by Iris Gower
He was close enough to be seen clearly now. His skin gleamed, more bronze than Llinos had remembered. His clothes were edged with strips of leather and his neck and hair were decked with feathers. But as he drew his quivering horse to a standstill Llinos saw that Joe’s eyes were as clear blue as she had always remembered them.
She held out her arms and he took her, lifting her easily onto his horse. She clung to him, tears running down her cheeks and into her mouth.
‘Welcome to America.’ His cultured voice was as much of a shock as it had been the first time Llinos had heard it. She clung to his waist, her face buried against his broad back. She knew the scent of him so well, she felt his muscles move beneath his coat and she was filled with happiness. He was hers, Joe had not forgotten her.
‘Bring the wagon, Binnie,’ Joe said. He turned the horse and rode the animal more sedately now. Llinos clung to Joe, wanting nothing more from life than she had in her arms at this moment. She was with the man she loved, the sun was shining above her, the breeze smelled sweet and even the strange-looking buffalo seemed to watch the progress of the small band with a more benign stare.
‘My mother knew you were here,’ Joe said. ‘She is wise and beautiful, Llinos, nearly as beautiful as you.’
She snuggled closer to his body, her senses alive. Her eyes felt filled with stars, the sun pouring down was a benediction. Had anyone the right to be as happy as she was now? She did not need to ask how his mother had known she was coming. It was a case of like mother like son.
The journey seemed to pass in the blink of an eyelid. Soon, they were approaching the stockade. It was stoutly constructed and the wide gate was opening as the small party drew closer.
Inside the log fence was a neatly built village; it comprised seventy or more lodges. Women with long flowing hair decorated with beads were working in the open air and Llinos felt a jolt of homesickness as she breathed in the scent of baking clay.
‘You see,’ Joe said softly, ‘the Mandans are potters, just like you.’
A woman came out to greet them. She stood looking up for a long moment, her dark eyes searching Llinos’s face. At last she spoke in fluent English.
‘Welcome to my lodge, my daughter.’
‘This is my mother, her name is Mint. Mother, this is Llinos, my little Firebird.’
As Llinos slipped from the saddle, Mint took her in an embrace. The woman smelled of fresh grasses and herbs and her hair streaked with white, hung in a glossy plait below her waist.
‘Firebird is a good Mandan name. Welcome, come inside and rest.’ The lodge was large and airy and Llinos blinked at the sudden dimness after the brightness of the sun outside. A brazier burned at the centre of the floor and two further braziers hung from beams. Richly coloured skins covered the walls and the floor had been covered with fresh straw.
Food was brought. Meat still sizzling from the fire, bread warm and crusty and small cakes of meal and barley were served to her.
‘Where’s Binnie?’ she asked, her eyes drinking Joe in. She was afraid to turn away from him in case he vanished.
‘He will lodge with my friend Black Crow and his squaw Sho Ka.’ Joe smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry, Llinos, he will be made to feel most welcome.’
He touched her shoulder. ‘This is where I was born, Llinos. You can see how humble it is. You have met my mother, who is a true blood Indian woman. Do you still want to be my wife?’
She sighed heavily. ‘How can you ask, can’t you see it in my eyes that I want you more than I ever wanted anything in this world?’
He took her hand. ‘Very well. Tonight you will sleep alone and tomorrow you can decide if you want to go ahead with the marriage ceremony.’
Llinos felt the colour flood into her face. She fanned her cheeks with her hand.
‘Marriage ceremony?’ Her voice was faint. ‘Do you mean here?’
‘Llinos, I know we might never have your father’s blessing but will my mother’s do?’
He put a finger over her lips. ‘Think about it tonight and if, in the morning, you wish to make your vows, I will arrange it.’
‘What sort of ceremony would it be?’ Llinos could scarcely believe she was asking the question, everything seemed unreal, part of the dream she had dreamed so many times.
‘An American Indian one, of course.’ Joe smiled. ‘But we can always have another ceremony performed by a minister of the church, if that’s what you want.’
She knew what she wanted, it was to be in Joe’s arms, to taste his mouth, to lie with him, to love him for ever. Mint reappeared at the door of the lodge.
‘Will you come with me and the maidens to bathe in the river?’ she asked in her soft voice.
Llinos looked down at her grubby skirts, felt the dust that matted her hair. She nodded. ‘That sounds just wonderful.’
Some of the younger women were waiting in a group. One of them touched the long skirt of Llinos’s dress and smiled, speaking in words that Llinos heard with a shock of recognition.
‘Na pert.’ It was the Welsh word for ‘pretty’. Llinos looked at Mint.
‘Some of us speak Welsh. It is told in our folk stories that your prince Madoc brought the language to us many years ago. Whatever the truth of it, the words are beautiful.’
The doors of the stockade were open and the girls surged forward, heading in small, chattering groups towards the banks of the river.
It was alarming at first to see the young Indian girls abandon their clothes and slip into the clear water. Mint nodded to Llinos.
‘If you are too modest, keep on your shift, no-one will mind.’
One of the girls giggled as Llinos put a toe into the water. She tugged at the shift, her golden body gleaming with droplets and after a moment Llinos shrugged off the last of her clothes and slid, naked, into the coolness of the river.
As the water closed over her shoulders, she looked up at the sky and turned to float on her back, her hair dragged by the flow away from her face.
The coldness was exhilarating; the strangeness of the open air, the scent of the long grasses on the bank and the huge sky above her, gave her a sense of unreality. And she felt a great sense of peace. She was here in a strange country, with strange people, and she was happy.
Later, curled in the softness of a bed of animal furs, Llinos slept and dreamed of Joe. She saw them in the pale English sunshine, inside the coolness of a church, and Joe was slipping a gold ring onto her finger. In the morning, when she awoke, he was beside her.
‘The sun is rising. Come on, wake up. Llinos Savage’ – he knelt beside her – ‘will you marry me?’
She pressed her face against his shoulder and closed her eyes. ‘Yes, Joe, with all my heart, yes.’
‘I can’t believe that my daughter would rush off across continents to be with a half-breed.’ Lloyd Savage pushed his chair across the room and stared out of the window. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means she must love Joe very much,’ Eynon said gently. Lloyd turned to look at him.
‘Couldn’t you have stopped her?’
‘Even if I’d known she was going, it wouldn’t be my place to tell Llinos what to do. Anyway, I admire her courage.’ Eynon had read the note Llinos left with sadness and anger. He had been forced to abandon his plans to go away and resigned himself to playing host to Aunt Catherine and the vacuous Georgina.
Still, he was not going to be browbeaten by Lloyd Savage. True, he felt sorry for the man and when Lloyd had begged him to tell him where Llinos was, he had brought him the brief note Llinos had left. He said nothing of his own pain at losing her. He had almost managed to convince himself that Llinos would marry him, given time, but now that hope was dashed for ever.
‘What about money?’ Lloyd demanded. ‘You can’t go halfway round the world without some resources at your disposal, can you?’
‘I made enquiries at the docks, it seems she and Binnie boarded ship together. Try not to worry, Llinos had saved all her wages and Binnie h
ad some money I gave him. Not much, I’ll admit, but they’ll get by, I’m sure.’
Lloyd shook his head. ‘Why did my daughter never talk to me?’
‘Perhaps you were too hard on her. She grew up quickly when her mother died. She ran the pottery and actually made a go of it even if it was in a very small way.’
‘Aye, she had your help, though, didn’t she?’
Eynon sighed. ‘It seems you are determined not to give Llinos credit for anything. Do you blame her for her mother’s death, perhaps?’
Lloyd slowly turned his chair. He looked at Eynon for a long moment. ‘I think that is a foolish question. If I blame anyone, it’s myself.’
‘Then why are you so hard on her?’
‘I wanted Llinos to have a decent education and I didn’t want her marrying a half-breed. If that’s being hard then I’m sorry but there it is. However fine a man Joe is, he’s half American Indian, there’s no denying that.’
‘And he was a good friend to you.’ Eynon was uncomfortable pursuing the matter but he felt he had no choice. He felt he must defend both Llinos and Joe.
‘Yes, he was a good friend. He saved my life at the risk of his own. No man could ask for more than that.’
‘Can’t you see what you have done? You have forced the two people who love you most to go out of your life.’
Lloyd was silent for so long that Eynon wondered if he had heard. Lloyd looked up at him at last.
‘You have a strange, unconventional way of looking at things, Eynon, but you are right, damn it! I was a fool and by my foolishness I have lost them both.’
He stared out of the window and Eynon watched him, aware that the captain was now white-haired and that the lines were drawn deeply into his face. Lloyd was growing old and he should have his family around him.
‘Will she come back, do you think?’ Lloyd asked.
‘I don’t think she will be able to keep away. The pottery is her love, her life. Well, it was until . . .’ His voice trailed into silence.
‘Until she fell in love with Wah-he-joe-tass-e-neen.’
‘Or was it until you forced her out, sir?’
‘Oh, to hell!’ Lloyd said. ‘Let’s go down to the tavern in Wind Street and get some porter. I know you are missing the pair of them as much as I am.’
‘Good idea.’ He watched as Lloyd wheeled his chair towards the door.
‘Hand me my coat, Eynon. Enough of sitting in here brooding. Let’s drown our sorrows at least for tonight.’
It was crowded in the small tavern, smoke hung in a haze above the roughly hewn tables and the clatter of tankards on wood accompanied the sound of men’s voices.
Looking around him, Eynon wondered if he had been wise to visit such a low establishment. The hubbub of voices was suddenly subdued as he wheeled Lloyd into position near the door. He took a deep breath and seated himself on a bench, holding up his hand for the attention of the landlord.
The man came forward quickly enough and addressed Lloyd Savage with a genial smile.
‘Nice draught of ale, is it, sir, and perhaps some victuals to go with it?’
‘Aye,’ Lloyd nodded, ‘I am hungry, come to think of it. Had no supper, had nothing all day, come to that.’
‘Well, a respected businessman like yourself and a war hero into the bargain deserves better than that. How would you like one of the girls to cook you up a dish of ham along with a couple of chicken legs?’
Lloyd did not seem aware that the landlord was ignoring Eynon, not even giving him so much as a glance.
‘Sounds good enough to eat!’ Lloyd laughed at his own joke. ‘And you, Eynon, what will you have?’
‘Just a tankard of ale, thank you, Lloyd.’
The landlord lumbered across the room and within minutes a serving girl brought two drinks and placed them on the table. She looked at Eynon curiously, her dark eyes measuring him.
‘You’ll know me next time.’ Eynon meant it to be a joke but the words almost stuck in his throat.
‘Oh, we all know you, Mr Morton-Edwards.’ A big man lumbered towards him and with a sinking of his heart Eynon recognized the man who had accosted him before when he’d been drinking with Joe.
‘Not got your foreign friend with you this time, though, have you, laddie? Well, insults are never forgotten, not by me or my friends.’
‘Hey, no need for that tone,’ Lloyd said indignantly. ‘Eynon Morton-Edwards is with me and that should be enough for any of you men, right?’
He glanced around him challengingly and, as abruptly as it had ceased, the flow of talk began again. The man faded into the crowd and yet Eynon could feel eyes upon him and he knew he was a marked man.
‘What is it with men who can’t hold their ale, all think they’re heroes but where were they when Bonaparte was threatening us, hey?’
Lloyd took a long drink from the tankard. It was clear he needed no answer. When his food arrived, Lloyd ate hungrily, apparently unaware of the tension in the room.
Eynon drank sparingly. He had the feeling he would need all his wits about him when he left the tavern. He wished he had declined Lloyd’s invitation. Lloyd, even crippled as he was, was twice the man Eynon would ever be and everyone in the room knew it.
The evening dragged endlessly. Lloyd gave up all attempts to talk to Eynon and fell into conversation with an old soldier who had fought in the early wars with France. He became animated, drinking heartily from the tankard the landlord kept replenished.
‘We’d better be making for home,’ Eynon said at last and Lloyd looked up at him through bleary eyes.
‘You are right, yes, time to get to bed before I fall asleep on my nose.’ Lloyd chuckled. ‘Come on then, give us a push back up the hill. I know I can rely on you, good chap, to see me safely home.’
Eynon took the full weight of the chair, the wheels catching in the pitted road. Lloyd fell into a doze, his head sunk onto his chest, and he began to snore. The night air was sharp with a wind blowing across the flatlands of sand stretching five miles around the bay to Mumbles Head. The tide was so far out that it was a blackness against the horizon.
Eynon felt the darkness wrap itself around him and he was afraid. He reached the Savage Pottery without incident and, breathing a sigh of relief, he took Lloyd inside.
The few servants Lloyd employed were nowhere to be seen; they had no doubt retired for the night. Eynon lifted Lloyd from his chair with difficulty and almost fell with him onto the bed in the back room.
Beyond the windows, the ovens sent up a shimmering heat, the fires charged to bake the freshly made pots. Eynon pulled a blanket over Lloyd’s sleeping form and hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he should stay for the night, curl up on the sofa in the parlour? He lifted his head and listened to the silence of the night. Was he a man or a mouse that he was afraid to go to his own home and his own bed?
He closed the door of the pottery house behind him and set out towards the west of the town. The stars were bright, the moon hanging low over the sea. It was a beautiful night but Eynon was filled with apprehension.
He held his head high, staring straight ahead, waiting for something to happen. And yet when it did, he was unprepared. He turned a corner and was confronted by a silent ring of men.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded. ‘If it’s money, you are going to be disappointed – I have very little of it.’
The fist that connected with his jaw sent him sprawling. His head cracked against the cobbled roadway and the stars spun in the heavens.
Rough hands delved into his pockets. Eynon tried to rise but a booted foot caught him full in the mouth. He felt his lip split. A tooth became dislodged and he spat it out, gasping for breath.
‘You can’t hide behind your friends now, can you? Not such a big man when you’re alone, eh?’
He recognized the voice with a shiver of apprehension. He lifted his head just as the boot caught him again in the ribs. He groaned and turned onto his stomach, trying to crawl away. The back
of his collar was caught and he was hauled to his feet.
‘Let’s strip him, boys!’ A thick voice, heavy with drink, seemed to ring in Eynon’s head. ‘Let’s see if he’s built like a man.’
To his horror, Eynon felt his clothes being ripped away, his shirt was torn from his thin chest and then he felt the blade of a knife against his belly as his trousers were cut from him.
‘Look at the sniffling pup then, will you, got a bit of rope between his legs that’s no good to anyone. Shall we cut it off?’
Eynon whimpered as the cold of the knife touched his groin. He was going to be killed, done to death in some dirty back street.
‘No! We don’t want the scandal of a dead man on our hands.’ A voice, more commanding than the others, more cultured, rose above the noise. ‘Give him a good hiding and have done with it.’
Fists began to pound him. Eynon fell to the ground, drawing his knees up to his stomach. One kick caught him in the kidneys and he moaned with pain. He did not know how long the beating went on but at last it stopped. He heard footsteps moving away as he drifted into unconsciousness.
He became aware of the coldness around him. He tried to open his eyes but they seemed stuck together. He struggled to his knees, fighting the waves of pain and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.
‘God help me,’ he mumbled between swollen lips. He felt hands around his waist, a woman’s hands. A shawl was thrown around his shoulders and a voice spoke close to his ear.
‘Don’t be afeared, it’s me, Celia-end-house. Going home from a friend’s sickbed, I was, when I heard the noise, like animals baying, it put the fear of God into me, I can tell you.’
She led him, half-conscious, unable to see, along the roadway. He stumbled several times and her arms held him upright.
‘We won’t be able to get far, Mr Eynon, but your father’s house is only a few steps away.’
He no longer cared where he was. He did not even care if he lived or died. The humiliation he had suffered had been worse than the beating.
He was aware that he was indoors because he felt the warmth fold around him. He heard voices as if from far off and he was taken upstairs. He felt the coolness of sheets around him and then the heavier weight of blankets. He began to shiver and he heard Celia ask for hot water to be brought to him.
