Three Spanish soldiers passed them only a few feet away. They were talking loudly and not paying much attention to the world around them. Garrison duty and going out on the occasional patrol were not too arduous despite the war, Haney concluded.
He was about to exhale and thank their lucky stars when Diego suddenly screamed, bolted from his hiding place, and slashed at one of the soldiers with his machete, ripping the man’s throat.
The wounded soldier fell while the other two wheeled in disbelief. Christ, thought Haney. What the hell had just happened? He pulled his revolver and a Bowie knife and joined in the assault. Diego was wrestling with a second soldier while the third tried to bring his rifle to bear. Haney plunged his knife into the belly of the third and ripped upwards. The man screamed and fell back. Haney waited until he had a chance and then used the handle of his revolver to crack the skull of the man wrestling with Diego. He hit the man several more times before the soldier let go and went limp. Haney checked to see if any were alive. None were. Even the man he’d stabbed had stopped breathing and was gazing at the night sky with blank eyes.
Diego staggered to his feet. He was covered with blood, but most of it wasn’t his. “Thank you, my friend. You saved my life.”
Haney wiped his knife on the shirt of one of the dead soldiers. “Yeah, and your bullshit action might have gotten us killed.”
“You are right,” he said contritely. “But when I saw their uniforms I couldn’t help myself. They are from a regiment formed and led by Gilberto Salazar. They are the ones who massacred your fellow Americans on that ship. More important to me, they are the devils who slaughter Cubans they think are rebels just because they are wandering and looking for food. A while back, they killed my sister but not until many soldiers abused her. When the soldiers were through with her, they cut her throat and left her to bleed to death on the ground. She was fourteen.”
“I’m very sorry,” said Haney as he looked around nervously, “but these guys comrades are going to be looking for them very soon. You better get me back to that dinky boat so I can get the hell out of here.”
“You’re right that we must move, but there is no hurry. They won’t be missed for several hours and we will be many miles from here by then.”
“Diego, where do you want to go?”
The Cuban laughed. “I want you to see Havana. But before then, tell me what a sergeant major does in the army. I have a lot I need to know.”
Haney thought for a moment before responding. Screw it, he decided. “A sergeant major beats the shit out of untrained recruits until they get it in their heads that they have to obey orders and can’t go and do what they want. And sometimes I have to talk very firmly to undisciplined officers, too.”
Diego flinched. “I understand your message. What I did was unforgiveable and it will not happen again. Unfortunately, this lack of discipline is common in our army. Everyman seems to think he is a general and, therefore, enabled to lead. Sometimes there is chaos. May I borrow you to help instill discipline?”
“Let’s get back from Havana first.”
* * *
Sarah yawned. She’d had at least one glass of wine too many. She wondered if she was slurring her words and decided she didn’t care. Sarah and her good friend Ruth Holden were on the second floor of Sarah’s house in the country, residing on couches in the large master bedroom. Ruth was going to spend the night in her own room down the hall.
The two women had changed into their nightgowns and were also wearing light robes. No servants were present. They could talk candidly without housekeepers’ sometimes very large ears picking up gossip.
“Do you miss marriage?” Ruth asked.
“Sometimes very much. Walter was a very good man, very considerate and kind. He made me feel secure and he genuinely cared for me. I was genuinely fond of him.” Although, she thought, that fondness had not necessarily translated into love.
“That isn’t what I meant. Do you miss the physical part of marriage?”
Sarah felt herself flush. “Sometimes very much. Despite the fact that he was older, neither one of us was all that experienced as lovers, but we both learned very rapidly. We enjoyed each other immensely. What about you?”
“I miss it very much as well. You are aware, of course, that I was never actually married. Jean was a lover, nothing more. And yes, I do miss the very exciting physical part. You are aware that he was a thief, aren’t you?”
Sarah giggled. The wine was winning. “I thought there might be something like that from statements you made.”
“Yes. When we weren’t romping in bed, Jean would go out and rob rich Parisians. He stole money, usually negotiable securities, and, very rarely, jewelry. Jewelry was too special and unique and he could only sell it for a fraction of its real value. Sometimes he would actually melt it down for the gold, but that was too risky. Money and negotiable securities were a different matter. The chaos of the war with Prussia and the later revolution permitted him to steal almost at will. I don’t think he ever hurt anyone. He didn’t have to. My job was to take the plunder to Switzerland and convert it to Swiss or British money.”
“That’s a lot more exciting than farming,” Sarah said as she poured them each some more wine. She had to concentrate on not spilling any.
Ruth continued. “It got too exciting. Jean got swept up by the police and was summarily executed along with several thousand others. Those were terrible, horrible, days in Paris. I know he was killed because I portrayed myself as the grieving widow and they let me identify him. Of course, they had no idea he was anything more than a low ranking rebel, so they let me take his body and have him buried. Ironically, he was never a rebel, just a thief.
“When he died, I went to Switzerland and got a number of bank drafts and traveled to Italy. From there I took a ship from Naples and came to the U.S. I opened a number of accounts in my name and here I am, a very rich but lonely widow.
“I can’t imagine you being lonely too long.”
“Nor can I, but I too am going to be choosy. Like you’ve found out, there are too many men who want only money. Still, I do very much miss having a man in bed with me. Have you ever thought of inviting Colonel Ryder to your boudoir?”
“It’s crossed my mind,” Sarah said with a smile. “It may happen but not just yet.”
“When you fantasize, is it with Ryder? When I think about doing it with someone, I often think of being in bed with that charming but rough Sergeant Haney. It may surprise you but I’ve managed to speak with him on a number of occasions. We have a lot in common. He comes from a country that is enslaved, Ireland, and I come from a country that people insist doesn’t exist, Poland.”
Ruth poured herself some more wine. “Haney reminds me of a reasonably honest version of Jean. Since I can’t have him just now, I usually just pleasure myself or use one of the delightful toys I brought back from France. Once I even did it with a woman.”
“Dear God!”
“It was pleasant enough from a physical standpoint but totally unsatisfying emotionally. And no, I am not going to suggest that we even think of trying it.”
Sarah just laughed and shook her head. “Good. I’m not that desperate and hopefully never will be.”
The conversation was getting entirely too personal, but Ruth did have a point. In the past she’d thought of Walter being in bed with her and how they used to please each other. Lately, however, her thoughts had turned to wondering how Martin Ryder’s hands might feel on her body. On rare occasions she had indeed pleasured herself and, now loosened by alcohol, thought that tonight might be another one. Since Ruth would be sleeping down the hall, she would have to make sure she was quiet. On the other hand and given the amount of wine they’d drunk, it was possible that nothing would awaken Ruth.