Decision made, he stood. “We will have Asha here gather all the guards in the space between Khalifa’s and Jabir’s tents. That way we can use the tents to shield our approach until we are right upon them.” He made sure to look the guards and Jabir in the eyes. “The healer and these other guards will have to remain here tied up until we are sure the encampment is ours.”
The guards with Asha immediately started to protest, but Kako leveled Khalifa’s rifle on them, and that quieted them down with rather a great amount of haste.
The next problem was what was he going to tie them with?
Khalifa’s knife glinted sunlight from where it had fallen in the grass. Trent took it up and used it to cut several strips from the bottom of the hem of Khalifa’s kanzu. These strips he used to bind the guards and the doctor. He lashed them all three to the trunk of an acacia tree, where they would at least have some shade. “One of us will be back for you all just as soon as the camp is ours,” he promised. And with that, he and Kako followed Asha across the field toward the encampment.
Trent wanted nothing more than to go directly to RyAnne and let her know all was now going to be well, but first he needed to ensure that none of the guards would give him trouble.
Asha glanced over at him. “Your woman saved my life and then saved my arm when the healer meant to cut it off.”
Trent once more swallowed down the desire to go straight to her. He smiled. “She talks of me then?”
Asha snorted at the sentiment. “She thinks you are dead. But I have heard her say your name in her sleep.”
The thought gave him a little thrill. So she still missed him? Wouldn’t be opposed to learning that he’d come back from the dead? He grinned, and Kako chuckled at him. Asha paused behind a patch of bushy palms. “I will send a boy once I have gathered the guards.” And with that he slipped from their sight and into the encampment.
Still uneasy about whether they could trust the man fully, Trent wondered how long they would need to wait, but fifteen minutes later a small face appeared through the bushes. The boy could not be more than ten, and when he stepped into full view, Trent could see that his wrists and ankles bore the scars of shackles.
“Asha has sent me to fetch you,” he said in a soft voice.
Trent and Kako followed the boy through clusters of apathetic captives to the center of the encampment. Kako approached from one side of the tents with Khalifa’s rifle, and Trent approached from the other.
There were nine guards besides the ones he had tied up back there with the healer, but none of them were armed with anything other than a spear. Even so, Trent knew how deadly some of them could be with their spears, so he hung back far enough to give himself a good view of the whole band of them. He held out his pistol and cleared his throat loudly to draw their attention.
“Khalifa has been killed by the lion, and I have taken over this encampment now. If you give me no trouble, you may have your freedom. If you would like your freedom, lay down your spears.”
It took a moment, but to a man, one after the other, they all bent and dropped their spears near their feet.
“Good. If you walk straight toward the setting sun, you will exit the encampment. Keep walking and don’t come back. If Kako or I see you again, we will shoot you on sight. Understood?” Then, knowing how much of a hardship it would be on them to be left on the plains without their spears, he added. “You may take your weapons with you. Kako and I will escort you to the edge of the encampment.”
The men expressed pleased surprise. Several of them bowed their thanks over and over again. Only one man appeared a little disgruntled as they escorted them out of the encampment, but with no one else protesting, Trent didn’t think they would have any trouble from him.
Kako hung back, and Trent looked over at him.
He tipped his head toward Asha.
Trent transferred his attention to the man. “Yes?”
Asha kept his head bowed in subservience. “With your permission… Your woman saved my life. It would only be right that I remain with her until I have repaid the debt.”
The truth was, Trent was glad for an extra man to help with all the work they would need to do in the hours to come. With a nod, he agreed.
They waited until the guards had all disappeared over the far horizon before they turned back to the encampment.
First things first. He would go see RyAnne, but then they would need to bring water and food to all these starving people before they could in good conscience release them to go back to what might be left of their villages.
Hakim Chadha stepped off the boat in the Stone Town port. He had to admit that as places went, this port was probably the most putrid of harbors he’d ever had the displeasure of sailing into. The stench that hung in the air stung the nostrils and made the eyes water. A corpse bumped against the gangplank as he took the last step, and just up the beach, two Zanzibaris were using a net to drag another corpse onto the shore. It appeared the bodies were gathered and burned.
What a dreadful place this would be to work. But there was nothing for it. He didn’t have enough money to make his way to a different port. So until he could save enough to move on, this would be the place he called home.
Best he start asking about for work. The sooner he found some, the sooner he could be shut of this place.
He had only taken two steps up the dock, however, when the first wave of weakness hit him. His stomach rebelled and threatened to cast up its contents. He managed to stumble to the edge of the pier, but once on his knees and finished with the foul task, he found that his muscles refused the order to stand again.
“You there?” A stevedore stepped closer to him. “Be ye in need of ’elp, lad?”
“Aye” was all he managed.
The stevedore carried Hakim to the nearest clinic, but the doctor had been called away to the other side of the island to tend to a birthing.
“I ’ave ta git back ta work, ye see. The doc, he should be ’long, right snappy like. Ye just sit here on the steps, an’ he’ll ’elp ya soon as he returns.”
By the time the doctor returned, Hakim was staring sightlessly toward the sky, and a stiffness had already set into his corpse.
RyAnne fidgeted nervously. She would have given just about anything could she have paced back and forth. Instead she was consigned to being satisfied with merely standing, since her ankles were still chained to those of the women on either side of her.
Khalifa had led Asha and the other guards away to hunt the lion over an hour before. And then one of the guards had rushed back and demanded that Jabir accompany him. Someone had sustained an injury, he’d said, but nothing more than that—not even when she’d prodded for more information.
Her first concern was for Asha. Had he been wounded even worse by the lion? Or was it his initial wounds that were suddenly worsening?
Her second concern was for the children of the camp. Normally they were fed and given water as soon as the sun rose. And since they were given so little fluids, the morning’s distribution was an essential necessity for replenishing needed sustenance to small bodies. Yet Khalifa and Asha had not returned, and neither had Jabir.
Moyo had curled up on the ground near her feet and returned to sleep, taking advantage of the rare extra rest she was so in need of. Most of the women had also returned to sleep. Even the woman who had been clawed seemed to have been lulled into a stupor by whatever draught Jabir had given her.
Every once in a while Moyo whimpered, and RyAnne imagined dreams of the lion attack, or perhaps the attack on the village, haunted her.
She stooped down and soothed her hand over the child’s forehead. “Shhhh, Moyo. I’m here. All is well now.”
She heard footsteps and looked up.
Asha was approaching in the distance with a bearded man she didn’t—
She gasped and covered her mouth with one hand.
That oh-so-recognizable casual gait—feet planted wide like a man who’d grown up keeping his balance on se
a-tossed ships. His shirt was dirty and torn, but draped over those familiar broad, sturdy shoulders.
Tears filled her eyes as he came closer, making it even more difficult to focus and discern if she was losing her mind.
Yet those wind-whipped curls, though several lengths longer than they had been the last time she’d seen him, could belong to none other.
Still she doubted herself. Surely she was mistaken. Every limb shook with the terror that she was simply seeing the familiar in the form of a stranger.
But his gaze was locked on to hers, and he was heading straight for her, only paces away now. And when he stopped before her, there was no mistaking those gray-green eyes, no matter that most of his face was buried behind a black beard.
“Captain…” The word was barely a breath, and then she lost all the strength in her legs and slipped to her knees as sobs overtook her.
He knelt with her and tugged her firmly into a trembling embrace. “Shhh, RyAnne. I’m here, hmmm? I’m here.” He cupped the back of her head and pressed his bristly cheek first against her own, then against her hair, and finally against her shoulder.
His body shuddered, and a gravelly sound, half pain and half joy, slipped from the back of his throat. When she pulled back to take a second, third, and even fourth look, there were tears shimmering on his lower lids. He dashed at them as he gave a gruff bark of self-deprecating laughter and offered a watery smile.
“I can’t believe you are here. How…”
He took her face in both his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “I have Kako and June to thank for saving me.”
A thrill most certain swept through her. “Kako and June? Alive?”
He nodded. “And Nyimbo.”
“Father in heaven be praised!” Nyanja came to mind, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to voice the question. Her gaze traveled to Moyo, still sleeping soundly on the ground next to them.
Trent followed her gaze and then when she met his eyes once more, shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Tears spilled anew. Even though it was what she had suspected for weeks. “Moyo has never said, but I think she saw her k-killed.”
A muscle bunched in Trent’s jaw, and he rubbed one thumb over what she felt sure was the scar left by Khalifa’s hand on her cheek.
She held her breath, wondering how terrible it really looked. With no looking glass, she had no way of knowing. The truth be told, she hadn’t even thought of it over the past weeks. But now, with Trent looking at her with such pity in his eyes, her heart dropped. “Is it hideous?”
He blinked and met her gaze. “Never could the sight of you be hideous.”
As touching as that sentiment might be, she wouldn’t let him get away with such a blithe answer. “How bad is it, truly?” She pressed her lips together, almost afraid of what he might say.
He bent forward until she could look nowhere but into the sincerity of his eyes. “The truth is, it is barely noticeable, but my heart breaks at what you must have gone through these past weeks.”
The statement should have brought relief, but instead it weighed her down with guilt. She closed her eyes, attempted a steadying breath.
He pulled her head close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t fret, RyAnne.”
RyAnne felt her face crumple. “Oh, Trent, I’m afraid this whole sorry mess is my fault! Khalifa said—”
Trent set her back from him and took her face firmly in his hands. “Never mind what Khalifa said, aye? The man is a liar and the lowliest of villains. This was his doing and none other’s. Do you hear me? None other’s.”
“What happened to him?” She glanced around. The man had been such a part of her life for the past several weeks that she almost expected to see him walk up and with one swipe of his hand dissipate the illusion—Trent here before her, holding her face in his hands, and speaking to her in audible tones.
“Khalifa was attacked by the lion. I’m afraid he met with a very gruesome and painful ending.”
At that moment RyAnne realized Asha was unlocking the manacles on all the women up and down the line.
RyAnne closed her eyes. Please, Father, don’t let this all be a dream. “So what is to happen to all of us?” She swept a gesture to the other women nearby and then to the camp in general.
“Everyone will be freed.” He stood, pulling her up with him. He slipped his hands behind her waist, pulling her closer.
She breathed in the earthy scent of him, not even caring that it was hardly the most pleasant of odors at the moment. “Oh, Trent. I can hardly believe my eyes and my ears and my hands.” She curled her fingers into the beard along his jaw.
He bent forward and kissed her, lingering over the task. “Believe it. I’m here. Right in front of you. And giddy with the joy of it.”
For a long time they simply stared at one another. Touched one another. Breathed the same air as one another.
Trent brushed her hair back from her face. There was a catch in his voice when he spoke. “I feared I wasn’t going to make it in time. Forgive me for failing you?”
RyAnne laid one finger over his lips. “You did not fail me. There was naught that you could have done.”
“I have rehearsed it a thousand times and think that surely there were a few things I should have done differently. But… What’s important is that we’ve found each other again.”
“Indeed.”
He swept his hands down her arms. “I could stand here taking in my fill of you all day, but we’ve much to do. We need to free and feed all these people. And get them water.”
“Yes, of course. I will help.”
And as she bent to wake Moyo, and watched Trent stride away giving instructions to Asha and Kako, RyAnne couldn’t help but turn her thoughts to prayer. Oh, Father, You promised me Your grace was sufficient for me, and I doubted You. And yet it was. It carried me through until You could bring about the good end that You had planned for us. For this, I thank You. You have taken me from this trail of chains and set my feet on the path of freedom.
Dear Reader,
Yes, the pinching-ant pinchers really were used to close wounds. In fact this method of suture was used even up into the 1940s and ’50s, when my grandparents were missionaries in what was then called the Belgian Congo.
One of the problems that early missionaries faced with bringing the truth of the gospel to Africa was the fact that many African tribes believed that powerful spirits resided everywhere and could be appeased and bargained with, much like powerful human beings. God, being all benevolent and immutable, was an enigma that couldn’t quite be grasped. Surely a being so powerful would require remunerations of some sort from anyone who wanted or needed something from Him? Convincing them this was not the case with God, the One True Spirit above all spirits, was not an easy task.
The lion attack in this story is very similar to one described by Dr. David Livingstone in his book Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa. A lion had been plaguing a certain village, killing sheep on several occasions. Dr. Livingstone decided to help them in their attempts to hunt down and kill the lion. The lion was up on a small hill. Dr. Livingstone emptied both barrels of his gun into the lion, but was in the process of reloading when the lion leapt on him. It seized him by the upper arm, and he described what followed as being shaken “as a terrier dog does a rat.” He was saved by the fact that another man took up a weapon and shot at the lion. That gun misfired. However, the lion left off attacking Livingstone and turned to attack that second man. Only a moment later it dropped dead from the initial gunshot wounds inflicted by Livingstone. Livingstone’s arm was shattered, and he described the teeth marks left by the lion as looking like gunshot wounds.
Anyhow, I hope you’ve enjoyed this fifth episode of the series. This story is almost done! The next episode will bring about the conclusion.
If you have a moment, please leave a review on Amazon. I so appreciate hearing your honest feedback. You can find out more about this ser
ies and the next episode here: http://www.lynnettebonner.com/books/historical-fiction/sonnets-of-the-spice-isle
God bless!
Lynnette Bonner
Continue the story!
Read an excerpt from the next episode…
Episode 6, The Joy of the Morning
The Savannah, East Africa
Two Days Outside of the Port City, Bagamoyo
RyAnne sank to her knees and relaxed back against her ankles. The cook fire she’d been bent over for the past several hours was naught but smoking coals now. She rubbed her fingers into the cramping muscles of her lower back. Despite the pain she couldn’t feel anything but relief to know that all the people of the encampment had now been fed to the full. Several parties had even already departed to return to their villages. As different chieftains located what was left of their people, many hadn’t wasted time in taking leave of the white man who, to their way of thinking, might change his mind at any moment and clap them back in irons.
This morning after Trent had come to their rescue, Kako had located the men and women of his tribe and freed them from their shackles. Some of the men he had taken with him on a hunt. The others had been set to releasing the rest of the captives, building up cook fires, and fetching water for those who were too weak to go to the nearby creek themselves.
RyAnne had washed and tended as best she could more wounds caused by the chaffing of manacles than she could stomach. Part way through the day, after she had washed the ankles of a vacant-eyed girl of no more than five years of age, the frustration and heart-wrenching empathy had taken the last of her composure. Trent had discovered her cleaning the wounds of the next child with tears streaming down her face, and had made her change jobs with June, whose task it had been to make porridge.
RyAnne couldn’t deny that the change of scenery—from blood and blisters and glimpses of white bone through ebony skin, to bubbling porridge with steam wisping from it—had been a most welcome contrast.
The Trail of Chains: A serialized historical Christian romance. (Sonnets of the Spice Isle Book 5) Page 8
