Now the four priestesses were bringing out the captive, carefully surrounding her, and flanked by the warriors. Mouse looked him straight in the eye, and he was startled to see that she was haughty and aloof. There was recognition, no more. The little procession drew up before him and stopped.
“I have come to help you,” he said quickly. “You are my wife …”
“Silence!” signed the priest threateningly. “Use signs only!”
Antelope knew that this was a critical time. It must not go wrong.
“Mouse,” he signed, slowly and deliberately, “you must tell them you are my wife. Our lives depend on it.”
The priest looked annoyed, but did not interrupt.
Mouse stared at him for a moment, then signed calmly. “I will not lie for you, Antelope. These people have honored me.”
He had not expected anything like this. “These are not your people,” he blurted desperately, aloud.
“But they have made me a princess!”
“Only to kill you!”
The exchange happened quickly, so quickly that the warriors had no chance to stop them. But now they were separated, and the priest warned them, using signs.
“There will be silence! Signs only, or we will kill you both!”
Antelope nodded in understanding.
“It is as I said,” he pleaded in signs. “You must believe me.” “You lie,” she signed bitterly. “You only want me for your bed.” Her eyes flashed defiance.
The thought occurred to him that this was going rather well now. If he could anger her, the reaction would be one which might convince her captors of her slave-wife status.
“Of course,” he signed indignantly. “Why else would I give eleven horses for such as you?”
He saw the anger rise, even through the confusion in her face. She did not understand, but this did not slow her rage.
“Son of a dung-eating dog,” she began aloud, “what …”
Now he held up a hand to stop her. “Hand signs only!” he warned.
There were chuckles among the onlookers, and he decided to push his luck. His charade seemed to be working. Only a little further reinforcement … He kneed his horse forward a step and leaned from the saddle toward her. The woman who stood between stepped aside to avoid the horse, and he now looked full into the eyes of the captive. There was still anger and defiance, but he thought that she had never looked so beautiful.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. He had taken his braided quirt from the saddle, and now struck her across the shoulders with it. There was probably very little sting through her buckskin dress, but it made a loud pop and she burst into tears.
“How could you?” she cried aloud. Among the People, for anyone to strike another was extremely rare.
“If you will not learn, the whip must teach you!” he signed, even as the warriors moved between them.
The priest spoke a few words and the escort removed Gray Mouse from the scene and back toward the earth lodge. Now the holy man turned back toward Antelope, his face dark.
“Enough!” he signed. “So it is true. You bought her. But important to Morning Star is only whether she has been with a man.”
The priest held up a hand. “Yet I do not know whether you tell truth,” he reminded. “The girl says you lie. So, if you do, and she is a maiden, we kill you and keep the girl, for Morning Star to honor.”
Antelope’s heart sank.
“But how …?” he signed.
The priest nodded. “The women will tell us soon. They are examining her now.”
38
Yellow Basket had increasing doubts about the way things were going. Maybe I am just getting old, she thought as they hustled the Morning Star Princess back into the lodge. Yet she knew that it was more than that.
Now that she looked back, there must have been doubts in her mind as early as childhood. The first ceremony to Morning Star that she remembered clearly must have been when she was a girl of seven or eight summers. Oddly, she had not thought of that princess as a captive at all. She had been more impressed by the honor that was bestowed on the selected one. The finest of food and drink … the sequence of beautiful dresses, lavishly decorated. There were four women whose entire duty for a long time was to see to every slight need or desire of the Morning Star Princess. These women temporarily left their families to accept the honor of becoming the servants of the Princess.
As a little girl, Yellow Basket had longed to be a part of these celebrations. She envisioned herself as one of the priestesses, helping to manage the Morning Star lodge. All the occupants of the lodge, more than forty people in all, had been temporarily evicted. It was an honor, of course. They would stay with relatives in other lodges until after the ceremony.
Most of all, at the time of that first Morning Star Ceremony in her memory, Yellow Basket had envied the Morning Star Princess. The young woman was of a neighboring tribe, a beautiful young woman with a proud demeanor and a friendly smile. She had smiled at Yellow Basket once, when the women had led her outside for the daily exercise. The little girl had been embarrassed by the attention, but thrilled to be noticed. Maybe, she thought, when I grow up I can be as honored as this one.
It had been confusing when the ceremony took place. Those events were, even now, a blurred memory. The beautiful girl, climbing the painted scaffold, the priest’s assistants tying her wrists to the poles … Why is she tied, Mother …? Hush, child … So she will not fall.
There had been a momentary expression of terror on the beautiful face at the last heartbeat, as the priest loosed the sacred arrow. But the bride must die, her mother had explained, so that she may join her husband, Morning Star.
It had been a shock, but Yellow Basket had been able to accept it. All of the adults seemed to understand, and the ceremony was obviously the most important event in the lives of the Horn People. The village had settled back into the seasonal routine, and the corn grew well.
Several years later, the Morning Star Priest had again announced that this would be the season for the ceremony. The village would wait for a vision to come to one of its warriors, which would reveal where to find the selected maiden. Morning Star would instruct the Wolf Man where to find his bride.
Yellow Basket had wondered about this for a little while, as the village waited for the vision to come. If it is so great an honor, why is it given to a maiden of another tribe? she asked herself. She did not speak of this to anyone else, and it was forgotten in the excitement and symbolism when the bride was chosen and brought to the village.
It was a maiden of the Kenzas, the South Wind People. She had been strikingly beautiful, and seemed well suited for her honored position as Morning Star’s bride. Yellow Basket, feeling the stirring of excitement in her own young womanhood, had experienced a strange sensuality during the ceremony. It was an arousal that she did not understand, but she now assumed that it must be a part of the entire sequence of life. And the corn grew well.
That was a long time ago. Yellow Basket had married and raised her children. She could not remember how many times Morning Star had demanded a new bride over the years. It was an irregular interval. Only the Morning Star Priest, who watched the movements of the heavenly bodies and charted their positions, could determine when the ceremony must occur. Morning Star, as she understood the story, pursues his wife, Evening Star, across the sky. Sometimes the two are close together, Evening Star in her pale glory, Morning Star red with his passion. But often she runs away, and Morning Star must have a woman. The People, the Horn People, have been chosen to provide this new wife whenever he demands it.
Yellow Basket remained fascinated by the legend, and was greatly honored, after her childbearing years were over, to be selected as one of the priestesses to serve the Morning Star Princess. She had now participated several times. She was the eldest of the four now, and her office carried much prestige. A great deal of the responsibility for the unseen events inside the Morning Star lodge fell to her. The priest wa
s in charge, of course, but the personal care of the Princess was assigned to her … Yellow Basket. The girl’s hair must be plaited exactly in the traditional fashion. She must be pampered and petted and honored.
Some of those selected had been better than others. There were those who fought the honor. It was possible, if the chosen bride remained reluctant, to administer a ceremonial drink concocted by the priest. That usually calmed the maiden’s doubts.
There had been one, a few years back, who had behaved very badly. Things had gone well until the time when the bride must mount the scaffold. The kicking and screaming when the priest’s assistants were forced to restrain her had been an embarrassment. The girl had continued to scream and shout in her own tongue until the sacred arrow flew. A few moments afterward, even. The corn had grown well. Moderately well, at least. Maybe that was when Yellow Basket had begun to have doubts again.
Now she looked at the present Morning Star Princess, still flushed with anger. Tears streamed down the girl’s face. It had been unfortunate, the arrival of the young warrior who claimed to be her man. It had certainly upset the smooth progression of the ceremonial preparation.
Yellow Basket had rather liked this princess from the first. This one had spirit, and was worthy of Morning Star. Tall, quite pretty in a confident, dignified way. There was a look of eagles in the wide-set eyes, a vision of distance. This would have been a woman who was a good friend and neighbor under other circumstances. The girl had been on a quest of some sort. Yellow Basket had explained to her that this was her quest. It must be so. The Wolf Man had been led to her by the vision of Morning Star, had he not?
The old priestess felt just a trifle guilty about interpreting events to match the upcoming ceremony. The girl had been searching, wearing that amulet of the people to the north. Yellow Basket had not asked all about that. There was no need to know. She had nodded, with the implication that yes, this was part of the overall plan. She had allowed the girl to wear the pendant under her dress, because it seemed important to her. No harm, if it would keep her calm.
Then came the young man. It had been a foolhardy thing, for a stranger to ride headlong into a village of the Pani, the Horn People. The men might easily have killed him. Maybe it would have been better if they had. But maybe not. There would still have been the problem that they now faced.
The young stranger insisted that this was his wife. He obviously had strong feelings for the girl. And she for him, Yellow Basket thought, though the girl denied it. He was quite handsome. If she had known someone like that in her own younger years … No matter. The problem was simple. Which one was lying?
It would not have mattered, except that the sequence of the Morning Star Ceremony had already begun. If the young man told the truth, this girl was no virgin. For her to be offered to Morning Star as a bride would be an unforgivable offense. Yellow Basket shuddered to think of the possible punishment that might be inflicted on the village by the wrath of Morning Star.
If the young man were lying, of course, the girl might still be a maiden. It had been assumed so, since the vision of the selected Wolf Man had led to this one. Yet, maybe not. Could this girl have only been in the wrong place, the wrong time? Did the Wolf Man make a mistake?
Yellow Basket had watched the argument outside, as the two principal figures accused each other of lies. It was hard to tell. She had been completely surprised at the command of the Morning Star Priest.
“Take her inside and see if she speaks truth!” he had ordered.
Now Yellow Basket took a deep breath. Here was a terrible responsibility. She glanced again at the proud girl, wiping the tears from her eyes.
If she tells truth, thought Yellow Basket, she is still a virgin bride for Morning Star. The man would be killed because he lied. Both would die then, he at the hands of the men who now waited outside, and the girl later on Morning Star’s bridal scaffold.
If the examination indicated that the girl was not a maiden, but a wife, she would be useless, even dangerous, for the ceremony. The priest might still decide to kill them both, but who knows the mind of the Morning Star Priest?
Two lives depend on my findings, Yellow Basket thought. But what will I find?
“I am to find whether you speak truth,” she signed to the girl.
Mouse shook her head, not understanding. “What?” she signed.
Well, let us get it over, thought Yellow Basket. She motioned to the other women.
In the space of a heartbeat the women had seized the girl and pinned her down on one of the bench-like beds. She struggled for a moment, then realized that it was useless. The struggles ceased. At least her pride does not let her cry out, thought Yellow Basket. She lifted the buckskin dress and ran a hand gently up the girl’s thigh. She did not know what to expect, but there was no question. The girl was telling the truth. Her young man was lying. They had not married.
“What is it?” asked one of the women.
Yellow Basket gave her a scornful sidewise glance. “I tell only the priest,” she said.
The women released the bewildered girl, who now signed angrily. “What is happening?”
“Never mind,” signed Yellow Basket. “It is nothing.”
Her findings solved the problem, of course. The young man would be killed and the ceremonial preparations would go on.
Then a thought came to her. The man must have known about the Morning Star Ceremony, and what it implied. But the girl does not! she thought. The young suitor had been willing to risk his life … no, to give his life, to try to save her. Ah, that any woman should have so devoted a man! The eyes of Yellow Basket filled with tears. She wiped them away.
She stooped to emerge from the doorway, and straightened to stride across the open space to where the Morning Star Priest waited.
“There has been a mistake,” she said, throwing a withering glance at the Wolf Man standing beside the priest. “This man, the stranger here, tells truth. If we gave this woman to Morning Star, we might all be destroyed. The woman is this man’s wife, as he said. You should thank him for saving us from a bigger mistake!”
39
The two rode in grim silence. Antelope had tried repeatedly to initiate conversation, and each time was met with angry words and dark looks.
He did not understand what had happened back there at the village of the Horn People. The old woman had come out of the lodge, spoken to the priest, and a brief argument ensued. There appeared to be angry words between the woman, the priest, and one of the warriors, who seemed to be a leader of some sort. There were gestures toward the lodge and toward Antelope, and at one point he gripped his weapon to fight if needed.
Then suddenly, it was over. The disgruntled priest, with a last disparaging look toward the warrior, turned and began to sign to Antelope.
“Take your woman and go! Do not come back!”
The old woman was bringing Gray Mouse from the lodge. The girl looked angry and confused.
“My woman’s horse?” Antelope inquired.
“They are bringing it,” the priest signed, his face dark.
Mouse stood, looking from the priest to Antelope and back again.
“What? What is it?” she signed.
There was no answer, and she turned to Antelope.
“What have you done?” she demanded.
“Nothing, Mouse. We are to be allowed to go.”
“They have treated me well!” she shouted at him. “Your lies have spoiled it all!”
“Mouse, be still! You do not know …”
The priest stepped forward to intervene. “You should silence your woman,” he signed. “Here is the horse. Now go!”
A man was approaching, leading the bay. He attempted to help the girl mount, but she pulled away angrily.
“I do not know what you have done, Antelope,” she spoke at him, “but I do not like it!”
She dug heels into the flanks of the bay and cantered out of the village, with Antelope close behind.
; “Wait!” he called. “You are going the wrong way. The People are to the south!”
“Your people,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Mine are to the north.”
She kicked the horse into a hard run before he could answer. It was some time before she drew rein. Both horses were blowing hard and Antelope had begun to fear that the animals would be injured.
“Mouse!” he began. “I must tell you about the Horn People, back there!”
“I know them, Antelope! Better than you. They respected me, honored me. Now that is gone. So I will find my own people. That is what I came to do anyway.”
She hurried on, though at a slower pace. That is good, thought Antelope. At least she has not gone completely mad. She saves her horse.
Realizing the futility of arguing with an angry woman, he rode silently. Once or twice he attempted light conversation unsuccessfully.
“Go on home!” she yelled at him. “I do not need you!”
He was tempted, but could not leave her. At least, not without explaining. No, he could not leave her anyway. He felt the need to support her quest, as one would for a sister or a friend. Yet his feelings for her were much deeper. He saw no alternative but to ride with her, to explain when the chance came. If, of course, he himself could understand what had occurred.
In the hurry to depart, and in Mouse’s anger, they had traveled somewhat farther than might be expected. By the time Sun Boy spread his paints across the western sky and prepared for the night, the Pani village was far behind them.
The girl chose the camping place, pulling her horse to a stop and swinging down. She said nothing, but began to gather sticks and tinder. Antelope watched for a few moments, and then gathered some fuel himself. He approached cautiously.
“May I share your fire?” he asked.
Mouse looked up, startled. Then their ridiculous plight seemed to dawn on her. She smiled thinly, not quite able to give up her anger.
Child of the Dead Page 23
