“Yes yes.”
Tom tossed again.
“Oh, it’s a foul night for me!”
“I’ll just hold onto this earring then. Not that I’ve a use for it.”
“Luck’s turned against me, but my strategy’s a good one. Always bet the same and double the wager each time, sooner or later I’m sure to win it all back.”
“There seems to be a fault with your strategy.”
“The only fault is I’ve nothing left to wager.”
“Here, take your lucky earring. I wouldn’t be cursed with the luck it’s brought you.”
“No, it’s yours now. But fortune won’t always run with you. I’ll win it back. It’s a long voyage.” He put his hands behind his head. “That’s an honest coin, is it?”
“I won it from you. You can best answer that yourself.”
“Beaten, and by my own coin . . . But I’ll win it back. There’s never a tide that doesn’t turn. No, no, keep it. You won it.”
Tom, with some little discomfort, pocketed the earring. He was unaccustomed to winning, and though he knew in the logic of the cosmos all chances were even, he couldn’t escape knowing that good fortune was certain to be repaid with bad. Also, Vincenzo seemed to be making a point of taking his loss lightly, which gave him further cause for concern. But the night had been a good one for him. When finally he drifted off, he dreamt of the mermaids in their coral city at the bottom of the sea, and their seahorse chariots, their wild kisses, and their tangled hair.
Chapter Five
WITCHCRAFT IN THE WOODS
Fort Estamor had hardly been a fort. It had been little more than a bivouac really. Half Moon’s braves had little difficulty surrounding it and killing the soldiers it housed. Their bodies and equipment were built into a towering pile as a monument to the bloody triumph, and the wooden walls were burnt to the ground. Half Moon was certain none had escaped, so it would be several weeks at least before the army headquarters learned of their loss.
The triumphal potlatch had been held last night in the large clearing at the center of the settlement. This was the tribe’s permanent home. Here their longhouses were built, and in the center stood the tribe’s totem pole. Last night the clearing had been filled with dancing figures, and many tables had been piled high with fresh venison and withy baskets heaped with succulent vegetables. The number of braves assembled here was unparalleled. Never before had so many tribes gathered together under one man. Storm Panther had come with his hundred braves on horseback. They were camped a small distance away but had arrived last night to join the dancing. The nearly finished siege tower had been brought forward on its massive wheels of cedar to be celebrated and praised. It was necessary to complete it quickly and then they would strike. They must strike soon; already some were wondering when they could return to complete their spring planting. Half Moon had given gifts of horses, whiskey and guns to the most courageous warriors, and at the height of the ceremonial dances his totem, the great black bear, had come and spoken to him directly, promising victory and a glorious death. Half Moon knew it would be only a matter of days before Port Jay lay under his heel, and the white man was turned away forever from this land. In the late hours of the night, the throng had slowly drifted away to the longhouses that lay in a ring around the central plot, or to the wickiups under the branches of the surrounding trees, there to swear oaths binding them to magnificent achievements in the upcoming campaign, and to couple in frenzied acts of lust.
This morning Half Moon was standing before his longhouse, taking joy in the light and warmth given freely by his noble ancestor the sun. Several braves, and not a few maidens, were still asleep, prostrate at the feet of the enormous totem pole, where they had dropped during the course of last night’s festivity. He took delight in observing the birds, how they danced and bobbed, sweeping through the branches of the pines and hemlocks. Birdsong was returning to the woods. The starlings and blackbirds were back, and the finches would be arriving soon. There were several gulls this morning, more than usual, doubtless a reminder that his path lay in the direction of the sea. One of the gulls had dropped a feather, which lay near his feet. He picked it up, a token to knot among the charms he wore about his neck. His grandfather, Sudden Lightning, had fought a campaign along the same piece of ground on which he would be fighting, but his enemy had been the Indians of the Red Hawk Lodge, whom Half Moon now numbered among his friends. The tale of his grandfather’s campaign was told often when Half Moon was growing up. Sudden Lightning drove his enemy into the sea, just as Half Moon would soon be doing, and when he arrived at the shore he was granted a message from the Great Spirit. An eagle flew overhead and led him to the bower of Dappled Doe, whom he took as his squaw. Half Moon wondered if he would also be vouchsafed a sign.
Wild Otter and his nephew Barking Dog were fletching arrows nearby. Wild Otter was rather stout and had a broken nose. Barking Dog was tall and his features were such that he played a role in many day dreams of the younger maidens. Seeing Half Moon, Wild Otter held up the arrow he was working on and said, “We will have use for these soon.”
Half Moon walked to where the two men stood. “Yes, we will, but I had rather we had more muskets.”
“When we kill the soldiers we will take their muskets,” said Barking Dog. “But now they are bringing something more deadly even than muskets. Now they have rifles, that fire bullets, not just lumps of lead. You can load them and take many shots before reloading.”
“Yes, I’ve seen these rifles,” said Half Moon. “We even have a few. Storm Panther has been practicing with his, using it when he rides his horse. We will use these rifles when we besiege Port Jay. You see, the soldiers will sally forth like this. Imagine the soldiers are attacking. Imagine they are coming from here.” He indicated a direction close to the path where the racks stood for drying the salmon. “They will not see Storm Panther and his horses hidden behind these rocks over here.”
“Why do they not see Storm Panther? Don’t they send out scouts?” asked Wild Otter.
“Yes, but the scouts that see Storm Panther are killed, probably by these arrows, so when they come to attack us they have no suspicion that any is in their rear. They see us and they attack. And what do we do?”
“I don’t know,” said Barking Dog. “And wouldn’t the death of the scouts make the soldiers suspicious?”
“You have no concept of strategy. When they attack, we retreat.”
“What about Storm Panther?” asked Wild Otter.
“Not yet,” said Half Moon. “First we retreat and draw the soldiers on, then when –“
“This I’ve seen before, luring them into a trap where they are surrounded,” said Barking Dog, with a look of disdain, as if this were all something he’d known since he was a child.
“But always it works,” said Half Moon. “What is different this time is that Storm Panther has horses and rifles, so when we suddenly stand up to them and they see they are in our snare, Storm Panther will let loose with many bullets. This is how the white men will die.”
Half Moon had passed many afternoons discussing tactics such as these with his fellow braves. It was one of the things he enjoyed the most. The men returned to their task and he left them and went to stand before his longhouse.
Breezy Woodchuck, his number one squaw, had waited for a chance to talk to him. Once she saw he was no longer in the company of men, she drew near. Her eyes were deep like mountain pools, rinsed clear in the last runoff from the winter snows. She smiled gravely, placing her cheek next his shoulder, and asked why he had cried out and left her side in the early hours of the morning.
He told her solemnly of the great work that was in hand, to drive the white man back into the ocean from which he had come. “We are the children of the promise. The Great Spirit promised this land would be ours. These others are interlopers. I know because I have spent time amongst them, in their city of crooked streets, and I have learned who they are and what they do. They have brought d
esires and shames we knew nothing of.”
“You paint them almost as a different kind of man, one outside the natural order of things.”
“Yes, this is the enemy we confront. I have united all our tribes to break their hold and we will succeed. This is my purpose. And once my purpose is achieved, I will lay down my weapons. This is the beauty of the life and the eternal destiny that is ours. You see the snake shed his glorious skin when he needs a new one. I will be the discarded skin. Others will come to lead our people to future triumphs as we are guided by each successive revelation of the incessant soul. I know this will come to pass.”
“But you have not come to me as you were used, to play bump-the-frog, and other games of man and woman. What am I to make of this?”
“This is not the time for bump-the-frog. The destiny of nations hangs in the balance, and I have been selected to play a role. I am searching for guidance through the giddy masquerade of cause and consequence, and almost I am certain such guidance will be given.”
As he spoke, he saw approaching from the distance three antelopes. They held his attention because they were not native to this place, and because they walked in a manner showing they had a purpose in mind. He also thought it curious that one was smoking a cigarette. All three were female. It was clear this was a visitation, and likely to be one of some importance. When the lead antelope drew near, Half Moon bowed his head in acknowledgement of the honor he was being given. In reply, the antelope took off the skin she wore and stood before him as a woman, wearing an antelope fur.
“Miss Deirdre,” he said, “it has been some time since you have made use of the privilege I granted you to travel freely through my lands. I had thought your stratagems, unfolding as they were in extern regions, precluded any involvement in our affairs.”
“You are the rightful master of these lands. Nothing happens here that is not your affair.”
“My sister the owl informs me of a great light that has recently been put out, and I think by your agency. Was this truly your doing?”
“Aye. I’ve paid the meddler in the coin he deserved. Now the aftermath is upon us. Many things are afoot, and I’ve come to assure myself I can trust you to play your part.”
“This word trust, what does it mean . . . ? I will tell you. To know someone’s motives is to trust him. That is all. You know my motives. My enemies they also know my motives. So you and they and all can trust me. I will act as I must. I am simple and I am true. I am like the arrow you shoot, and you trust it will hit its target.” Then, turning to the other two antelopes, “Who are these?”
“I bring a brace of mocking harlots, plucked from an emperor’s bed. Their names are Issoria and Vanessa. I hope they will amuse.” The other two antelopes took off their skins and turned into young girls wearing antelope furs. Issoria was the one smoking a cigarette. She gave Half Moon a mischievous smile before sitting obediently at his feet.
“I am glad of their company, yet I think there was little need for the assurance you thought these would give. I tell you we are on the move. Already we have taken Fort Estamor.”
“It is too sudden. There are plots you know not of.”
“Always you plot. Your plots are so thick that you dream up other plots to thwart the plots you planned before. You always think there is some outside encumbrance, and mostly there is not. Always you think there is another thing, a thing outside you with motives you cannot know, so you trust no one. This is your tragedy. Even inside yourself there is another voice you hear that whispers when all else is still, and this other voice has a motive you do not know, so you do not trust even yourself. I am not like you. My spirit is like the fish, that has no need of arms and legs to go where it will. Where it wants to be, there it is.”
“There is a munitions depot on Lost Bastard Island.”
“I have heard of this.”
“And recently much enlarged. Reinforced with massive guns, and the walls strengthened. There are guns that shoot a shell more than a mile, and shells that explode when they land. Drive these soldiers into the sea, still they will sit on that island and bombard the Coast. They know they can never be defeated so long as they hold Lost Bastard Island, because they now have guns that are to their old guns what a real cannon is to a child’s toy. I know you are cunning and very brave, but bullets don’t care.”
Deirdre, as she spoke, had unfolded a map of the Coast, from Port Jay in the east to Kashahar in the west. Much of the map was shaded with pictures of trees, denoting the Forgotten Forest. “So now you sit here like a nut in a nutcracker. One jaw of the nutcracker is Port Jay, the other is Lost Bastard Island. And you are so satisfied with yourself because you have killed a few soldiers.”
One of the braves lying prostrate at the foot of the totem pole rolled over and put his head up, blinking his eyes. Issoria stood and surveyed the longhouses and the wickiups beyond. There were people stirring. Deirdre pointed to the map before her. “Here is Port Jay,” she said. “This is where the General has his men, with his fresh recruits. So long as he sits here, you can do nothing to him.”
“That is what he thinks. But I will be marching on Port Jay.”
“That is no good. Others will take care of Port Jay. The soldiers in that fort of stone you could never defeat. However, soon they will be putting themselves where you can do them harm. They will be marching into the Forgotten Forest, their aim being to put you down. This time is coming very soon. And once in the Forest, you will fall on the army and destroy it. You will march to the Coast, pushing these soldiers into the sea.”
Half Moon fingered the gull’s feather he had added to his necklace this morning.
“So I am coming to tell you this is not the time to attack Port Jay. Sometimes you must wait. You must wait for your enemy to place his neck in your jaw. And that will happen. For now, make sure the horses are curried and dressed, their blankets prepared. And then wait.”
“You do not know me if you think I will wait. I will be taking Port Jay. You must tie me down if you want to stop me.”
At this she gave him her witchiest look, her face sly, her glittering eyes ancient, but what she said was, “General Hobsbawm’s soldiers will have many advantages over your poorly armed braves.” Half Moon started to object again; she held up her hand to forestall him. “They are poorly armed. You will come to know this. But you can defeat him if you can choose the place at which you will fight, and you will need the element of surprise. Here,” pointing to a spot on the map, “in this narrow passage between the Great Bog and Windswept Hill, here is where you will fall on them.”
“This is a narrow pathway with many obstacles. It would be foolhardy of them to come this way.”
“There are many obstacles, and you must make more. You will build a wall along one side of the passage from here to here.”
“More than two miles.” Half Moon had spent some time in Port Jay and was familiar with white men’s maps.
“Its base will be made of sod. You can remove the sod from the other side of the passageway, so the distance between the Hill and the Great Bog will be much less. Here the army’s march will be forced to only double or single file, and here you will fall on them from behind the wall. All this must be done before you leave this place.”
“You expect me to dig in the ground like a mole? I say once more, you do not know me.”
A man from the further side of the settlement came running, shouting something.
Deirdre went on, “You must understand the urgency. We’ve dealt a blow to the powers of light. All the law and sanity on which they pride themselves is only a candle in a windy night and the winds will soon be howling. Once put that candle out and paradise is ours. No words will come from our mouths, only sounds, and all signs will be erased. We will exist in the vast darkness, skyclad, uncaged and wholly free!”
It is questionable if Half Moon took this in. There was the sound of a shot and the man who’d been running stumbled. Then all at once a crowd of Indians, many on
ly half dressed, erupted into the large open area in the settlement’s center. Half Moon leapt toward the disturbance shouting curses, just as the first line of infantry came out of the woods. The Indians were letting out a continuous babble of confused shouts, and in the relentless noise the soldiers were eerily silent. Their feet floated just above the ground, like ghosts. They advanced in three rank rotation: one line knelt and fired their muskets and then stood and immediately commenced reloading, while the next stepped forward, stood, knelt and fired, then the next. By the time the third group had fired, the first had finished reloading and stepped forward to fire again. They brought a cannon out of the woods and planted it among the outer longhouses. When they fired the cannon, though it made not a sound, the ground shuddered and a cannon ball hit the totem pole, which shook and slowly swayed, toppling with a great sound of rending timber. The Indians, unorganized and unarmed, were quickly being killed. Breezy Woodchuck ran away wailing. The nearly completed siege engine burst into flame. Some braves on horseback attempted a defense, but many were shot down. Through the haze of gunsmoke the soldiers wavered and coalesced, as though under water. Deirdre and the two other witches dropped their antelope furs and sprang naked into a circle. Half Moon lowered himself to hide behind the fallen totem pole. Barking Dog took his bow and the arrow he’d just made, and shot it at the advancing troops.
“How can they be here so soon?” wailed Half Moon. He wanted to run, but his braves sought to impress him with their bravery, and so long as they were fighting he couldn’t flee. Wild Otter had some pistols. He lowered himself behind the toppled totem pole near Half Moon and took potshots at the advancing troops. Half Moon saw the flashes of the soldiers’ rifles, still ominously silent, and suddenly the pole he hid behind exploded and bit him on the cheek; splinters slashed the turbulent air. Wild Otter took a bullet in the head and rolled to the side. Half Moon ran to him, but a soldier with saber drawn jumped in front and planted his feet preparatory to knocking him down. Half Moon battled with him, seeing Barking Dog take a bayonet in the back out of the corner of his eye. Just as Half Moon fell backward it was as if a curtain was raised and the scene of bloody carnage faded out of sight. In its place was the summer sun in the clearing and a light breeze, bird song and the casual chat of two men fletching arrows. Half Moon looked about himself in wonder.
The Devil's Workshop Page 5
