*Reciprocal*
Somehow, with Hunter more of a hindrance than a help, he managed to get Horatio onto the bunk, then sloshed some water into a cup, and held it up with a hand no amount of determination could make quite steady. Of course Horatio had to try and hold it for himself, but his hand was even more unsteady than Archie’s and in the end he was forced to give up and allow the cup to be held to his lips. It was two days since the rain, and that meant just two cups of water in that time, enough to prevent delirium but torturingly little beneath the Spanish sun. He should not give too much water at first, he remembered being told that shipwrecked survivors should never be given too much water all at once. He had not recalled that on his own release, but it hardly mattered; the effort to reach the rough pitcher, once he had dragged himself close enough, and then to get the cup to his mouth, had been too great for him to drink too much.
The water gone; he managed to ease Horatio downwards so he was lying curled on the bunk, then got a rag and wiped his face. He thought for a moment Horatio was slipping into sleep, but then he opened his eyes – eyes swollen and red-rimmed from the sand of the courtyard – and said in cracked tones, “Archie, I’m filthy.”
Yes, of course fastidious Horatio would have hated the stinking foulness of the hole. Horatio had always taken such trouble to keep himself clean on shipboard. “Wait. Just a little.” He pulled himself up, crossed to the door, and began banging rhythmically on it with the tin cup. A guard came, and he summoned his command of Spanish to ask for more water, water to wash with. Luckily the guard seemed willing.
Archie crossed back to the bunk. “Water will be here soon, Horatio. Now….” Getting Horatio’s shirt off was difficult, by the time it was done both of them were breathless and Horatio’s face was white with pain, although he had not made a sound.
Are you all right?
He had asked that scant moments ago. Silly question on the surface: of course Horatio wasn’t all right. But he hadn’t been thinking of woes of the body, the mind mattered more. And that too had been a silly question.
You never would be.
Of course Horatio was sane and whole: he would not let the oubliette break him, anymore than he had let Simpson break him. Horatio would never fall as low as he had done. But if he had accepted life then he must accept that too.
The water came quite quickly; probably the guards had no wish to enter a cell where the prisoners stank of filth. He remembered then: after his own captivity in the hole the guards had poured cold water over him as he lay on the floor, washing the worst of the dirt away before they left him lying there sodden and helpless. No doubt they were glad to be spared that small effort this time.
Gritting his teeth he crouched by the bed and stripped away Horatio’s stinking breeches. Despite all his control Horatio whimpered as his legs were raised and Archie winced with remembered pain. He flung the stinking breeches into a corner, they would have to be soaked to get even reasonably clean but that must wait. He took up one of the cloth strips the guards had brought to bind Hunter’s wound and, crouching by the bed began to sponge away the dirt as gently as his unsteady hands could manage. Horatio flinched at the first touch, then held himself grimly rigid, eyes now screwed shut.
Hunter at least had the grace to keep away and Archie was glad of it. Horatio was not normally bashful about his body – he could remember him stripped to wash under the pump many times – but there was humiliation in being so helpless.
Rage had simmered in him ever since that stupid escape bid: rage at Hunter, rage at Massaredo for not taking the trouble to investigate when it was plain he doubted Horatio’s claims of responsibility, rage at the unthinking cruelty of the punishment. It was the most vital emotion he’d felt in months, and it yammered at him now as he saw the marks of suffering on Horatio’s body. His knees and elbows were scraped raw, as were parts of his hands. Horatio had beaten at the prison as he had himself, thrown himself against the rough stone walls. He had never thought Horatio would lose control so, and something in him wished to howl at the knowledge of that helpless thrashing, uncaring of pain, reduced to animal struggle. There were other marks too, which looked like rat bites. Creatures swarming in the hole, sharp feet and sharper teeth…. He cleaned the raw places thoroughly although Horatio’s harsh breathing told of pain. Some were inflamed and angry, but none had yet become full blown suppurating sores. With careful cleaning Horatio might be spared that much.
He was giddy by the time he had got Horatio mostly clean and his own arms were aching. Horatio needed help to turn onto his stomach, and once again the pain of effort broke through his stoicism. There were more painful scrapes on his spine and shoulders. Archie’s arms were so tired now his attempts at cleaning were sadly unsteady. He wondered if Massaredo would allow a doctor to see Horatio. He himself had been left to rot untended, but the governor might have more concern for the man who had shared his table. He gritted his teeth, furious once again at that casual cruelty of weakness and indifference. It was hard to say which was worse, Simpson’s pleasure in hurting or Massaredo’s carelessness.
There was a strange ringing in his ears and coloured dots flickered before his eyes. He had to drop his head down on the bunk, his breathing harsh. The cell was stifling.
One more effort. His head had cleared a little and he forced himself upright on legs that were shaking and stiff. Massaredo had been generous with spare linen, perhaps from a desire to keep up appearances, and he fetched a clean shirt. Easing Horatio’s arms into the garment was almost too much for both of them, by the time it was done Horatio was nearly sobbing and Archie had no strength to do anything but sink down on the floor, dropping his head and arms on the bunk in exhaustion.
He was woken by a sound of pain: still dizzy with sleep Archie thought at first it had been his own, and he pushed himself up lashing out at air. But another sound told him it was not his voice, and he shook his head, propped on his hands, stiff and shaking, until his senses cleared enough for him to know the sound came from Horatio. He was hunched on the bunk, trying to stifle the sounds with his hands. Archie managed to gain his feet and leaned over his friend. “Horatio!” He was not even sure if he was heard. “Horatio, where does it hurt?” Horatio did not, perhaps could not, reply.
Cramp of course. Archie could remember it. The sheer crippling agony, striking again and again. Even now, especially on waking, he might feel spasms of pain; nowhere near as acute as they had been, but persistent enough for him to wonder if he would be free of them fully ever again. Of course Horatio would suffer cramp.
Drawing on his own memories, he reached out and began massaging Horatio’s shoulders with all the strength his spent body could summon. He kept at it as best he could, uncertain whether the sounds he could hear were Horatio’s pain or his own exhaustion. There was no telling either how long it was before he finally became aware Horatio had relaxed a little, probably due more to natural abatement than to his own clumsy ministrations.
“Think you could sleep now?” he whispered.
“Rats.” Horatio’s voice was choked.
“There are no rats here, Horatio. You’re not in the hole anymore.”
“They might come.” Horatio must be lightheaded, half his mind back in the pit. Archie was almost close to joining him in dreadful memories.
“There are no rats,” he said firmly. “I’ll keep them away, Horatio, don’t worry.” Driving off a non-existent threat, something he might manage to be equal to.
“Don’t go.”
“I won’t.” It wasn’t as if he could go far, but Horatio’s world was shrunken even closer than the walls of the cell.
Uncaring of what Hunter might think, Archie eased himself down, so that he was lying beside Horatio. Bone-thin as they both were, there was room on the bunk. Perhaps it might keep both their nightmares away, just for tonight.
*End*