by Alan Smale
It was cold, crisp, and sunny, and the ground underfoot was dry. Marcellinus and Sintikala came in through the eastern bluffs, past the hill villages, the way least likely to be guarded by Avenaka’s soldiers, but their hopes of remaining undetected were dashed quickly. They were noticed right away. Men and women going about their business saw Marcellinus’s party of four strolling in and ran off to spread the news either to the Wolf Warriors at the Great Mound or to other parts of the city.
When they were still half a mile from the Great Plaza, Sintikala threw back her hood, and Tahtay did the same. After a brief hesitation Marcellinus followed suit. He had hoped for the dramatic effect of unveiling Tahtay in the Great Plaza, but so many people had recognized the young man already that further subterfuge was pointless.
On Sintikala’s other side walked Kimimela, her face clear, her chin up, smiling. Of the four of them, she looked far and away the most relaxed.
And still nobody spoke to them and no one tried to block their way, merely watched them go by or hurried off.
As they approached the plaza, their small groups began to converge. Hanska and Mikasi were the first to join them, and then Akecheta and Mahkah; although he had not seen them, Marcellinus doubted they had ever let him and Tahtay out of their sight. Then all at once there were more, many of them people Marcellinus either did not know or only vaguely recognized. There were a few members of Sintikala’s Hawk clan, paint around their eyes in the familiar falcon pattern. Sintikala nodded and smiled to each one. They were soon joined by a large group of men Marcellinus remembered from Ocatan. Against his intentions, a sizable crowd was forming. He gritted his teeth, waiting for it to go bad.
It did not, not yet. And they were within sight of the Great Plaza.
Wahchintonka awaited them on the path alone, a spear in his hand and a grim expression on his face. He ignored everyone but Akecheta, whom he greeted with a curt nod and stepped up to walk beside. Marcellinus glanced at Tahtay, but the youth kept walking and steadily ignored the presence of one of his sworn enemies.
“Wahchintonka, my brother,” said Akecheta. “Do you join us, then?”
“You will not enter the Great Plaza. You will come with me.”
Akecheta studied him. “We have fought the Iroqua side by side. We have laughed by the fire as brothers. Are we now enemies?”
Wahchintonka’s eyes were pained. “I do not wish it so. But you must stop. Turn, walk away, and you may leave Cahokia with your lives.”
“You would kill us, then? All of us and the son of Great Sun Man?”
“I would wish you alive, but for that you must turn around. Stay, and…”
“And? And, Wahchintonka, if we do not, then what? Say it to my eyes.”
“That is up to Avenaka.”
Akecheta nodded. “Ah, yes. Avenaka. How can you serve such a man?”
“He is war chief. How can I not?”
Wachiwi ran to them then, a little older but just as pretty, to walk with Hanska. Close behind was Takoda, with Kangee by his side. Marcellinus was astonished. If he had thought about it at all, he would have assumed that Kangee of all people would be against them. Had she liked Great Sun Man and Tahtay more than she had hated him personally? He looked back to see how large their group was becoming and noted that they had been joined by the brickworks gang, youths who had been mere children five years ago but were now on the verge of adulthood.
Enopay had done his job well.
Yet for all their numbers, they were tiny compared with the throng in the Great Plaza.
Marcellinus’s breath caught in his throat. He had known the plan: people would begin accumulating in the plaza at dawn, again quietly and from all directions. He saw more warriors from Ocatan and several members of the First Cahokian who had not come on the voyage down the Mizipi, but it looked as if each person had brought ten more.
“Juno,” he said. “We might win this.”
It was the first words he had spoken for an hour. Sintikala glanced sideways at him with an expression he now knew to be dark amusement. “You think these are all friends to us?”
“Are they not?”
“No. They watch us, surround us.”
Tahtay was growing agitated. Entering Cahokia, he had appeared to shrink. The imperiousness he had shown in the grass and for most of the journey down the Wemissori was evaporating.
Just the previous night, he had spoken to Sintikala, Kimimela, and Marcellinus almost formally to declare his strength for what was to come: “The mounds of Cahokia are the land. The grass is the land. I am my father’s son, and I am of the land. In this I shall not fail.”
He owned none of that sureness now. He was looking around but avoiding people’s eyes. Marcellinus could hear him breathing hard.
“Tahtay!” Sintikala said in an undertone. “Be calm.”
Tahtay swallowed and coughed. “Futete. This is…we are dead.”
“Trade,” said Kimimela, and swapped places with her mother to walk by Tahtay. She seized his hand and squeezed it. Tahtay looked at her in surprise, and she met his eye. “Breathe deep. Be a leader. And stop being an idiot or I will smack your head again.”
“Huh. Just try it,” Tahtay said, but his breathing returned to normal and he raised his chin boldly.
“Better to die on the hunt,” she prompted.
Tahtay nodded. “Better to die on the hunt, or in battle, than old or sick.” It was a Blackfoot saying, words Tahtay had quoted to them many times on the journey south. “I shall not fail.”
Marcellinus eyed the throng as they continued to walk. He saw frowns and scowls, smiles and simple expressions of interest. He could not tell who was for them and who against, but he was painfully aware that only the Wolf Warriors scattered among the crowd were carrying weapons.
Sintikala stopped. “Here.”
Marcellinus came to a halt. Tahtay and Kimimela were to his left, Akecheta to his right, and Hanska, Mikasi, Mahkah, and Wachiwi not far behind. And surrounding them all was a huge and mostly silent crowd of Cahokians and Ocatani.
He had no idea what would happen next, but he was glad to be there. He had missed Cahokia’s huge mounds, its grandeur, its people. And looking at Sintikala’s steadfast face in the morning sunshine, he knew that she was happy and proud to be back in Cahokia as well.
The Longhouse of the Sun had grown even larger in their absence. The sides of the Great Mound and the other major mounds were more cleanly carved, their corners sharply delineated in dark clay. In that, they looked more like the mounds of Shappa Ta’atan than like the Cahokian mounds he had grown accustomed to. Marcellinus was all for neatness and had spent his professional life insisting on good order, but even to his eye this did not seem like an improvement. Avenaka’s Cahokia was not as much to his taste.
The gates of the palisade around the Great Mound were closed tight. A double line of Wolf Warriors stood in front of it, and Wahchintonka had walked ahead to stand with them. Another new thing: warriors also stood along the top of the palisade. It now had a walkway inside it in the same style as Woshakee and Shappa Ta’atan. Cahokia had not needed such protections when Marcellinus had first arrived.
Until now they had seen no one atop the Great Mound. The space inside the palisade had seemed deserted. Now a man stepped out of the Longhouse of the Sun and walked to the plateau’s edge, a muscular-looking man wearing a kilt and feather cape and carrying a chert mace in both hands, a man who looked so much like Great Sun Man that Marcellinus’s breath caught in his throat.
“Shit,” Kimimela whispered.
“I will kill him.” Tahtay’s voice was low, and he appeared on the verge of choking. “I will kill him. I shall not fail.”
“Yes,” said Sintikala. “But for now, hush.”
As if they had heard, the buzz of the crowd stilled.
More people came out of the longhouse. Marcellinus recognized the elders Matoshka, Ogleesha, Kanuna, and Anapetu of the Raven clan, but most of the others were unknown to him. Tw
o groups of warriors jogged around the building, each taking a place at a corner of the plateau. Two men walked down the cedar steps to the lower plateau and parted to stand on either side: the hand-talkers.
A speech, then. Avenaka had been alerted to their approach and had allowed them to pass through Cahokia to hear whatever he had to say.
Marcellinus scanned the faces of the Wolf Warriors arrayed against them. He shifted his stance very slightly, now clasping his hands in front of him. From this position it would be easier to pull the cloak aside and grab his gladius. Sintikala did not look at him, but he knew she had registered the movement. Tahtay, carrying no weapon, glanced nervously back over his shoulder.
“Strength, Fire Heart,” Kimimela whispered. “Stand tall. Show them all who you are.”
Tahtay blinked, exhaled, and raised his head again.
“And so the wanderers return,” said Avenaka.
Again Marcellinus noted that the new war chief’s voice was deeper than Great Sun Man’s but just as loud and sonorous.
“Yes,” Tahtay said very loudly and without a tremor in his voice. “I would talk in council with Avenaka, the elders of Cahokia, and my clan chiefs.”
Avenaka stared. A ripple of shock spread across the Great Plaza at his words. Nobody interrupted a war chief of Cahokia.
Nobody until today. The hand-talkers looked at each other and did not translate Tahtay’s words into gesture, but the muttering of the crowd was surely enough to send news of the interruption back to those who had not heard it.
Smoothly, Avenaka recovered and continued. “Sintikala, Hawk chief and daughter of chieftain, and you brave warriors of Cahokia, you are welcome. I tell you again what I have said before: you are welcome in the Great City and may return to your families and friends with open arms if you pledge loyalty to Cahokia.”
Sintikala lifted her chin and spoke. “I am Sintikala, Hawk chief, and always I am loyal to Cahokia. But to Avenaka? No, because Avenaka will lead Cahokia to destruction.”
This, again, the hand-talkers of Avenaka did not translate for the assembled crowds.
Now Enopay appeared on the crest of the Great Mound and pointed to his left with both hands. The eyes of the crowd swiveled. On the Mound of the Sun to their left, clearly visible to most of them, stood another hand-talker, repeating Sintikala’s words, pausing, and then repeating them again.
Avenaka glared across at Enopay. Marcellinus hoped the boy had not just signed his own death warrant.
Avenaka spoke. “Tahtay, son of a coward, son of a shamed chieftain: you I banished from Cahokia. But here you are before me. How can that be? Do you come to pledge allegiance to Cahokia? If so, despite the cold winters past, if you reject the father that betrayed us all, even you may be welcome.”
A murmur rippled around the crowd.
Tahtay took a deep breath. “I do not pledge loyalty to Avenaka. I come to avenge my father Mapiya, Great Sun Man of Cahokia, loved by all his people, and I come to serve Cahokia, lead if Cahokia wills it, and help my people in their next great struggle, against the Romans.”
Again Enopay’s hand-talker relayed his words. The rustling of the unsettled crowd grew louder.
Avenaka laughed. “I do not need the help of a boy for that. Or of the Wanageeska.” Avenaka regarded Marcellinus from the mound’s platform, and despite himself, Marcellinus felt a chill. “You, a Roman whose life was spared by our mercy but who brought us death at the hands of the Iroqua and then helped the coward Mapiya rob us of our revenge. Yet Cahokia will have its revenge, after we have slaughtered the rest of your people.”
Marcellinus grinned tightly and said nothing. The Great Plaza was not the place for him to speak, and he would not have risen to Avenaka’s bait in any case.
“What shame can it be, I wonder, to stand here among the warriors who spilled the blood and took the scalps of your Roman soldiers as they wept and begged? To have watched them all die? And to know that these same warriors will destroy the next army of your people, will cut them down in droves? Me, I would die before I accepted such shame. But you? You we will keep alive, tied high on a frame to witness the slaughter. You, Wanageeska, will again be the last Roman we leave alive. And then we will keep you alive a little longer.”
Kimimela edged forward in front of Marcellinus, her hand on the hilt of her dagger.
Out of the side of his mouth Marcellinus said to the others, “Wolf Warriors are moving through the crowd.”
“Let them,” Sintikala said.
“Soon we will be surrounded.”
“No,” said Sintikala. “The people will not allow it.”
Marcellinus shook his head. She was wrong. So far Avenaka had sounded strong and reasonable, and he obviously had only gained in power and authority over the years. Enopay’s idea of replacing Avenaka with Tahtay surely had to seem absurd to the Cahokians assembled here. And if warriors fell on them, it would be a brief and bloody fight with only one outcome.
Odd now to remember that just a few evenings earlier Tahtay had suggested that Avenaka might ignore them completely and then quietly kill them in the night.
Again, Avenaka was waiting.
Sintikala half grinned and raised her voice. “Then Avenaka will have to slay us all, and from the skies we will look down on Avenaka after death and watch how Avenaka fights the Romans without his Catanwakuwa, without his Wakinyan.”
From the left came Demothi and the Hawk clan, forcing a path through the crowd. Men and women fell back out of their way so that they could take their place behind Sintikala.
From the right, and much more slowly, came the Thunderbird clan. They were led by Ojinjintka, who had seen so many winters that she was as wrinkled as old fruit. She walked with a stick and leaned on Luyu, who was Kimimela’s age but was so skinny that she looked almost as frail as her grandmother.
Despite Sintikala’s words, Marcellinus knew that this was barely half of the Hawks and a mere fraction of the Thunderbird clan. The aerial clans might have a better grasp of what was possible against a huge Roman army and what was not, but they were hardly united against Avenaka. This was a dangerous bluff. Avenaka would not be fooled, and indeed he was already laughing.
But this gambit was not aimed at him. Sintikala and Enopay hoped to win over the crowd.
“And so Avenaka is already defeated,” Tahtay said boldly. “We will come forward now and claim the Great Mound.”
Over on the Mound of the Sun, where Great Sun Man had lived, Avenaka’s Wolf Warriors had gotten to Enopay’s hand-talker and were dragging him away. Now Enopay himself stepped forward to translate Tahtay’s words into hand-talk for the crowds below. A warrior detached himself from Avenaka’s entourage and strode toward the boy.
Avenaka merely shook his head as if Tahtay were speaking gibberish, but Marcellinus could feel the rapid rise in the tension of the crowd behind him.
Marcellinus had seen riots before. He had quelled a few in huge cities deep in Asia. He knew that if conditions were dry enough, it took just one spark to turn a crowd into a mob. This crowd was ready; supporters and opponents of Avenaka were arguing openly, pushing and shoving all around him. The crowd was split, and now they were igniting like liquid flame. “Kimimela—”
The First Cahokian forced its way up to surround Tahtay and Marcellinus, Sintikala and Kimimela. It was not just the men and women who had accompanied them down the Mizipi but others who shoved through from the sides, unarmed yet ready for the fray. They and the Ocatani bunched around Marcellinus and the others and began to surge forward toward the gate.
The crowd did not stop them. The crowd had its own problems. Fights were breaking out all around them, and those not fighting were screaming, pushing, running to get away.
Marcellinus grabbed Kimimela, holding her close with one hand, with the other held out in front of them to prevent her from getting crushed. Sintikala and Akecheta stood shoulder to shoulder behind Tahtay, guarding his back. The five of them had become the epicenter of a giant brawlin
g mob, some actively punching and kicking one another while others shouted and argued. And from beneath her cloak Sintikala had produced her ax.
Marcellinus risked a glance up. Avenaka was pointing now, gesturing left and right, and the Wolf Warriors were marshaling fast and taking control of the perimeter of the plaza as best they could. Exactly what Marcellinus would have tried to do in Avenaka’s place.
The First Cahokian was propelling them forward so fast that Marcellinus was having trouble keeping his footing. He stumbled, and Tahtay grabbed his arm. “Steady, Hotah.”
“Merda…”
On the top of the Great Mound a similar scene was playing out in miniature. Although he could not hear her he could see Anapetu shouting, her cotton Raven cloak billowing around her. A Wolf Warrior seized her arm and tried to pull her aside, but Anapetu and Kanuna fought him off.
Marcellinus had lost sight of Enopay. Where was the boy? Had Avenaka’s Wolf Warrior gotten to him?
Amid it all Avenaka stood, calm as a beaker of water, ignoring the arguments to either side of him and looking down over the plaza. He gestured in broad movements that Marcellinus could not follow, the secret gestures of warrior sign.
If the Wolf Warriors prevailed and dispersed the squabbling crowd, Tahtay, the First Cahokian, and their more vociferous confederates among the crowd would be captured, swept away, and disposed of. It was they who had created the problem, they whom Avenaka would slay to restore the peace. And once they were gone, Avenaka could reestablish order quickly.
The First Cahokian had covered half the distance separating them from the gates when their momentum stalled. In front of the gates stood a double line of armed warriors under Wahchintonka’s command. Although none of them looked thrilled at the prospect of fighting their own people, they obviously did not lack resolve.
Another movement from above caught Marcellinus’s eye. At the corners of the Great Mound groups of bowmen were assembling. “Archers!”
Wahchintonka looked around in disbelief, then bellowed and signaled up the mound, fury in his every gesture, ordering the archers to stand down. They either did not hear or took no notice, nocking arrows and surveying the crowd, awaiting further orders.
