'Why do you not escape?' the Indian whispered furiously. 'I have been watching "the stone girl". I knew that she would try to free you. But what are you doing here? Fly!'
But Gilles was past all coherent thought. Seizing hold of the girl, he thrust her back into the hut so that no one could hear them. A mad idea had germinated suddenly in his brain.
'I came to find you,' he said. 'I know all about you. These people are the enemies of your people as they are of mine. Let me take you with me—'
He clasped her to him in the darkness and the touch of her body woke a demon in him. She did not struggle and he heard a soft laugh against his cheek.
'You are as mad as you are young, although your eyes are like a glacier under the moon. But I do not want to go away. Sagoyewatha loves me – and he is a great chief.'
'And do you love him? Oh come, I beseech you! If you will come with me, I will love you as no other man could ever do—'
'Love me? You love me and yet only yesterday you did not know me?'
'I am not trying to explain it. Look, I ought to have been only too glad to escape, to avoid the death that awaited me, and yet I could not go away from you. I had to see you again, at least one more time. I know you think that I am mad but you have set me on fire, Sitapanoki—'
'And you will be set on fire in good earnest if you do not go away at once! You know my name,' she added with feeling, 'but do you know the eternity of pain Hiakin has in store for you? You will scream for days, perhaps, before death takes you and I shall see you destroyed slowly before my eyes and be powerless even to shorten your sufferings! If "the stone girl" had not released you, I swear by the Great Spirit that I should have done so, but now go—'
'Not without you.' And before she could even stir, he had swept her up in his arms and was carrying her out of the hut. He was beyond all logical thought. The blood of his forefathers, masterful and demanding, with its leaning towards rapine and violence, had risen in him. Whatever the peril, he wanted this woman and could not bear the thought of being parted from her.
Sitapanoki uttered no cry, not so much as a sigh escaped her, and yet the inevitable happened. Before Gilles had gone three steps from the hut, a tall figure barred his way. From somewhere a lighted torch appeared, and then a second and a third. Gilles' intoxication left him abruptly as he came face to face with Hiakin and three other men. The Indian girl wriggled lithely from his arms and vanished like a snake into the night.
'The spirits of darkness must be your friends, since they have succeeded in setting you free,' the sorcerer said harshly. 'And you have dared to steal away one of our women! But you shall not escape your fate a second time. Behold, here comes the dawn!'
It was true. Eastwards, beyond the mountains, the sky was growing lighter. A cock crowed somewhere and suddenly the whole village was stirring, like a wasps' nest kicked open. Gilles was seized by a score of hands and dragged to the stake. His clothes were stripped from him and he was bound to it firmly once again while women stacked wood to relight the fire.
Hiakin, arms folded on his chest, considered his prisoner with savage joy.
'Your brother, the man with red hair has escaped. So much the worse for you. You shall suffer for both.'
He went on to describe with satisfaction all the sufferings that would be his as soon as the first rays of sunlight struck the village. His whole body would be burned slowly with the aid of a variety of instruments, armfuls of which were being brought to the fire by women and old men, until it was raw. His face would be mutilated beyond recognition. The skin would be stripped from his skull and replaced with a bed of burning coals. His bones would be broken one by one…
Throughout this catalogue of horrors, Gilles kept his eyes fixed, wide open, on the mountain tops and tried not to listen, clinging to the one consolation that was left to him: Tim was safe. Tim was out of these savages' reach. He might even have managed to steal a musket with which to put an end to his friend's agony from a distance.
Two men approached the condemned man carrying jars filled with red and black paint and with this they proceeded to anoint his body, according to the custom of the Iroquois.
The fire was burning up now, giving off a thick smoke. The hatchets, spikes and iron bars that had been placed in it were beginning to glow red.
'Will you not beg for mercy?' Hiakin jeered. 'Why do you not plead with us?'
'When you put men of your own race to the torture, do they beg for mercy?' Gilles asked scornfully.
'Indians are brave men, whatever their tribe. Not only do they not weep, but they sing as the instruments of their death are prepared. The bravest sing even under torture.'
'They sing, do they?'
Gilles drew in his breath with the energy of despair. Miraculously, a song came to his lips. It was one which the soldiers of the regiment of Saintonge had often sung in the evenings in the camp at Newport.
'Dans les jardins d'mon père
Les Mas sont fleuris
Dans les jardins d'mon père
Les Mas sont fleuris
Tous les oiseaux du monde
Viennent y faire leur nid
Auprès de ma blonde
Qu'il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon
Auprès de ma blonde
Qu'il fait bon dormi…
The hubbub in the Indian village had given way to complete silence. The women and old men bringing their tools to the fire slowed their pace. The hatred in their eyes had softened a little to something like respect. The prisoner was singing… His voice rang out in the silence of that mountainous place like a cry of victory and suddenly, in the doorway of the largest hut, Gilles saw a pale figure that set his heart beating faster. His voice died away on the last words. It was the angel of death coming to him in the shape of the woman who had so made him lose his head.
Then, all at once, the sun leaped up into the sky like a ball of fire and the whole valley was illumined. It was the signal. An old man, nearly bald except for one thin grey lock hanging from his scalp, grasped a long brand of red hot iron and approached the stake. Gilles began to sing again, with a kind of desperate fury.
La caille, la tourterelle et la jolie perdrix
Et ma jolie colombe qui chante jour et nuit…
The last word rose to a shrill pitch of agony, as the end of the iron was set to his thigh. In an instant he was drenched with sweat. The pain was agonizing and it went on and on, while a sickening smell of burned flesh rose into the air. Gilles clenched his teeth and gasped for breath, straining his whole will to go on with his song. Now it was an old woman coming towards him, armed with a glowing claw.
Qui chante… pour les files… qui n'ont pas de mari…
The old woman smiled like a grinning skull and waved her horrible implement before the prisoner's face so that he could feel the heat of it. Then there was a sudden commotion. An Indian in one of the observation posts overlooking the river was shouting something and gesturing wildly. Another voice echoed him. It belonged to Sitapanoki.
'Sagoyewatha! He has come back!'
Instantly, all attention was turned from the prisoner to the great gateway leading down to the water, which was thrown wide open. From where he stood, Gilles could see the bend of the river literally covered with canoes, all full of warriors. A tall, thin man of imposing presence was standing, arms folded, at the prow of the leading canoe. He wore a head-dress of eagle's feathers and rose above the trails of mist upon the water like a tall statue of bronze, representing some savage river god.
The whole village burst out into a roar of welcome. Some of the women tore off their garments and plunged in, naked, to swim to meet the new arrivals. Once again, the drums began to beat.
Gilles, still bound fast to his stake, tried not to let hope invade him. Tim had certainly insisted that in Sagoyewatha's presence lay their only hope of safety, but how would he view a man who, that very night, had attempted to carry off his wife?
The canoes were grounding now. The naked swimmers
were emerging from the water. Some of them held their husbands' war trophies gripped between their teeth: severed heads, held by the hair to enable them to swim. Those who had none gazed on their sisters with a dreadful envy. Only then did Gilles close his eyes, overcome by a wave of nausea which, fortunately, was quick to pass. The bloody heads were those of white men.
When he looked again, the chief had stepped ashore and entered the village compound. And, with a sudden surge of mingled joy and thankfulness, Gilles realized why Sagoyewatha had returned unexpectedly. For his hand was resting on the shoulder of a boy, and the boy was Igrak. Having failed to persuade Hiakin to release his new friends, he must have stolen away from the village secretly in the night and gone to find his brother. Fortunately, the Seneca chief could not have been far off but, at the same time, that explained the sorcerer's haste to be rid of the intruders.
Led by the child, Sagoyewatha walked straight to the prisoner, regally brushing aside Bear Face's voluble explanations. As their eyes met, Gilles thought that he had rarely seen a prouder face than this Indian's. His hook nose and thin, disdainfully curved lips gave him a kind of resemblance to the bird whose plumage he wore and made him look older than he was. But the smooth copper skin and the brilliance of his deep-set dark eyes, the balance of his lean, well-muscled body showed him to be a young man. There was no anger in his expression, only a good deal of curiosity.
'My brother, "The eagle who never sleeps", told me that two strangers had come to my camp. Where is your companion, Oman of the salt?'
'He fled in the night. Pardon him,' Gilles added with an attempt at a smile, 'that he did not avail himself of the hospitality of your people.'
'Our hospitality should not have been stinted to one who, though he might have kept my brother as a hostage, yet, in his magnanimity, took the trouble to return him to us. But you broke our most sacred laws in killing the white bird which strikes like lightning. Moreover, you were about to fly yourself – taking with you one of our women.'
One of our women? Could it be that in the darkness Hiakin had not recognized Sitapanoki? If that were so, then luck might still be on the side of Washington's emissaries. With some difficulty, on account of his bonds, Gilles managed a shrug of magnificent disdain.
'It is true. General Washington had entrusted us, Tim Thocker and I, with messages to you. My own stupidity and the anger of your people prevented us from discharging our errand and I thought, by taking a hostage, to force you to talk to me none the less.'
As an excuse, it was perhaps a trifle threadbare but Sagoyewatha seemed satisfied. His eyes dwelt gravely for a moment on his prisoner's calm face. What he saw there must have pleased him. The long burn on his thigh showed that the prisoner had already suffered pain, yet the Seneca chief had heard him singing. His eyes, the cold, pale blue of a wintry sky, looked straight at him, proud but not arrogant. Sagoyewatha nodded.
'The Great Spirit is our father but the Earth is our mother, as she is the mother of the pale faces who beseech her for their food, even as we do. But they do not know the Great Spirit and they believe that all living things on the earth were created for their use. They do not know that the white bird is of a divine essence…'
Gilles listened in fascination. The Indian chief had a hypnotically musical voice, warm, dark and velvety, against which the words stood out in startling relief. Gilles realized why it was that this young man carried such weight that even the haughty Washington desired to win him over. Even so, he tried to shake off the spell.
'Even had I known your laws,' he said daringly, 'I should have fired none the less. Your divine bird was on the point of killing a woman.'
'A slave—'
'My skin is the same colour as that slave's. Suppose that the victim had been a girl of your own race, Sagoyewatha. Would you have let her die?'
'Perhaps. We never cross the will of the Great Spirit when he has chosen his victim. But you could not understand that – and that is why I am releasing you.'
Drawing a long knife from his belt, the chief sliced swiftly through the cords binding the young man to the stake. That they had also been holding him up appeared when Gilles tried to take a step forward. He reeled giddily. He had not eaten or drunk since the previous day and now the effects of the night's agony were beginning to make themselves felt. He swayed on his feet and groped blindly for a support. Igrak darted forward and held him, calling out something as he did so. Sagoyewatha smiled.
'The child is right, you need food and rest. Come. You are the messenger of the great white chief and so from now on you are my guest.'
He made a lordly gesture and two of the Indians, who a moment before had been preparing to cut the Frenchman to ribbons and listen to his screams as to the sweetest music, now carried him with all the tenderness of a mother to a hut close by the chief's own.
Before very much longer Gilles, fed on maize and grilled fish, with a plaster of herbs on his injured thigh, was wrapped in a warm blanket and dropping into a sound sleep that should repair the ravages of the most harrowing twenty-four hours of his life.
The two women who crouched on either side of Gilles' couch offered a striking contrast. The light of the small wood fire heightened Sitapanoki's beauty and emphasized the wizened age of her companion, a shrivelled-up, mummified creature who sat puffing at her pipe with all the gravity of an old pirate on the bridge of his ship. Gilles kept his eyes averted from her.
He hoisted himself on one elbow and smiled at the younger woman.
'If your husband has given me into your keeping, he has made me the happiest man in the world,' the former pupil of St Yves murmured softly, the graceful compliment, wholly French, springing instinctively to his lips. 'The other is not so desirable, though,' he added, jerking his head faintly in the direction of the pipe-smoking crone, 'and I could well do without her.'
'Sagoyewatha is too wise not to know that one should never light a fire in a pine forest at the end of a dry summer. As for the old woman, it is not you she is guarding, but me. She is my mother-in-law. Her name is Nemissa. This land belongs to her, according to the custom of the Iroquois.'
Gilles, impressed, sketched a vague bow in the direction of the old woman who responded with a chilly stare and then went on puffing at her pipe as though he had never been.
'She doesn't seem to like me very much,' he said with a sigh. 'In any case, it's time I got up. I must see your husband.'
He threw back the blanket, remembered just in time that he was stark naked except for the paint which they had smeared over him at the stake and did his best to drape his body in the rough cloth. The aged Nemissa rose at once and moved as though to bar his way, at the same time uttering something incomprehensible.
'You are not to go out,' Sitapanoki translated. 'In fact, we are here to stop you doing just that. Sagoyewatha is entertaining another chief at the council fire and he does not wish him to know of your presence here.'
'Who is this other chief?'
'Kiontwocki, who is called the Planter of Maize—'
'I have heard of Cornplanter,' Gilles said, recalling with no great enthusiasm the curious mission with which he had been entrusted. 'It is said that he covets you and is jealous of your husband. What is he doing here?'
'You have heard truly. Twice already I have escaped attempts to carry me off which could only have been made by him, although Sagoyewatha refuses to believe it because he himself is noble and upright.'
'Have the Iroquois no respect for their brothers' wives, then?'
'Yes. When they are of the same tribe. But I am of an enemy tribe, a kind of captive. As to what Cornplanter is doing here, I think he is trying to persuade Sagoyewatha into joining a foray against the colonists of Schoharie, farther up the valley.'
Gilles took a step towards the doorway of the hut. Nemissa placed herself before him with folded arms, fiercely forbidding. Gilles gently but firmly put her aside.
'Tell her I am not going outside. But I want to have a look at this Cornplanter.
I must know what he is like.'
He had no need to move the deerskin across the doorway very far. The Seneca council was taking place just within his field of vision. Darkness had fallen again and the Indians were clearly visible in the light of the fire. It seemed to Gilles that there were a great many of them. Most were young men, with strong bodies under the fierce warpaint which made them look so ferocious. He saw Sagoyewatha, still wearing his eagle head-dress but clad now, for the occasion, in the magnificent red coat of an English officer. The effect was certainly startling. Finally, facing him like a fighting cock, Gilles saw a tall man with a pale copper-coloured skin who wore a kind of silver coronet on his shaven head. The thick black lock hanging from the top of his head was plaited with multi-coloured feathers. Heavy silver ornaments hung from the deeply pierced lobes of his ears and were set in his arrogant nostrils. His eyes were flashing and a stream of angry words was pouring from his scornful lips.
'He is saying that the harvest round Schoharie has never been so good,' Sitapanoki whispered, 'and that now or never is the moment to teach the people of the valley that the Iroquois have not forgotten their brethren massacred by General Sullivan, that they are still here and thirsting for vengeance. He wants to burn the whole valley.'
'And what does your husband say?'
'That we should respect the fruits of the earth who is our mother, that soon winter will come and we shall be hungry, and also that while it is very well to attack soldiers, the farmers of Schoharie have few warriors amongst them. But these are reasons beyond Cornplanter's understanding. He cares only for blood and for the screams of the dying. The Iroquois are cruel but he is the worst of all. I have heard it said that there is white blood in his veins and that is the reason for his frenzied hatred of your people.'
The discussion round the fire went on for a long time with no apparent conclusion. Cornplanter breathed fire and slaughter, in which he was seconded by Hiakin, while Sagoyewatha opposed him with every argument of real wisdom. Then, suddenly, the voices were lowered and nothing more could be heard until Sagoyewatha finally said something in a strong voice.
Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon Page 24