by Paul Clayton
Samuel translated John’s words into Spanish.
Calling Crow replied and Samuel translated. “He says that the black man has told him he wants to stay.”
“What?” John barked. “It matters not what he wants.”
Calling Crow spoke rapidly to Samuel in Spanish and Samuel relayed the Coosa chief’s words to John. “Calling Crow says that black people have not come here in ships and sold guns to his enemies. He said he holds no bad feelings toward black people.”
John frowned in frustration. “But he’s worth quite a few pounds, brother. We could-”
“No!” Calling Crow looked up, his face resolute.
John turned and walked off, followed by Breuger. After they had gone, Gregorio and Wilfredo got to their feet. As they prepared to leave, Calling Crow questioned them in detail. Both men’s faces were without emotion as they answered. They then walked away.
Samuel faced Calling Crow and Swordbrought. On the periphery of the large, round structure, other braves and elders talked softly as they conducted their business, staying well away from the three men in the center.
Two young women entered the chokafa and approached. Samuel recognized one as the pretty girl from the ball game. Both women kept their eyes demurely downcast as they placed calabashes of water before the men. The pretty woman from the ball game raised her eyes briefly and smiled at Samuel. Having finished with the calabashes, the women walked away.
“My daughter is intrigued by you, Samuel,” said Calling Crow. “How do you find her?”
Samuel looked at Calling Crow, surprised to learn that the woman was his daughter, for she did not seem to bear any resemblance to him. “She is very beautiful,” he said.
“What is her name?”
“She is called Bright Eyes.”
Samuel thought the name a good one as he remembered the woman’s beautiful, playful eyes. He felt a stirring as he remembered the feel of her body. Then he thought of his own wife and a pang of guilt stabbed through him. He had been away too long and his lust was growing, attempting to lead him astray.
Calling Crow unwrapped a doeskin-covered bundle. He extracted a long, carved, brightly painted tube with a thumb-sized bowl at one end. A fringe of white and gray turkey feathers hung from it. Samuel realized it was a pipe for smoking the herb, tobacco.
Calling Crow held the pipe up, either to inspect it or to pray to it, Samuel wasn’t sure which. Calling Crow then took some tobacco from a pouch. His mouth twisted into the faintest suggestion of a smile as he sprinkled some tobacco on the earth, then packed the pipe. Taking a half-consumed stick from the small fire nearby, he held it to the pipe and puffed until a blue column of smoke rose skyward. Calling Crow drew smoke into his lungs and paused. He then blew it in four different directions and handed the pipe to Samuel.
Samuel drew on the pipe. He coughed, then held the smoke a while and felt a pleasant dizziness. He expelled the smoke as Calling Crow had done.
“Do you like it?” said Calling Crow.
Samuel nodded. “I have heard they smoke it in rolled-up sticks in Spain.” He passed the pipe to Swordbrought, who sucked at its smoke slowly.
Calling Crow reached over and touched the green shirt Samuel wore, which was cinched at the waist with a belt. “My wife is charmed by the bright color of your shirt. She wants it. I will give you tobacco for it.”
Samuel shook his head. “I have a bolt of cloth like this on the ship. I will trade it for my weight in the roots and herbs with which your women make their teas.”
Calling Crow nodded. “Bright Eyes will take you into the forest and show you those roots and herbs.”
Samuel’s heart beat quicker at the prospect of spending time with Bright Eyes. He took another pull on the pipe and passed it to Swordbrought. The young man tapped the embers out, then wrapped the soft white doeskin around the pipe with such reverence that Samuel thought it must be part of the ceremony. He waited till Swordbrought finished before speaking.
“Calling Crow, the Spanish are behind these Timucua that are threatening you. How can you be sure that Gregorio and Wilfredo will not betray you?”
“It is true that they once lived with the Spanish,” said Calling Crow, “but now they speak our language and have become one with us. I have given our word that we will not harm them and they have given their word that they will be loyal.”
“Perhaps you put too much stock in their word.”
Calling Crow grew angry, but his voice remained calm. “The word of our people is sacred. When our people give their word, they will never go back on it, even if it should mean their own deaths.”
Samuel nodded. He thought of his own men. Could their word be relied upon such as that? He doubted it. Samuel had to admit to himself that Calling Crow’s men seemed to have great loyalty to him, a loyalty such as Englishmen had for their kings in days long past.
Chapter 11
The target, a square of soft white doeskin, hung from a tree branch about a hundred yards across a harvested cornfield of dried and brittle knee-high stalks. Samuel, John, Miles and Breuger, along with Calling Crow, Swordbrought, and the young brave called Crying Wolf, stood together as the summer sun shone down brightly upon them.
Samuel set the heavy musket into its shooting stand. The English had agreed to trade the two bales of cloth to the Coosa chief for enough food to get them home. Calling Crow had again attempted to get Samuel to trade for muskets, but Samuel would not. He had, however, agreed to demonstrate the use of the musket for Calling Crow.
Samuel took the match cord from where it hung around his belt and blew on it until it glowed. He then clipped it into the serpentine firing mechanism of the musket. Wetting his finger to test the wind, he nodded to Calling Crow.
Calling Crow took Samuel’s place behind the musket. Swordbrought and Crying Wolf moved closer to watch. Although Calling Crow had seen muskets on many occasions, and, sadly, knew personally of the damage they could cause, he had never fired one.
“Remember,” said Samuel, “you sight along the barrel just as you would along the shaft of an arrow.”
As Calling Crow sighted down the long barrel, Fenwick approached, leading a column of five Coosa bearers carrying baskets of corn.
Swordbrought held up his hand for them to stop. Fenwick and the bearers waited quietly for Calling Crow to take his shot. Calling Crow said a quick prayer to his spirit guide and fired. His prayer was answered as a moment later the doeskin fluttered as if an invisible hand had smacked it.
“Good shooting, m’lord,” said Fenwick jovially as he came up to them. “Good shooting!”
Calling Crow said nothing.
Samuel took the musket and primed it for the next shot.
“He is an excellent shot,” said Fenwick.
John and the others ignored him.
Samuel nodded and placed the ball and wadding into the muzzle. “Fen,” he said, “how are you progressing with the loading?”
“Very good, m’lord. We’ve got more than half of it aboard now.”
“Carry on then.”
Fenwick walked on. Samuel rammed the ball home as Calling Crow and the other two Indians stood silently.
Miles said to John, “Well, soon we shall sail”
“The bloody sooner the better,” said John. “If I eat any more corn I’ll puke.”
Breuger and Miles scoffed.
“More awaits you on the ship,” said Samuel.
Breuger and Miles laughed again as Samuel turned to Calling Crow. “Who shoots next?”
Calling Crow pointed to Crying Wolf. Like his own son, Swordbrought, Crying Wolf was very brave and showed much promise. For those reasons Calling Crow had taken an interest in training him. Crying Wolf competed fiercely with Swordbrought, as if they were brothers. Calling Crow thought that good for both of them.
Samuel lay the musket in the shooting stand and Crying Wolf took hold of it. Laying his cheek against the stock as he had seen Calling Crow do, he pulled the trigger. The
musket bucked and boomed as the men watched the doeskin across the field. It did not move.
John and Breuger laughed, Miles smiling nervously. Samuel said nothing.
“What is the matter?” said Crying Wolf. “Why did the skin not move?
“I don’t know,” said Calling Crow. He suspected that Crying Wolf’s prayer had been unfocused. What good was medicine without a strong prayer? He asked Samuel what was the matter.
“There is nothing the matter,” said Samuel. “Tell him it is his fault, that his aim was off.” Samuel began reloading the musket for Swordbrought as Calling Crow translated Samuel’s words for Crying Wolf.
Calling Crow was displeased with Crying Wolf’s reaction. The young brave grew tight-lipped and sullen, saying nothing.
Samuel nodded to Swordbrought. Swordbrought took hold of the musket, butting his cheek up against the stock. He fired and a moment later the doeskin jumped backward and fluttered to the ground.
“Good shooting,” said Samuel.
“He’s got his father’s eye,” said Breuger.
“Bloody luck, is all,” said John.
Crying Wolf tried to grab the musket from Swordbrought. “It is a trick,” Crying Wolf said. He glared at Samuel and the Englishmen with suspicion. “You used your medicine to make the skin move for Calling Crow. Then you made it move for Swordbrought, but not for Crying Wolf. Why?”
Not sure what Crying Wolf had said, Samuel said nothing.
Crying Wolf looked angrily from Calling Crow to Swordbrought, then stormed off.
“What did he say?” demanded John.
Calling Crow ignored Samuel’s brother. A runner was approaching. Calling Crow listened without emotion as the man reported in a state of great excitement. When the man finished, Calling Crow gave him instructions and the man ran off in the direction he had come from.
Calling Crow’s face showed no emotion, but Samuel had spent enough time with him to sense that the report had been troubling. “What is it?” he said.
“A trading party has reported that many Timucua raided a large Alibamu village ten day’s journey to the south and west of us. They took many villagers prisoner.”
“That is too far away to concern you,” said Samuel.
“Perhaps for now,” said Calling Crow, “but the Timucua will come eventually. They will launch small, probing attacks first.” Calling Crow pointed to the musket cradled in Swordbrought’s arms. “If we had many shooting sticks like that, they would leave us alone.”
Samuel said nothing and Calling Crow went on. “Samuel, you English hate the Spanish very much. Why don’t you help us?”
Samuel shook his head. “I am sorry. Soon we must go. There is nothing we can do for you.” He took the musket from Swordbrought.
Calling Crow could see that the Englishman would not easily change his mind. They would be here for another five or six days. Perhaps Calling Crow could enlist the help of the medicine man, Sees Far. His medicine might cause the Englishman to change his mind. Calling Crow said, “I go now. I will talk to you later.”
John, Miles and Breuger, who had been watching and listening to the exchange with interest, watched the natives walk off.
“What was he saying?” said John.
Samuel turned to him. “He still wants to trade for some muskets.”
“Surely you’re not going to trade the savages muskets,” said John.
“No. I have told him no.”
Chapter 12
Samuel waited in the shade of his hut as the heat of day grew. Today Bright Eyes was to take him into the forest and show him the trees from which they took their bark for teas. Samuel recalled her amazing, Eve-like beauty-- her big, soft eyes, her hair, jet-black and scalloped, some flowing down her back, more of it hanging down over her breasts, for she often wore nothing above the waist, as was the custom of the women here. She had come to symbolize this wild, beautiful land to him.
He noticed her at the gate. She was bare-breasted, wearing only a skirt that hung clear down to her ankles. Made from long tendrils of the moss that hung from the trees in the area, it allowed her legs to move out of it, revealing their pleasant brown color to him. She carried a basket upon her back and a staff of sorts in her hand. Samuel joined her on the dirt street and a crowd of boys followed them as they walked to the gates of the village.
Bright Eyes’s beauty made Samuel light in the head as they walked in the forest. He glanced surreptitiously at her breasts; such a display would have caused riots in his own country. Bright Eyes saw him and smiled without shame. His face flushed crimson and he stared straight ahead, not daring a second look. The forest grew thicker, the light dim. They walked for some time, saying nothing. Bright Eyes stopped after a while and left the trail. Samuel followed her as she pushed through the underbrush, coming out into a small clearing. A waist-high pile of tree branches sat on the ground, bound up with still-green vines.
She pointed to them. “They are drying,” she said, using a combination of signs and Spanish and Muskogee words. “I will show you where there is more.”
They walked on, Bright Eyes occasionally turning to speak. Once she stopped and, composing her face very seriously, asked him something. Samuel was not sure, but he thought she was wondering why he had not brought his wife with him. He tried to convey to her that it was too dangerous, but he did not think his words were sufficient to make her understand. They walked on.
They came to a small structure off to the side of the trail. Made of willow poles lashed together, it had a thatched roof and open sides. Many bundles of roots and branches were piled atop one another inside. The afternoon light was dappled by the overhanging leaves; the ground was warm beneath their feet. Bright Eyes pointed to some trees at the edge of the clearing and they walked over. Much freshly turned earth remained strewn about, evidence of their root harvesting.
Bright Eyes knelt at one of the digging sites and Samuel sat beside her. A slight, warm breeze moved through the trees, bringing the scent of wild flowers and sassafras. Bright Eyes pulled up a section of root and held it to a shaft of sunlight to show him. He leaned close. The root’s tiny hairs caught the light, glowing like gold as the musky loam of the earth tickled his nose. She smiled at him. Unable to stop himself, he looked down at her breasts. He very badly wanted to hold his face to them and feel their warmth.
She knew of his desire and leaned closer to him. He could not stop himself from taking her bare shoulders in his hands, from pulling her close. He kissed her on the lips. Shame and guilt suddenly overwhelmed him and he drew back.
She looked at him in confusion, exploring her lips with her finger. “What you do?” she said.
“I kissed you, m’lady.”
Again she brought her fingers to her lips. She smiled her childlike smile and lay back suggestively.
His compunction caused him to look away. His face was burning. Not knowing God’s laws, she could be forgiven for having no shame and no sense of wrong about this, but not him. He got to his knees. “I should not be here with you,” he said. “I am sorry.”
She looked at him in confusion, then turned away. He got to his feet and leaned against a tree.
“What do you want?” she said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know.”
She repeated her question, a tinge of hurt now in her voice.
Calling Crow walked quickly through the palisade entrance and toward the forest. He had not been able to locate Red Feather and had only just realized where he would be. Red Feather’s agitation over Bright Eyes’s interest in Samuel was growing. Calling Crow had noticed this, but had hoped that his tastanagi would put the people’s problem before his own. And Calling Crow had hoped that the reluctance of the Englishman to trade them shooting sticks could be overcome. Was not the medicine man Sees Far praying for that very result? And had not Calling Crow’s spirit guide led him to the Englishmen for this reason? Ho! It must be so! But Red Feather’s jealousy could undo all this.
&n
bsp; When the cool shade of the forest enveloped him, Calling Crow began running. The joy that this activity normally released in him was quieted by his growing concern. All around, the winged ones and the four-leggeds went about their business, gathering food for the winter, feeding their young, stalking one another, eating one another, unconcerned with the Coosa chief’s hurried gait, knowing that he was after other game and that they were safe.
Calling Crow came to a bend in the trail and slowed. He saw where someone had pushed through the foliage, and he followed their track, entering a small clearing. Red Feather was thirty paces away, peering intently through the leaves, watching the trail. Clutched in his hand was his war club, set with bear’s teeth and adorned with red paint and white feathers.
Calling Crow walked up behind him and Red Feather whirled about suddenly.
“What animal is it that you stalk with your club, Red Feather?”
Red Feather’s face was dark as a stormy sky. “An animal of great cunning and deceit that walks upon two legs, an animal that will kill all of the people if we don’t kill him first.”
Calling Crow’s face showed a tinge of sadness. “Go back to the village, Red Feather.”
Red Feather did not move.
Calling Crow’s voice remained soft. “I came to your village when you were but a boy, still afraid of the shadows in the forest. I taught you courage and the noble ways of the warrior. Do you remember these things?”
Red Feather’s shoulders slumped and he could no longer look at Calling Crow. “Samuel will destroy the people, and he will destroy you, Calling Crow. He must be killed.”
“You say you are concerned for the people and for me, Red Feather, but your concern is really for yourself. Go home and I will try to forget what I saw here today.”
Red Feather struggled for words as he looked at Calling Crow. Both men heard a twig snap and Samuel pushed noisily through the bushes.
