Flight of the Crow (The Southeast Series Book 2)

by Paul Clayton

  “Hold fast,” said Valdez, “don’t shoot unless I tell you.”

  Pedro swallowed hard as five savages approached. They were led by the cross-eyed bravo called Black Snake. Wearing only breechclouts, their hairless muscled bodies glistened with an animal-like power.

  Two of the bravos carried stags over their shoulders. The nearest animal’s pink tongue hung out and its large black eyes shined. Pedro thought its brown, tawny coat beautiful and had the strangest urge to reach out and stroke it.

  Black Snake stepped away from the group and walked up to Valdez. Valdez’s hand was on the hilt of his sword as were the other setters’. The other bravos stood silent and watchful. Pedro’s hands began to run with sweat.

  Valdez nodded to Salazar. “Ask him what he wants.”

  Salazar nodded and put the question to Black Snake.

  Black Snake spoke rapidly, pointing to the stag over the nearest bravo’s shoulder.

  “He wants to know if we want to trade some of our things for their meat.”

  Valdez looked at the stags, already imagining the smell of the meat roasting, then back at the Indian leader. “Ask him if he has located the French fort yet.”

  “He said no,” said Salazar. “No one knows anything about them.”

  Valdez nodded. “Tell him we will give him two of our iron long knives for his stags.”

  Pedro watched Black Snake’s hard eyes sizing them up as he listened to Salazar relay Valdez’s offer.

  Black Snake replied and Salazar looked at Valdez. “He said he would give us one stag for all our swords and armor and the harquebus.”

  “What?” Valdez’s mouth turned down with contempt. “Is he trying to make fools out of us?”

  Salazar spoke again to Black Snake and the bravo answered in a gruff voice.

  “He sticks to his original offer,” said Salazar. “I am afraid he is not serious, Senor.”

  Pedro noticed that the men in the palisade had seen the savages and were hurrying over. He said to Valdez, “The others are coming.”

  “Good,” said Valdez, still staring at the menacing Black Snake. “Salazar, tell him to go away. Tell him not to approach us again unless he is willing to make a serious offer.”

  Salazar relayed Valdez’s words to Black Snake and the bravo said a few words in reply before issuing orders to his men. They turned and went back toward the forest.

  “What did he say?” said Valdez.

  Salazar laughed. “He said that if you like your armor and swords so much, then you should eat them. And he and his men will eat their meat.”

  “A pox on him,” Valdez cursed. “If I were in command, he and the rest of the bare-asses would be dead already!”

  Pedro looked back at the forest as Black Snake’s words echoed in his head. The savages were gone, as if they had melted into the forest itself.

  Chapter 20

  Bright Eyes knelt as she picked blackberries from the briars on the forest floor. Nearby, Green Bird Woman, Santee and some other women from the village bent from the waist as they harvested this juicy bounty of summer. The berries were so plentiful this time of summer that Bright Eyes picked only the fattest, staining her hands purple. As she tossed the berries into her basket, she was very happy, for today she had noticed young Tall Boy watching her from afar. She had been praying that he would. Her prayers were strong and that was the proof.

  Green Bird Woman and Santee laughed at something. Bright Eyes ignored them, lost in her own thoughts. Soon would be the Green Corn Festival and there would be games and dances. Tall Boy was one of the fastest boys in the village and Bright Eyes hoped he would do well in the foot races. She would consult Santee about what prayers to say to help him.

  “Bright Eyes,” said Green Bird Woman, “we are going.”

  Despite the deep quiet of the forest, Bright Eyes did not hear her mother. Instead she heard the voice of Tall Boy the last time he had spoken to her, “You should come to the creek today,” he had said, “the water is almost over the dam and the swimming is very good.”

  By ones and twos, the women began picking up their baskets and starting back to the village. Bright Eyes continued dreaming as she gathered berries. After a while the light began to fade but she did not notice. Not far away a twig snapped, but Bright Eyes did not hear it. She continued to think of Tall Boy. On the day he had told her to go to the creek, she had simply nodded, being too shy to say anything. She arrived at the creek with some other girls. At first they saw no one. Then Tall Boy and some others stepped out of the bushes. They had shed their breechclouts and their man-lances were standing straight out. They laughed as they ran and jumped into the creek. The water was dark and rushing as the girls watched. After a while, some older girls paired up with some boys and disappeared into the bushes. Happy shouts and laughter echoed through the forest. Tall Boy stayed in the water with some others and Bright Eyes never took her eyes off his wet head as it moved about on the surface of the muddy water.

  The unmistakable sound of branches being pushed aside reached Bright Eyes’ ears. She looked up, realizing that the others had gone and she was alone. She grew frightened. Across the clearing something moved about in the bushes. She got up and grabbed her basket. A dark, snoutish face pushed through the bushes and two sharp eyes looked her over hungrily. Bright Eyes ran. Soon she heard panting behind her. Screaming, she tripped and dropped her basket. She looked behind.

  There was nothing! No one! Her knees were shaking as she stood. A man appeared not far away. Tall and hairy, he had the hungry eyes as a wolf. As he looked at her she discovered she could not move. She was under some kind of spell and her blood ran cold. He walked up to her.

  He was called Running Wolf. She had heard many stories about him and knew what he wanted. He crouched down behind her and parted her skirt. Tears welled in her eyes as he entered her. He moved against her, saying nothing. His thrusting grew faster and more frenzied. His panting sounded in her ears and her shoulders burned as if gripped by claws. Then it was over and she was alone.

  Crying, she sat where she was for a long time. The forest grew pale and quiet as death. When she was sure he had gone, she got to her feet and ran. The howl of a wolf rang out under the trees and she tripped and fell. She began crying again as she got to her feet. She ran until she reached the village clearing. Stopping, she rubbed the tears from her face. The sweet smell of cook fires reached her nose. If people knew what had happened to her, no boy would want her, especially Tall Boy. She decided to not say anything to anyone. Then she remembered what her friends had told her about this thing that Running Wolf had done to her, and about the baby that can sometimes come afterward. She thought of the man’s hideous, animal-like face and shuddered. She would talk to Santee. Santee was a good medicine woman and would make sure there was no baby. And she could be trusted to keep silent.

  Bright Eyes started across the clearing, forcing herself to walk in a normal, calm fashion.

  Chapter 21

  The Spanish fort had been almost completed when the food stocks ran out. Word quickly spread through the settlement that they would now have to rely entirely on the local roots, nuts and berries, and what little game they could catch. The people grew worried and sullen. In the bright sunlight outside the palisade, half a dozen or so men, their bare chests running with sweat, worked without talking. Gregorio and Pedro sharpened the ends of two logs lying on the earth. The blows from their iron adzes rang hollowly in the hot still air. A few feet away, other men dug holes for the logs, their spades scratching in the sandy soil. One of them who was named Alonso stopped his work and hung onto his spade. Alonso had once been round as a grape, the fattest man in the entire group when they had first arrived. But now he was thin, his flesh hanging off of him.

  Gregorio frowned as he looked over at Alonso. Senor Peralta had told them they were free for the day after they finished this job. And Gregorio had been looking forward to slipping away for his rendezvous with Shalee. “Why are you stopping?” he
demanded, “we must prepare for the French.”

  “Eh,” said Alonso in a tired voice, “I am not afraid of the French.”

  Gregorio frowned. “After we get these two posts in, we are finished. Then we can relax.”

  Alonso shook his sweat-beaded head and smiled. He raised his forefinger to emphasize a point. “But I might be dead by then, Senor.”

  Pedro and the others laughed at this and Gregorio went angrily back to his work. Alonso took the laughter as encouragement to continue. He pulled a handkerchief from his breeches and wiped his brow. “Now, if I had had a decent meal, I would have finished hours ago.”

  “Stop complaining,” said Gregorio, “and do your work.”

  Alonso ignored him. “I was just thinking of a meal I had a few days before we left on the ship,” he said in a mock-sad voice. “My Arawak housekeeper prepared it for me and I do believe it was the best meal I have ever had.”

  The other men stopped their digging. A man named Aguire laughed and turned to Gregorio. “He is very funny.”

  Gregorio looked over in disgust at Alonso and the others who were now standing around doing nothing. “He is a buffoon.” Gregorio shook his head in resignation. Throwing the adze down, he sat on the log. “And now I suppose we’ll all have to wait until he is finished acting the fool before we can complete this work.”

  No one said anything in reply and Alonso took this as further encouragement. “Roast pig, it was,” his still jowly cheeks quivering at the memory. He folded his hands as if in prayer and rubbed them together,”-- with a sauce of peppercorns and wine.”

  The other men laughed but there was loss and longing in their laughter.

  Alonso put his head in his hands and cried in a clownish way. “We had cassava cakes,” he blubbered, “do you hear me? Cassava cakes and fried Indian corn pudding!” His eyes grew wide with solemnity as he looked up at the others, “And the pig was so finely cooked that one had only to look at it for the meat to fall from the bone!” He sat back down and loud, fake sobs shook his body. Gregorio scowled in disgust at the man’s performance. The other men laughed.

  Alonso stood up and took off his breeches. He pulled them up tightly between his legs, covering his privates and his bung, tucking the ends in his belt in the style of the Indios.

  Pedro beamed. “Bueno,” he said, “he’s going to do the bare-asses!”

  “Good, good,” called the others, “give us the bare-asses.”

  Alonso picked up some earth and smeared it on his face and chest. He then looked at the others as if seeing them for the first time. He climbed out of the trench and shuffled about like a monkey.

  The men laughed loudly at his antics. Pedro pulled a fibrous piece of bark off the log he was sitting upon and tossed it at Alonso’s feet. Alonso jumped away theatrically.

  “It is a spider for you to eat,” said Pedro.

  Alonso’s face lit up. “Ah!” he said, “better than Spanish beef!” He jumped back down into the trench and pretended to eat the make-believe spider, shaking it with his teeth as if to ensure that it was truly dead. The man called Aguire walked up to Alonso and patted him on the head like a dog. “That is good,” he said, “eat your spiders like a good bravo.”

  Gregorio was getting tired of all the joking and wished to get back to work. He called over to Aguire. “At least the Indians are smart enough to know how to provide food for themselves.”

  Aguire looked at the others, “Gregorio certainly has a high opinion of the savages.”

  “Si,” said Pedro, “he does seem to love them.”

  Gregorio looked sharply at Pedro, wondering if he was hinting about his relationship with Shalee. If so, he could not let it go. He walked over and sat beside Pedro on the log. Pedro looked at him innocently as the other men talked quietly. Gregorio wondered how much Pedro knew about him and Shalee. He was sure Pedro hadn’t seen him enter the forest. He had been very careful about that.

  Pedro interrupted his thoughts. “When do you think our ship will come?” he said.

  Gregorio shook his head and sighed. “It should have been here by now. Soon the season of storms will be upon us again. Who knows? Maybe they think we are all dead.” He looked at Pedro and thought about how they used to be close. But now Pedro was having a rough time of things and it was making him bitter, an unnatural state for a young man. Gregorio wondered if Pedro had let any hints drop about him and Shalee. He didn’t think so. Still, there was no way to guarantee that he wouldn’t in the future, unless-- unless Pedro was a part of it!

  Gregorio said, “Do you miss your sweetheart?”

  Pedro glared at him. “Of course! Must you remind me?”

  Gregorio laughed. “Don’t be so cross, my friend. I think I know how to help you.”

  Pedro looked at him with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

  Gregorio looked over at the other men to make sure they were out of earshot. “Remember the women at the stream?”

  “So. You did go back there,” said Pedro.

  “Si. Why not? They are women and I am a man.”

  “But Senor Peralta forbids it.”

  “Si,” said Gregorio, “but there is no problem as long as he doesn’t find out.” Gregorio’s face grew sharp and predatory. “You haven’t said anything to anybody, have you?”

  Pedro frowned, his face full of innocence. “It is none of my affair.”

  “Why don’t you come with me the next time,” said Gregorio, his tone softening. “I will ask Shalee to bring a woman for you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Pedro looked at the palisade to make sure no one was listening. “What will it cost me?”

  “Ah,” said Gregorio, “not much. Bring some truk, some hawk’s bells or pretty glass buttons.”

  Pedro saw Senors Peralta and Valdez approaching and got to his feet. Gregorio and the others got to their feet also, but Alonso did not see them.

  Peralta and Valdez looked down at Alonso who, still stripped to a breechclout, squatted in the trench chewing comically on his bark spider. Peralta jumped into the trench and struck Alonso, knocking him down. Alonso’s nose gushed blood as he looked up at Peralta guiltily.

  Gregorio felt bad for Alonso. The man was a buffoon, but most of the time he did his share of the work.

  Senor Peralta glared at Alonso. “With the forest crawling with savages and the French plotting in the north, you play at games?”

  The men said nothing, going quickly back to their digging. Alonso struggled to dress himself.

  Peralta climbed out of the trench and looked down at Alonso in disgust. “The next man I catch loafing will be whipped as a lesson to you all. Understand?”

  “Si, Senor,” said Gregorio and the others.

  The men went back to work. Shovels scraped and dirt flew through the air as the adzes rang against the logs. No one spoke and only when Peralta and Valdez were out of sight did the men slow down a little.

  Chapter 22

  On the river bank, Kicking Dog and Runs-All-Over knelt behind a blind made of bushes. A short distance away, closer to the slow moving, muddy water, a small dog sat still as a stone, watching the river’s surface intently. A thick, Y-shaped, sharpened root was bound tightly to its body. The dog suddenly ran, then tumbled over, its flight stopped short by a cord as thick around as a boy’s wrist, which ran from the root to a stake driven into the muddy bank.

  From the middle of the river, the dog’s struggles had not gone unnoticed. Something moved closer, almost imperceptibly, as if drifting in the current. The dog made another doomed attempt to escape and the thing in the water drew closer still. Soon the water thing was at the edge of the bank. The dog made another attempt to escape and the water erupted. A small alligator as long as a man snapped up the dog and the attached root, threw back its head and swallowed them whole. The cord extending from its mouth held it fast and the two men leapt out of the blind. Runs-All-Over stabbed downward, burying his lance into the alligator’s back. Hissing loudly, the alligator writhed about on
its axis, snapping the lance in half as Runs-All-Over jumped away. The alligator continued its writhing as it tried to dislodge the thing in its throat. The movement twisted and shortened the cord, pulling the creature further up onto the bank. Kicking Dog stood as close as he dared, waiting for a chance to stab the alligator with his lance. Black Snake appeared suddenly and cut the cord with one quick slash of his knife. The alligator turned and plunged back into the river.

  Kicking Dog watched the animal swim away before turning to Black Snake. Two other Wolf bravos stood with him.

  “There was much meat on him,” said Kicking Dog.

  Black Snake frowned. “There is more important game to catch.”

  “Are we going to search again for the White-People-Who-Are-Not-Spanish?” Kicking Dog asked.

  “No. The people with the thunderstick were probably Spanish and that was just another of Calling Crow’s tricks. Come with me to the Spanish Town. We will soon get rid of our old fool of a cacique and the Spanish at the same time.”

  Kicking Dog was intrigued, the meaty alligator already forgotten. “Cacique is in their town?”

  “No,” said Black Snake. “Come and I will tell you what we must do.” Black Snake took off running and Kicking Dog and the others ran after him.

  Inside the airless hut, Senor Peralta’s body ran with sweat. The weather had grown so hot and balmy he longed for the coolness of the night. He watched Gregorio, Salazar and some other men who, stripped to their waists, smoothed adobe mud over the woven cane thatch of the wall that divided the hut in half. Now he and his wife would have some privacy. Peralta was pleased as he watched them work. They had been here too long to still be living like the savages.

  Valdez entered the room, his small eyes lit with excitement.

  “Senor, the cross-eyed bravo called Black Snake is at the gate with his men. He says he must talk to you.”