Lindsay raised her eyebrows. "Do I?"
"Your picture has been on the TV," said John. "Something about giving bogus evidence."
"Oh. The Denny Ferguson trial. I didn't," she said simply.
"We object to this," said George West again. "We would like you to listen to our views."
"This is getting us nowhere," Lindsay heard Gerri say.
"We will listen, of course," said Lindsay. "We would like you to listen to us, too."
"We know what you will say," said John, and his father raised a hand.
"He is right, but we will listen anyway," said the elder.
"She's just a visitor here," cried Gerri.
They looked at Lindsay with suspicion. Emily West started to speak, but her father interrupted. "A visitor with influence, I would imagine."
"Yes," said Brian. "The only seat we have to offer is the ground beneath the tree."
"That will be fine," said George.
Chapter 5
PIAQUAY SAT UNDER the grove of live oaks. The man Roberto Lacayo was teaching him the language of the devils who had invaded his world and brought most of it, at least for him, to an end. His gaze rested on the gentle mounds of dirt that covered the people he loved, and he clenched his teeth in anger. As he listened to Roberto droning the names of the things around them, he scooped up a handful of acorns and poured them from hand to hand. He looked down at the nuts in his palm, and it reminded him of the irritating way Roberto kept fingering his beads and whispering in a language that was not even the one he spoke. Piaquay threw the acorns in disgust. Roberto looked over at the chief and fell silent, wondering what had angered him. Piaquay motioned for him to continue. This time Piaquay listened closely and repeated what he heard.
A woman from the tribe approached them and motioned for Roberto to leave. As the Spaniard rose and walked away, they watched him until he was under the vigilant eye of Piaquay's brother, Tesca.
"What is this I hear?" she asked.
Piaquay looked into her black eyes and softly lined face. "It's not your concern."
"I should say it is," she responded, sitting down in front of him.
"It is not your concern until I say it there." He pointed to the lodge on top of the large mound.
"Tell me what's in your mind," she insisted. "Why are you handing the title of chief to me?"
"It's right."
"How is it right? What are you going to do? Why do you learn the language of the enemy?"
"I'm going to kill the man who did this. The man who takes young children and women from their homes, the man who takes everything we have and when it is not enough, kills anyway. What kind of heart kills women, kills children? I'm going to rid this land of him and run out the other devils."
Cacheci shook her head. "You cannot. They are too strong. "
"They're not strong. They're cowards. They don't even know how to keep the insects from biting them, they can't get food for themselves, they lose heart in battle when they have to stand on the ground and face us. It is the beasts that carry them that are strong and brave. The beasts can do all those things for themselves that the devils cannot do. Without the beasts, the devils are weak." Piaquay looked around as though the Spaniards might be listening. "Take the beasts, and they can be defeated."
"We all grieve. We all want the devils to be gone. But we must live; we must take care of our children."
"You know that. It's why it is right for you to be chief. I am too filled with hatred and revenge."
"You can't do this by yourself, and you can't take all the men."
"I will take only my brother and two more."
"I cannot dissuade you from this?"
Piaquay looked at the gathering clouds in the blue sky. A storm was coming. "No. I am changed. This is what I am now."
Lindsay and the others sat facing each other under the oak tree. A breeze gently lifted their hair around their faces. Lindsay smoothed hers down with both hands as she spoke first. "We have a policy of quickly repatriating aboriginal remains after we examine them," she said.
"It would be easier if you didn't dig them up in the first place," said George West.
"Then we would learn nothing from them. They tell us so much."
John West stood up. "Why are we here? This is the same old talk. You're just using us for your pet theories. You care nothing about our people." His father motioned for him to sit down. He did, but grudgingly.
"What have you learned?" asked Emily.
"We have hardly had time to examine . . ." began Gerri, but Lindsay's voice rose over hers and she stopped.
"We have learned that something terrible happened to these people. Conquistadores came on horses, looking for gold and silver. They came to this village and understood immediately that it was important because at one end was a large flat-topped mound with a long series of steps leading up to a large house of clay-covered timber. The conquistadores had heard that the towns with mounds had wealth. This was a peaceful village, for it lacked a palisade around the clusters of thatched houses that circled the great plaza. No palisade meant they were friendly, and the conquistadores knew that.
"They rode in, looking for wealth similar to that of the Incas, whom they had robbed and utterly destroyed. When they did not find the riches they sought, they became angry and lashed out at the villagers. There was a woman. Perhaps she simply stood watching them, perhaps she was a hostage. She saw the sword that was coming down on her and instinctively held her arms over her face to shield it. The sword cut into her all the way to the bone. The woman had a child with her. She leaned over, protecting the child with her body, and the conquistador struck her so hard with his sword it cut into her shoulder and backbone, knocking her to the ground. She and her child were killed. Other women tried to flee and had their legs cut out from under them as they ran, holding their children. The men tried to protect them, but they were no match for the conquistadores on their battle-trained horses. This slaughter may have taken place somewhere else and the victims brought back for burial. The bones will tell.
"Conquistadores usually burned the villages they massacred, but so far there have been no signs that this village was burned. Once, this was a prosperous village. It was struck by disease, then this. The people who once lived here didn't stay long after this happened."
"That's an impressive story," said George West after a moment. "But we know what the conquistadores did."
"Not in detail," said Lindsay. "And you don't know the individual stories. You didn't know about this particular woman. We can tell you how old she was, how healthy she was, if she had other children. Sometimes we can tell if she was related to anyone else buried here. Your son was wrong when he said that I don't care about these people. I do. So does Brian. And Gerri," she added, rather reluctantly. "The people who lived here talk to me. I know what they looked like when they were alive. I would recognize them if they walked up to me."
No one said anything for a moment. They all looked at the open pits where the excavators were working. Finally, Emily spoke. "These people expected to stay buried, or at least their loved ones expected them to stay in their final resting places. But if you allow one of us to observe how you treat the burials, I could ... ," she trailed off as they heard another truck drive up.
Lindsay watched as a man jumped out and charged over to them. The newcomer was a young man in his early thirties, brown hair becoming bleached by the sun. He had a slender build and possibly a pleasant face, when it wasn't twisted in anger.
"What are they doing here? I want them off my property."
"Mr. Royce!" Brian said, jumping up.
"Now," he said, "or you're all gone." He looked at the three Native Americans in turn. "You took my father's property. By God, you'll not set foot on mine." He turned and stomped toward his truck.
"Damn," said Brian, running after him.
Lindsay watched as Brian caught up with him, but couldn't hear what was being said. George West looked genuinely sad; Jo
hn looked angry. Emily stared at the ground, then rose and started over toward Royce and Brian. Her brother grabbed her arm, but she threw it off. When she reached them, she sent Brian away and talked to the landowner alone. At first his manner was belligerent. Lindsay saw Emily gesturing at him with her hands; it was obviously an emotional conversation. In the end Royce got in his truck and drove off. Emily came back to the tree.
"I can stay and observe. The two of you have to leave."
"Damn him," said John. "He can't-"
"He can," said George. "It's his land, and there's been enough hard feelings. This is a compromise. We will take it."
"What about our ancestors?" said John.
"This is a compromise," the elder repeated. "We'll work with the law. It's slow, but it's starting to work for us."
"Tell me this," asked Gerri. "Why the heck did you wait until now, when we had half the burials up, to make an appearance and protest?"
"We've been busy with other pressing matters," said George, gazing down the road at Walter Royce's retreating truck. "Come," he said to John, then turned to Brian. "See that Emily gets home safely."
"Sure," said Brian. "I will. And thanks."
While Brian showed Emily West around the site, Lindsay turned to Gerri. Dropping any pretense at respecting turf, she spoke plainly.
"Look, Gerri, I know you disagree with these people, but these are their ancestors."
"You don't really know that," said Gerri.
"They are more closely related to them than we are. They feel very strongly about this. You know their worldview is very different about archaeological research from ours, and we have to respect that, even if we disagree with it."
"Exactly why are you telling me all this?" Gerri asked defiantly.
"Because I can see you are angry about their protest over the excavation of the burials. But if you let your anger manifest itself in some way that insults them, you'll hurt yourself as well as Brian and the others."
"I do know how to act."
"Good."
"Tell me this," said Gerri. "Who the heck are you to be laying all this on me? You are, after all, only a visitor here." Despite her words, there was really no malice in Gerri's voice. Only curiosity.
"According to some, I'm simply arrogant and manipulative."
"Well, if you can be arrogant and manipulative, I can be sugar and spice," said Gerri. "You'll see. Emily will be my best friend by the end of the week."
Emily was at the site the next morning at the same time the crew was removing the protective black plastic from the ongoing excavations, getting ready for the day's work.
"That was a good story you told," Emily told Lindsay.
Lindsay looked up from her work, excavating another refuse pit. Emily squatted down to her level.
"It fits so far with what we've found," replied Lindsay.
"I wasn't insulting you."
"I know. But I wanted you to understand that I was being as truthful as the data allow."
"You're very straightforward. My father likes you," said Emily.
"He's a good man. Not many people see the value in compromise," Lindsay said.
"There are many people in the world with divergent viewpoints, he always says. We must get along. My brother, however, doesn't like you. I think perhaps for the same reasons. My brother and my father are very different." She hesitated a moment, then asked, "Why do you do this?"
Lindsay stopped what she was doing and looked into Emily's dark eyes. "I want to know about these people. The history of this land is my history, too. My ancestry is Welsh, Irish, French, English and, I've been told, some northern Italian. If you ask me to go back where I came from, it would be to the foothills of the Appalachians. That's where I was born and raised. There's no place else for me to go. By my thinking, I am as much native to this land as you are. That doesn't mean, however, that I believe that the government shouldn't honor past treaties or that we should completely disregard your feelings about your ancestors. It simply means that all that happened here is part of my history, too."
"I understand that. I even respect it. But what if we were digging up your ancestors?"
"I am absolutely the wrong person to ask that. If I knew nothing about them, I'd be the first in with a shovel and trowel."
Emily smiled. "We see things very differently."
"On most things, I suppose," said Lindsay. "Your differences with Royce. Was that about tribal land?"
"Yes. We've had a suit in for years. We finally settled with the government last week, and Royce's father lost his land to us in the settlement. He was paid, of course, but ..."
"His family had a history with that land, too," finished Lindsay.
"Yes. Back several generations. We weren't happy to take land away from him, but it was our land before it was his. And, oddly enough, as Walter's father likes to say, a contract is a contract."
"You knew Walter Royce before this?" asked Lindsay.
Emily gazed off for a moment before she answered. "We used to go out."
"I see. For you, then, the price of the settlement was very high," said Lindsay.
"Yes. It was. But the good of the tribe is more important than my happiness."
"Your and Walter's history together-is that why he relented about you being on his land?"
"Yes."
"It looks like he might be willing to forgive one day," commented Lindsay as she went back to work on the bones of a squirrel comingled with those of a rabbit. Emily watched her work. Lindsay gently dug around the bones with a wooden Popsicle stick, brushing the loose dirt away with the kind of paintbrush used for edge work and windows. With each stroke of the brush, the bones stood out in greater relief.
"He might," said Emily after a moment, "but his father would forbid it, and he would honor his father."
"The good of his family is more important than his happiness. Perhaps our worldview is not so different from yours after all."
"In some things, I suppose not."
Emily rose from her haunches. "It was good talking with you, Lindsay Chamberlain. Perhaps we can talk more at lunch. Now I have to go observe Gerri, who seems to want to be my best friend."
Lindsay grinned to herself as Emily walked across the site.
Lunch came too soon for Lindsay. She was not finished with her animal pit. Nevertheless, she rose and went to eat the sandwich she had prepared that morning from the camp supplies. Emily and Sally sat beside her. Brian and Gerri were still on the site talking about something, and Sally kept looking over at them.
"The people on the news say that you are hiding out," said Emily.
Lindsay stopped mid-bite. "What?"
"They can't find you. They said your credentials are being looked into, that they are suspect-something about flunking a course and never making it up." Both Sally and Lindsay looked at Emily with gaping mouths. "You didn't know this?" Emily asked.
Lindsay shook her head. "I'm on vacation. Damn, this is getting ridiculous. I've never flunked a course in my life."
"I'll say," said Sally. "Lindsay's credentials are the best."
"This has gone beyond just being a sore loser, this is-this is something I'm going to take care of right now." Lindsay rose and went to her vehicle.
She first called home and caught Susan at the cabin eating lunch. "Lindsay, I'm glad you called," she said. "The reporters' questions are getting more serious. They are asking something about where you went to school and something about not really graduating and failing a course."
Lindsay was shocked. She realized that she was tapping her foot on the brake pedal and stopped. "What are you telling them?" she asked Susan.
"Not what I'd like. I simply told them that they have wrong information and you'll straighten it out when you get back from your vacation. Of course, with their small minds, they translate that to mean you're hiding out from reporters. I hate that kind of people."
"I don't understand. My academic history is an open book. Look, I'm sorry you
have to go through all this. Thanks for fielding the calls for me."
"No problem. Listen, if they start coming out here to your home, I may move Mandrake to my place. I don't want to risk them letting him out or upsetting him."
That was Susan, thought Lindsay, far more concerned about the horse than herself. "Do whatever you think best. I trust your judgment," Lindsay told her, and rang off.
Next she called her department, trying to remember if the acting head, Kenneth Kerwin, was on campus this summer. Frank Carter, the head of the archaeology department, was on sabbatical in Europe. Kenneth had been a poor choice to replace Frank, even temporarily, but the choice had been the dean's and not Frank's. She dialed the number of the main office and asked the secretary to connect her to Kenneth.
"Lindsay," said the secretary, "you can't imagine the ruckus you've caused around here. Dr. Kerwin is in a tizzy."
"May I speak with him?" Lindsay bit her tongue. Edwina would have to be working today. She wondered where Kate, the senior secretary, was.
Lindsay was put through to Kerwin. "Dr. Chamberlain," he said too loudly in her ear. "Where are you? Why aren't you here?"
"I gave you my detailed vacation plans, Dr. Kerwin. What has been going on there?"
"All these reporters. Very unseemly. They have been asking about your credentials, saying that they were tipped off that you did not finish your degree and that you have little experience or course work in forensic anthropology."
"And what did you tell them?"
"That I would look into it, of course. I told them that the Archaeology Department wouldn't tolerate fraudulent credentials."
"You told them what!" Lindsay said through her teeth. She got out of the car, stretching the telephone cord as far as it would go as she paced the parking lot.
"What did you expect me to say?"
"I expected you to defend me. You know my credentials. You know they are completely in order. You know some of the people I graduated with, for heaven's sake." Lindsay stopped short of calling him an idiot.
"Dr. Chamberlain. We need to keep calm."
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