Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 (34 page)

Elise caught the wrist of the first woman as she once more grasped her hair and, twisting it, shoved her into two others who were clawing at her arms. More women ringed her. Hands reached, grabbing and hustling her toward the door. She felt the knot of her skirt loosen, felt the square cloth give way to be trampled underfoot. Setting her feet, she jerked against those who held her, flinging those clinging to her right arm away long enough to double her fist and smash it into the faces of the two who held her left wrist. As one of the women howled, bringing her hand up to her bloodied nose, gladness burgeoned inside Elise. It was short-lived though, as they descended on her once more.

A roared command, repeated above the hubbub, penetrated to the mass of brawling women. Instantly Elise was released, falling to her knees on the floor. The Indian women backed away, leaving her alone, naked in the center of their circle with her breasts heaving from her struggles and her hair in disarray around her flushed face.

The man sitting on the bench, the one she had taken for Reynaud, was the Great Sun. His eyes were wide as they moved over her and he drew in his breath in a gasp of startled pleasure.

Reynaud lay on the bench on his stomach while his mother washed the blood from his back and cleansed the stripes and the gouge that Path Bear had opened with a piece of soft leather dipped in hot water in which herbs had been steeped. He uttered a soft oath as he saw Elise. He tried to get to his feet, but his brother reached out to touch his arm, waving him back into place. Rising, the Indian monarch paced majestically to where Elise knelt.

The Great Sun reached down, offering his hand. Elise, now profoundly aware of her state of undress, hesitated. There seemed no possibility of refusal, however, any more than there would have been if the man before her had been Louis of France. She put her fingers into his hand and rose to her feet with as much grace as she could summon. The chief of the Natchez allowed his gaze to wander down her slender form, resting here and there in an appreciation that seemed half carnal, half bemused. There was a trace of regret in his voice as he said, “You, I take it, are Elise, the woman of my brother.”

“I am Elise, yes, your majesty. “

He gave a nod, then, still holding her hand, turned to the Indian women. A hard edge entered his voice as he spoke, castigating them for fighting like children who had not learned their manners and telling them, when they would have protested, that Elise was a guest, one dear to their new war chief, one who must be honored in all things. He felt shame for their behavior; therefore he dismissed them from his house and did not wish to see their faces until he had sent them a direct invitation.

When they had gone, he turned and executed a passable bow. “In what way, Madame Elise, may those of my house serve you?”

“I — I only wished to tend Reynaud.

“Indeed?” He turned toward his mother. “Maman?”

The woman stared at her, her strong features shuttered and her eyes dark with swift thought. Abruptly she nodded.

“Tend him you shall,” the Great Sun said, his mouth curving into a smile of utter charm. Elise, watching him, was caught suddenly by his resemblance to Reynaud. They were, in truth, twins, with the same eyes, the same hair, the same body structure. The only obvious difference was that the Natchez chief was tattooed not only on his chest, but on his shoulders and, as a mark of great distinction, on his knees as well.

Looking away from the blatant flattery of his gaze, she said, “If I could cover myself first …”

He pursed his lips, sending a glance to his brother’s scowling expression and from him to his own two wives who squatted at their fires, watching, the only women left other than Tattooed Arm and Little Quail. Turning back, he sighed. “If you must.”

Elise released herself and leaned over to take up her skirt, settling it around her with her lips tightly pressed together. She had come to help; a simple thing, really. Why had she been attacked, mocked, and finally left naked, displayed to all? When she thought of her position as a respectable landowner not so long ago, one who ordered her own days and nights, who made her own decisions and was answerable to none, her resentment was so great that she wondered how she could contain it.

Little Quail brought her short cape that, tied onto one shoulder, covered her breasts. Her longer outer cloak was hung on a peg. Tattooed Arm rose from the bench beside her son, indicating with a courteous gesture for Elise to be seated there.

Elise glanced at Reynaud. Seeing the sympathy and understanding mirrored in his face, a faint flush rose to her cheekbones. She turned to his mother. “I would not take your place.”

“I give it to you,” Tattooed Arm replied.

“But the medicine I brought is gone.” Already one of the wives of the Great Sun was busy gathering up the broken pottery, scooping up the spilled herbs and bear fat with a piece of the pot.

“I have more. Wait and I will bring it,” Little Quail said and turned swiftly away, bending her head to pass through the open doorway.

After everything that had happened, not just here in the house of the Great Sun, but her estrangement from Little Quail, the coolness of the Frenchwomen, the trial by pain that Reynaud had been forced to undergo because of her, she felt odd about approaching him. Why it should be so she was not certain, but it was as if a distance had been placed between them. It seemed as if the very nature of the Indian village made him a stranger again, a different man from the one she had known at his own home near the Bayou Duc du Maine.

She looked at him. Her voice stiff, she said, “You will permit me?”

His eyes lighted with warm amusement. “I would be flattered. In fact, I welcome the attention from you, as you well know.”

She moved forward and seated herself beside him on the bench. With a touch on his shoulder to indicate that she wanted him to turn his back more toward her, she leaned over to look at his injuries.

She was prepared, or so she had thought. Still, she had to swallow hard against the sickness as she saw the lacerated condition of his back. The skin around the livid red stripes was beginning to turn purple in great blotches with bruising. Some of the places where he had been struck were ragged cuts; others ran together into a mass of torn flesh, particularly between his shoulders where Path Bear had jabbed his cane. Tattooed Arm had cleaned the area well, and most of the bleeding had stopped, but Reynaud was going to feel the effects of the beating he had received for a long time.

“If only I had a little cognac to use,” Elise murmured to herself.

“Cognac?” the Great Sun inquired, his tone doubtful.

“I have seen it used on wounds. It seems to help the healing.”

“I may have a dram or two.”

“Humph,” his mother snorted and the Great Sun sent her an injured glance before turning to instruct one of his wives, the one who was less obviously pregnant, to fetch the brandy.

Elise scarcely noticed the byplay. She had dipped the leather into the pot of warm herb water Tattooed Arm had been using, pressing it to a still oozing gash.

The brandy was brought, just a few inches left in a stoneware bottle. The Great Sun looked at it regretfully, then handed it to Elise. “It might be of greater use to let my brother drink it.”

Reynaud shook his head. “I don’t think that would be wise, as empty as my stomach is just now.”

“We will remedy that as soon as you are trussed up.”

“Could you hur-hurry,” he said, catching his breath in the middle as Elise poured the brandy onto his back.

By the time Little Quail had returned, Elise was ready for the ointment. She spread it on liberally, then covered his back with strips of woven mulberry cloth, binding them into place with longer pieces that encircled his body.

They ate then, Reynaud moving gingerly into a sitting position. They were joined by others: an elderly man who appeared to be the father of one of the Great Sun’s wives; a pair of elderly women, one of whom Elise had met the day before tending the little boy. They were apparently the aunts of Tattooed Arm. The small bronze cherub himself was brought in and introduced as the child of the Great Sun. All were most solicitous of Reynaud, Offering him tidbits of meat and bread and pressing strong broth upon him to give him strength. Even the boy, whose name was Small Owl, seemed to realize that something was wrong, for he climbed very carefully up to lean on Reynaud’s shoulder and reached to nuzzle his lean cheek with a small nose.

Reynaud ate ravenously and with enjoyment, trading quips with the older women, joking with his brother, playing with the child. In a short while, however, he grew quiet. Glancing at him, Elise saw him sway, catch himself, then inch back to rest against the wall of the house. As she looked at him more closely, she saw that there were the dark shadows of weariness under his eyes and his face appeared drawn.

Why shouldn’t he be exhausted? He had kept watch, seldom sleeping, all that long journey from his home, had stayed up half the night they had arrived for the obligatory feast, then had spent last night keeping vigil at the temple. He had eaten nothing for more than thirty-six hours, then had undergone severe punishment. The wonder was that he was able to retain his senses at all.

Reaching out, she touched his arm. “Lie down. Sleep.”

Beyond him there was a stir. The Great Sun had moved to his side. “Yes, sleep. This I command.”

Reynaud looked at her and none other. His eyes were dark, glazed with weariness and pain, but without subterfuge. “Lie with me, Elise.”

It was a powerful appeal in his present state, with the press of self-blame upon her shoulders. And yet she had sworn that she would not return to his bed. He was no danger to her now, it was true, but if she went to him voluntarily now, would he accept her refusal later?

She drew a deep breath. “I would only disturb you.”

“I missed you last night and all the other nights on the trail.”

“I told you before, our bargain is ended. I am no longer compelled to — to be your companion of the bed furs.”

“We will argue about that another time. For now, only come.”

He held out his hand. Behind Elise, Tattooed Arm spoke. “Do as he asks.”

“I can’t.”

The Great Sun moved to stand over her. “Must I command this also? It is no great sacrifice, Frenchwoman.”

Wasn’t it? What of her pride and self-respect? What of her future?

“Elise, please—”

Reynaud’s gray eyes were dark, his face pale. The hand that he held out to her had a faint tremor. It was compassion that made Elise take a stiff step forward, reaching out to him. Compassion and the order of his brother. Nothing more.

Ignoring the stares and whispers, she moved to lie on the bench beside him, taking the space nearest the wall and drawing him against her. She covered him with a bed fur, cushioning his back with a part of its softness. With a hard constriction around her heart, she saw that before she had lowered her own head to the straw-stuffed pillow he was already asleep. There seemed nothing to do but attempt the same.

It was dark when she awoke. She was pressed against the wall of the house with the upright logs jammed into her back. It was hot, suffocatingly so. There was a rough muttering in her ears. She pushed at the heavy weight that held her, raising herself to one elbow.

The coals of the dying fire gave a red gleam to the dark. In their light she could see the sleeping forms of the others along the benches in the house of the Great Sun. Beside her, Reynaud said something deep in his throat. She understood it so little that a sudden fear sprang into her mind. Lifting her hand, she placed it on his forehead.

He was burning with fever, his skin holding an intense dry heat that made her jerk her hand away in consternation. She scrambled upright, crawling over him to get off the bench, then sitting back down beside him on its edge. She felt him again, then sat with her hand cradling his face, trying to think

Cool water, that was what she needed. She must bathe his body in it, then see to the preparation of an infusion of willow bark. She would need help. Looking around at the sleeping forms, she bit her lip in indecision. Should she wake someone? And if so, who? She considered a moment longer, then as Reynaud began to speak hoarsely in delirium once more, she rose with sudden energy and moved to put her hand on his mother’s shoulder.

The hours passed. Morning came and still Reynaud did not know them. His fever rose and fell according to their ministrations but did not break. Somewhere around noon, they removed his bandaging and used the water in which red oak bark had been steeped to wash his wounds once more, allowing the water to stand in the worst of the gashes. If it made any difference, they could not tell. An ancient crone, the oldest woman of the tribe who kept the secrets of the plants, brought an evil-smelling brew that she insisted he drink at sunup, midday, sundown, and midnight. They spooned it into him with some difficulty, but could see no results.

People began to gather outside the house. Elise could hear them talking among themselves while now and then a woman would wail as if in grief. When Little Quail entered the house once more, well after night had fallen, Elise looked up from where she was wringing out a cloth.

“What is all the commotion? One would think they expect him to die.”

“They fear he may.”