Blood Ties (44 page)

‘Come,’ he said, ‘we go to the Hodeoseh.’

‘What,’ rasped Gianni, his breath only just returning through his tortured throat, ‘is that?’

‘You are honoured,’ replied Hair Burned Off. ‘It is the – what is the word in your tongue? Chiefs’ meeting, or …’

‘Council?’

‘There,’ said the Indian. ‘You are to hear the decision of the council.’

The longhouse of the council was double the length and width of the one they’d come from. Shields, adorned with feathers, embossed with beads, hung from the cedar-slat walls. Between them, masks of horned deer, wolf and bear shimmered in their red paint, seeming to move in the glow of the three fires set a dozen paces apart in the middle of the earthen floor. Down one side of the open space, facing the flames, at least twenty men were gathered. Some, the older ones, were weighed down with vast necklaces of shell and bead. Others, younger, had chests bared, the better to display elaborate tattoos. The elders had a variety of hair styles, some with their greying locks parted and split either side of the face, others with shanks hanging down only on one side of the head, the opposite side shaved clean. The younger were uniform, their heads hairless save for the single long topknot, a horse’s mane of it, wound and oiled and flowing down the back.

They are the warriors
, Gianni thought, his opinion confirmed when he saw Falling Day among them. The imprint of a pistol’s muzzle still stood out redly on the man’s forehead and Gianni shuddered slightly when he remembered how close he’d come to pulling the trigger. It was only here he realized how tall the warrior was, yet he was no taller than any of his fellows. What made them appear so big was the contrast with the men who faced them on the other side of the longhouse – the rest of the captured crew of the
Breath of St Etienne
.

The crewmen looked at the newcomers in nervous, mute appeal. Though Thomas had led them often in prayer on the long voyage across the ocean, it was not their spiritual selves that needed succour now. It was Gianni Rombaud who had killed their Captain, Ferraud, when he wouldn’t proceed down the river, Gianni who led them to be captured. Yet he was also the one who had saved them all, apart from poor Angeleme, from a certain and horrific death. He was their only hope now. Even Fronchard, the old sailmaker, bowed his head as the young man took his place at the line’s end.

Each of the natives had a long pipe like the one Hair Burned Off was carrying. As if at a signal, they raised them and drew a deep breath through them. As Gianni and Thomas took their places, thick plumes were exhaled toward the roof, the only movement, the only sound in the longhouse, save the shallow breathing of the captives.

The eldest of the elders, whose thick grey hair was held off his face by a snakeskin band across his forehead, gestured to Hair Burned Off and said a few words. Their guide nodded and turned to them.

‘Ganeodiyo, who you would call, perhaps, Handsome Lake, is the Main Sachem of the Nundawaono, what you would call the Tribe of the Great Hill, our people. He says for me to speak to you and tell you the thoughts of the council. Then we will hear your thoughts.’

When he finished he nodded again to the elder who immediately began speaking. Thomas was straightaway lulled by the cadences of the man’s speech. Even though he understood not a word of it, it had a song to it, a rising and a dying fall, a flow that indicated carefully thought out ideas, eloquently expressed. When, as a young Jesuit in training, he had studied the great Roman orators like Cicero and Cato, he had delighted in the beauty of the language when some of the more gifted of his tutors had spoken it. Yet he suddenly knew that few of them could have equalled the simple rhetorical power, the verbal grace, of the man now speaking.

The translation was, of necessity, a poor and fractured imitation. But both he and Gianni learned how they had arrived at the final crisis of a war against an ancient enemy, who lived on the fertile lands on the far bank of the great river, the starboard side as they’d sailed down. How the Great Spirit had blessed his chosen people’s bone knives, war hammers and bows, and how they’d burned many of the enemies’ lodges to the ground. Village after village had been reduced to ashes until now the last of this enemy – he called them the Tahontaenrat, the Tribe of the White-Eared Deer – had been driven into their last, their biggest village beneath the cliffs. The summons had been sent out to the brothers of their confederacy – for the Tribe of the Great Hill was only one of five mighty tribes joined together – and the most skilful warriors were answering the call. Soon they would have enough numbers to attack, to crush the enemy warriors, to enslave those who did not die in the fight, to take their lands both under the cliffs and all along the river.

It was the destiny of his people, sang the elder. Thomas heard the oratory rise to a peak, to a final drawn out note of triumph and, as it hung in the air like the smoke, all the other chiefs let out one cry of assent: ‘Haau!’

Hair Burned Off’s narration stopped on this cry, then continued as the elder introduced someone else. Another man stepped forward, as tall and muscled as any there, his tattoos elaborate. One especially drew the eye – a snake reached from the back of the neck up the face, a tongue emerging from fangs to curl around his left eye.

Hair Burned Off whispered swiftly, ‘This is Tawane. Black Snake in your tongue. He was once one of our tribe, then he was taken in war, yet spared by our enemy as we have spared you. He became one of them. Yet now he turns from his adopted brothers. He helps us know their plans. He hopes to be rewarded when we conquer.’

Thomas heard the way that Hair Burned Off talked of the newcomer and noted a change in the elders.

They use this man, this spy
, he thought,
but they find it distasteful. Dishonourable
.

Black Snake spoke and it seemed what he said was news also to his leaders. Hair Burned Off translated the gist of it. It seemed that the enemy were almost beaten, though some warriors still made a pretence of fierceness, a desire to resist. Too many people had arrived from the destroyed villages, were living on too little food. They were trapped and they were starving and their hope had nearly died. Then, a few days ago, something happened to revive that hope. A man arrived claiming to be one of the Hunters of the Sunrise who had gone with their great chief, Donnaconna. He had returned with Donnaconna’s Oki, a powerful stone and many, especially of his clan of the Bear, believed he had come in time to save them. With him was a women of the Pale Thieves. Black Snake and his wife thought she was a sorceress. Together, they must have powerful magic, Black Snake said, for they had given our enemy new hope.

Black Snake stepped back and a silence descended, broken only by a renewed sucking upon the pipes. Then, Gianni stepped forward, Hair Burned Off following. Falling Day spoke again, briefly, saying that this man was the one known as Young Dog, who had many scalps on his lodge pole across the Great Water.

Speaking through the translator was hard, but Gianni got his meaning across.

Thomas heard in dismay how Gianni confirmed Anne as a witch, saw the horror that crossed even the calm of the elders’ faces opposite. It seemed that witches were as feared in the New World as in the Old. He then heard him say that she brought with her a powerful Oki, the bones of a dead sorceress, that had caused much death in their own land. It was very important this Oki was taken back across the water, together with the witch. That was why they had journeyed here. If the Tribe of the Great Hill could help them achieve this, he would be happy to help them in return. He had many fire sticks, one for every chief there and an even bigger fire stick on his canoe. He would teach them how to use these weapons.

Black Snake spoke again. His words were only translated to Gianni and they made him smile. Then the elder who had first spoken so melifluously spoke again. His words were not translated, but drew agreement from all the other chiefs there. He seemed to summarize what had passed and, to another shout of assent, their part of the meeting ended. They were escorted outside and suddenly left, Hair Burned Off returning into the lodge.

The crew immediately gathered around, all of them shouting questions at Gianni. He stood in their midst, answering them one at a time.

‘We have a pact. They will not harm us. The guns I brought on board I will trade. No, you can all trade anything else for furs or whatever you desire.’

Another clamour of questions arose. ‘Enough,’ Gianni shouted. Other villagers had gathered to stare, men puffing on pipes, children daring each other to approach nearest the strangers then run away. ‘Let us return to the ship.’

The crew let out a whoop of relief and ran from the village chased by a party of laughing children. Thomas’s knee was hurting so it took him a while to catch up with the younger man on the path.

‘What have you arranged, Gianni?’

‘You might not want to know.’

‘I heard you at least say you needed your sister alive.’

‘Yes. I think I have enough of my family’s blood on my hands, don’t you?’

It was the first time he’d mentioned the death of his father in St Malo. Thomas looked as if he would say something to this, but Gianni carried on walking.

Thomas struggled to keep up. ‘But what was this you said about the ship’s “fire stick”? You don’t mean a cannon?’

‘Certainly,’ Gianni smiled. ‘I thought we could help our new friends with the ship’s Falcon.’ To combat the boredom of the long voyage, Gianni had spent much time with the ship’s gunner, learning how to use the small bow-chaser.

Thomas took the other man’s arm, halting him. ‘You would have these people kill each other more efficiently?’

‘I would have them achieve their objective swiftly so we can achieve ours.’

‘And if their objective is the slaughter of innocents?’

Gianni’s voice was harsh. ‘There are no innocents where that six-fingered hand has touched. All are tainted by it. All! And these heathens can all die, so long as that witch’s legacy is returned.’

‘We have already been gone two months, Rombaud.’ Thomas tried to keep the anger from his voice, failed. ‘Queen Mary will long have passed her crisis. So the time for the relic’s use is passed also.’

‘Its time is never passed. It is a weapon for now, for ever. And my family’s guilt will never be purged until I lay that weapon at the feet of my Pope in Rome for him to use against his enemies, the enemies of Christ.’

The virulence of the words, the hatred in Gianni’s eyes as he spoke them, halted any reply. The younger man jerked his arm away, held till that moment, and resumed his stride toward the beach.

‘God help these people,’ the Jesuit murmured, crossing himself. ‘God help us all.’

Anne sat on the porch of the longhouse, shaded from a powerful sun, watching the boys at play. It was a game with javelins and hoops, the players divided into two teams along clan lines – the Wolf, Bear, Beaver and Turtle were all affiliated, cousins apparently, and lined up against the union of the Deer, Hawk, Porcupine and Snake. Yet, despite the detailed commentary by the Porcupine who sat in the space created by her legs, Anne didn’t fully grasp the complex rules. Do-ne, who had attached himself to her the first day she had come to the village and barely left her side in the seven days since, had given her to understand that it wasn’t her lack of language, which had improved immensely under his tutoring. No, it was probably because she was a woman, thus of a limited intelligence, and she shouldn’t concern herself with it too much.

Another javelin flew, the hoop was struck, and Do-ne tried to leap upwards in joy. But his withered left leg would not support his enthusiasm. Anne had developed a sense for his sudden movements and she caught him under the arms and lifted him slightly till he was standing, without showing him that she had done so. He immediately jumped from the porch and hopped to join in the mob surrounding the victorious thrower. Though he had not played, his clan greeted him as if he had, the hugs and slaps equally fierce.

A familiar cough came from behind her, words following on its tail.

‘I think you have found a husband, if you desire him, White Cedar.’ She used the name they had all given her, for ‘Anne-edda’ was what that tree was called. ‘I do not think any of mine looked at me with such love.’

Anne smiled, as she usually did on hearing Gaka’s voice. They watched the boys’ celebrations transform into wrestling. The beaten team joined in and a new contest ensued that seemed to have little to do with clans. Rolling in the dust, Do-ne’s leg was not too heavy a disadvantage.

‘If this was a village in my own country,’ she said, ‘the boys would not be allowed to play like that, Aunt. Their parents would be out of the houses, beating them with sticks to make them stop.’

There was a hiss of indrawn breath, another cough. ‘The more you tell of your land, White Cedar, the less I like it. How can they stop children being children? How can they insult another person with a blow?’

‘Children are not persons there. They are like …’ She searched for a Tahontaenrat word. ‘Possessions.’

‘Here they are like persons. Only smaller.’

Women called from their porches – food was ready – so the tussles ended, the combatants drifting away to their longhouses. Do-ne’s mother appeared in a doorway and beckoned him. He quickly went to her, but not before saluting Anne, indicating with a gesture that he would return soon.

They went inside their own shelter, where Gaka ladled out some stew into a wooden bowl. Reaching into the hearth she pinched some cold ashes there, crumbling them into the food. Anne did not refuse, but she wished, as always, that she’d thought to bring salt with her on this journey. Of all the tastes of her own country, she missed that the most.

One of Gaka’s family, a great-niece, walked past them. ‘Would you like a bowl of soup, Blue Feather?’ Gaka asked.

‘No, thank you, Aunt. I have to … meet someone.’

They both saw the girl blush. It seemed to flow right down her face and neck and on to her bare breasts. She was young, and they were still developing, but they coloured red and her nipples swelled. She was aware of it too and, raising an arm to conceal them, she hurried out.