Chapter Sixty-Five
Jack was still too weak to get up, but he insisted on trying to feed himself.
The fever, which had lasted three days, had broken the day before yesterday.
He didn’t remember the ride back. Someone—Nahilzay, Datiye said—had tied him to his saddle.
By the time they arrived back at the stronghold he was unconscious from loss of blood.
Today was the best he’d felt since the fever, and he wanted to get up, but Datiye wouldn’t let him.
He was in the gohwah, on a bed of hides and blankets, one wool blanket pulled up to his hips.
The bandage was clean, changed yesterday, and free of blood.
The wound was healing nicely, Datiye said, but the next time she changed the bandage he would inspect it himself, to make sure.
Propped against his saddle, he spooned the stew made of beans and squirrel into his mouth.
He was ravenous. “Who got the squirrel?” he asked.
“The great chief sent it, and more.” Datiye smiled. “You bring me much pride. Your fearless bravery and desire to avenge the hangings is well known.”
“I didn’t kill Warden.”
“You were first inside, alone.” Her eyes shone. “Both the chief and his most trusted warrior spoke of your bravery, in the dance.”
Jack didn’t smile, but he was pleased. She was referring to the victory celebration that followed a successful battle or raid.
After the shaman thanked the spirits, each warrior got up in turn to dance out the story of the battle as they had seen it, in pantomime.
Datiye told him that Cochise and Nahilzay had included what he had done in their renditions.
When he was finished, Datiye took the bowl and disappeared. She returned with a large pitcher of water and a cloth. He had closed his eyes, tired after eating, but when he felt the cool cloth on his face he stopped dozing.
“I haven’t bathed you since the fever broke,” she said.
He closed his eyes and let her bathe him.
There was nothing like a sponge bath by a woman, he decided, which of course made him think of his wife.
As soon as he was able, he would go to see her.
He missed her. But damn, he didn’t want to fight with her.
He knew she hadn’t meant it when she said he should never come back.
At least, he didn’t think she had meant it.
And even if she had, she was his wife. He would merely give her no choice in the matter.
It had hurt when she said it.
He asked Datiye about the rest of the battle, and she began telling him about the exploits of different warriors, many of whom he knew.
She wrung out the cloth and wiped down his chest, his abdomen.
She told him of how Cochise’s oldest son, Tahzay, had taken thirty warriors, covered the major party’s tracks, and led the troops following into a box canyon.
There they disappeared up a steep, seemingly impassable slope of rock and pinyon.
She flicked the blanket down to his feet.
“It was very bad. They had to lead the ponies up what was nearly a cliff on foot, and three broke their legs and had to be shot and hidden so the troops would not see. But even if they did see, no White Eyes would dare to climb that mountain. Except you.”
Jack didn’t smile. She was bathing his genitals, and he knew he was better because he was having an unavoidable reaction. She sucked in her breath and looked at him. He sighed. “It’s been too long,” he said.
“There are many widows and divorced women. As soon as you are stronger, you should take one to your bed. It is not right you deny yourself.” She spoke matter-of-factly.
Jack was relieved when she moved to his thigh, but the fullness in his groin did not go away.
Datiye could be objective about his taking another woman because Apache men did not sleep with their wives from the time of pregnancy until they had finished nursing, and Apache women nursed their children until they were two.
It was expected that widows no longer in mourning—and divorced women—would pleasure themselves, and men, in Jack’s situation.
Usually such casual, out-of-wedlock couplings occurred during victory celebrations.
The Apache believed in moderation in all things, including sex.
An Apache man, in fact, was supposed to show the height of good judgment and not impregnate his wife more than once every four years.
A man whose wife had children spaced less far apart was considered unbalanced because of an obviously too lusty nature.
Two pregnant wives at once was even more of an indication, and remembering Nahilzay’s carefully guarded expression when Jack had fold him that his first wife was also pregnant, he smiled.
He would not tell Datiye he had no intention of bedding a divorced squaw. Instead, he would ride out and visit Candice, the only woman he wanted.
Besides, he wanted to make sure she was all right.