Before Griggs could say another word, Garibaldi led me by the arm to a spot by the fire. The flames burned brightly, casting an orange-gold light over everyone. The smell of roasting meats and smoke intermingled with the sweet sea air. There were people moving about, tending to their own fires and needs, but Garibaldi paid them no mind as he doted on me. Every few moments he stood to grab something more for me to eat or drink.

When he shifted his weight to stand up again, I reached out, putting a hand on his arm to calm him. I swallowed a bite of bread with concerted effort. “Please, Senhor Garibaldi, I am fine. Just sit.”

He smiled, settling back down. “My friends here call me José. You can do the same,” he stammered. “That is, I do hope you would call me a friend.” His face turned red before he dropped it into his hands. “I am making a fool of myself, aren’t I?”

I laughed. “No more a fool than I am being.”

He suddenly grew serious. His eyes bored into me. “I would never think of you as a fool.” This time it was my turn to blush.

Soon a group gathered around the campfire, consisting of myself, José, Griggs, and Griggs’s woman, Ruthie. Ruthie had joined the camp to be with Griggs. An Indian girl, she was so slight in stature she barely reached Griggs’s shoulder. She had a sly smile and hawk eyes that seemed to take in everything. Rossetti eventually joined us too, sitting at a small table a short distance from our little circle. His face was buried in a notebook that he furiously wrote in.

As we sat by the campfire under the dying light of day, Griggs rubbed his large callused hands together and began to tell the story of how he and José fought off a group of Austrian mercenaries employed by the Imperial army. They had managed to capture the colonel leading the division who was not the most amiable of people.

“Now, we thought we had this colonel secured, but the sneaky bastard broke free, scaring the horses to distract us. Like fools, we all went after our animals,” Griggs said, at the edge of his seat, his hand flailing about as he told the story. “Little did we know said distraction was a signal to his friends.”

“Meanwhile, I was with my cook. We were away from the rest of the camp,” José interjected, turning to me. “He got the finest yerba mate from Argentina. A rare variety that only grows in the north.” He turned back to Griggs. “That cook couldn’t do much, but damn could he make a great cup of tea.”

“I swear, I still dream about his feijoada—sorry, Ruthie.” Griggs gave Ruthie a kiss on her temple. “But he was godawful with a gun.”

“‘Godawful’ isn’t a strong enough word,” José responded. “Anyway, my cook and I are sitting down enjoying this tea.” He turned back to me. “He and I had been talking about it for weeks. We needed a nice calm moment to truly savor it. Cook pours the first bit of water and we are waiting on the edge of our seats for it to seep into the leaves when we hear the infantry call. I turn and there is this wall of Austrian cavalrymen racing toward us.”