by Tommie Lyn
They sat in silence for a while.
“So you were captured and shipped to the colonies as a prisoner?”
“Aye. And sold as a slave. I’ve been a slave for the past two years.”
Gòrdan grimaced and shook his head. Without a word, he rose and stalked outside.
____________
“Ailean, you’ve been here almost two weeks now. Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Gòrdan asked one afternoon.
“No. My mind is…it’s a jumble of thoughts. If they would let me climb to the top of one of the peaks so I could sit and think everything over, maybe I could clear my mind enough to decide what I want to do.”
“They won’t. You’re here on sufferance, allowed to be here unharmed because of the goodwill they bear toward me, but, well, just don’t try anything like that right now.”
Neither spoke for a few minutes.
“You must decide something soon. I’ve been hearing talk. Some of the young men are unhappy with the attention you’ve been receiving from the young women.”
“I’m not inviting it.” Ailean smiled and said, “I suppose I’m just too handsome for my own good.”
That’s something Coinneach would have said, he thought, and his smile disappeared.
“Handsome or not, they’re unhappy. And some have pointed out that you’re not contributing. You’re not hunting and providing meat, you’re not doing much of anything—”
A man came to the door of the house, said a few words and left. Gòrdan and his wife, Tayeni, both rose, and Tayeni headed out the door.
Gòrdan followed but paused and turned to Ailean. “Stay here. Stay inside. They’ve called a village meeting. We’ll be back when it’s over.”
And he left. When he and Tayeni returned later, his face wore an uneasy expression.
“What is it?” Ailean asked. “Is anything wrong?”
Gòrdan put a small piece of wood on the fire and sat before he answered. “Each year, our village plays anetsa with a rival village, but this year, they can’t find enough young men willing to play. And they’re unhappy. I don’t feel comfortable when they’re unhappy.”
“What’s anetsa?” Ailean asked.
“It’s a ball game. They play it with sticks that have a small basket on the end. They pick up the ball with their sticks and try to make a goal. The first team to make twelve goals wins.”
“Sounds like camanachd.”
“Not exactly. In camanachd, you hit the ball to the goal with your stick. In anetsa, you pick it up with your stick and carry it or throw it to the goal.”
“In a village this size, there surely ought to be enough men to make up a team.”
“There are. There just aren’t enough who are willing to play this year. The village lost games each of the last five years. There have to be at least twelve men on a team, and so far only eleven have agreed to play. Nobody wants to be part of a further disgrace.”
The mention of camanachd transported Ailean to another time and place, a time when he’d been honored and celebrated by his clan. A time when his prowess as a camanachd player brought him the respect he craved.
A thought occurred to him. If he played anetsa, could he evoke the same respect and honor from Ani-Tsalagi? He had no doubt he could play the game. Throughout his life, he’d always excelled at any physical activity. If he won the ballgame for Gulahiyi village, as he’d won every camanachd game for his clan, would the villagers consider it a contribution?
“Do you think they’d let me play?” he asked. “I was good at camanachd. Our clan never lost a game after I was old enough to play.”
“I don’t know if they’d let a stranger play. And even if they would…” Gòrdan shook his head. “You don’t know what you’d be getting yourself into. It’s a rough game. More violent than camanachd. Men get hurt and even killed playing anetsa. A man of this village died during the last game.”
“But if I played, and if we won, wouldn’t they consider that a contribution?”
“Maybe.” Gòrdan was silent for a few minutes. “I’ll tell them you’re willing, but I don’t know if they’ll accept you.”
Gòrdan delivered the message, and the village elders called a meeting to discuss the proposal. Some villagers raised vehement objections to allowing the white man to play on the Gulahiyi village team, while others considered it the only way out of an untenable situation.
After much discussion, they decided accepting Ailean as a player was their only option. They chose a date for the game and dispatched a runner to the rival village to make the proposal. The people of Kanugulayi accepted, and Ailean entered four weeks of rigorous training with the other players.
They practiced grabbing the ball with their sticks, throwing it, tackling other players, and they learned other tactics of playing the game. They adhered to rigid dietary and behavior restrictions throughout the training period. The trainers allowed Gòrdan to stay with Ailean to translate their instructions.
Two of the other players were the young men who had tried to make Ailean leave his seat by the river, and they made no secret of the fact they didn’t like Ailean and resented his playing. Ustahli, the taller and heavier of the two, seemed to harbor an especially virulent animosity toward Ailean. Also among the players was Tenahwosi, one of the two men who had captured Ailean.
Once during practice, Ustahli used an opportunity to tackle Ailean from behind with unnecessary force, and tried to hold him down while his companion beat Ailean with his sticks. Tenahwosi pushed away the man wielding the sticks while Ailean knocked Ustahli down and got to his feet. Tenahwosi spoke to the pair angrily. Ustahli glared at Tenahwosi and stalked away with his companion. Afterward, Tenahwosi stayed close to Ailean.
THIRTY-NINE
The evening before the game, people of the village gathered around a fire built on the flat ground in front of the town house. The players danced to the monotonous drum beat, encircling the fire, while women sang and danced in an outer circle around them. The dancing continued until daybreak. Ailean was tired from the night’s activity, but there was no time for rest. Other ceremonies had to be performed before the game could be played.
On the way to the ball ground, situated halfway between the villages, a shaman performed a series of purification rituals, one of which was a scratching of each player’s body with sharpened turkey bones. The scratching was painful, but Ailean endured the pain stoically while the other players watched for signs of cowardice in the white man.
They rubbed their bodies with grease and decorated themselves with paint. All the players were dressed in loin cloths and all wore moccasins, except for Ailean, who was barefoot. He had no moccasins and didn’t want any. He had always played camanachd barefoot, and he believed it gave him some measure of surefootedness that players who used footwear lacked.
Some of the men wore feathers and other decorations which they believed lent them special powers and gifts for the grueling game ahead. Ailean’s one talisman was the tattered piece of his tunic he’d saved. He fingered it gently, kissed it and tucked it next to his skin at his waist behind the loin cloth.
The upright posts of the goals were already set in place at each end of the ball ground when people of both villages gathered. Betting on the game began in earnest, with blankets, weapons, trinkets and other items being wagered on the outcome. The players came onto the field at midday.
Ailean soon learned why the game was called anetsa, “little brother of war.” The play was vigorous and at times became vicious, with players tackling, hitting, kicking and using their sticks on one another as they went after the ball.
A man from the rival team scooped the ball from the ground with his ball stick and ran toward his team’s goal. One of Ailean’s teammates tackled the man. The two men apparently forgot the ball as they fought each other, and a player from Gulahiyi village recovered the ball. Game officials stopped play momentarily to break up the fight.
An official put the ball into play again
, and Tenahwosi secured the ball with his stick. He came running past Ailean toward the goal, followed by three opposing players. Ailean dived toward the three pursuers, blocking their progress so Tenahwosi could make it to the goal. Ailean and the men fell in a pile, and as they extricated themselves, each of the three glowered at Ailean. One of them said something Ailean assumed was a threat.
Tenahwosi scored and the ball was put back into play, but two of the men Ailean had tackled didn’t go after the ball. They came after Ailean, crashed into him with their bodies and sticks. They knocked him to the ground, kicked and stomped him as he struggled to get up. One of them swung his stick and hit Ailean on top of the head. The hard blow cut his scalp, and blood flowed. The clout awakened Ailean’s anger and imparted the strength he needed to rise and rejoin the fray.
A man on the opposing team made a goal and, again, the ball was put into play. A player from the opposing team tried to pick up the ball with his stick but hit it a glancing blow instead, and it landed at Ailean’s feet. He scooped it up and two men immediately closed on him, one on each side, flailing his head and shoulders with their sticks, bruising him and breaking the skin, trying to make him drop the ball.
Ustahli threw himself at Ailean’s feet while his friend banged into Ailean from behind and knocked him down. The ball rolled free. Ailean’s anger built. Other players, some from the rival team, some from Ailean’s own team, also joined the scuffle, all of them kicking and beating Ailean. He caught a glimpse of one of the game officials watching the fight with his arms crossed, an amused look on his face. The man made no move to break up the fight.
One by one, the players attacking Ailean were shoved away or knocked down from behind, which allowed Ailean to push himself up from the ground. He stood and came face to face with Tenahwosi, who had rescued him.
The game officials stopped the game and put the ball back into play.
Ustahli and his friend went after Tenahwosi. Ustahli tackled him, knocked him down and slammed Tenahwosi’s head onto the ground with a sickening thud. Tenahwosi’s body went limp, but Ustahli and his friend set upon the unconscious man and beat him with their sticks. Ailean tore over to help Tenahwosi, and Ustahli tripped Ailean with a thrust of his stick.
Ailean hit the ground, and the men who had attacked Tenahwosi turned their attention to him. The two of them piled on top of him while others beat him with their sticks.
Ailean turned his head to the side, saw Tenahwosi’s slack face, saw his eyelids flutter open. Tenahwosi tried to rise, but a player from his own team pushed him down again. Ailean’s anger erupted into a fury that surged through him. He came up from the ground, yelling with all his might, knocking his attackers aside.
The game officials stopped the game again. Tenahwosi was carried from the field and play resumed.
When the official put the ball into play, Ailean, still enraged, went after the player from the opposing team who had grabbed the ball. Ailean tore across the field, slapped the ball from the player’s ball stick and grabbed it with his own. Instantly, he was assailed by a cluster of opposing players, but he held the ball above their reach and ran through the group, knocking them aside as though they were dry leaves swept before a powerful wind. He reached the goal, and the game official put the ball into play again.
A man of his team who had attacked Tenahwosi picked up the ball with his stick and ran toward the goal. In a few strides, Ailean overtook him and knocked the ball from his stick. Ailean gathered up the ball and charged to the goal.
The wild pandemonium from the spectators died down and silence reigned as they watched the bloodied white man fight his way through the swinging sticks and kicks and saw him slip from the attempted tackles from his opponents as well as from some of his own team members.
Blood ran down Ailean’s shoulders, arms and legs from the numerous cuts that had been inflicted on him. The copious amount of blood, combined with the grease he’d rubbed on his body, made him so slippery that no other player could grab him to slow him down or stop him. And he was so tall they could not easily reach his ball stick to dislodge the ball.
Ailean’s rage was fueled and renewed by each assault, and he battered his attackers, letting his wrath pour onto those hapless players who came within reach. His anger over the loss of all he loved and over the all injustices he had suffered, anger which he had suppressed, welled up and spilled onto the players around him. He fought, kicked, banged into them and sliced at them with his second stick. He finally flung the ball between the upright posts of the goal.
The players returned to the center of the field, many limping, tired and now wary of the big white man. When the ball was put into play again, Ailean took control of it once more and ran toward his goal. As he passed an opposing player, he swung his second stick at the man’s head, but the man ducked and tripped Ailean with one of his sticks. The ball rolled free when Ailean hit the ground. He pushed himself up and was on his feet in an instant.
An opposing player recovered the ball, and Ailean went after him, fierce and vengeful. When he drew near, he jumped into the air and tackled the man, both of them hitting the ground with force and an audible crack. Ailean leaped up, recovered the ball and sped to his goal. The other man lay groaning on the ground, his arm broken.
Just before dusk, the Gulahiyi village team made the final, winning goal which ended the game. The players of both teams seemed ready to collapse from exhaustion and pain. Blood from the gashes on his head flowed into Ailean’s eyes, down his face, and dripped from his beard. It ran down his chest, mingling with blood from the numerous cuts all over his body.
He could barely see. He stood, head hanging, chest heaving, wavering and unsteady, covered with blood from his head to his feet, fatigue and weakness draining away the last of his strength now that his anger was spent.
Gòrdan approached him and stood beside him, saying nothing at first. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Ailean raised his head and tried to wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. He squinted at Gòrdan. “I’m all right,” he said.
“You’re a wild man, MacLachlainn,” Gòrdan said. “If you play camanachd like you play anetsa, I can see why your clan never lost a game.”
____________
Ailean’s status in the village changed after the anetsa game. Men showed him an uneasy respect and young unmarried women gave him more intense appraising looks. They smiled at him whenever he looked their way, inviting and coquettish. No guards monitored him when he walked, slow and stiff, through the village and its environs. He assumed that if he decided to leave, he could depart unchallenged, but he didn’t test that assumption. He remained a guest of Gòrdan MacAntoisch and his wife Tayeni.
“It seems to me that some people here have changed their opinion of me,” Ailean said one afternoon a few days after the game.
“Aye, some have,” Gòrdan agreed. “And they’ve given you a name. They call you Asgayagiga. Means Bloody Man.”
It was a few minutes before Ailean spoke. “I guess I am a bloody man,” he said. “Blood and torment follow me wherever I go.”
He hesitated, then spoke again. “I’d like to rent a plot of land. Could you tell them? Ask if they would consider it?”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Farming and raising cattle are all I know. I’d like to have a place of my own, a farm,” Ailean said.
“But you don’t have to farm. If you had a Tsalagi wife, she would raise the crops, and you could hunt deer for meat. No need for cattle.”
“I can’t hunt. I don’t know how. I’ve never hunted in my life,” Ailean said. “And I don’t want a wife.”
He looked into the fire with his eyes and into the past with his heart. At last, he raised his eyes to meet Gòrdan’s.
“Would you tell them I’d like to rent some land?”
“I don’t know. Let me think about it and decide how to bring up the question with the elders, if you’re determined that
’s what you want to do,” Gòrdan said. “But even so, you should think about taking a wife. A man needs companionship.”
FORTY
Gòrdan’s advice came to mind the next day when Ailean sat by the river, but he was not yet ready to think about holding a woman in his arms again, arms which should have sheltered and protected Mùirne but which had failed her.
He watched the clear water as it rushed by. At one place, it flowed past a boulder near the bank where he sat and formed a small eddy behind the rock. A dead leaf was caught in the eddy, circling, spinning, going nowhere. He felt as if his mind was entangled like that, caught, swirling, spiraling inward and downward in a state of confusion.
As he looked past the fields where the women worked to the mountains beyond, his mind cleared enough for one idea to form: the mountains. He had to go up on the mountains so he could think, so he could look beyond the muddle of his thoughts and find an answer.
As he stood, his eyes fell upon the tall young woman he’d seen before, the only woman who’d made an impression on him. She was carrying a basket and seemed intent upon her errand. She noticed that he was looking at her and demurely lowered her eyes.
There was a seriousness, a sadness in her manner that drew his attention, and his eyes followed her until he lost sight of her when she passed between the houses on the other side of the village. He turned his attention to the mountains again.
The next morning, he told Gòrdan of his intention to climb the nearest mountain, and he started out after he’d eaten. His stiff, sore muscles made ascent to the summit arduous, and one of his cuts which hadn’t fully healed broke open. He stopped, wiped away the trickle of blood and continued up the mountainside.
He searched for a place to sit where he could survey the land below, but the trees blocked his view. He couldn’t see beyond the leafy cover. At last, he chose a spot and sat. He tried to clear his mind, but, just as he couldn’t see through the trees to focus his eyes on the scenery below, he couldn’t see through his inner turmoil to focus his thoughts.