by Paul Clayton
“It is so,” said Swordbrought.
One of the smaller old men, with a large round belly, said, “We don’t know if these things are true; we only know that you have said them.”
“Yes,” said the other old man. “You could be drawing our warriors into a trap.”
Swordbrought held up his village’s medicine pipe bundle. “Why don’t we smoke? Then we will talk some more.”
Swordbrought took the pipe out of the bundle and performed the pipe ceremony. After they finished and the air was sweet with tobacco smoke, he said, “It seems like a long time since I left my town. My people sent me to you to hear their story, their plea. This I have done and I spoke true. Now, if you do not want to help us, I shall have to go on until I find some who will.”
A runner entered. He went quickly over to Tall Man and spoke softly into his ear. After the runner left, Tall Man spoke. “I have good news for you.”
Swordbrought’s heart quickened.
“Your companion is awake,” said Tall Man. “The medicine man said that he will be able to walk in four or five days.”
“That is good,” said Swordbrought. “We will leave then.”
“We will send warriors back with you,” said Tall Man.
Surprise was evident on Swordbrought’s face.
“We believed what you told us,” said Tall Man. “We only wanted to hear you speak.” He turned to the other old men. “He speaks like the son of a chief.”
The two men nodded.
“There is one thing,” said Tall Man. “We can only send four warriors back with you at this time.”
“Only four?” said Swordbrought, unable to conceal his disappointment.
Tall Man nodded somberly. “We are fighting a war now with the Chellagee people. Our chief and over two hundred of our warriors have been up in the mountains for two moons now. When they return, we will allow them to rest and then send them to Coosa Town to help you in your war with the Timucua.”
Swordbrought said nothing and the old man went on.
“Fox-Disappears and three others will go with you when your companion is ready. They will stay with you until the others arrive.”
Swordbrought smiled. “It is good, Grandfather! With four men such as these, we will quickly push back the Timucua. I am sure of it!”
Chapter 30
Calling Crow knew the woman who was called Mary was watching him as he walked off with the empty oaken buckets in his hands. He thought with sadness of his own woman in his village, so far away now. Despite himself, he turned back to look once more at this exotic beauty, Mary. She returned his look, then turned away, her hearty laughter echoing off the wet stone walls. Even though he knew it was directed at him, it was not mean-spirited and therefore not unpleasant. Besides, she was the only one in the place who acknowledged his presence. She had been teasing him every night now and he had grown used to it. Like the crystalline tones of Edward’s harp and the square of green grass in the garden, she was one of the few things of beauty in this sad, gray place.
When the women had all gone upstairs and silence engulfed the place, Calling Crow went looking for Edward. He could find him nowhere, and was starting back to his cell when he heard music. It was a fast, carefree tune. Hopeful and free, it beckoned him. He went to the rear of the house. The music was emanating from the garden behind the kitchen. As he drew near, the music seemed to get under his skin and into his blood. Like fire, it warmed him. Drawing closer, he found it was like laughter; it cheered him. He found himself thinking of the stories he had heard as a child of the little people who lived in the forest. In his head he could see them dancing about as they made their wonderful music. He entered the kitchen and the music became louder. His heart beat faster and faster to the sound. Pressing his face to the barred aperture, he peered out into the blackness of the garden. The music stopped. He waited but it did not resume. Saddened, he walked back toward the baths. He happened to look back over his shoulder at the heavy door to the garden and saw that it was now slightly ajar. He went back to it.
Calling Crow opened the door and stepped out into the garden, in the night. Edward sat on the garden bench; his harp resting on his lap. His faced was badly bruised from an apparent beating and his head hung as if he were asleep. He opened his eyes at Calling Crow’s approach.
“They’ve beaten you,” said Calling Crow.
“Fools,” said Edward. “Fools and brutes. They do not even believe you are a man.”
“Who?” Calling Crow was wary. He could tell that Edward had been drinking wine or beer.
“Amorgh and his man. They are looked upon by the house masters as less than men, yet they look upon you the same way.”
“It does not matter how they look upon me.”
“You know that you are a man, don’t you?” said Edward.
Calling Crow frowned. Wine and beer made men say strange things.
“It is high time for you to go home, my friend,” said Edward.
“Why do you torture me so?” said Calling Crow. “You know I have been trying to get out of here. I have not found a way yet.”
Edward shook his head. “Ah! I have been a bad influence on you and now you sound like me. You must get your fight back.”
Calling Crow said nothing.
Edward’s face turned grim. “A bird appeared to me in a dream last night and spoke to me. It said that you must soon be on your way, that it is very important.”
Calling Crow stared intently at Edward. “Yes, but I have lost my medicine pouch. Collier took it from me, along with my weapons.”
“What is this medicine you speak of?” said Edward.
“It is what your people call magic,” said Calling Crow. “Tell me, what kind of bird was in your dream?”
Edward seemed puzzled at the question. “A crow, of course. The old ones knew it as a sacred bird. It told them where to build their towns, it guided them in their travels, helped them settle disputes.”
Calling Crow looked at Edward questioningly. “And you believe in the crow?”
Edward looked up at the night sky. “Crows never lie.”
Calling Crow followed Edward’s gaze. The walls of the garden rose straight up as if the two men were at the bottom of a deep box. High above, thin, stringy clouds raced beneath a silver moon set in a cold, ebony sky.
“What else did the crow say?” said Calling Crow.
Edward looked at him piercingly. “It said that when the moon is full you should come out here to the garden. You will find three rocks arranged upon the ground. Dig in the middle of them and eat what you find there. Then you will be ready to go home.”
“I am ready now,” said Calling Crow. He turned away from Edward and walked to the corner of the garden. He ran his hands over the smooth stones of the walls. There were thin, shallow spaces in between the blocks that made up the wall. He jammed his fingers into these cracks and pulled himself up a few feet off the ground. Edward watched him with amusement. Calling Crow’s ankle chains rattled as he dug his toes into the cracks and slowly climbed about half his height from the ground. His fingers began to bleed, the blood running down the gray wall as he rested. The muscles in his back and legs convulsed from his exertions and his breath came in gasps. He looked up at the sky and continued slowly upward. He was out of reach by the time Amorgh and his man ran out into the garden.
Calling Crow heard them, but did not turn his head as he clung to the wall.
Amorgh looked at Edward in amazement.
Edward laughed. “He is quite a climber, eh? Like a fly.”
“You let him climb up?” shouted Amorgh.
Edward laughed. “Aye, and he may climb out of here yet.”
Amorgh motioned to his man and the man jumped at Calling Crow, but he was too high to reach. Amorgh grabbed the smaller man. “Go around in case he gets over.” The man ran off as Calling Crow resumed his slow climb. Amorgh flailed up at him with the whip.
“Look at him go,” said Edward laughing,
“He’s going to make it!”
“He’ll never make it. No one can climb to the top.” Amorgh angrily swung the whip upward and it wrapped itself around Calling Crow’s foot. Calling Crow stopped climbing. He shook his foot slightly and the whip fell away just as Amorgh hung his weight on it. Amorgh fell backward onto the grass.
Edward laughed drunkenly and Amorgh struck him in the face with his whip.
Calling Crow continued climbing. Half the wall still stretched above him. Below, Edward and Amorgh watched.
One of Calling Crow’s bloody feet lost its purchase and he swung outward from the wall, hanging only by his left hand and foot. He let go and dropped heavily onto the grass.
Amorgh ran over and kicked Calling Crow’s inert form. Putting one foot on his back, Amorgh looked over triumphantly at Edward. “I told you! No one can climb over this wall. No one.”
“It does not matter,” said Edward. “He is too wild. You cannot hold him.”
Amorgh scowled. “Perhaps you are right, not with iron chains. But, as you know, there are other chains, invisible, but stronger than mere iron.” Amorgh smiled. “I shall bind him even more tightly to this place. You shall see.”
Amorgh tucked his whip behind him as his man ran back into the garden. “Come. Let us get the savage into his cell!”
Chapter 31
When Calling Crow awoke the next morning, the chains around his ankles were gone and his cell was unlocked. This change intrigued him. Surely Amorgh and his man would be watching him even more vigilantly now. What was Amorgh planning?
At night, Edward disappeared somewhere as Calling Crow carried the water buckets and fed the great fire that heated the water. He kept his eyes on the ground as he worked and gradually the noise of the place died down and the people went away. Soon the great house grew quiet. Calling Crow had started back to his cell when a blur of yellow streaked across the sad gray of the walls. Turning, he saw nothing. Then a tiny yellow bird fluttered around the wall and raced toward the front of the house. He followed it to the bottom of the stairs, but it had disappeared.
Calling Crow noticed a strange thing-- a cold breeze pouring swiftly down the stairs, as if the door at the top were open. He had never noticed this before. He crept closer, thinking that Amorgh and his men must be hiding, that it was some kind of trick. But there was no one there. Intrigued, he placed his foot on the first stair. The river of air stopped! Despite that he decided to go up. There might be a way out.
Calling Crow climbed the stairs without a sound and found the door to the house locked firmly from within. He was about to go back downstairs when again the little yellow bird darted by. It fluttered up the stairway that led to the women’s quarters at the top of the house. Calling Crow started up, but saw no one. They were all asleep. Was there a way out up above, a window he could climb out of? He lay his feet down without a sound, slowly mounting the stairs. He came up into a long corridor with many doors. One of them was open halfway, the dimly lit interior beckoning. Again he wondered if this was a trap set for him by Amorgh and his man. It didn’t matter, he decided. If there was even the slightest chance of escape, he must explore it. He went to the door and looked in.
Soft golden light illuminated the room. Mary smiled at him from where she sat upon her bed, an oil lamp burning on a small table beside her. She was wearing a gown the likes of which he had never known existed. It was magical, like a light veil of mist in the morning. It allowed the eyes to see through it to her body. The tiny yellow bird sang happily inside a wicker cage. Calling Crow stepped inside the room and closed the door. The caged bird suddenly grew quiet.
Calling Crow looked over at the bird and it jumped from branch to branch of the little dead tree that was affixed to the inside of its cage.
“His name is George,” said Mary, as she watched the little bird jump about. “Your wildness scares him.”
Calling Crow said nothing for a moment, staring instead at the aperture that was cut into the stone wall. Flanked by two wooden shutters, the hole was too small for anyone but a child to squeeze through. Cool night air moved through it teasingly and he could smell the river in it. A small room had been cut into the other wall. The curtains which covered it were not completely closed and he could see that it led nowhere and was simply a place for Mary to hang her clothes. He looked back at her.
“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come,” she said.
“I thought this was a way out of here,” he said sadly. “That is why I came.”
“There is no way out,” she said.
Calling Crow again looked around the room. A wooden chest of drawers sat on one side of the room; a single chair under the window on the other. The bird began to sing again in its tiny voice. Mary ran her hand over the bedclothes. “Bolt the door and come here. Amorgh and his men are away, but I don’t know how much time we have till they return.”
Calling Crow threw the bolt and went to her. He sat on the edge of the bed, mesmerized. She was even more beautiful here than she was downstairs. He looked through the magic gown at her soft white breasts, her wide hips and the tawny hair of her womanhood. She took his hand and placed it upon her leg. He felt as if she’d placed a spell upon him and stared at his hand, marveling at the smoothness and color of her skin against his own.
He took his hand away. What was she doing to him? “Do you know when Amorgh and his men come and go?” he asked her.
She ignored his question. “I dreamt of you last night,” she said.
Calling Crow looked into her eyes. They were as deep as the sea and he was sinking into them. “I have dreamed of you too,” he said, “even when I am awake. Many times.”
Aieyee!” He got to his feet and turned away from her. “That is not why I came up here.”
“Are you sure?” she said softly.
He turned his back to her. “Yes. Tell me, where does Edward go at night?”
“He changes into a bird and flies away.”
Calling Crow turned to her. “You have seen this?”
Mary shook her head solemnly. “No, but everybody says it is so. He talks to the angels.”
“The angels?”
“The spirits in the trees, the water-- That is why Amorgh has not killed him. He is afraid of him. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Yes,” said Calling Crow slowly, “He will strike him, but he seems afraid to go further. How did Edward come to be in this place?”
“He made an enemy of a priest in the countryside. They said he was conducting ceremonies in the old ways in the forest at night. They could never catch him, of course. But then someone found secret books hidden in his house and he had to go into hiding.”
Somewhere a heavy iron door closed. The sound reverberated through the stone walls.
Mary got out of the bed. “It is Amorgh,” she said. “You must go now or you will get a whipping for being up here.”
In the quiet of the stone stairway, Calling Crow could still see her beauty. Despite that, his longing to be away from this place flared anew. Amorgh and his man went away from time to time. Mary knew when. Perhaps she could get him the key-- Calling Crow’s mind raced. He must get back to Samuel’s, and soon! And then he and Red Feather could make the crossing for home. In one moon’s time the villagers would be harvesting the first corn. Then they would plant the second corn. Inside Calling Crow’s head a tiny voice cried out in panic. Was it already too late? No! he thought emphatically, pushing the thought from his head. Had not Sees Far told them they would return in time? Aieyee! It must be so! But he must hurry!
Chapter 32
Reginald Burton wiped his whiskered lips with the back of his hand and lowered the tankard to the thick oaken table with a loud thump. He looked around the Tabard at the other customers-- shopkeepers in aprons, iron mongers with blackened hands, tailors, their doublets riddled with pins, gaunt-faced hod carriers-- all of them clustered in groups at different tables, laughing or arguing loudly as they slowly drank themselves into a pleasant numbn
ess. In the other, smaller rooms, the gentlemen talked calmly, leaning forward on occasion to get a word in to a confidant over the noisy racket. Burton sighed with content and took another swallow of his beer. Back at Collier’s fair, the smaller wild man was still bringing in many customers and the show was making money. Collier had sent him in to the city to purchase their bread and provisions as he usually did. But this time there would be a special side trip to the brothel. He had a message to deliver to the savage. It was part of the plan Collier and Amorgh had decided upon to take the fire out of him. Burton frowned. If he were running things, he would do it with a whip. In a week the savage would be licking his boots.
Burton fingered the money in his purse. While at the brothel he would combine a little of his own pleasure with Collier’s business.
A serving girl suddenly appeared before Burton, startling him. She leaned forward to pour for him and his pulse quickened at the sight of the ripe young breasts beneath her bodice. She seemed repulsed by his interest, pulling away to disappear quickly into another one of the dingy rooms. Burton cursed and drained his tankard. He put a copper on the table and got slowly to his feet, pushing through the crowd to the door.
Outside, the light of late afternoon hurt his bloodshot eyes. He looked around, getting his bearings, then began walking in the direction of the brothel. More noises assaulted him on the busy street, but they were of a more musical kind. Schoolboys sang and shouted shrilly to one another as they made their way home; shoppers haggled as fishwives called out their wares; somewhere a blacksmith’s hammer clanged rhythmically on an anvil. Burton hadn’t lain with a woman in months and his lust began to build as he drew closer to his destination. A clubfooted beggar brushed by him and he reflexively put his hand over the purse in his breeches pocket. Soon he could see the bell tower of St. Saviour’s Church rising on the left above the tall houses and shops, then, straight ahead, the pincushion-like display of pike-mounted severed heads which crowned the southern gateway of the London Bridge. The sight cheered him, for he was almost there. Quickening his pace, he whistled a tune.