By Love Alone

by Judith E. French

  "Thank you. When will I see you again? Pride?"

  He was gone, moving into the darkness without a sound. Kate stared after him. There hadn't been a rustle, not a snapped twig. She waited a few heartbeats, then hurried to the river and back to the village. Pride was angry, and he had a right to be. He'd get over it. She'd make him see why she had done it. As soon as they got away from this awful place, things would be all right.

  "You are slow, woman," Tschi said.

  Kate noticed that he had built a fire while she was gone. If he hadn't, it would have taken her forever to start one. Quietly, she went about the task of cooking the rabbits. Wabethe had given her some corncakes and a container of berries earlier in the day. They could be served with the rabbit. Kate used a flat stone to warm the bread near the flames. The rock was hot, and she burned her finger and instinctively stuck it in her mouth.

  "You not only slow, you clumsy. Why my brother want you, Panther Woman? You know tricks to keep man happy?" He laughed. "Tonight I must go to council fire. When I return, you will show me these tricks. Yes?"

  Kate concentrated on the rabbits, turning the green spit so the meat wouldn't burn. Despite her fear, she could feel her stomach growling. She was hungry, and she wasn't going to let Tschi bluff her out of her dinner. "It is not the Shawnee way for a man to force a woman," she whispered.

  "Shawnee way? Shawnee way?" he roared. "What does an Englisher know of Shawnee ways?" Tschi leaped to his feet catlike, and crouched over her menacingly. "You are not a Shawnee woman. You are slave!"

  Kate lowered her head and bit the inside of her cheek until it bled. If he touched her, she would seize a burning stick from the flames and stab his eyes out. It grated her to pretend fear, but she would not press a confrontation, not with Pride hiding in the woods nearby. "Yes," she whispered.

  Mollified by her seeming acquiescence, Tschi grunted and returned to what he had been doing. Using a small French trade minor and a feather brush, he resumed painting his face in black and yellow patterns. "You stay in wigwam this night," he ordered gruffly. "Not go outside. Lenni Lenape warriors come. Make talk. You stay hidden."

  "How many warriors?" Kate looked at him expectantly. "Why should I be afraid of them?"

  "You Englisher," he said slowly. "Englisher burn Lenape village. They Jesus Delawares, but Delaware all same. Englisher kill, take women, shoot horse. Lenni Lenape mourn dead brothers. See blood. You show white face..." He shrugged. "Have much anger. Maybe I give you to them."

  "I won't go out," she lied. "Will you go to war?"

  "Why you ask question? No ask question before. Why this night, Panther Woman?" He added a series of yellow dots down one cheek. "Slave woman no ask why. Slave obey. Eie?" Kate nodded. "No go war! War come to Tschi." He admired himself in the mirror. "Many scalps. Many rifles. Tschi great warrior! Great war chief! Nenothtu oukimah!" He grinned at her wolfishly, showing his even white teeth. "Perhaps one of these scalps will be that of your lover."

  Kate kept her eyes on the broiling rabbit. She would not lose her temper this time. He'd eat and be gone. She'd hold her tongue a few more minutes.

  "You smell bad, woman. Why keep ugly shirt on?" In an instant he was behind her, stripping the shirt off over her head!

  Kate exploded into a fighting, clawing storm of fury. She used all her strength against him, and it was useless. All she succeeded in doing was being slapped around and tearing the shirt. Panting, she backed away from him on hands and knees. Her bare breasts glowed with a faint sheen of moisture in the firelight.

  Tschi tossed the useless garment aside. "I like better. Now you look like Shawnee squaw. Give food, now!"

  Tears rolled down her flushed face as Kate pushed the meat off the stick into a wooden bowl. She set it and the bread on the floor near the man and retreated to the opposite side of the fire. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she tried to hide herself from his leering eyes.

  "Do not sleep, Panther Woman. Tonight you will teach me your tricks," he promised, stuffing pieces of meat into his mouth. "Wait for me." He grinned and reached for another corncake. "Tschi much warrior, you like."

  Kate lowered her head and tried not to cry. Pride must come before Tschi returned. He must! She knelt there, watching him intently, until he finished eating and picked up his weapons.

  "Remember, English. Do not leave wigwam." He ducked his head and disappeared through the low doorway.

  "Bastard," Kate mouthed silently and made an obscene gesture after his departing back. When she was certain he was gone, she went to the fire and took the rest of the rabbit and began to chew. It was overcooked, but tasted wonderful just the same. She was starving.

  When she had eaten the meat and a corncake and the berries, she examined the shirt to see how serious the damage was. It was torn badly, but she put it on and tied the pieces in the front. It just covered her, and she felt better. With a stick, she scattered the coals of the cooking fire. It was hot in the lodge and they didn't need a fire. It was easier to hide in the darkness.

  Two gunshots brought Kate to the doorway. Had Pride been discovered? Her heart was in her throat as she waited. Men and women poured out of the wigwams, shouting. It was more a cry of greeting than alarm, and she began to hope again.

  A line of painted warriors filed into the village. They were small men, for the most part, sinewy and hard, heavily armed and unsmiling. Kate counted more than forty; they ranged from graying veterans to boys in their teens. They wore the dust of a long journey lightly; such men would not know the meaning of fatigue. Their eyes were the eyes of hunters, and the steel tomahawks gleamed wickedly in the light of the council fire.

  Drums began to sound. One was the deep hollow sound of a summer thunder; the others small and quick. The beating was repetitive; its message seemed to summon ancient memories in Kate's blood. She felt her breathing accelerate as she watched the Shawnee join the Delaware before the big house.

  A full moon hung low over the village; the yellow orb seemed close enough to touch. The night was hot and humid and a ghostly mist crept over the cornfield to embrace the Shawnee town. Kate longed to leave the wigwam and creep closer to the council fire, but she dared not. She sat crouched, slapping at mosquitoes, straining her eyes to see what she could.

  There seemed to be speakers; Kate couldn't tell if they were Shawnee or Delaware. Pride had told her the language was so similar she wouldn't be able to tell the difference. One voice would go on and on, then there would be general cries of agreement and shouting. Then another would begin to talk. Once, she saw the flash of metal as a tomahawk was buried in a black-painted post.

  As the night wore on, the drumming came faster. The pitch rose to a frenzy and the yells increased in direct proportion to the cadence. The cries became fiercer and Kate noticed the women slipping back to their houses. Soon after, the dancing began. The hair rose on the back of Kate's neck as the first sounds of the war screams reached her ears.

  Repelled, yet drawn by the primitive ritual, Kate crept from the wigwam and inched around the edge of the houses to the darkness behind the big house. There was so much noise she didn't have to be afraid of drawing attention to herself by an accidental crackling twig or barking dog. Slowly, on her hands and knees, she worked her way as close as possible.

  Shawnee and Delaware warriors merged as one force. Painted faces, thudding moccasins, and flashing blades swirled before her eyes. Tschi stood before the council fire, a feathered lance raised high in his right hand. With a cry, he threw it, and the steel spearpoint stuck in the black post and quivered there. The war cries rose to a fever pitch!

  Kate pressed her body into the soft grass, ignoring the mosquitoes that buzzed and whined about her, needling into every exposed inch of skin. If she were discovered now, she had no doubt what her fate would be. She would join the spear against the torture post!

  She strained to understand what the speakers were saying, but it was useless. She could only comprehend a quick word here and there, mostly "Englis
her." There were also repeated shouts of "Tschi! Tschi!" She thought they were calling out his name until the fact sunk in that Wabethe had told her that the word meant killer or kill. Where was Pride? Had he crept away in the night? She couldn't really blame him if he did. It would take a madman to walk into this hell without a full battalion of British Regulars!

  Then, abruptly, the scene blurred. The council fire shot up, sending flames and smoke erupting in all directions. For seconds, pandemonium reigned as a thick white smoke hung over the meeting ground. Then, as the rising wind lifted the smoke, a man stood beside the fire!

  There were cries of anger, and one warrior ran toward the apparition with raised tomahawk. The black-faced giant lifted his long rifle and fired a volley over the charger's head. The warrior ducked, dove to the ground, and rolled to safety, still clutching the hatchet in his hand. The crowd drew back a step and hesitated for the space of a heartbeat.

  A strong voice rang out through the night. "Shawnee Neethetha! Lenni Lenape! Oui-shi e-shi-que-chi! "

  It couldn't be, but it was! Kate half-rose from her hiding place in awe. She couldn't understand what he was saying, but she knew the voice. It was Pride! She watched mesmerized as challenges were screamed at him and he riposted.

  "Atchmolohi, Chobeka Illenaqui!" came the soft command from a white-haired elder. As if by magic, the warriors stilled their cries. The old man rose unsteadily to his feet and pointed to Pride, then to himself. "Atchmolohi!" he repeated.

  Pride leaned his rifle against the post and brought his right fist against his heart, nodding to the speaker deferentially. He began to speak again, more slowly, his authoritarian delivery carrying to every man in the circle.

  Kate cursed her inability to understand the language!

  What was he saying? The black paint on his face had deluded her momentarily. He looked as much a savage as any of them. The only difference between Pride and Tschi was Tschi's hideous shaved head.

  Suddenly, Tschi rushed at his brother, murder in his eyes! Pride stood unmoving, and Kate could not contain a scream. He was not an armspan away when the white-haired man lifted his arm, palm outstretched. Tschi halted his charge, unable to hide the uncontrolled rage in his contorted face.

  The old man began to speak. He paused and looked expectantly around the circle. The response was immediate. War cries rent the air. The drums began again and the warriors danced, their screams echoing out through the hills and meadows, filling the land with a sense of dread premonition of bloody years to come.

  Pride took his rifle and walked from the circle. A few called out against him, but no one raised a hand to strike. He stopped to talk with the old chief, then squatted before the big house to watch the war fever build. It was evident to Kate that the decision had gone against him, but he seemed unconcerned. He sat, stony-faced as any Indian, only his size making him visible among the painted warriors.

  Kate began to breathe again. She didn't know how she had screamed and not been discovered. She considered it a miracle. Perhaps the Indians had taken her scream for that of one of their women. It didn't matter how or why; what mattered was that she hadn't been dragged to that damn post and murdered. Drenched in sweat, she began to creep backward to the edge of the woods. It took forever to cover the few yards. A stick jabbed into her knee and she winced. Her knee breeches were hanging in rags anyway; another tear would hardly show.

  Once she reached the trees, she moved slowly back around the village and dashed the last fifty feet to the safety of Tschi's wigwam. She pressed herself against the floor and chuckled. Since when did she feel safe here? She was becoming as mad as the rest of them.

  The war chanting showed no signs of letting up. Hours passed. Kate waited, afraid to sleep. Reluctantly, she had stirred the coals, found a live one and started the fire again. Better to be hot. The smoke would keep away the worst of the mosquitoes and insects.

  She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms about them. What had Pride said to the Indians? Was he joining them, going to war against his own kind? Had he become an enemy too? She'd thought, at first, that he'd come to rescue her. He showed no signs of it! Instead, he'd become one of them. He'd left her to whatever Tschi had in mind.

  The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Tschi had threatened to kill Pride if he came here. Whatever had transpired at the council fire had changed everything. The old chief had welcomed him. Pride had deceived her from the first. Was he now a traitor? Not to the Shawnee, but to the British?

  Like a dark shadow, Tschi pounced on her. She was too startled to scream. Only a little moan escaped her lips as he threw her to the floor and ran his brutal hands over her body. "No," she protested, struggling. "No!"

  His fox-like teeth nipped at the soft part of her throat, and he whispered huskily in Shawnee. He burrowed his face into her breasts and caught a nipple between his hard lips. Kate pounded at his face and muscular shoulders. "Let me go!" she gasped. "Damn you. Let me go!"

  "Brother." A low voice from the entrance cut through Kate's struggle. "I've come for my woman."

  Chapter 13

  Tschi sprang into a crouched position, skinning knife in hand. The blade gleamed wickedly in the firelight. "Is it a woman you seek, or death? I have no brother, Englisher! Here you will find only steel for your heart!"

  Kate scrambled away. Tschi was between her and the entrance. Pride was only a shadowy outline. "Be careful," she warned.

  Pride laughed, and the sound raised the hair on the back of Kate's neck. "He has a knife," she cautioned. "Don't come in."

  "He has a knife," Pride agreed sarcastically. "One I brought him from London."

  "You are a traitor! Our ways have parted. I am Shawnee. You are white. Go now, and I will spare your life. The woman is mine, and I keep her," Tschi declared.

  Pride eased through the doorway and stood up, his hands outstretched and open. "When I was six, I had a puppy. You took him away from me and broke his head open with a rock. When I was ten, you took the bow Grandfather made for me."

  "I remember well; I fought you for it and won."

  "You were twelve and almost a warrior. I was still a boy. I'm a boy no longer, Tschi. Kate is my woman and you stole her. I want her back."

  "A dead man needs no woman." Tschi clutched the knife lovingly.

  "My brother speaks the truth."

  "Pride, please!" Kate cried. "He'll kill you." She tried to sneak past Tschi on the far side of the fire. With the speed of a snake, he spun toward her. The blade nicked Kate's arm and she froze.

  "Stay!" Pride ordered. He moved not a muscle and Tschi turned back to him. "This is between us. We will settle it in the circle."

  Tschi nodded. "The circle. At dawn. The man left alive takes the woman."

  "No!" Kate protested. "I'm not goods to be bartered off."

  "One condition," Pride insisted. "That man must make her his wife. She is not to be a slave."

  "Agreed."

  "I'm not going to be anyone's wife!" Kate looked from one to the other. "That's barbaric !"

  Tschi sheathed the knife and followed Pride out of the wigwam. "We must prepare the circle of death."

  Kate ran after them. "You're not listening to me!" she screamed. "You can't do this! I won't let you!"

  Pride turned a granite face. "You have nothing to say about it, woman!" He weakened as he saw her features crumble. "As a slave you have no rights at all. As wife, even to my brother..." He shrugged. "You'll be better off, Kate, whether you realize it or not. You'll survive."

  "But you're a civilized man! You can't fight that savage to the death over me like... like some pagan gladiator."

  "That savage, as you call him, is my brother." Pride couldn't quite disguise the pain in his voice. "He taught me to fight. When the sun comes up over there"—he pointed to the east—"I'll try to kill him." He sighed. "I don't know if I can. He's good with a knife, damn good. And he's fast, and he's strong. The hell of it is, I'm going to try and kill him... over you. And he's goi
ng to do his damnedest to kill me."

  "But I don't want—"

  "Shut up! Shut up and let me finish," Pride snapped. "Right now, I'd just as soon not look at you. Because tomorrow I'm going to try and kill my brother for a woman who's not worth the powder to blow her to hell."

  Kate clutched at Wabethe's thin hand. The entire village had gathered to watch the contest between the brothers. The Lenni Lenape warriors stood together on one side of the circle, the council members and important Shawnee braves on the other. Women and children packed tightly close to the white chalk line.

  The circle was empty, its center marked with colored patterns, crisscrossing the hard-packed dirt. Wabethe's hand moved slightly. "The circle," she explained. Her forehead wrinkled in exasperation as she tried to recall the language of her childhood. "Like Jesus house of white man."

  "Not like a church." Kate shook her head. "That would be blasphemy! A church is a sacred place, a house of God." She tried to make Wabethe understand. "This... this is violent, an act of bloodletting. It's wrong."

  "No! You do not see. Shawnee all brother. Not Tschi, Chobeka Illenaqui. They brother too. All Shawnee. Men... women. Shawnee no kill Shawnee. Very bad medicine. Shawnee, Delaware, all same people, same brother. No kill brother. White man no same. White man... Frenchman, Englisher, Dutchman all kill. No brother. No same blood. Shawnee, Delaware, same blood." She pressed her open palm against her heart.

  "But Pride and Tschi are brothers. They are Shawnee and they're trying to kill one another in your damn circle!"

  Wabethe sighed and began again, patiently. Her baby fussed, and she removed it from the cradle board on her back and offered a round breast. The infant began to nurse greedily, giving little contented squeaks of pleasure. "Some time Shawnee brother much anger. No can..." She clasped her hands together. "Must fight. Must kill. Old ones make circle. Brothers enter. Fight. No one help. Shawnee watch, remember. All Shawnee have pain. Much sad. Strong medicine. One brother live." She made the motion of wiping away tears. "Long time no circle. Circle much tear Shawnee."