She looked up in surprise to hear her own language after so long, then nodded. “Thank you, but I’ll just check him out if you don’t
mind,” she said, turning back to the dazed man.
The older man drew back in disbelief, then shouted again at Gabrielle in his own language as she peered under Rabeé’s bloody
bandage. Ignoring the man, she continued to try and help Isa’s lover, as the Arab man shook his head, then hurried away. After a
long look under the bandage she knew that her skills could not help the young man. When she turned to Isa, the expression on
Gabrielle’s face told the story and his expression crumbled as his tears began to flow. He lifted the wounded man’s head to his lap
and softly touched his cheek.
“You’ll be all right,” Isa softly assured the man. He stroked his lover’s hair tenderly as his tears fell upon the man’s upturned face.
Rabeé tried to lift his hand to touch his partner’s face, when suddenly he coughed and blood began flowing like a river beneath the
bandage. Gabrielle frantically tried to do something, but before she could even lift the bandage to try and staunch the flow, Rabeé’s
body heaved once. The young man’s eyes were wide as he gazed at Isa and their eyes seemed to lock. Then with only a slight
groan, the injured man grew still.
Defeated, the blonde looked compassionately at Isa and shook her head as she closed Rabeé’s staring eyes. The grief of losing his
lover engulfed the young navigator completely. Taking the man in his arms, with his face pressed to his beloveds, he wept openly.
Not quite believing that Rebeé was gone, Isa continued to talk to him, begging him to come back.
Seeing the man like this, Gabrielle couldn’t help but think of losing Xena. She wiped a tear from her eye, as she remembered the
horrible day at Higuchi when she first learned that Xena was dead, and the memories of losing her soulmate flooded her senses.
Before the emotions could pull her deeper, she shook her head as she turned around and glanced blurry-eyed at the scene and blinked
rapidly, trying to clear her eyes.
“Gabrielle!” Abu’s familiar voice called to her. “Come, they could use another healer in the surgeon’s tent,” he shouted, as he pulled
her to her feet. Gabrielle raised a hand to halt Abu and turned back to Isa.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently, “His wound was too deep. There was nothing anyone could have done.” She hesitated, then touched
his shoulder and said softly, “Rebeé was a good man, and he loved you, Isa. Never forget that… at the end, he got to…” she
swallowed painfully thinking of her own loss, then continued, “He… got to see you as he d-died and knew that you loved him.”
Through tear-filled eyes, the young man nodded silently, then lowered his face to his lover’s cheek, and wept openly. Not knowing
what else to do, Gabrielle turned to Abu. The tall man inclined his head and led her quickly toward a tent at the far end. As she ran
to keep up, he glanced down at her.
“Zara?” he asked as they made their way past the fallen bodies.
“Resting.” Was all she could say as she watched the Arabian men moving through the injured and taking the dying to one side.
“Good,” he replied in a slight whisper. Seeing her expression as she glanced at the movement around her, he nodded gravely. “As
soon as the fighting was over, Abu al-Farabi moved in. He ordered the Sultan’s warriors to set up these tents, while he began to
organize the wounded into who will live and who will die,” Abu explained.
“Who is Abu al-Farabi?” she asked. When she saw veiled women run from one wounded man to another she scanned the area to
find familiar faces. Some of the men she recognized from the crew, and felt sorrow at their number but many others were people
she had never seen.
“Abu al-Nasr al-Farabi is the personal healer of the Sultan of Hadhramaut,” he explained.
With quick strides they entered a tent which was lined with the few men who were deemed able to be saved and were brought into
the surgical tent to wait for surgery. Breaking through a curtained wall at the end of the tent, Abu entered a smaller area while
Gabrielle waited nearby. In the center of the tent sat two tables. One had a patient lying on it, with his eyes closed. An older man
was working on him. The older healer had two veiled female assistants handing him instruments and bandages.
“What is the meaning of this!” the older man shouted as Abu stepped inside the curtained off room. As he spoke, he continued to
work with nimble fingers.
“I have the other healer you asked about,” Abu informed him as he motioned Gabrielle into the room.
Upon entering the curtained area, Gabrielle recognized the older man working frantically on the injured warrior. It was the man who
spoke Greek and who had scolded her when she was examining Rebeé. He wore a tight fitting cap over his hair and a thin cloth
over his long beard and a blood-covered apron around his muscular form. He gave sharp, curt orders to his veiled female assistant
as he struggled to tie off the man’s bleeding wound.
“So, that’s why she chose to defy me,” he spoke in the language of Abu’s people, “But a woman healer! Unheard of!” he mumbled
as he cast an inquisitive glance at her, then added, “Abu, I might be able to overlook the fact that she is a woman, but I cannot
overlook her youth! Surely she is far too young to be a healer!” His voice was gruff.
“I’m older than I look and I’ve seen battle wounds before,” Gabrielle explained as she moved quickly to a bowl that a veiled woman
was filling with hot water.
With an approving eye, the Arabian healer nodded as he watched Gabrielle washing her hands. Shaking his head in disbelief, the
older healer nodded toward a second table. “Go then, and help that man,” he ordered as some men brought in another injured man.
After Abu al-Farabi barked a few orders, a veiled woman ran behind the Greek healer and wrapped a clean apron around her while
another veiled woman placed some surgical tools on a tray next to her. With only a grumble, the Arabian healer returned his
attention to his unconscious patient.
Like the older healer, Gabrielle ignored all around her except the injured man as she quickly moved to stitch up the wound that was
bleeding him dry. As soon as that man was sown up and stabilized, he was removed and another was brought in. This happened
time and again, no sooner had she finished with one, then she was washing her hands again, only to turn and find another wounded
man waiting for her attention. She had seen so many patients until the petite healer realized that she had forgotten what they each
looked like. It was a continuing nightmare of bleeding, moaning, screaming, dying men who seemed to flash by her in a never-
ending stream until she thought her tired fingers would fall off and still they came.
Suddenly, without warning, it was finally over, and Gabrielle could only sigh as she slumped wearily on the ground with her body
and hands aching. Despite the apron she had worn, the small woman’s clothing, hands, face and even her boots were covered with
blood from her work. She was even sitting in a pool of blood. She ignored it all as she sat there, almost too tired to move. In the
near silence of the tent, she thought of Xena and wondered where her soulmate had gone because she found herself doubting her
own abilities and wishing that the warrior had been here today. If she had been here, more lives would have been saved, Gabrielle
thought as she shook her head, part of her feeling defeated. From behind her, a figure stood over her and remained silent. With a
sigh of fatigue, the blonde looked up and saw the old healer Abu al-Farabi peering down at her.
He remained silent, his eyes seeming to examine her, then he nodded and patted her shoulder and spoke in his perfect Greek dialect.
“You have helped save many lives today, Gabrielle. Woman or not, you are a healer.” His tired voice was full of kindness for the
first time. At his statement, the petite woman smiled at the warmth of his words.
“Thank you, Master Abu al-Farabi,” she said gratefully. “You are a good and kind Healer as well.”
The older man looked at her tenderly, then smiled. “Come, Healer,” he said offering her a hand. “We must wash the stink and grime
of our work from our bodies.”
Well aware that she was filthy from the hours of surgery, she let him lead her into another curtained off section of the tent. One of
the older healers veiled female assistants was there and bowed her head as they entered. A large iron pot was filled with warm
water, and various soaps and perfumes. Sitting next to the pot on a table were brushes, washcloths, soft cotton towels, and robes.
A large ornate metal mirror stood there as well. There was a smaller table, with a jug of wine, a decanter of tea, two goblets and
some flatbreads and sweets. Just looking at the beverages reminded Gabrielle that she had not had a drink since leaving the ship that
morning, and her mouth seemed to instantly fill with cotton.
The old healer smiled. “Here you will wash,” he said kindly. “Assia, will assist you with whatever you need.” He indicated the
veiled female who bowed her head again.
“Thank you,” Gabrielle said with appreciation, and then went on hesitantly, “This is very kind of you, but where will you wash,
sir?”
He smiled. “I will wait until you are finished, my child. Take your time. It is the least I can do.”
The petite woman was taken aback. “Thank you sir, but I couldn’t take your…”
Before she could continue, he bowed low. “It is nothing. Without you here today, many more men would have gone to
Paradise before I could have saved them. Salaam, Healer Gabrielle. May you go with Allah.”
“And you also, sir.” She said smiling with gratitude. He bowed once more, and then left her there with the female assistant.
