Savage Enchantment

by Parris Afton Bonds

  "It's going to be all right, Margarita," Kathleen said, and took Chela from her. "We're still alive, at least."

  Another burden was lifted from Kathleen's shoulders when they reached camp and she saw that the men of Simon's who had remained behind had been spared. She found Renaldo, among the prisoners and caught the flicker of relief pass over his own countenance when he saw that she was unharmed.

  The women and children were herded into a circle with the men and forced to sit on the ground by guards who wielded their rifles like clubs.

  From one of triumph. Aguila's mood switched to a sullen nastiness. He came over to Kathleen and said, "Where is your husband, señora?"

  "I don't know."

  Gladly she would have liked to tell the lieutenant. It was her chance to even the score with Simon. The coward! He had ridden off to leave his followers to this massacre. Oh, if she only knew where he was!

  Aguila nodded at one of his soldiers, and the man lifted his musket and fired into the sitting crowd of prisoners. There was a scream as a vaquero Kathleen had seen often about the camp slumped forward.

  "Each time I ask you, señora," Aguila said with a silky smile, "and don't receive my answer, one of them will die."

  "For God's sake," Kathleen cried, "I don't know where he is! None of us know! DO you think Simon would be so stupid as to inform anyone of his plans?"

  The unblinking eyes studied her and then slid over to the huddled mass. "Move them out," he called sharply. "Then fire the wickiups."

  He turned back to her, and she whispered, "What will you do with us?"

  "For them -- slave labor. Our illustrious grandees will pay a great deal for someone to do their work for them. Yes, labor is much better than death, wouldn't you say?"

  His hand crawled up her waist to squeeze brutally one breast, and Kathleen cried out, swaying in pain.

  "For you I have other plans. And afterwards -- perhaps death would be better, señora. For I do not take slights lightly."

  The march out of the camp began that same afternoon. It was something Kathleen was never to forget. Ringed by the mounted soldiers, she and the other prisoners were driven like cattle up out of the valley. She paused once to look backwards at the flaming wickiups, committing the place to memory before stumbling ahead again.

  Often one of the prisoners would slip on the rocky trail, and the bull whip used on oxen and jackasses would descend across their backs. Kathleen kept Chela close to her side, and herself twisted an ankle trying to lift the girl over a rock-strewn ravine. But when she paused to rub the rapidly swelling leg, a one-eared soldier prodded her in the ribs with the butt of his rifle. She would receive no blows across her face, for word had already been given out that the "golden one" was to be given no visible markings.

  That first evening, camp was made near Placerita Canyon, where Margarita told her a large quantity of gold had been discovered nearly three years earlier. In the craggy walls could be seen the dark holes of mine shafts, gaping eerily in the twilight. So different from the tranquil evenings of the ranchería's peacefulness.

  Simon may have been harsh and merciless at times, but he was not a sadist. And if she had trembled with fear then, she shook now as if she were in the throes of an ague. Renaldo, thinking the cool mountain air chilled her, offered his jacket.

  "Gracias, Renaldo, but it isn't the cold that makes me tremble."

  His face was badly puffed where he had been beaten, but the swollen eyes still look out at her with kind concern. "Don't worry, señora. El jefe will find us. He'll save us."

  "Where was he when the others were shot down like mad dogs?" she asked bitterly. "Did he save them" No! He hightailed it out of camp ahead of time to save his own hide!"

  "I won't believe that, señora."

  "Your loyalty is admirable, but will it keep these pigs at bay? No, you know it won't. You make a good but foolish friend, Renaldo."

  Kathleen looked down at Chela's tousled head cradled in her lap. The child slept so peacefully, unaware of what suffering might lay ahead of her, and Kathleen thought that it was better so. Chela was too young to miss the mother, who now lay dead somewhere along the river bank. And too young to be afraid yet. "As I am." Kathleen said to herself. "I'm the cowardly one. I, who always scorned timid people."

  "Mujer!" a gravelly voice called. "El teniente wants you."

  Kathleen looked up at the beefy soldier who stood over her and wished at that moment she was back there at the river bank ... dead along with COncha and the others.

  Chapter 25

  Kathleen handed the sleeping Chela over to Margarita and wearily pushed herself up. She followed the corpulent soldier across to a tent that had been hastily erected in the lee of a jutting glacial boulder. Taking a deep breath, she pulled aside the tent flap. A candle flickered on the table with the breeze that ushered in, casting the giant shadow of Aguila in every corner of the tent.

  He crossed to her and stood before her so that she could smell the sour reek of wind about him. He thrust the half-empty bottle at her. "Drink it."

  She turned her head away with a grimace.

  "I said drink it!"

  Kathleen knew Aguila was looking for the slightest reason to exert his brutality, to find an outlet for his anger at letting Simon slip through his fingers. She took the wicker-covered bulbous flask. But when she gingerly held the bottle to her lips, Aguila grabbed it and tilted it upright so that the purple liquid overflowed her mouth and ran down her neck into the cleavage of her breasts, staining the white, low-cut blouse.

  Aguila's fair hand slid down the sticky trail of wine to cup one breast. "Now, mi amor," he whispered thickly, "I wish to sample the charms you've given so freely to your cholo."

  Kathleen took a step backward and encountered the canvas wall of the tent.

  "Strip," Aguila snapped, "or I'll have my men do it for you."

  His eyes narrowed above the thin smile. "In fact, I might like that even better."

  "No-no, I'll take off my clothes."

  "I thought you would."

  When the clothes lay in a mound about her ankles, an opaque film seemed to slide over the hooded eyes. "Now get on your knees."

  Slowly, unbelievingly, Kathleen went down as the officer fumbled at his belt. What followed Kathleen succeeded in blanking from her mind, as if she stood apart from the depth of debauchery the girl was forced to sink. But after that night the scenes would return to haunt her, to drive her to what she thought must be the limits of madness, as she would hear herself silently laughing -- laughing at the preposterous but wholly true idea that had she been a virgin when she entered Aguila's tent, she would have left a virgin; for the officer was impotent.

  But with the return of these memories, the name she would curse would not be that of the lieutenant. It was the name of Simon Reyes. For it was he who had tricked her into marriage, who had held her as a captive. And it was he who had deserted her, leaving her to face Aguila's licentious cruelty.

  When she left the tent at dawn, Aguila's heavy snores following her, a heavily armed guard outside escorted her back to the circle of sleeping forms. Renaldo sat up immediately, but she could not meet the questioning look in his eyes. For a long time now she had suspected he was half in love with her. She would not inflict pain on the idealist now.

  She dropped to the ground and buried her head in her arms. "I'm all right," she mumbled, before drifting off to a numbing sleep.

  Within two hours she was roused once more, with only bits of jerky to serve as breakfast, and the march resumed. Moving westward, the company of soldiers and the depleted remainder of Simon's camp set off along the Santa Susana foothills. When noon came, the prisoners were allowed a brief rest beneath lofty firs and were given one canteen of water, which they passed around -- but no nourishment.

  Then, jabbed by the soldiers' rifles, they were on the move again; walking, scrambling up stony inclines, walking, and walking. Kathleen, carrying Chela on her back, concentrated on putting one f
oot before the other. Blisters bubbled on the soles of her feet which the huaraches did nothing to alleviate, and perspiration soaked her clothing. Though the evening mercifully drew near, she felt her skin crawl with goosebumps that alternated with hot and cold flashes.

  But it was Margarita who suffered the most, for her strength was rapidly reaching its end. Renaldo and Temcal had taken turns supporting Margarita, but were forced to let her walk on her own when Temcal, pausing for Margarita to catch her breath, was whacked across the jaw with a rifle.

  "Get moving," the soldier ordered.

  Blood flowing from his mouth, the Indian youth spat out two teeth. Renaldo crouched to jump the soldier, but Kathleen grabbed his arm. "Getting yourself killed won't help Margarita," she hissed.

  And so each hobbled forward on their own under the watchful eyes of the guards.

  The soldiers, who were mounted, were less affected by the march, but they too were weary, and were relieved when Aquila at last gave the signal to halt at the bottom of a high, barren bluff. Kathleen helped make a grass-tufted bed for Margarita, who moaned softly and held her rounded stomach. She tried to give the woman a little of the water that had again been portioned out for the prisoners, and some bitter acorns she had surreptitiously gathered along the march that day. But the young girl turned her head away, and her cracked lips trembled. "I'll not live, señora, to have the child."

  "Of course you will, Margarita. But you need to eat -- at least for the sake of your bebé."

  "Por qué? Najo is dead. And what hope is there for our child ... if he survives the white man's diseases? To be looked down upon because he is an Indian. That is all there is for him. No, it is better that I should die. Leave me be, señora."

  "No! You're talking foolishly. You're just tired. I won't leave you until you eat something."

  But Kathleen was forced to leave Margarita only a few minutes later. A shadow came to halt over her kneeling form. Slowly, apprehensively, she looked up to find the same beefy soldier who had escorted her to Aguila's tent the previous night.

  Kathleen's insides shrivled into palpitating knots. Unsteadily, she stood and wordlessly followed the man. She saw Renaldo half rise, and warningly she shook her head.

  By the time she reached the tent, Kathleen was in a near state of self-induced hypnosis. Her purple eyes were as glassy as the hooded eyes of the man who waited for her within.

  "Ven aquí," he said when she entered.

  Kathleen crossed to the cot he sat on, and he said, "Ah, mi amor, you're much more obedient than you were last night. Perhaps I am teaching you something."

  She made no reply, and Aguila gave a loud, raucous laugh that terminated abruptly. "Take off your clothes."

  Stiffly she complied, inwardly cringing with disgust as his gaze crept over her like a fat, repugnant caterpillar. When she dropped the chemise, he said, "I find I'm too tired to participate in our lovemaking tonight."

  Kathleen almost swayed with relief, until she saw the sly expression slide over his face.

  "But I'm sure I shall enjoy watching you and my corporal."

  "Pablo," he said, and there was a rustle from the shadows in the far corner of the tent as the gorillalike man rose and shuffled toward them.

  "No!" she screamed and thew herself on Aguila, knocking him backward on the cot.

  His knee caught her on her pelvis with a sharp crack, and the corporal jerked her off Aguila, bending her arms behind her in such an awkward position she thought surely her bones would snap from their sockets.

  Aguila's smile was almost kind, and Kathleen felt an insane urge to laugh at the parody.

  "You can't know how pleased I am that you prefer me over my corporal. And, of course, you'll show me your appreciation, won't you. Señora Reyes?"

  When Kathleen made no answer, he shoved the butt of his quirt in her stomach.

  Kathleen gasped and doubled over, clutching her sides.

  "Well?"

  She nodded like the dumb animal she felt, and Aguila barked at his corporal. "Váyate!"

  Then she and Aguila were alone.

  Chapter 26

  When Kathleen returned to her companions at dawn, she found that Margarita had died quietly during the night. Kathleen's own strength was sapping rapidly with the little sleep she was getting and the harrowing nights she underwent.

  Renaldo, seeing the dark shadows beneath her violet eyes and the hollows that contoured her cheeks, crossed to her and led her to a comfortable spot beneath a Spanish oak, where Chela slept curled up against the gnarled trunk. He ignored the glare from the guard. "Try to keep up your strength, señora," he whispered. "By tonight we shall reach the mission of Buenaventura."

  Kathleens eyes widened. "Simon is there? They plan to capture him?"

  Renaldo shook his head, and put a finger to his lips. "No, I don't know where el jefe is. But there is a way station at the pueblo there, and the owner is sympathetic to our cause."

  "Of course," Kathleen said, remembering the little monkey-faced man and the enigmatic exchange between him and Simon about the vulture, the cóndor. "Juan."

  Sí, Juan. His stables serve as one of the warehouses for the artillery we're importing."

  Then Nathan, Kathleen realized, was also involved in the revolution. And the venture of his and Simon's in the importation of household goods was a front. But before she could question Renaldo, he said, "Juan is our only hope. Through him we maybe can get word to el jefe before it's too late -- before we're shipped out."

  "Where, Renaldo? Why?"

  "Who knows where -- Mexico, the Oregon Territory. Wherever there is a market for slaves."

  A grim smile broke the frown of concentration on Kathleen's face. The way she looked now -- her face bronzed by the sun and her hair darkened with grime and hanging in heavy braids over her shoulders -- she could be easily sold off as an Indian slave. How ironic it would be to find herself on an auction block in Virginia or North Carolina.

  "I don't understand, Renaldo," Kathleen whispered tensely, huddling closer to Chela against the early morning chill. "How can Micheltorena do anything with us when he hasn't any real proof all of you are the revolutionaries he's hunting?"

  "He doesn't need any proof, señora. He's already established his own form of law. He'll probably wash his hands of the matter and hand us over to a local official to dispose of as the man wishes ... except for you."

  "Me?"

  "If Aguila gets to Micheltorena -- if he can persuade el governador you are the wife of El Cóndor -- then you'll be held as a hostage. When el jefe comes for you --"

  "He won't."

  Renaldo's eyes were no longer soft. "I don't know what's between your husband and you, señora, but I know el jefe -- the man he is. His pride alone would never allow Micheltorena to hold you."

  "Then you don't know the man entirely," Kathleen said, hating the waspish sound of her voice. She turned away and lay on her side, hoping to get some rest before the camp would be awakened for the day's march. But she was soon on her feet again as the soldiers on horseback encircled the prisoners and herded them along the main trail that led through the Santa Susana Pass northward toward the Santa Clara River.

  Whenever Kathleen slipped on the rocky path that at places was hemmed in by sheer cliffs, Renaldo was always there to catch her elbow, supporting her until she could regain her balance.

  "Renaldo, will you forgive my sharp words?" she asked when the march at last broke for the siesta on the banks of the Santa Clara.

  Renaldo smiled. "Your words were whipped away by the winds before they ever reached my ears, señora."

  The river was now only a thin trickle of a stream after the drought of the dry season, but the water was a luxury to Kathleen. It soothed her aching feet and washed away the blood that oozed from the broken blisters. She sat on the bank with four other women who had survived the raid and the subsequent march, but since she did not understand their Indian dialect that well, she felt totally isolated but for Renaldo and
Chela, who played delightedly in the water.

  Kathleen badly missed the companionship of Margarita. The friendly Indian girl, her babe still in her womb, lay in the grassy fields beneath a crudely constructed wooden cross. Kathleen could not help but wonder if the woman was not better of.

  Sadly she rose, only to encounter Aguila astride his palomino with two of his soldiers in attendance. She refused to look at the officer but could feel the hooded gaze crawl over her skin as he and his men passed on to the front of the line.

  The sun, which had been an ominous red throughout the day, was in Kthleen's eyes when she and the prisoners crested the ridge and looked down upon the pueblo of San Buenaventura and beyond it the blue-gray horizon of the Pacific Ocean.

  Kathleen halted there at the ridge. In the orange-red twilight she could dimly perceive the way station. Renaldo had told her he had overheard that the soldiers would bivouac there that night. That night. Kathleen suddered at the abhorrence that awaited her there that night. Her stomach churned in a nauseous roll.

  How foolish and naïve she had been six months ago! To think that she alone could outwit her father, elude the machinations of Edmund, and still manage to escape unblemished. She had only blundered into one predicament after another, each worse than the preceding one.

  Kathleen straightened up, and her eyes narrowed into purple slits of resolution. No, she was no longer the innocent young virgin who had left Boston so blithely. But she was a woman now, stronger -- more endurable. Capable of surviving anything. She would survive to see the man whose very existence had plagued her from that first night at La Palacia. Who had betrayed her time and again. She would survive to see Simon Reyes's downfall.

  The moon rode high in the cloudless sky by the time the prisoners and their captors reached the manure-spotted yard of the way station. Like wild horses, the prisoners were corralled in the wooden pen while the soldiers forcibly entered the adobe ranch house and ordered its patrons outside. The patrons, most of them bedraggled peons or scruffy-looking vaqueros, eyed the prisoners curiously before scurrying off in the darkness to their homes.