The Blooding

by James McGee

  “You were … sweethearts?” Lawrence said, and immediately looked embarrassed at having used the word.

  “Not in the way that you mean. That’s not how the Iroquois are brought up. Marriages tend to occur late and by arrangement between the clan elders. It was tradition for a young warrior to be paired with an older woman – a widow, often as not – the idea being to give them a companion more experienced in the affairs of life.

  “I wasn’t born into the tribe so I didn’t know any better. As we got older, we knew something was happening between us, though we didn’t know what to do about it. Cageaga saw it. He could read the signs.”

  “He disapproved?”

  “Far from it. He could see I cared for her and that she felt the same. I’m not sure he understood it any more than we did. But I remember he took me aside one day and warned me that if I was to ever make her unhappy or cause her pain, he’d kill me.”

  Lawrence smiled. “I rather think all older brothers say that.”

  “True, but the difference with Cageaga was that he meant it.”

  “He’d have killed you?”

  “In a heartbeat. Then he’d have gutted me like a rabbit and left my innards out for the crows.”

  “You said he was your friend.”

  “He was, but he’d have done it, just the same.”

  Pondering this, Lawrence was struck with a sense of foreboding. “Something happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “To the girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “By your hand?”

  “Not mine, no.”

  Let him tell it, Lawrence thought.

  Hawkwood took a breath. “The men were on a hunting trip. We were gone two days. While we were away, strangers came and abducted three of the women. Ehrita was one of them. It was a while before anyone knew they were gone, before the alarm could be raised.”

  Lawrence didn’t dare speak.

  “We weren’t sure who’d taken them. At first, we thought it might have been an Oneida raiding party. Their lands were to the south and every so often they’d travel into the mountains to hunt and there’d be the odd skirmish. You asked about animosity? Between Oneida and Mohawk, it’s never gone away.”

  “Were they Oneida?”

  “No.” Hawkwood turned. “Your mother was Scottish. She ever tell you about the reivers?”

  Lawrence’s head came up. “That she did. They were raiders who plied their trade in the borderlands. Stealing livestock, mostly, but anything that could be transported was fair game. You’re saying that’s who took the women?”

  “Not reivers, but a similar breed. Freebooters – soldiers without an army, looters and thieves. The sort of scum who find it easier to steal from others than earn an honest crust.” Hawkwood’s eyes turned dark. “There were six of them. Made them easy to track.”

  “You caught up with them?”

  “It took us a day and a half, but yes. With four of them, at any rate. They’d made camp and were … availing themselves of the women.”

  Lawrence didn’t have to ask what that meant. The expression on Hawkwood’s face was description enough.

  “You killed them?”

  “Not immediately, no.”

  Lawrence’s mouth went dry.

  “We questioned them first …”

  Lawrence stared at him.

  “… then gave them to the women.”

  Lawrence didn’t dare blink.

  “Then we killed them. I’d never heard men beg before. And I do mean beg, literally.”

  “But you got the girl – Ehrita – back?”

  “No. The last two had taken her with them. We split our force. One half returned to the village with the women we did rescue. The rest of us, including Cageaga, continued the chase. We caught the fifth one the next day.”

  Lawrence remained silent, sensing there was worse to come.

  Hawkwood shook his head. “He didn’t have her, either. We put him to the knife. It didn’t take long. He got quite talkative towards the end; told us the sixth man had taken her to be sold.”

  “Sold?” Lawrence echoed.

  “To a ferryman who ran a trading post up on what the Mohawk called the river of black water. Name of Harker; I remember that. It was carved into the wood above his door.” Hawkwood closed his eyes. Took a breath, opened them again. “Because I was white, it was decided that I should go on alone to reconnoitre, while the others stayed hidden.”

  He broke off and stared down at the ground. Then, raising his head, he continued: “There was a dog, scratching at an outhouse door behind the store. I found her inside. There were bruises across her face and a rusty saw blade on the floor beside her. She’d used it to open her wrists. She’d let herself bleed to death rather than suffer more violation.”

  Lawrence saw that Hawkwood’s fists were clenched. “Oh, my dear fellow …”

  “They were in the cabin, sharing a bottle; the sixth man and the trader, laughing over something. They didn’t see me at first; didn’t put up much of a fight, either, when I confronted them. The drink saw to that. They tried to get away but they weren’t quick enough. They died screaming. I wanted them to feel what she must have felt. I thought no more about taking their lives than I did slaughtering pigs for offal.”

  Lawrence’s face had turned white.

  “My mistake was not knowing there was a woodsmen’s camp close by. They heard the screams and came running; got there as I was coming out. I had the knife in my hand and my clothes were covered in blood. It didn’t take them long to discover what I’d done. Then one of them found the outhouse. You can guess the rest.”

  “They thought it was you who’d killed her?”

  “Three dead and a wild man holding a bloodstained blade – what would you have thought?”

  “What happened?”

  “They held a vote: deliver me to the authorities or save themselves a two-day journey and carry out the sentence themselves. They decided on the latter.”

  “Sentence?” Lawrence said cautiously.

  “They hang murderers, Major.”

  Lawrence sucked in his breath.

  “There was a barn next to the outhouse with one of those beams above the door for hoisting up grain and flour. Someone found a rope. It didn’t take long. They were quite cheerful when they pulled me up.”

  He closed his eyes, heard again the coarse laughter ringing in his ears as the rope had slipped, causing his body to swing and his heels to rake against the side of the barn.

  When he opened his eyes he realized his hand was touching his throat and Lawrence was gazing at him in horror.

  “They say I stopped breathing, that I died. Perhaps that’s true. What I do know is when they saw the men haul me up, Cageaga and the others came to my rescue. They attacked the hanging party, killed two, drove the rest back into the woods. They cut me down, torched the post, took Ehrita’s body and carried us both to the ferry boat. They used it to escape downriver.”

  “Good God,” Lawrence breathed.

  “When the mourning period was over, I told Tewanias that it would probably be best if I left the village. The witnesses at the trading post would have alerted the authorities. I didn’t want to bring the risk of reprisal down upon the tribe. There was a possibility that we could be tracked and the village discovered; if it was found to be harbouring killers of white men, it would go badly.

  “Tewanias gave me his blessing and I left. I think he knew, even then, that change was coming, to the tribe and the Nations, and it was the right time for me to return to my own world. Not that I had any notion of what I was going to do. For a while I drifted, town to town, never staying long. Eventually I made my way to Boston, took a labouring job, kept my head down.”

  “You thought they might be after you?” Lawrence said, doubt entering his voice.

  “It sounds stupid, but yes. In the end I thought I would be safer at sea.”

  “Sea?” Lawrence’s eyebrows rose in further astonishmen
t.

  “I’d heard there was a merchantman looking for crew. I signed on as a deck hand. The only decent thing about my time aboard was the first officer. He was from Amiens. In between watches and heaving my guts over the side, I was able to improve my French.”

  “How long did you serve?”

  “Until our first port of call: Cork.”

  “Ireland! You, too!”

  “If that month taught me anything, other than conjugation, it was that I’d never earn a living before the mast. I couldn’t wait to disembark. A week later I took that shilling you mentioned. I thought the army would be the place to hide, to start anew. It also seemed the right thing to do, maybe a way of saying thank you to Gil Wyatt and his men for what they did for me.”

  “You never saw them again?”

  “No. Tewanias told me they all died in the attack on the beach.”

  Lawrence’s face softened. “You joined the army to honour them.”

  “Enlisted in the Fifty-first Regiment of Foot. They were in Ireland on garrison duty.

  “John Moore’s regiment?”

  “He was a major then. I served with him in Corsica until he left. I met up with him again at Shorncliffe when I was put forward for training with the Rifles. I had keen eyesight and I was a good shot. Skills that served me well.”

  “And you’ve been putting them to excellent use ever since,” Lawrence said. “But Hawkwood? How did you come by that name?”

  “The clan’s name for me was Kahrhakon:ha. It means Hawk. I don’t remember why I added the ‘wood’, but Hawkwood seemed to fit. I kept Matthew because it made life easier – I knew I was less likely to be caught unawares. Same reason we posed as Matthews and Douglas.”

  “You could have told me,” Lawrence said, after a lengthy pause, with more than a note of reproof in his voice. “Why didn’t you?”

  Hawkwood watched the dogs cavort. The larger one had shaggy brown hair and floppy black ears and when it stopped to scratch its belly its face adopted a lop-sided grin that sent a faint shiver through his heart.

  “It was a long time ago; another life. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to remember it or put it all behind me.”

  Lawrence thrust his hands into his coat pockets. “I can understand that, but you can’t run from the past, Matthew. No one can. There’s many who’ve tried. They’ve all failed.” He tilted his head and looked Hawkwood directly in the eye. “Were you ashamed of yours?”

  Hawkwood considered that.

  Not all of it.

  Uncertain what to make of his silence, Lawrence continued: “I hope that wasn’t the case, because I’ve never known a man with less reason to be ashamed of who he is and what he stands for. I’ll say it now, Captain: it’s been a privilege knowing you and that’s God’s honest truth. Don’t look at me like that. I ain’t one to gush, but it had to be said. Ah, now I’ve embarrassed you. My apologies.”

  Lawrence smiled ruefully at Hawkwood’s lack of response. “While we were locked in that prison hut, I made a comment that implied all Indians were only one step away from being Barbarians. I was wrong. If that’s what made you think you couldn’t confide in me, I apologize.” He pointed towards the longhouse. “Those two chiefs of yours, Tewanias and Cageaga, have more nobility in them than the feckless arse-lickers who make up the bulk of His Majesty’s officer corps; only reason most of them ever got a commission is because Daddy bought it for them.”

  “The noble savage?” Hawkwood said.

  “You’ve read Dryden?”

  “I have. There’s no need to look so surprised, Major.”

  Lawrence smiled. “‘When wild in the woods, the noble savage ran …’ Quite a line, ain’t it? Y’know where he took it from?”

  Hawkwood shook his head.

  “’Tis said he stole the phrase from a Frog explorer called Lescarbot. Lescarbot went on expeditions to Canada. Maybe he was referring to the Iroquois when he penned it.”

  “I’ll ask Tewanias if he knew him,” Hawkwood said drily.

  “Doubtful. He’d have to be two hundred years old.”

  “Perhaps not, then,” Hawkwood said.

  He turned towards the woods. Beyond the dogs, which were dashing around like demented wolves, nothing stirred. There was a strange, almost ethereal, beauty in the way the trees, weighted with snow, stood so silently. It could have been a scene from a child’s fairy tale about an enchanted forest that on the outside looked peaceful and serene, while deep within its heart there lurked dark and terrible dangers.

  A spindly wooden structure at the edge of the trees caught Hawkwood’s eye. At first he thought it was a drying frame, but he knew the villagers would not have erected such a thing outside the palisade. Then he realized what it was. He did not look to see if Lawrence was behind him as he set off towards it.

  A raised outline in the snow beneath the bark platform showed where the funeral fire had been lit.

  “What is it?” Lawrence asked, looking up.

  “A burial scaffold.”

  “They leave the bodies out in the open?”

  “For a period; it’s to shorten their path to the sky world, and to make sure they’re dead.”

  Lawrence looked at him.

  “To be on the safe side,” Hawkwood said.

  “Then what?” Lawrence enquired, not without some trepidation.

  “They either wait until the body rots and bury the bones, or else they bury the body after the fire’s allowed to die down.” Hawkwood pointed to the snow-covered hearth stones. “Or they store them in their lodges.”

  “Dead bodies?”

  “Yes.”

  Lawrence thought about that. “And when they move the village?”

  “They collect the bones from each clan and bury them in a common grave.” Hawkwood smiled. “Would you like to change your opinion about them not being Barbarians?”

  Lawrence smiled back at him. “No. I meant what I said. Is this where Ayon—” Lawrence’s brow creased. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall his name – was laid?”

  “Ayonhwathah? Probably.”

  Lawrence fell silent. Hawkwood knew the major was wondering how many corpses there might be stored beneath the longhouse’s roof and how near he’d been to them.

  “Do you ever think of her: Ehrita?”

  The question caught Hawkwood off-guard. He turned away. “Not often.”

  But when I do, it cuts like a knife.

  Another excited bark sounded. The dogs had latched on to a scent and were off, heads down, following a trail of sunken paw prints that disappeared into the trees.

  Letting them go, Hawkwood and Lawrence retraced their steps. Entering the palisade, they found Tewanias waiting for them. Cageaga stood at his shoulder. With them were three armed warriors, dressed in furs and leggings and with snow shoes upon their feet.

  “The scouts have brought news,” Tewanias said. “The Yan-kees are marching.”

  “Damn it,” Lawrence muttered. “I was hoping we’d have more time.”

  They were seated around the fire. The scouts were wolfing down a breakfast of reheated stew and bark tea. From the speed they were eating and from the appreciative sounds they were making, Hawkwood guessed they hadn’t eaten a hot meal for a while. All three were lean and muscular. They must have covered a lot of ground in the night and yet, beyond their obvious hunger, not one of them looked wearied by their trek.

  They had greeted Hawkwood and Lawrence’s presence with silent nods, though Hawkwood thought he saw a flicker of recognition flash across their faces when introductions had been made and his own name given. He wondered how much Tewanias had told them. As they ate, they kept stealing glances towards him.

  “What road do the Yankees take?” Hawkwood asked.

  “They march north.”

  “Not west, towards Gaanundata?”

  Tewanias acknowledged the implication. “No. There is a road, begun many years ago by the soldiers of the Great King, which goes from Senhahlone to Canada.”r />
  “The same road that goes to Lacolle?” Hawkwood said.

  “Ea,” Tewanias said.

  “How many soldiers?”

  “The scouts say more than four hundred.”

  “Not a large force for an invasion.” Lawrence frowned.

  “Big enough to take a blockhouse, though,” Hawkwood pointed out, “and gain a toehold. They manage that and Dearborn can follow with the rest of the army at his leisure. They’re probably mobilizing the main force now.” He turned to Tewanias. “What about artillery? Were there guns? Cannon?”

  Tewanias consulted his men. “They say no.”

  “Well, that’s something at least,” Lawrence said.

  “Guns wouldn’t be that easy to move, given the roads. They’d need horses and they’re in short supply. It takes six to draw a six-pounder and four to pull a caisson. Plus you’d have to feed and water them.”

  “Which would slow them down.” Lawrence continued to look pensive. “How many men does it take to man a blockhouse in the back of beyond?”

  “Not nearly enough.”

  To Tewanias, Hawkwood said, “Lacolle is close to the Richelieu, yes?”

  “Ea.”

  “So if they capture the blockhouse, they’ll control the river. If they control the river, there’s nothing to stop them barging the rest of the troops up from Plattsburg, along with their artillery. That’ll give them their bridgehead. It’s only seven miles from Lacolle to Île aux Noix. Bring up enough men and they can cut off the garrison. Seize the island and they have themselves a naval base inside Canada. Then, come the thaw, it’s downriver to Montreal and Quebec. Once they have Quebec, they have the continent.”

  “All for want of a nail,” Lawrence murmured. “Assuming they are heading for Lacolle, you think we can warn the defenders in time?”

  “Maybe.” Hawkwood turned to Tewanias. “Tell me about the road.”

  Like most wilderness roads, it had begun life as an Indian trail before being adopted by the British as a means of transporting men and equipment during the war against the French. Following the Revolution, it fallen into disuse for a while. As settlements were hacked out of the wilderness it had enjoyed a gradual resurgence, though it had never been considered a major turnpike. That had changed with the resumption of hostilities between Britain and America, when it had again found favour as a conduit along which the American army could move troops and equipment to protect its northern border.