Free The Companion by Susan Squires

throat. How innocent he had been! But even had he realized the import of what he saw, what could he have done? There was no escape so deep in the desert, as he had learned to his cost. Slowly, he had become a beast himself, raw from the leather and rope of the pack, cringing from the blows of his keeper, always thirsty, always seeking relief from the glaring eye of the sun. Perhaps the only sign that he was yet a man hadbeen that he learned rudimentary Arabic from the rough men around him. There was no other choice if he was to avoid a beating. Again the memories assaulted him.
    The slave beside the litter was drawn inside the curtains sometimes several times a night. After some weeks, he died one night in his tracks of the strange wounds he bore .
    She alighted, her black hair shining silver in the moonlight. Without a glance at the slave’s crumpled body she ordered him dragged away, left in the desert for the vultures and jackals. A camel driver approached and accosted her about the water rations. She growled, low in her throat, and hit him a backhanded blow. It took his head off. Blood spattered. Ian blinked, unbelieving. Was she that strong? Ian struggled for breath. The tall Arab deposited the second body with the first, its head separate, as all others gaped, stunned .
    She walked around the palanquin, looking the bearers up and down. She motioned the big Arab away from his pole. The keeper unlocked his chain. Fear made the Arab’s eyes roll white. She glanced ahead to where Ian and the Frenchman and two more Arabs shouldered their packs. Ian stared resolutely at the ground, trying to look unworthy of her attention .
    But the keeper cuffed him and commanded him to kneel. The pack was loosened. As in a nightmare he shrugged it off. The keeper spoke sharply and whipped him over to the rear pole vacated by the Arab. His chain was fastened to the ring. Ian and the other three bearers hefted the litter, and the caravan moved off once again. Before they had gone a mile, the hangings opened and a slender arm beckoned to the Arab. The slave shook his head, a low wail growing in his throat. Suddenly all his resistance, all his fear, ceased. The slave crawled up through the hangings. Ian felt his weight descend upon the litter. For many miles, the shifting weights, the movement inside, made it an even more wearisome burden .

    A huge crash brought Beth up from her cabin in the late afternoon, clutching her cloak around her. The day had been filled with confused shouting and Mrs. Pargutter’s moans, punctuated by the flapping rain and thunder of a very persistent storm. Water sluiced on deck everywhere. Wood chips cascaded as a great pole was planed smooth to form a makeshift spar. Men spliced broken rope and hauled bales and crates back to their places. The Captain shouted orders for more sail. Beyond the frantic activity the sun set in some splendor, the ominous black now scudding away to the north. Not a single ship of the convoy was visible.
    A cry from aloft made Beth crane her head upward. “Sail-ho, east-sou’east!”
    Beth looked around, but she could see nothing from the level of the deck. Tension filled the air, each man turning anxiously to the quarterdeck. The Captain heaved his bulk up the quarterdeck stairs, calling for his glass. They should feel relieved that the convoy converged, yet relief was nowhere evident. Slowly, Beth realized that if they had fallen behind the convoy because of the broken mast, a sail astern might not be welcome news.
    The Captain stood braced on the rail, glass to his eye. “Heave the log!” he shouted.
    Off to her right a young man sent a small round log over the side attached to a knotted rope. He let the knots slip through his hands as another boy held an hourglass. The second boy shouted, “Stop!” The other pinched the rope. “Five knots, two fathoms.”
    Beth watched the Captain search the rigging, then the sky, still filled with wind. “Stud’ s’ls upper and lower!”