by Paul Clayton
Calling Crow bowed his head slightly to pass through the low doorway of the spring house. He smelled something in the black interior that did not belong there but it was too late to react. A club thudded into his head, stunning him. He lunged at the man who had struck him, knocking him down, but then more men rushed in, piling on him and Red Feather from both sides. Blows rained down upon them and then they were quickly bound up with cords.
All night long, the caravan of carts swayed and creaked along a rutted dirt road. In one of the larger carts, Calling Crow and Red Feather lay, their arms bound tightly behind them. Day dawned and the early winter sun rose and cast a dull gold light upon the land. One of the bound men made no sound, but the other moaned in pain. No one went to them. Sour faced men with switches and whips drove the oxen all day without stopping, and on into the night.
The day after the Newlanders disappeared, Samuel hurried down the steps of his estate. A boy held his horse for him as he mounted. As Samuel headed toward the gate, little Catherine ran over. Anne, her nursemaid, raced protectively after her. Catherine looked up at Samuel, her eyes wide with fear.
“Father, they are gone,” she said, tears appearing in her eyes.
Samuel reined in his horse. “I know, child,” he called down to her. “I will find them. Don’t worry.”
Anne led Catherine back to the house. Samuel rode through the gates of his estate and down the tree-lined dirt road. His mind focused on the disappearance of Calling Crow and Red Feather. He suspected they had come to harm and for that he felt a great guilt. Perhaps they had gone out walking, straying onto someone’s estate and been killed as robbers. Or perhaps robbers had accosted them. Something untoward had certainly happened to them. He simply could not believe his wife’s and brother’s contention that they had run away. Calling Crow’s only desire was to get the muskets and return to his people.
Samuel looked out across the fields where the row of trees ended. Divided by low walls of stone, they stretched away for leagues. At the distant edge of his view, a rainstorm moved across the sky. He could see the rain coming down from the dark clouds, waving like a veil in the wind. Up the road, Samuel saw a man and woman walking a path between the fields. He reined up his horse on the shoulder of the road and waited for them. They were country people, and the man wore a plain, white woolen shirt, black breeches and hose and a wide-brimmed hat. He carried a hoe in his gnarled hands and a basket full of green and red apples over his shoulder. The woman wore a wide-brimmed hat and a tan woolen gown with a pleated bodice; the gown was long and obscured her feet. She carried a basket of apples. They walked to Samuel.
Samuel nodded. “Have you heard anything of two strangely dressed men passing through here? They were staying with me but they have disappeared.”
The man’s thick, white brows rose, etching deep lines in his sun-reddened brow. “How dressed, sir?” he said.
“They may have been wearing shirts made of skins, smooth skins that look like linen from a distance, and skin garments over their bottoms that they tie around them with a belt.”
The woman frowned at the description.
The man’s face paled with worry. “Wild Irish, were they?”
Samuel shook his head. “No. They are natives from the new lands of America.”
The man and woman exchanged looks of astonished relief. The man shook his head. “We have not seen or heard anything.”
Samuel nodded and rode off. The man and woman remained where they were, talking excitedly. Samuel rode on and searched all morning. He had lunch in the town and then continued his search. His frustration made him weary. He had been everywhere and no one had seen or heard anything. It was as if Calling Crow and Red Feather had been swallowed up by the earth. Samuel realized that with Calling Crow and Red Feather gone, there was no reason to go back to the New Lands, and that meant he would not be going back to Bright Eyes. She would have his child in another four or five months. What would it look like? The thought of not seeing it and her saddened him. Then guilt welled up in him. He had a wife and child here.
He forced himself to think about the present. What about the two natives? Where were they now? He thought of the many things that might have happened to them, none of them good.
Chapter 23
Low marine clouds obscured the winter sky as Swordbrought and the two other hunters moved along the edge of the swamplands. The village had almost collected the last of the skins and would have them ready for Calling Crow and the English when they returned. Ignoring the men, a hidden woodpecker rapped loudly. The woodpecker ceased, then began again. The cycle was repeated over and over. Upwind of the men, the white-tailed deer they were trailing heard something and turned to look back nervously. They froze. The deer looked straight at the men, its uplifted nostrils dilating as it tasted the cool, damp air. Getting no predator scent, it turned away in confusion and moved toward the forest. Swordbrought and the others followed the trail of the deer into the darkness of the forest. A human cry rang out and many Timucua with clubs emerged from their hiding places. They raced at Swordbrought and his two companions. Swordbrought released the arrow nocked into his bow and it went deep into the chest of a Timucua brave running directly at him. The brave’s eyes closed in pain as he went down, the brave behind him tripping over him. Swordbrought turned and saw that his companions were already pinned down under a press of bodies. A club grazed his forehead and powerful hands seized his shoulder. He could taste blood as he spun around dizzily and slipped out of the surprised man’s sweaty grip.
A moment later Swordbrought was running back the way they had come, with four Timucua in pursuit. He could hear their breathing behind him. He prayed to his spirit guided the hawk, and he could feel its power flowing into his legs. Then, like a hawk, he fairly flew over the trail, his feet seeming not to touch the earth. He soon began to outdistance his pursuers. It was then that the arrow cut his side. If he had not moved to the side to dodge a jutting tree branch, the arrow would have driven itself deep into his back. Another arrow went high over his head and into the trees and then the Timucua gave up the chase. Swordbrought’s head, side and leg were covered with blood when he ran into the palisade of the village.
All the skin coverings on the many entrances to the chokafa were thrown back to admit the light of day, but to no avail. So many people crowded around them that little light got inside and therefore many torches were required to illuminate the interior. In the center of the chokafa, the venerable old men sat on their raised, skin-covered pallets, surrounded by the braves, who sat on woven mats in orderly rows according to rank. Other villagers sat in rows around them, filling the entire structure. Bright Eyes was part of the crowd looking into the chokafa. With the others, she watched in silence as her brother, Swordbrought, spoke. With a firm voice, he described how he and the others had been attacked and how he had managed to escaped. Swordbrought’s face had already been ceremonially blackened by one of the medicine men to indicate that he was in mourning for the man that he had killed. Even from the distance, Bright Eyes could see the large cut and bruise on Swordbrought’s head. Along with everyone else, she listened closely to his words, nodding her head in appreciation of his ordeal and his bravery. Despite the support the people felt for Swordbrought, Bright Eyes could feel his great sadness. She knew her brother well. He would be wishing that he had died in the attack, or that it was he that had been taken prisoner by the Timucua.
The old men conferred among themselves for a short while and then Two Clouds rose to his feet. The chokafa grew silent as the people waited for Two Clouds to speak. The old man’s powerful voice reached the farthest corners of the great building. “The Timucua are becoming bold and we don’t have enough braves to repulse them. We cannot wait for Calling Crow to come back with shooting sticks. We have to take action. We should consider moving the village.”
A collective gasp went through the people. Things must be bad indeed! Dangerous! Never had they had to run and hide.
Bright Eyes felt another worry tugging at her. She thought of Calling Crow returning and them being gone. If they abandoned this place, could not the Timucua take it over? The thought of her father falling into their hands was horrifying. The child inside could feel her fear and kicked her painfully. With her hand on her belly, she backed out of the crowd. Move the village! Was there no other way? She must find Green Bird Woman and tell her.
In the chokafa, an older brave called Corn Planter was telling the old men about a valley he had found as a young man far to the west. The old men and others listened with interest. A sudden commotion came from one of the entrances. Green Bird Woman pushed into the crowd, followed by Bright Eyes and another young woman, who held a baby on her hip. Everyone turned and looked at them, and the baby stopped its fidgeting and held tightly to its mother, its dark eyes wide and wary. The women sat on the mats.
Corn Planter looked over, angry at the interruption. He turned back to the Council and continued speaking. When he finished, Green Bird Woman rose to speak. Corn Planter stood again. “What is this woman doing, rising to speak?”
Green Bird Woman shrieked like a hawk and all eyes turned to her. “I am not any woman. I am Green Bird Woman. I am the wife of Calling Crow.” She pointed her finger at Corn Planter. “And you shall listen to what I have to say.”
Corn Planter’s face darkened with anger, but he sat silently.
Green Bird Woman addressed her words to all the people in the chokafa. “We should not move the village. Calling Crow and Red Feather will come back to us. Has not Sees Far said that they would?”
No one said anything and one of the braves stood. “I say we attack the Timucua now.”
Several braves echoed his words. “Attack!”
“No!” cried Green Bird Woman. “We must wait. All the reports say that they are too many. To attack now would jeopardize the entire village.”
The young brave was defiant. “We should attack! I am not afraid to die.” He looked round at the braves in the chokafa. “War!”
“No!” shouted Green Bird Woman. “I am not afraid to die either.” She pointed to the babe on the woman’s hip and it clung tighter to its mother. “Would you put that young life at risk? And all the others?” Green Bird Woman pointed to Bright Eyes’s bulging belly. “And what about those who have not even come out yet? Do you want their blood on your hands?”
The brave opened his mouth to speak.
“Don’t say that vile thing which is on your lips,” said Green Bird Woman, “or I shall fight you myself!”
The brave said nothing, and sat back down. Green Bird Woman looked at the people a moment longer and then sat herself.
Two Clouds stood and all eyes turned to him. “There is another course of action that we have not discussed. We could send a brave to the Muskogee confederation at Cussitaw Town. He could ask them to provide us with men to fight off the Timucua.”
Two Clouds sat as the chokafa buzzed with talk. A man stood and addressed Two Clouds.
“How do we know that they will help us?”
Two Clouds frowned. “They will help us. We are Muskogee people, are we not?”
Satisfied, the man sat.
Two Clouds turned and spoke with the venerable old men. The buzz of talk swelled while his back was turned, then died when he turned to face the people. “The other old men and I have decided,” he said. “Someone will go to Cussitaw Town for help. Now we must decide who this representative will be.” Two Clouds sat as the people began speculating on who would be chosen.
An old man, Bent Ears, rose to speak. “Swordbrought should go. His recent escape from the Timucua proves that, like his father, he has strong medicine and the protection of a powerful spirit guide.”
He sat as several of the old men nodded in agreement.
A brave stood quickly. “Yes, Swordbrought is brave, and his spirit guide has brought him back to us, but he is too young for this mission. We should send an older, more experienced brave.”
With many pairs of eyes upon him, Swordbrought suddenly felt a great sadness. He knew he had done the right thing. After all, he could not have fought off all the Timucua. Yet still he wished he had not had to leave the braves behind. He wished that it was he who had been captured and that it was one of the other braves who had escaped to tell the tale.
Corn Planter raised his hand to speak and was recognized. He glared over at Green Bird Woman and spoke. “Grandfather, I nominate Crying Wolf to take our request to Cussitaw Town.”
Several other braves called out Crying Wolf’s name with admiration.
“Why Crying Wolf?” said Two Clouds.
“He has the bravest spirit of all the young men,” said Corn Planter. “And despite his young age, he has already killed a man in battle.” Corn Planter sat.
Bent Ears rose to his feet. “Swordbrought, too, has killed a man. He has just told us this.”
“Yes, it is so,” cried out several other braves in agreement.
Swordbrought’s heart swelled at the prospect of redeeming himself. They must send him-- “
“But no one else has seen this,” said Corn Planter, getting to his feet, “whereas many braves saw Crying Wolf kill the Apalachee brave.”
Another brave got to his feet. “It is so,” he said. He turned round to the assemblage. “I saw Crying Wolf kill the Apalachee.”
Bent Ears waited till the man sat, then addressed Two Clouds and the old men. “Even though Crying Wolf is very brave, he is too headstrong. He follows his own path and does not listen to others.”
Bent Ears sat and several braves jumped to their feet. “Send Crying Wolf,” they cried, “he is the bravest!”
Green Bird Woman walked to the front of the assemblage. She spoke to Two Clouds, her words lost in the ramble of voices. She then turned and headed for the entrance, followed by Bright Eyes and the other woman. The buzzing of voices rose in volume.
“Quiet!” Two Clouds looked at the people sternly. He turned and addressed Corn Planter. “Corn Planter, what if Crying Wolf meets two men on the trail? Can he kill both of them and still get to Cussitaw Town.”
Corn Planter quickly got to his feet. “Of course,” he said confidently. He sat back down.
“What if he meets five men,” said Two Clouds.
Corn Planter again got to his feet. This time his response was not as emphatic. “He would kill them. Of course.” Corn Planter could see that Two Clouds was not finished with him, and remained standing.
Two Clouds probed further. “What if Crying Wolf met ten men on the trail? That is a lot for one man, even for one as brave and strong as Crying Wolf. Could he kill them all and continue on to Cussitaw Town?”
Corn Planter was at a loss for words.
“Sit,” said Two Clouds. He looked around at the assemblage. “Strength and fighting prowess are not enough. We have to consider other qualities.”
Bent Ears raised his hand and Two Clouds recognized him. Bent Ears rose to his feet and turned to the assemblage. “Two Clouds is wise to show us this. This is why we should send Swordbrought. He has ottsi, yes, and he is a good fighter. He is also the fastest brave in the village and has won every race he has run. More importantly, however, like his father, he is possessed of great dignity and is a very convincing speaker for one so young.” Bent Ears sat.
In the rear of the assemblage an old man stood.
“What if Swordbrought is killed or taken captive? Would not Calling Crow be very angry with us if we allowed that to happen?”
Bent Ears got to his feet and shook his head. “No! Calling Crow would be very angry with us if we did not give Swordbrought a chance to win honors for himself. Send Swordbrought.”
The man sat. The din continued to grow, no one rising to speak, no single argument prevailing. Swordbrought looked around. No one would meet his eyes. A great despair threatened to overwhelm him. Suddenly he felt his father’s strong presence, as if he were standing right beside him.
Swordbrought stood. The v
oices died down and a heavy silence hung over the people. Swordbrought looked at the old men and spoke. “Two good braves are gone today. Coosa Town cannot continue to suffer such losses. Do not send your best braves on this mission. Send me instead and let me prove my bravery. Give me six days to go to Cussitaw Town and bring back some Muskogee braves to help us. If I fail to return, then send another brave.” Swordbrought turned and faced the assemblage, his face proud and fierce. “But send me first!”
Two Clouds rose. “What say you all? Shall we send Swordbrought?”
Most of the hands went up. Swordbrought turned to look out upon the many faces and the majority of the hands went up.
Two Clouds raised his hands. “It is decided. Swordbrought will go.”
People began to file out of the chokafa. Two Clouds turned round to the old men. “Take Swordbrought to Sees Far. Tell him to prepare him for his journey.”
Swordbrought sat on an overturned basket in the dimly lit rear of his mother’s large house. Green Bird Woman stood beside the fire. Her shadow moved on the walls as she packed a doeskin pouch for Swordbrought. Although he was glad they had chosen him to take his people’s request to Cussitaw Town, he regretted the worry it would cause his mother. Outwardly she was brave, but he knew her well enough to know she was already worried.
She came over to him with the pouch. Sitting on the mat before him, she opened it up and took out a gray blanket she had woven from the English wool. She held it up to him, squeezing the nap of it between her finger and thumb. “Feel it,” she said.
He did. It was a thick, tight weave.
“It will keep you warm wherever you sleep,” she said.
He nodded his thanks and she took two wrapped bundles from the pouch and opened them. One contained dried venison, the other parched corn.
“It is good, Mother,” he said. He began putting the things back in the pack.
“There is one more thing,” she said, smiling sadly. She produced a dried doeskin about the size of a man’s shirt. There were stains on it that looked like blood.
