad fiend about things less tangible but of more value. I filled page after page with the thoughts I might never be able to convey in person to each and every one of my loved ones. Gaston quickly joined me in this endeavor. We told them how we valued their friendship, what they had meant to us, and what we most admired about them. I told myself I did not write as if we might die; but truly, there it was.
Once the letters were written to the adults, we began to write to the children: attempting to impart the things we would have them know if we were not there to tell them. The two children of my loins who would be born this spring became very real to me as I lay on a pew and scratched away by candlelight. I could not know if I wrote to boys or girls, and I knew it did not matter. I would have the same of them no matter their sex. I would have them be free persons in their hearts and minds. I would have them know the Gods for what They were. I would have them embrace the courage to live and love as they chose. I would have them understand that true happiness was usually a costly but worthwhile endeavor. I would have them know their Horses. I would have them venture forth from the Cave. If I could, I would hold their hands and console them when the light of truth hurt: when the way was steep: when they felt alone.
I wanted very much to live, because words would never suffice. Yet, I would not leave them a craven legacy in the name of my survival no matter what I faced. It would be better they had my words to hold than a man who could not live by them.
Gaston and I had one week of hope in which Cudro told us of a rumor that there was a company of buccaneers planning on taking one of the Spanish ships and plundering their way up and down the western coast of the Spanish Main and Terra Firma until they had their fill, and then sailing west until they circumnavigated the globe as Drake had done. Of course, Morgan heard of this rumor and quickly had every ship in the harbor sabotaged before Cudro could learn who we needed to approach to join them.
We then considered ourselves resigned and committed to Pierrot’s plan; and by the end of our stay, we were merely anxious to return to the ships wa
iting at San Lorenzo as soon as possible.
Before scuttling them, Morgan had been sending ships out in search of the elusive treasure galleon. That roving had actually captured several other vessels bearing goods from the Orient and proved quite prosperous. He had also dispatched regular sorties of two hundred men each to comb the surrounding countryside and plantations for prisoners and loot. These missions had also proven lucrative in the end. Still, we did not seem to have the quantity of plate and ready coin everyone had expected. The Spanish had far too long to prepare for our arrival. We learned they had known we were coming since Providence Island.
We departed Panama on February Twenty-Fourth. I was relieved to see that at least one hundred and seventy-five horses and mules survived the buccaneer occupation, for that is how many animals were required to haul away the treasure. Our lengthy column also contained about six hundred prisoners to be ransomed—including women and children. At the beginning of the journey, Morgan informed the prisoners that they had three days to procure the ransom he set on each of them. If they did not, he promised to transport them to Jamaica as slaves. Members of families and sometimes slaves and servants were sent to neighboring towns and out into the plantations to find relatives to pay the ransoms—or, retrieve the final hidden coins and jewelry.
We marched through the mountains for several days until we reached the village of Cruz on the River Chagre. Morgan sent for our canoes, and we were quite relieved when they arrived two days later. By then, ransom money, and provisions in lieu of coin, were trickling in. Those prisoners that met their ransom were released, the rest were placed on canoes or marched downriver along with the treasure.
Going down the river proved much easier than coming up it: not only were our canoes now going with the current, but the river had risen a little in the intervening month; and, of most importance, we now had sufficient provisions. It only took two days to bring everything to the place where we had left the larger boats from the fleet.
Before we were allowed to board them, however, Morgan chose to make an accounting of all we had obtained. To that end, he chose to make great show of having every man—including himself—and their belongings searched in order to ascertain that none of us were withholding treasure from our brethren.
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