Arnold’s demure wife and dainty daughters served a modest Collation of Small Beer and Pasties, which were but sparingly consumed. Truth to tell, no man among us was particularly an-hungered, as the ennervating Heat of this most ungodly August robbed one of all Appetite, and the Closeness of the Room only accentuated the oppressiveness. I myself was able to down only three or four of the handy Meat Pies, whereas under other circumstances my Youthful Stomach—a Demanding Master whose Mature Edicts would lead to a later Corpulence of Frame—would not have been sated without Twice that Number.
Drinking only from a Tumbler of Well Water, his Stomach apparently set Sharp only for Fighting, Kane surveyed us silently, as if we were but Tools arrayed for his Handiwork, and he deeming how best to employ us.
The first order of Business was to make Suitable Introductions of all the Figures of Some Account in the Affairs of the Colonies to our Honored Visitor. We had here assembled men from Plimoth, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and the Providence Plantations, each of the Polities that had suffered from the Depradations of the Salvages. Major Pynchon took this Affair into Hand, and Singularly Conducted each Colonist to shake the hand of the Brooding Puritan. Soon ’twas my Father’s turn, and I trailed expectantly in his Wake.
“Mr. Kane, this stalwart man of the cloth is the Reverend Increase Mather, Pastor of Boston’s North Church and President of Harvard College.”
Father shook Kane’s hand, and I awaited Acknowledgment of my Presence in turn. When such Token was not shortly forthcoming, I thrust forward and offered my own Hand, speaking boldly to the Corvine Adventurer from abroad.
“Cotton Mather, Sir, and most delighted to meet you.”
To my surprize, Father discharged no Public Rebuke upon me, but smiled at my Presumption.
“You will forgive my son, I hope, Mr. Kane, for he is something of a prodigy. Already enrolled in the College at his tender age, he exhibits more wit than many an elder I could name.”
Kane fixed upon me then a Stare of such Directness and Probing Intensity that I felt like moist, defenseless soil beneath the Farmer’s Plough. I fancied he was reading a direct Impression off my very Soul, estimating the Cut of my Inner Qualities and Weighing ’em in some Obscure Balance.
Evidently I passed Muster, for Kane gripped my outthrust Hand with fervor and replied, “The blood of righteousness flows strongly in this one. Let him be a part of our councils.”
Elated at this warm reception, half-dazed by Kane’s Glory, I somehow retreated to the Periphery of the Crowd, where I watched and listened attentively to the following Discourse.
It fell to my Sire to give a Concise Summary of the Atrocities conducted by the Salvages, clothing the Stage of the Debate as it were with the Gory Curtains that would frame our Final Campaign. He spoke as Fervently as if he stood behind his wonted Pulpit, blasting Sinners.
“Many an innocent soul has lost his very scalp to these barbarians after being cruelly struck down from behind. Defenseless babes have had their brains dashed out upon tree trunks. Women have been trammeled and dragged at several removes across the harsh countryside as mere chattel of their redskinned captors. Why, recounting the tragedy at Nine Men’s Misery alone would keep us here all day! And occasionally the cruel ingenuity of the tawny tygers has surpassed all boundaries of the imagination. There was one harmless fellow named Wright, whose strange conceit was that so long as he held his Bible, no harm would befall him. A praiseworthy belief, yet one that should have been supplemented by more practical measures. For when his salvage assailants understood the tenor of his defense, they but laughed coarsely, then slit open poor Wright from waistcoat to windpipe and inserted the Holy Book into his very guts.”
The whole Room was Aghast at the repetition of this oft-told Tale, and one of Arnold’s daughters swooned, dropping a Pewter Pitcher upon the stone floor with a loud Crash. But Kane evinced no comparable Reaction, instead admonishing us in a matter-of-fact yet grim Manner.
“Citizens, you may spare me your accounts of the simple grotesqueries that limited mortals may inflict on one another. I have stood beneath the Moon of Skulls and climbed the black stairs of an eldritch ziggurat to a sacrificial altar where an unnatural beast slavered over a naked princess. I have trod the streets of a city of vampires, the lone living man. I have wrestled with a murderous ghost who inhabited an English moor and was wont to rend his victims into small shreds. I have lived for months among a race of winged demons, fanged like wolves, who yet came to call me brother. Man is ever the sport and sustenance of titanic beings of night and horror. These primitive assaults by your rude tormentors are as piss in a tempest, compared to other bloody insults the cosmos holds in store for us. No, what matters most is not the atrocities performed upon you, but your manner of reply.”
The Host of Militiamen and Counselors was taken aback by Kane’s Implicit Diminishment of all the Wrongs they had so long Clasp’d close to their Breasts, and were silent awhile. Then Major Gookin spoke.
“Why, we have but answered ’em in kind. Upon capturing the lowest Indian soldier, we have performed upon ’em apposite punishments, such as the breaking of their fingers and other bones, and the pressing of their chests with heavy weights. Oft-times we employ our allies the Mohegan as our sanctioned executioners, for they know precisely what excruciations will justifiably extract the most pain from their stoic renegade compatriots. When possible, such as during our magnificent success last year in the Great Narragansett Swamp, when we attacked the winter encampment of the salvages, we have slaughtered their women and children and destroyed all their stores, the selfsame indignities they have inflicted on us. And of course, we regain some small measure of our lost economy by selling some captives as slaves in the Indies.”
Kane smashed his pewter Tankard down hard upon the Board, causing all of us to jump as if Pitchforked. His face expressed naught but Disgust.
“This is not how you conduct a war, my brethren, but rather how infants wage a childish game of tit-for-tat. No wonder this petty conflict has persisted for so many years. Simple foot soldiers have no say in the duration or direction or intensity of the campaign. Abusing them earns you only the increased enmity of their race. But if ye make the leaders your target, you cut the problem off at the head. Champion against champion, that is how such a matter must be resolved, and how I myself intend to settle it.”
Major Sanford took Offense at this Upbraiding. “Think you us utter nincompoops? We have chased Philip and his fellow sachems up and down the countryside, and we slew each pint-pot Caesar as directly as we could. Now only Philip is left, and our best intelligence has him hiding within a few leagues of our very seat here. But he is proving impossible to corner, thanks to his extraordinary assist from powers beyond our ken. That is why we have enlisted your aid, relying on your vaunted experience with matters arcane.”
The Starkfaced Puritan accepted this Counterblow with a surprising Temperance, cogitating upon Sanford’s words for a full minute before finally saying, “Still and all, I maintain that ’tis your own unwise conduct that had prolonged this altercation.”
Now stepped forward a man from the Ranks who had till this moment held Silence. People parted for him, opening a Path to Kane. Some gave way out of Deference, others out of Disdain, as if reluctant to let this man’s touch Ataint ’em.
When the man had approached close to Kane, he extended his hand and offered his name.
“Roger Williams, Sir, and glad I am to hear you second the very sentiments I have been long pouring into the deaf ears of my peers. Their stubborn brutality has watered the thirsty root of this needless conflict with copious blood. And now my beloved Providence, that lively experiment at the head of the Salt River, is all burnt, save for three dwellings, because of the arrogant insensitivity of my comrades. I had parole from Philip himself for the safety of my settlement, but such treaties were expunged by a surfeit of betrayal, pain, and unnecessary cruelty.”
Kane studied Williams for a moment bef
ore clasping his hand. “You are the fabled heretic, Sir, cast out of the Massachusetts colony for your deviant preaching.”
Williams faltered not, neither in Glance nor in Grip. “Indeed, such an ignorant label has been applied to me, among others even less charitable. But what I preach is merely a brotherhood and equality of all the races, a sensible chariness toward all earthly authority, and a reliance on our inner voices in matters of conscience and action.”
Releasing Williams’s hand, Kane uttered a Judgment that ill consorted with the Prejudices of fully half the Audience. “Your ways are not mine, Sir, but I fully respect them. You are an authentic gentleman and visionary. I will not seek to enlist your help in this crusade, but I ask that you do nothing to hinder us from accomplishing the destruction of your erstwhile salvage netop.”
With his use of this Aboriginal Word meaning friend, Kane gave some hint of the Depth of his Intimacy with New World Matters.
Williams sighed in a Dis-spirited Fashion. “I acknowledge your tact and good will, Sir, and altho’ I could have wished you might be dissuaded from your bloody pursuit, yet will I give my bond not to stand in your way.”
“In return,” Kane replied, “you have my vow that when I am in striking distance of Philip, I will endeavor to withhold a mortal blow. Let us snaffle him and bring him to justice in a civilized manner, proving that our virtue is the greater. There will be no torture enacted upon Philip’s person, so long as I can help it.”
“My thanks, Goodman Kane. This is the most I could expect.”
Williams departed the Arnold Lodgings then, and Kane made a request we found most curious.
“Is there one among you who has stood in Philip’s actual presence? If there be more than one, let me speak to the one who has done so most recently.”
A buzzing Consultation ensued, and finally a Verdict was reached. Major Pynchon said, “Sir, there is a goodwife now resident in this town named Mary Rowlandson. In February of last year she was taken captive by the Indians in a raid upon her garrison, and at one point was interviewed by Metacomet himself, all before attaining her present liberty. Shall we fetch her?”
“By all means.”
A Messenger was Dispatched, and men took the occasion to venture outside, to stretch their Legs or enjoy a Bowl of Pipeweed, altho’ little enough Relief from the Actual Heat was to be had, with the fully leafed Trees unstirring in the heavy stagnant Atmosphere. I myself remained inside, casting sly but constant Glances upon the Object of my Worship. Kane bided the interval like a patient predator, a Wolf or Catamount with an Eternal Perspective upon Events, or even like God Himself, Who, as we read in Peter’s Second Letter to the Romans, regards a day as a thousand years and a thousand years as but a day.
Finally Kane chose to register my Ardent Eyebeams and motioned me to his Side. Tremulously I approached. Once within his Orbit, I made so bold as to ask a Boon, most especially now, whilst my Father was Absent. “Mr. Kane, I want to come with you when you strike out after the heathen prince.”
Kane’s Smile resembled a Hawk’s Beakish Grin. “The little scholar desires to experience the warrior’s lot? Not so wise a wish, young Cotton. Should your face be flecked but once with your foe’s blood, you may well find yourself casting aside your primers in favor of the gun and the sword. And that is not a fate I would wish on anyone.” Kane’s eyes clouded over momentarily, as if he were watching a Parade of Phantasms from a Softer, more Luxurious Period in his own Career. “Had I heeded my own earliest inclinations, I might have become a simple schoolmaster, and never known the pains and tragedies I have endured. A wife, a fixed abode, children of my loins—all foreclosed to me now. But forsooth, absent also would have been the harsh glories of righteous conquest and retribution against sinners. And I surely would not be here speaking with you now, but long ago moldered to dust in my humble grave.”
At this Juncture Kane negligently fondled the Cat-headed Stave at his waist, arid my Eyes widened as I bethought to detect a Faint Glow emanating from the Fetiche.
There came a stir at the Door of the Room, and Kane summarily ended my short Interview. “I will not trammel thy spirit, Cotton. Every man must learn for himself which path he will tread. Let us see what eventuates. Stay alert, and take whate’er chance Dame Fortune presents.”
Flanked by the returning Crowd, Mary Rowlandson entered the room. A short, pretty, chaste Woman of no great years, who yet evinced upon her Lineaments the Marks of her Travails as captive of the Indians, she came timorously into the presence of our Guest.
“Mary Rowlandson,” said Kane decorously, “you received an audience from the Wampanoag sachem Metacomet during your captivity?”
“Yes, Sir, that I did. At first I was greatly afear’d of him, for he presented a fierce-some sight. He stood outside his rude wigwom, exceedingly tall, with mighty thews. He was girded with wampom, the Indian currency, and his stern face was bedizened with garish daubs of paint. But once he began to speak, in a calm and respectful manner, I someways lost my fright. He inquired as to my treatment, and I made complaint about the poor food afforded us, recounting how we slaves subsisted most days on naught but ground-nuts and hirtle-berries. Hearing this, Philip issued orders that we be given meat, bear or venison. Likewise, he ordered replacements for our tattered stokkins and shoos. When my audience was concluded, I retired with a fonder impression of him than I had expected to retain.”
Kane seemed to come to some sudden decision. “Mary, you and I must now adjourn to a private chamber, where I intend to make use of your prior proximity to our enemy. For I have a method of ascertaining his current whereabouts thro’ the spiritual bond established ’twixt you and the salvage. Mr. Arnold, where may we obtain the requisite privacy?”
Benedict Arnold hastened to say, “Pray employ the bedchamber my daughters use.”
Kane stood, and escorted Mary Rowlandson to the designated Chamber.
Immediately I made for the Outer Door, but reckoned not with my Father’s intervention.
“Cotton! Whither are you bound?”
“Ah, Sir, I—to the privy! ’Tis urgent!”
“Very well then. But stray not!”
Clutching my Privates as if to contain the Impulse to Micturate, I hastened outside.
Reader, I will confess to being no Plaster Saint in my Youth. As the Case was with Holy Augustine, the Tugs and Lures of the Flesh exerted their Devilish Sway over the immature Lad I once was. I oftssstimes sweated blood over my Sins of impurity, in the Wake of their Fulfillment, but could not find it in myself to firmly Excommunicate the Urges, so that I would, after some Days’ piety, fall once again into the Slough of Onan. But at the Moment when I dash’d forth from the Arnold Household, I had cause to bless the Muddier Wellsprings of my Constitution, for it was these selfsame Peccant Ways which now afforded me a chance to spy upon Kane at his Conjurings.
I had removed from Boston to Newport many a Time before this day, accompanying Father on business matters concerning his Investments in the Carib Trade, viz., Molasses, Rum, and Slaves. And we were often hosted by Benedict Arnold, one of Father’s partners. In my aimless lonely Rambles about the Yard whilst boring Mercantile Affairs were conducted, I had discovered a small Chink or Slit in the outer wall of the House, a Gap which fortuitously gave upon the bedroom of the Arnold girls. Shielded by a dense stand of Pipeplants, whose lilac blooms would oft perfume my Vernal Peeping, this Spyhole had granted me many a Sweet Moment of Carnal Delight, as I witnessed the girls Making Water in their Chamberpots, or adjusting their Petty Coates and Stays.
Now I planted myself firmly before this Coign of vantage and was rewarded with the following Spectacle.
Mary Rowlandson sat on a sturdy straight-backed Chair, whilst Kane stood behind her. Their Speech, if any, I could not discern. But what Unfolded next made mere Words superfluous.
Kane laid his Left Hand upon Mary’s collarbone, his Fingertips trailing tantalizing close to the Slope of her Bosom. I experienced a momentary Twinge of Susp
icion. Was our Unassailable Puritan going to give way to his own Base Lusts and Molest his Subject? How could I follow him with Honor then? But no, Kane’s Right Hand rose into view, clutching his Feline-Top’t stave. That Instrument began to emit a Verdigrised Phosphorescence, a Lambent Glow that cloaked the actors in a veritable Corpselight. Kane uttered Something then, forcefully invoking Assistance or commanding Materialization.
Slowly, slowly, a third figure began to Cohere out of Thin Air. Surrounded by an Identifiable Landscape of Marshy Aspect, the Wraith gradually assumed its Wonted Lineaments, and I suddenly knew I was looking at none other than King Philip Himself.
Reader, you may rest assured that I felt at that Pivotal Moment like King David viewing Bathsheba nude at her Ablutions, all atingle with Mindless Exaltation. But as the Horrible Figure of Metacomet acquired more and more Solidity, my feelings transform’d to those which Actaeon must have felt, stumbling upon Artemis at her Sylvan Bath: a sense of Trespassing on the Cosmically Shrouded.
And when the Moment arrived that King Philip’s puzzled, roving Eyes seemed to fasten on my Spyhole and engage my own Orbs in Spiteful Recognition, I nearly Fainted from fear.
Kane, howsomever, was nowise Discommoded by the Ghost. The Puritan’s next actions were easy to interpret: he adjured the Ghost to speak. But this Astral Semblance of Metacomet, I soon saw, was no Obedient Smoak, but rather a Spectre of some Volition and Malignance. Philip’s only response to Kane’s Adjuration was to Glower most Fearsomely and fasten his hands around Kane’s throat!
Then ensued a brief but violent Tumult, as the two Warriors Contested against each other. Freed of Kane’s steadying grip, Mary Rowlandson, drain’d of life, fell insensible to the Floorboards. My Heart was in my Gullet as Metacomet bent my Hero backwards, as if to crack his very Spine. But then Kane swung his Pagan Stave against the Skull of the Salvage King, and the Unnatural Apparition exploded in a Blaze of Light.
Emperor of Gondwanaland Page 9
