Eagle in Exile

by Alan Smale

  Marcellinus doubted it. His own distaste for the Iroqua had evaporated almost completely. If so many Iroqua sachems had agreed, he was confident of their good intentions. But he didn’t know it for a fact and had to admit that he had been wrong many times before.

  Thanks to strenuous efforts by Great Sun Man, Sintikala, and Marcellinus himself, the Haudenosaunee peacemaking visit in the autumn went off smoothly. The arrival of the Iroqua longship, flanked by an escort of Ocatani canoes, coincided with the peak of the harvest, when many Cahokians were out in the fields anyway or were already exhausted from the heavy work of bringing in the corn. The elders and clan leaders moved around the city enforcing the calm, and Great Sun Man impressed upon the Wolf Warriors that anyone acting against the Iroqua sachems would suffer a long and painful death. Even the intemperate Avenaka stood back, repeating that there was no honor in assaulting an unarmed group of Haudenosaunee bearing a pipe of peace, and ordered his followers to stay away.

  And so most Cahokians retreated to their homes and neighborhoods rather than witness the procession of the Tadodaho and his strangely dressed contingent through the streets of Cahokia to the Mound of the Sun. Their visit lasted only a few stilted hours, after which the Iroqua retreated to their longship and set sail again immediately.

  The peace sealing was followed by an unusually harsh winter, with heavy snowfalls and many weeks in which the temperature plummeted far below freezing and stayed there. Naturally, Youtin and the other shamans declared this the vengeance of the gods on Cahokia for its cowardice, but it did have the useful effect of keeping people off the streets and tucked up in their homes, huddling over their hearths. Marcellinus, who cared little what the Cahokian gods said, worked with the brickworks gang to improve the air and water flow in the Big Warm House and otherwise kept to himself.

  He was rarely invited to the Mound of the Smoke. His presence would only have aggravated the situation. From Kanuna, Howahkan, and others he was well aware of the continuing bitter divisions among the elders. Matoshka and Ogleesha were the most vocal critics of peace, but they were not alone. The councils of the elders often broke down in acrimony, with one or another party storming off the mound. And if Great Sun Man could not keep the peace among his elders, it was even worse in his own household; it was widely known that his wife, Huyana, had left the Longhouse of the Sun and gone back to western Cahokia to live with her clan. These days she was seen only in the company of shamans, the hood of her cloak up over her head, or surrounded by Avenaka’s warriors, her expression sour. And in the springtime when the snow melted and the river flooded, the flames of dissent lit up the streets once again.

  Marcellinus kept his head down. He could not resolve Cahokia’s discontent. He had a boat to rebuild, places to go, a league to forge.

  —

  “Upriver or down?” Enopay asked for the fiftieth time, and turned it into a chant, marching back and forth along the bank beside the drekar. “Up or down? Up or down? Up or down?”

  The woodworkers laughed. Marcellinus sat up in the bow, wiped the rain from his neck, and brandished his adze at the boy. “I don’t know, Enopay. Shut up!”

  From the stern of the Concordia, Kimimela shouted, “Enopay! Merda, do something useful.”

  “I am doing something useful,” Enopay said. “I am stopping you all from dying of boredom. Or melting and draining away in this never-ending rain.”

  “Go to Ocatan and bring us the rest of the oars,” said Mahkah. “That would be useful.”

  Rain cascaded down on the roof of the Longhouse of the Ship and dripped between its planks onto Marcellinus and the carpenters as they worked. The longhouse had no real walls, being a temporary structure that overhung the creek to give the drekar some measure of protection from the elements and prevent it from filling with snow during the winter months. Whenever the wind gusted, Marcellinus and the shipbuilding crew were showered with even more water. Obviously, the weather gods had not finished punishing them for their sins yet.

  Nonetheless, the mood in the longhouse was cheerful. Enopay, tireless enthusiast of all things nautical, was joking with the carpenters and woodturners. Those not entertained by him were being charmed by Kimimela. Spring was here, most of the ice was off the river, and a trip was in the air. The boat was almost finished, its hull caulked and watertight. The decking and thwarts were mostly in place, and today Wapi was leading the work on the broken sea chests and shield racks. A new mast of red cedar lay alongside the ship, ready to be installed, and the wood carvers of Ocatan had delivered about three-quarters of the oars the ship would need. Over the winter Anapetu and the Raven clan had sewn Marcellinus a thick yellow sail from cotton leftover from the Sky Lanterns. The dragon prow of the ship had even been cleaned and daubed with war paint, making it an odd hybrid of Norse and Cahokian artwork.

  They had a great deal of hemp rope for rigging that they did not yet know what to do with, largely as a result of the efforts of the two men they called the Rope Twins, a pair of middle-aged rope makers who were unrelated but so similar in manner that no one could tell them apart. With their help, Marcellinus had hoisted the sail on the mast once between the many showers of Aprilis to check that it would fit and had tied some of the ropes to it to keep it taut. But it would be another month before he would be ready to guide the longship laboriously along the sinuous creek to the Mizipi and experiment with sailing it.

  Upriver or down? Shappa Ta’atan was downriver, along with several other medium-size mound-builder towns whose support Marcellinus wanted to acquire. But the Mizipian communities upriver were Cahokia’s buffer with the Iroqua and Huron lands and were perhaps more likely to be directly in Roma’s line of march. And then there was the Wemissori River, which led to the tribes of the People of the Grass. Ideally, Marcellinus wanted to talk to them all and enlist them in his league.

  Upriver would be harder and thus safer. With the river in spate with the winter melt, rowing or sailing against its current would be difficult work, but at least they knew that current would carry them back to Cahokia when they were done. If they sailed downriver, the return would be a battle every inch of the way, and it would be hard to know how much time to leave for it before winter came.

  Then again, the golden birdman amulet that Enopay had given Marcellinus had come from downriver. If there was gold in Nova Hesperia, it came from the south, and Marcellinus wanted to find it.

  The decision was not Marcellinus’s alone. Great Sun Man would have to agree, and the war chief had other matters on his mind.

  Marcellinus stood and stretched and walked the hundred-foot length of the longship, back to Kimimela. “Thank you.”

  She tugged at the rudder, and the stern of the drekar swayed slightly in response. “Done, I think.”

  Kimimela had been strengthening the pleating around the band that attached the rudder to the boat. Most of Kimimela’s time was spent in the Longhouse of the Wings with her mother or in leaping off the Great Mound to practice her flying, but knowing her skill with close work, Marcellinus had begged her to come and ensure that the rudder was fastened to the boat adequately enough to withstand anything short of a collision. Kimimela sewed her Catanwakuwa wings with heavy sinew every day, and Marcellinus had blanched at the idea of asking Anapetu or Hurit to do yet more sewing for him. Besides, Kimi could not fly today in this rain, and Sintikala had departed four days earlier, flying east, and had yet to return.

  Now Kimimela pulled her feet under her to sit cross-legged, looking down the spine of the longship. “Upriver, and I might even come with you. Down, too many bugs—”

  “Hotah.” Mahkah stood. Four other men did likewise. The boat rocked.

  Mahkah was pointing up at the Great Mound just south of them. Marcellinus turned.

  The Longhouse of the Sun was in flames. Great Sun Man’s “high temple to himself,” as Marcellinus had sardonically called it, was burning. Even in the steady rain, fire shot upward from its roof.

  “The Sacred Flame?” Marcel
linus asked, but Mahkah shook his head. “That flame is not sacred, I think.”

  “Shit!” Kimi leaped up. “If those flames reach the Longhouse of the Wings…” She vaulted over the gunwale, almost catching her foot on the shield rack, and sprinted off. The palisade wall ran parallel to the creek fifty feet away, but they had placed ladders against it; Kimimela was up and over a ladder in no time and running for the base of the Great Mound.

  Still eyeing the blaze, Mahkah dropped the hammer he had been holding and strapped on his belt and gladius. His expression was grim. The other six members of the First Cahokian who were helping that day stepped up beside him, looking to him for guidance. Wapi and the other Cahokian craftsmen looked nervous, clutching their tools.

  “Mahkah, what do you see?”

  Mahkah’s eyes were keener than most, but he shook his head. “Nothing. That is why I fear.” He climbed ashore.

  Marcellinus’s own sword was in the bow of the Concordia. He also kept a full breastplate, helmet, and greaves there in case of attack, but there was no time to don them now. He ran to snatch the gladius and clamber over the side of the ship, joining the warriors on the bank.

  Kimimela had already passed the Longhouse of the Thunderbirds. Others of the Wakinyan clan had streamed out of their longhouse and were running with her up the slope beside the steel launching rail.

  “You should not have let her go,” Mahkah said.

  Marcellinus wiped the cold rain out of his eyes. The fire on the mound top was sputtering out by itself, yielding to the downpour, and the Longhouse of the Wings had not caught fire. Still he saw no one on the top of the Great Mound. Mahkah was right: a fire like that, and nobody fighting it? Chill foreboding wormed up his spine. “Come on.”

  They jogged to the palisade wall and climbed over it. The grass was slick, and Marcellinus slid as he ran. Fearing a twisted ankle, he fell behind Mahkah and the others before they reached the mound. By then Kimimela and about thirty members of the Wakinyan clan were about halfway up. The northern face of the Great Mound was the steepest and had no plateau, and in the rain even the young and fit were finding it hard going.

  All of a sudden the top of the mound erupted into violent activity. Even over the rain Marcellinus heard the clash of weapons, shouts, and more than a few screams. As they stared upward, a man came running off it. He tumbled, rolling and bouncing and bumping uncontrollably.

  Following him over the edge of the mound, almost falling himself but managing to keep his legs under him in an ungainly, asymmetrical run, came Tahtay with a gladius in his hand.

  “Juno!” Fear lent Marcellinus speed, and he hurried up the steep incline after Mahkah and the others.

  Warriors fought on the mound’s edge, many others falling over it to skate and slide on the wet ground. In the gray light, Marcellinus saw the darkness of blood.

  Around the base of the mound came more people. Some were warriors, running in their strange lope with axes and spears at the ready, others the ordinary townsfolk of Cahokia.

  The first man who had tumbled off the crest of the mound came to a halt in the wet grass. He rose to a knee, grimacing in pain, looking back at the mass of people above him.

  He wore a kilt in a blocky pattern, and his short feathered cloak was drenched and torn.

  Tahtay arrived at Great Sun Man’s side in his painful half-limping run, grabbing at tufts of grass to stop himself. He had been waving the gladius as he ran to help keep his balance, almost as if he were attacking Great Sun Man himself, but now he pushed the hair away from Great Sun Man’s eyes, talked to him urgently, tried to force the sword into his father’s hand.

  Great Sun Man was bleeding from the head, neck, and stomach. He looked up at Tahtay, dazed.

  On the slope above Marcellinus, Kimimela screamed in fury and sprinted out ahead of the members of the Wakinyan clan. With a sick fear, Marcellinus saw that she was unarmed except for a pugio she had pulled from her belt.

  Huyana appeared at the mound’s crest, rain streaming off her hair. She held her head high, looking down at her wounded husband with no sign of emotion.

  Beside her was the tall figure of Avenaka, who strode off the mound top and down toward the kneeling figure of Great Sun Man. In one hand he held an ax; in the other, Great Sun Man’s massive chert mace of office.

  Tahtay was on Great Sun Man’s right. Kimimela ran in from the left and knelt by his side.

  Wolf Warriors lined the top of the mound now. The members of the Wakinyan clan had stopped, frozen in fear.

  Avenaka stomped down to Great Sun Man, death in his eyes. A dozen of his warriors followed him.

  Tahtay stopped trying to push the gladius into his father’s hand and stood to face Avenaka. But Kimimela was talking to Great Sun Man, her face close to his, and now she lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder.

  Great Sun Man shoved himself upright, seized the sword from his son, and, with a howl more animal than human, hurled himself up the slope at Avenaka.

  Chert mace met Roman steel. The mass of the mace knocked Great Sun Man’s gladius aside, but with his last vestiges of agility the war chief whipped it around and thrust upward at Avenaka’s gut, roaring in pain.

  Avenaka dodged back from the blade and kicked out. His boot met Great Sun Man’s ribs just above the wound in his stomach. The war chief fell and rolled.

  Marcellinus, gasping but near them now, found some breath to shout. “Kimi! Tahtay! Bring him down!”

  They heard him, leaping to Great Sun Man’s side and pushing him farther down the hill, away from Avenaka.

  Marcellinus ran at Avenaka. The muscled warrior barged into him, shoving him aside, intent on pursuing the injured Great Sun Man as Tahtay and Kimimela half pushed, half pulled the war chief down the side of the mound.

  The warriors of Avenaka and Mahkah had clashed now and were fighting, gladius against ax. The high ground benefited the Wolf Warriors, but the footing was treacherous, and more than one warrior swung a blow only to slide and crash to the ground.

  Marcellinus threw himself after Avenaka and swung his sword. Avenaka ducked and lashed out. Marcellinus felt the slash of the warrior’s ax in his calf even as Avenaka’s boot met his sword arm; the impact took Marcellinus off his feet and onto his back, and he skated helplessly for several feet.

  A Wolf Warrior landed untidily on top of him, and Marcellinus grabbed at the brave’s war braid to yank his head back and deliberately lurched outward to let gravity help him. They rolled another ten feet, and Marcellinus at last managed to get his gladius around.

  The Wolf Warrior kicked at him again, but Marcellinus slashed him in the face, opening his skin from mouth to ear, and dragged the sword across the man’s stomach. Struggling free and pushing himself up to his knees, he drove the gladius home for the kill.

  Now below him on the mound, Avenaka had caught up to Great Sun Man once more. Marcellinus sat on the mound, dizzied but determined, and slid down toward the two men.

  Hands grabbed his arms and shoulders. He saw Mahkah bowled head over heels down the mound. Many of the other warriors of the First Cahokian were bloodied and fallen.

  Great Sun Man struggled to get to his feet, and the tall warrior allowed it, waiting for his opponent.

  The war chief lunged, and Avenaka swung the terrible mace.

  The crack it made as it met Great Sun Man’s neck was audible all the way up and down the mound. Great Sun Man’s head twisted at an uncanny angle, blood spraying into the air, and he slumped to the ground.

  Everything went still. Clutching the mace, Avenaka looked down at the body of Great Sun Man as if he could not believe it himself. Tahtay was a statue, mouth wide, gaping at the fallen body of his father. Kimimela looked from Avenaka, to Tahtay, to Great Sun Man, to the dagger in her own hand and then, finally, at Marcellinus.

  From the mound top Huyana gazed down, her face still expressionless.

  Mahkah held up his hands, palms forward. The Wolf Warriors’ arms fell to their sides. Where me
n were still fighting, their comrades waded in and pulled them apart. Everyone knew the battle was over.

  Avenaka took a step toward Great Sun Man’s body, and that drew Tahtay out of his funk. Climbing upward on hands and feet, he plucked the sword out of his father’s hand and stood facing Avenaka.

  “Tahtay, no!” Kimimela shouted.

  Marcellinus held his breath. Tahtay and Kimimela were both within Avenaka’s reach, and no one else was anywhere near them.

  Marcellinus was a good twenty feet above them on the mound and off to one side. He recognized the two Wolf Warriors who held him from the fight against the Iroqua on the slopes of the Mound of the Flowers the previous year; perhaps this was why they had chosen not to slay him. “Let go of me,” he said, and as they did, he clamped his hands on the wound in his calf and tried to stand.

  Below him, Avenaka stared at Kimimela and Tahtay. For a moment he did not seem to know what to do.

  “Step away,” said Avenaka, and then seemed to pull himself together. Drawing himself up to his full height, he repeated it in his resounding and imperious baritone. “Tahtay and Kimimela, step back. And tell your Roman to stay where he is.”

  Moving as if in a dream, Tahtay moved to stand over his father’s body, sword still in hand. Marcellinus, too, ignored the command, limping painfully down the slope until he arrived by Kimimela’s side.

  Great Sun Man was dead, his neck broken. Blood still leaked from his other wounds. It was too late to help the paramount chief who had spared Marcellinus so many years before. But if Avenaka made a move against Tahtay, Marcellinus was utterly willing to yield his life to defend him.

  Otherwise, attacking Avenaka would be suicide. Avenaka had the greater weight and the longer reach, and Marcellinus stood literally on a slippery slope.