Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

by The Lure of the Falcon (v1. 0) (lit)

  As for Tim, the storm of passion which had been unleashed a couple of yards away from him had disturbed him not at all. He had snored on through it all.

  General Washington waved the end of his telescope towards the far bank of the Hudson River.

  'Less than ten miles from here is West Point, our best defended position on the river and the key to our strategy. The fortifications, for which, like nearly all those in these parts, we are indebted to a young Polish colonel of engineers, Colonel Kosciusko, are built on an inaccessible rock and covered by shore-level batteries placed on a low island. The Hudson is also blocked at that point by a great chain. The position is impregnable… except by treachery. That is the place where I have ordered General Allen's company of militia, which is to take delivery of the gold, to deposit it. In that way I can be certain that not one penny of it will be diverted to causes other than the needs of the army. So you see,' he added, with the half smile that gave him such charm, 'I do value the French loan at its true worth.'

  'I never doubted it, General,' Gilles answered. 'Or that, for the moment, you are sure of the place and its keeper. But did you not say that it might fall by treachery?'

  Washington's face resumed its earlier sternness.

  'You are not an American, sir, or you would never dare to voice any such suspicion. General Benedict Arnold, who commands West Point, is one of our real heroes, the victor of our greatest battle, Saratoga—'

  'But his style of life is ruinous and he is always short of money,' put in another voice, an unmistakably American one this time. Washington spun round as though stung.

  'I know you do not like Arnold, Hamilton, and that you disapproved of his marriage to Miss Shippen because she comes from one of the most influential tory families, but to go from there to believing him capable of treachery—Must I remind you that he is my friend and I trust him?'

  There was the faintest tremor of anger in his voice but his face, thanks to the exceptional degree of self-control that characterized him, remained expressionless. Hamilton stiffened at the rebuke but took it without flinching.

  'I beg your pardon, General. But I maintain that West Point is not the ideal place in which to put what amounts to our total war resources. Your friendship has saved General Arnold once already, when he was called upon at the Council of War to account for the finances of his army during the Quebec expedition. Aren't you tempting providence a little?'

  'That will do, Colonel Hamilton. We will not discuss the matter any further. Come, gentlemen. Now that your first mission has been so successfully completed, we must talk about the task I have for you.'

  Turning on his heel, Washington made off rapidly in the direction of his headquarters. Gilles followed him, somewhat startled at hearing a junior officer so openly disputing his superior's orders. Tim, at his side, gave a chuckle.

  'With us, anyone may give his opinion, even on the gravest matters. That is what we call democracy—'

  'Democracy,' Gilles echoed, liking the new sound of the classical word on his friend's lips. 'Have we gone back two thousand years and are you the new Athenians?'

  'I don't know if we're the new – whatever it was you said, but I do know one thing, and that is that we've had more than enough of the King of England and his henchmen. We simply want to be ourselves! We are grown big enough! And now, shall we go and see what the great white chief wants of us?'

  An hour later, Tim and Gilles left the camp at Peekskill on horseback, having been mounted by the General, and with Igrak up behind. They were followed by the noisy farewells of the Molly Pitchers who crowded to the river bank to watch them go. Gilles' eyes lingered for a moment on a tall, fair girl standing next to Janet Mulligan who blew him a kiss as he passed. That must be Betty and he was glad to see that her eyes were clear and the sun played prettily on her hair. He returned her kiss with a surge of gratitude for the soft body which had given him so much pleasure.

  'We'll meet again, Betty,' he called into the light southerly breeze. She broke into a laugh that showed her strong, white teeth.

  'God and the redcoats willing, handsome cavalier – whenever you like!'

  'She'd do better to say the Senecas' willing,' Tim growled. His cheerful face had grown somewhat grimmer since they had been given their orders. 'If we come out of this adventure with a whole skin we can think it a miracle. We'll be lucky if it costs us no more than our scalps.'

  But the agreeable recollections of the past night had put Gilles in too good a humour to be disturbed by his friend's pessimistic forecasts.

  'If I hadn't heard you snoring all night long, I'd say you'd not slept well, my lad! Or didn't you hear what Washington said? We are envoys of peace. We are going to return to Sagoyewatha a brother he probably thinks lost and whom, in the greatness of his heart, the great white chief is restoring to him, even though he had been taken prisoner. That's a friendly gesture, surely? In a way, we're holding out the hand of friendship from the Rebels to their free red brothers. I can't see why Sagoyewatha should take our scalps for that!'

  'Damn me if he doesn't believe it!' Tim burst out. 'He talks as though it were gospel true! Messengers of peace! More like seeds of discord, if you ask me! You forget the second half of our commission, to insinuate to the chief of the Wolf clan that his brother in Gitche Manito the god of thunder, the Iroquois chief Cornplanter, is actually a base villain with no thought but to break the alliance of the Six Nations so as to seize his possessions and rob him of his wife into the bargain. Well, let me tell you, if Sagoyewatha spares our scalps, Corn-planter won't, because he'll very soon find out what's afoot. That man has spies everywhere – and he is a wild beast to make a cougar look like a tame kitten.'

  'Then why did you agree? You say you have the right to dispute your general's orders. You should have refused.'

  Tim Thocker seemed to swell up suddenly and his face grew so red that Gilles half-expected him to breathe fire from his nostrils.

  'Because I'm a damned fool. And because I rather like the idea of spreading trouble among the Six Nations who are doing such good work for the English. It's just that it's only my mind likes the idea. My body would rather stay in one piece for Miss Martha Carpenter, on the day she lets me lead her to the altar.'

  Gilles laughed.

  'Well, since there's no going back, the best thing is to get it over with as soon as possible. In a case like this, there is nothing worse than indecision. Come on!'

  He spurred his horse to a gallop along the easy road beside the river. They were to cross by the ferry at Stony Point and then make their way north-west through the Catskills to the Seneca chief's new camp on the bank of the Susquehanna. Igrak was to show them the exact location.

  'Since he went on the warpath, Sagoyewatha has had to leave his grounds by Lake Cayuga, because they have been ravaged by the Rebels, and find other maizefields,' Igrak had told them.

  The distance covered by the youthful scalp hunter in his quest for glory – not far off a hundred leagues – was not the least cause of amazement to Gilles. For a child of that age, it was a considerable exploit, but Tim had seemed much less surprised.

  'The initiation rites of the Iroquois can be mighty tough,' was all he said. 'Distance is nothing to them, nor is time when it comes to winning fame. As the son and brother of chiefs, Igrak is hoping one day to be the kind of warrior whose deeds are handed down for generations.'

  'I shouldn't be surprised if he were.'

  The boy was certainly proud, noble and brave. They had learned that by living with him. His whole behaviour, the silence he maintained for most of the time, were far in advance of his age and often, as they journeyed, they had seen him go apart by himself, not to try and escape but simply to be alone beside a swamp or in a hollow cave, and he might crouch there, motionless, for hours, as though listening to the immensity of nature all around. Sometimes he would pick up a stone, or the fallen feather of a bird, sometimes a plant, and put it carefully into the little leather bag he wore round his neck.r />
  'He is making his own medicine,' Tim would say then, watching him out of the corner of his eye. 'Which means that he is collecting things he thinks might bring him luck.'

  'But how does he choose them?'

  'He doesn't. The things must be linked to a dream that he has had or to some premonition. Warriors usually do it later, but Igrak's uncle, Hiakin, Bear Face, is the Senecas' medicine man – a great wizard. Perhaps the boy hopes to succeed him. If that is so, he must be precious to the tribe and we may have a hope of saving our scalps.'

  The idea seemed to reassure him and he faced up to the remainder of their journey with less nervousness.

  Some days after leaving Peekskill, the three travellers reached the crest of the last rocky slope before the Susquehanna.

  'You're in such a hurry to find out how they'll serve us up for dinner. Well, you won't have to wait much longer,' Tim announced, pointing to the winding ribbon of the river. 'If the kid has told us right, his brother's camp can't be more than half an hour's march away.'

  But Gilles made no answer. For some moments he had been watching the evolutions of a bird, obviously a bird of prey, which had caught his eye. It was a splendid creature, a little smaller than an eagle but no less regal and startlingly white.

  Wings outspread, it glided along invisible columns of air in wide, planing circles, high, high above the wooded shoulders of the mountain. It sailed against the blue sky, hieratic and formidable, the whiteness of its feathers in no way detracting from the power of its beak and claws. The young man stopped, fascinated.

  'Well?' Tim said. 'Are you coming?'

  'Look! What is it? An eagle?'

  Tim narrowed his eyes against the light.

  'No. It looks a little like one but I don't think it is. I think it's a gyrfalcon.'

  Gilles' heart missed a beat.

  'A gyrfalcon? Are you sure?'

  'As sure as one can be of a bird that's not often seen in these parts, for most of its kind live farther north. This one is a splendid specimen.'

  With the instinctive movement of the hunter, Tim was already raising his gun but Gilles stopped him with a cry.

  'No!' More quietly, he added: 'It would be a shame.'

  Tim restored his weapon to its holster without protest.

  'You're right. And stupid, too. We are too near the Indian camp and they identify those birds with their tutelary god, the thunderbird.'

  They went on. The path ran downhill through trees but it was broad enough for Gilles to keep an eye on the gyrfalcon which was still flying in wide circles, as though in search of something. Then, without warning, the woodlands fell away on either hand, the path skirted the shoulder of the hill and plunged steeply down to the valley. There lay the Indian camp.

  The huts, made of wattle, bark and yellowed reeds, dotted the river bank between the sparkling water and two fields of maize planted in the Indian fashion which gave them an unfamiliar look. For it was the Iroquois custom to plant four grains of maize and two beans in every hole. The result was a mottled greenery very pleasing to the eye, but a ring of sharpened pine stakes surrounded the camp and its plantations and hid the view.

  The huts were shaped like boxes with rounded lids and most were covered with deerskin painted in bright colours. Female figures with long black plaits were busy about the cooking fires, pounding grain in stone mortars and plucking the game the hunters had killed. Some of these, half-naked men with shaven heads, except for one long black lock of hair entwined with feathers, were gathered about the largest of the huts, before which stood a pole bushed like a poplar tree with the scalps that hung from it. Down by the waterside, where lay several canoes which could be reached by a wide opening in the surrounding fence, near-naked children were playing among the chickens and skinny dogs.

  Gilles' eyes took in the unfamiliar sight eagerly. The camp was enormous. The violent colours of the huts and the women's clothes gave it an air of richness. As for the tall warriors with their gleaming dark skins, they looked powerful and dangerous.

  'What do you think of it?' Tim murmured. 'Still in a hurry to get a closer look at a tribe of Iroquois?'

  'More than ever! It's just as you described, and everything I dreamed of! Whatever happens, I'll never regret coming. The land, the people and the animals are all equally splendid and proud.' He glanced up for a last look at the gyrfalcon. 'Good God!'

  The bird of prey had suddenly ceased its graceful planing flight and with a beat of its powerful wings was stooping on something moving in one of the two fields – something which, though vague in detail, was unquestionably human. From where they stood, the two young men could see light hair showing above the hump of a sack the figure was carrying on its back.

  'It's a woman,' Tim said tonelessly. 'A white woman! The bird must have been attracted by her hair. He's going for her—'

  His words were drowned in a scream, as the gyrfalcon bore down on the fair head. Gilles' gun was already in his hand. He had moved as swiftly as the striking bird. He put it to his shoulder and fired, almost without taking aim. The sound of the shot, thrown back by the mountains, was deafening but the gyrfalcon released its victim and fell to the ground.

  'Nice shot,' Tim said appreciatively. 'But this is where the trouble starts. We may as well give up any idea of sneaking in quietly. The whole camp is already on the warpath.'

  But Gilles was not listening. He had set spurs to his horse and, at the risk of his neck, was clattering down the steep slope to the maizefield. Seconds later, he descended thunderously on the crowd that was collecting round the dead bird and its victim. Strangely, however, he spared little attention for the latter. He had a vague impression of a bundle of rags with a grimy face emerging from it, blue eyes still wide with terror and a faded head of yellow hair streaked with blood. 'No great harm done?' he inquired merely. The creature shook her head but already Gilles had forgotten her. He had gone down on one knee and, bending, lifted the gyrfalcon tenderly. The bird had been killed outright but its limp body was still warm and the touch of the soft, bloodied feathers filled Gilles with a mixture of grief and rage. It seemed to him that in attacking this beautiful white killer he had turned against all those of his own kind, had somehow broken faith with them. They had all been birds of prey, magnificently impervious to pity or to anything else but their own will, and he had ranged himself alongside the featureless herd of their victims. For the sake of a dirty, shapeless being he had been told was a woman, he had slaughtered one of God's most glorious creatures, the sign of destiny which only a short while before had been sailing proudly in the skies that now spread above him, the shade, it might be, of Taran himself…

  Tim's big hand on his arm brought him back to reality.

  'I think you've just signed our death warrant,' the American said softly. 'Look.'

  Slowly, but without laying down the bird in his hands, Gilles rose to his feet. Lost in his own remorse, he had not noticed the circle of Indian warriors drawing closer about them. With their gleaming skins and the black and white designs painted on them, they looked like frescoes done on Spanish leather, but they were armed with bows and feathered spears and every eye was alight with hatred and anger.

  'Let's try what talking can do, at any rate,' Tim sighed.

  Drawing himself up to his full height, he advanced upon an elderly man who, from the sort of crown of crimson-dyed deerskin and the necklace of bear's teeth which he wore, seemed to be the leader. He raised his right hand to shoulder level and moved it in a circle, palm outwards, then, half closing it so that only the index and middle fingers remained upright in the form of a V, he brought it down slowly until it was on a level with his waist before beginning on a speech which, except for occasional mentions of the names of Igrak and Sagoyewatha, was perfectly unintelligible to Gilles.

  This went on for some while and not for a moment did the Senecas abandon their attitudes of scornful immobility. Then, all at once, while Tim Thocker was still speaking, the man in the red crown stretche
d out his arm, pointing imperiously to the two white men. Instantly, several pairs of hands seized and overpowered them, binding their hands behind their backs with ropes of plaited hemp.

  'Your speech doesn't seem to have gone down too well,' Gilles remarked. 'Have we got the wrong tribe, or do these people not care much for their children? It's nice to bring one back to them—'

  Igrak, who had remained silent throughout Tim's speech, had now slipped off the horse and was running to the old Indian, trying to get between the warriors and his new friends and pouring out a stream of explanations to which the man listened with a smile. He laid his hand affectionately on the boy's head and spoke a few words to him, but, despite his protests, would not allow him to rejoin those whom he was evidently trying to defend. Instead, he handed him over to two of his companions who bore him off to the camp, shouting and struggling for all he was worth. Tim shrugged.

  'I was ready to bet this was how it would be. You can't argue with the Iroquois. They're like wild animals.'

  'I thought Sagoyewatha was a young man?' Gilles said, with a jerk of his head towards the man with the crown.

  'He is a young man, and a wise and cautious one, too. This is his uncle, Hiakin, otherwise known as Bear Face, the Senecas' chief medicine man. He takes the chief's place when he is away – and that means that Sagoyewatha is not here and we are lost. He was our only chance.'

  Pushed and jostled by men who seemed to feel a fierce hatred for them, the two young men passed through the palisade into the Indian village, whither Igrak and the gyrfalcon's victim had already preceded them. She, in fact, had been unceremoniously driven away with contemptuous kicks that made her lowly status in the tribe sufficiently clear.

  'A slave!' Tim growled. 'Some poor creature taken in a raid, I suppose, and, as ill luck will have it, one of ours! You saw her fair hair? She's a white woman—'

  As to the bird, it had been wrenched from Gilles' grasp and Hiakin himself now bore it, laid on his two hands which were raised before his face towards the setting sun.