Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

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

  'My husband wishes to have the night to think the matter over,' Sitapanoki translated. 'Cornplanter and his followers are to withdraw. He will return tomorrow for his answer. But I fear he will win. It is never pleasant to hear oneself called a coward. Yet I cannot understand why Cornplanter is so insistent. He and Sagoyewatha have never fought together and he has warriors enough to overrun Schoharie without help from us.'

  Gilles felt a shiver run through him at these last words and he recalled Washington's warning which he and Tim had been charged to deliver to the chief of the Wolf clan. If he allowed himself to be drawn into going with Cornplanter, then the village would be left in charge of Hiakin, as it had been when the two envoys were captured, Hiakin who now seemed to be urging the Iroquois' cause so eagerly, Hiakin who hated Sitapanoki...'

  Old Nemissa caught the young woman's arm and pointed imperiously to the doorway.

  Outside, the warriors were dispersing. Only Sagoyewatha was still standing by the fire, staring down thoughtfully into the embers.

  'I must go to my husband,' Sitapanoki said quietly. 'Nemissa will stay with you until a man comes to watch over you in her place. I am sorry,' she added, with the shadow of a smile.

  'Not as sorry as I am,' Gilles muttered. 'But please tell your husband that I want to speak to him, and tonight. He must hear what I have to say before he makes up his mind.'

  The great golden eyes dwelled for a moment on the young man's troubled face. He realized that she was anxious, even though she did not know all that was in his mind, and so he smiled at her.

  'Please, Sitapanoki, tell him I need to see him. It is important – for all of us.'

  He would say no more, feeling that it was pointless to alarm her by revealing what was in his mind and the growing suspicion he had that the third attempt to carry her off might be successful, when the Iroquois knew that the village had been emptied of its warriors and was held by his ally, Hiakin.

  He said as much to the sachem when he bent his head to enter the hut, from which Nemissa promptly effaced herself. The chief had doffed his red coat but his face was stern.

  'Cornplanter only wants you to go with him so as to get you away from your camp,' Gilles told him boldly. 'You will be with him, under his eye. Your village will contain none but women and old men and he will be able to send some of his warriors to seize the thing he covets most. You should beware of him, Sagoyewatha, for he is jealous and he hates you.'

  The face of the Seneca chief showed nothing of the turmoil within him but Gilles' sharp eyes did not miss the almost imperceptible clenching of his hands while the beautiful, grave voice murmured evenly, almost uninterestedly:

  'Is this what General Washington has sent you to tell me? What are the possessions, or even the honour of an enemy to him? I am an Indian and he is a Virginian gentleman.'

  'One may respect, even admire an enemy as noble as you are. The General regrets that you and yours should stand against him when he is fighting for the liberty of the land where both of you were born. For myself, coming from a country traditionally at odds with England, it is hard to understand how you Americans can fight one another, whatever the colour of your skins. What made you choose to ally yourself with the English – to the point of even wearing their uniform?'

  'The redcoats treat us as allies and as equals. Those who are called colonists regard us like wild beasts. Yet when their ancestors crossed the great waters to land in this country they found us their friends and not their enemies. They told us they had left their own lands a prey to wicked men and that they came here to practise their religion in peace. We took pity on them. We gave them what they asked and they settled amongst us. We gave them maize and meat – in return they gave us poison—the fire water that burns and which turned us into beasts. When you return to your own people – if I set you free – tell your general that Sagoyewatha has no need of his counsels, that he knows how to protect himself and he scorns the soft voices that murmur artfully, seeking to divide brother from brother.'

  'So you have decided to go with Cornplanter?'

  'I have just said that he is my brother.'

  'That is not true! Any more than he is a true Indian. Do you know that he is the son of a settler? That his father is still living in Fort Plain and that his name is John O'Bail? You may not know that but the General knows it and that is why he sent me to you, to say to you, Great Chief, beware of the man you think is of your own blood but who is only on one side for, although he has no right to it, he dreams of ruling the Six Nations of the Iroquois. In order to achieve that, he is willing to crush all the other chiefs, and you first of all.'

  For the first time, a flash of anger showed in Sagoyewatha's eyes and his voice shook.

  'Your tongue speaks with the hissing of a snake! However ambitious, Cornplanter could not hope to vanquish the greatest of us all, the Mohawk chief Thayendanega. So what has he to do with me, who am less powerful than he?'

  'Does your Mohawk chief possess the most beautiful of wives…?'

  For a moment, Gilles thought the Seneca chief was going to fly at his throat, but the man's self-control was phenomenal. The dark eyes and the light met and held, as they had done earlier at the stake, then, with a magnificent shrug of the shoulders, the sachem turned away.

  'Our words go with the wind which shall soon sweep away the colonial army. It is riven with treachery and in a little while their chief will no longer think of making offers of friendship even to the poorest of us. As for you, I will decide tomorrow whether you shall live or die.'

  Disregarding the threat, Gilles pounced on one word the chief had uttered.

  'Treachery? What do you mean?'

  But Sagoyewatha did not answer. He left the hut and as Gilles darted after him, a pair of spears crossed instantly before his face. He realized that his status in the Indian camp had undergone another change. From a potential martyr, he had become an honoured guest and now, for some unknown reason, he had been transformed into prisoner again.

  Any slight doubts he may have entertained on this score were removed when two men burst into his hut. One carried a bowl of maize porridge mixed with a little fish and a pitcher of water, the other had pegs, rope and a mallet. They made him understand by gestures that he was to eat quickly, which he did without enjoyment and simply to keep up his strength, for the Indian stew was far from tasty. The two Indians watched him impassively and as soon as he had swallowed the last mouthful they fell upon him simultaneously and without warning. They laid him down spreadeagled on the ground and fastened his wrists and ankles to pegs driven into the floor of the hut, taking no notice whatever of his furious protests. Sagoyewatha, it seemed, placed no faith in the security of his huts and meant to make sure that his guest could not use the hours of darkness to make a hole in the wall and escape. Gilles had, in fact, been planning to do precisely that.

  Helpless, angry and humiliated, as well as apprehensive, the young man passed a trying and uncomfortable night. His head was full of questions. What could the Iroquois have said to Sagoyewatha? What was the treachery that threatened Washington and would lead to such an overwhelming defeat for him? Where the devil could Tim and the girl called Gunilla have got to!

  He managed to doze off towards morning but was dragged from his uneasy sleep by the din that broke out in the village with the first rays of the sun. He tried to move, uttered a groan of anguish and then began swearing like an old trooper. His body was as stiff as a board, his mouth was dry and he felt as if he smelt as badly as the whole camp put together. What was more, the paint which had dried on his body was making him itch frantically.

  At the cost of another twinge, he managed to raise his head a little to listen. There could be no doubt as to the cause of all the row. The Seneca warriors were leaving their village again to go with Cornplanter on his deadly raid against the peaceful settlers of Schoharie. The red devils were going to fall like lightning on some village where the harvest was ripening in the summer sun and put it to fire and sl
aughter, leaving nothing but scorched earth and piles of scalped bodies. And there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it.

  Such faint hope as he had cherished of persuading Sagoyewatha when he came to tell him what he had decided vanished when a tall shadow came between him and the pale square of the opened doorway. He knew from the shape of the headdress that it was Hiakin and privately commended his soul to God. The fact that the sorcerer had come himself told him that the news was bad. They were going to drag him back to that damned stake for sure, and carry on with the festivities from where they had left off.

  He was too young to endure the medicine man's sardonic scrutiny in silence and burst out angrily:

  'Well, Hiakin, what have you come for? To hear the end of my song?'

  Bear Face shrugged the bunched muscles which passed for his shoulders.

  'If it were for me to decide, you could begin it here and now,' he snarled in the same tone. 'But Sagoyewatha thinks you'll be more useful to him as a hostage, for when the Virginian is defeated and has slunk back to his earth, the warriors from across the great waters may be generous in buying back their prisoners to take them home again.'

  'And you,' Gilles retorted, 'what do you think? Do you believe in this crazy tale of Cornplanter's, this unlikely story of treachery which he says is going to deliver the American army up to the redcoats? I thought you had more sense. Not one of Washington's men would do such a thing!'

  'Save one who burns with the thirst for gold! An unlikely story, do you say?' Hiakin cried, letting his rage lead him into the trap laid for his pride. 'Know, then, that the man with the pale hair, the warrior who commands West Point, the valiant General Benedict Arnold, has been for many weeks in contact with his former masters in order to give pleasure to his squaw. Before the new moon he will have yielded the fortress on the Hudson in return for much gold. Your great white chief will vanish like the morning mist.'

  The last words were lost in a burst of laughter from Gilles, laughter which was all the louder because of the anxiety it concealed, for Bear Face's revelation held a sinister ring of truth. It fitted too well with the doubts which Colonel Hamilton had expressed at Peekskill about the trust which could be placed in the hero of Saratoga. If Arnold yielded up West Point, not only would Washington lose his strongest position but the French gold would go straight into the pockets of his enemies. What could Rochambeau and his five thousand men do then, perched on their island with the English fleet on one side and on the other this vast continent where they would no longer have any support at all?

  'Why do you laugh?' Hiakin said sulkily.

  'Because you are even crazier than I thought. So this was why Sagoyewatha refuses to listen to the words of my master? You poor fools! Do you think that West Point is Washington's only stronghold? Go and tell your chief to ask his young brother. Igrak could tell him about the warriors of the King of France, their weapons and their ships! And those warriors are only the advance guard, for soon others will come, with yet more arms and more guns and more ships. Your friends the redcoats will be swept away like leaves in a storm, and you with them. Kill me now, if you like – but do not forget my words when the time comes.'

  The medicine man's only answer was a furious kick aimed at his ribs as he departed, much faster than he had come.

  The noise outside had risen to a hellish din. A savage chanting broken by hysterical shrieks rose above the frenzied beating of the war drums. The very earth was trembling beneath the rhythmic pounding of hundreds of feet stamping out the war dance. Clouds of dust poured in through the open door-flap. Gilles was covered with it, it rasped his throat and set him coughing, which made him still more angry. Attila had defeated Cicero and was setting forth with his barbarian hordes to spread death and desolation through the midst of this fair land, while the vile greed of a man without honour dealt a stab in the back to one of the greatest men ever born on this earth, and moreover a man who was his friend.

  Half-mad with anger, Gilles began tugging fiercely at the ropes which bound him to the pegs, trying to loosen them at least, in the hope of managing to pull them out. But they held firm. His skin was raw and bleeding but the pegs had not even shifted. Yet at all costs he had to get out of there, he had to escape from that accursed village. The peril of abduction facing the lovely Sitapanoki paled before the deadly peril of the Rebels, faced with treachery by one of their own side.

  'O Lord,' he prayed aloud, 'and you, Our Lady and defender of just causes, help me! Get me out of here so that I can save them! Send help – or tell me what that blockhead Tim Thocker is up to!'

  He had shouted his strange prayer to the heavens but his voice was lost in the din outside, to which the neighing of horses had now been added.

  Then he felt a warm breath on his face. A small voice whispered: 'Sssh!' and Gilles, who had closed his eyes, opened them again to see the anxious face of Igrak kneeling by him, a finger to his lips. Gilles smiled but the boy was already tugging with all his strength at one of the pegs. He shook it fiercely, the youthful muscles standing out under his coppery skin which was soon covered in sweat. But, in a little while, the peg did move enough to permit the hope of pulling it out at last. With a triumphant grin, the small warrior flung himself on the next piece of wood but at that moment someone outside called his name.

  The boy shivered and Gilles saw the fear in his strained face.

  'Go quickly!' he whispered. 'I'll manage the rest by myself. Thank you, thank you a hundred times—'

  Igrak's eyes shone and as he rose he slipped a knife quickly under Gilles' shoulders.

  'Friend,' he said and then, with a wriggle like an eel, he slid through a hole which he must have made in the bottom of one wall without Gilles seeing him. Gilles, left alone, first listened intently. The noise was beginning to die down. The footsteps of men and horses were undoubtedly moving away. Probably no one would come to look at him for some time yet, but it might be better to wait for nightfall before freeing himself finally. On the other hand, if anyone came to bring him food they might notice the damaged peg, in which case it would all be to do again, without the help of Igrak. After all, for the child to have chosen that moment to try and free him, must mean that there was a chance to be taken. So Gilles bunched his muscles and began to pull with all his might. He could feel the blade of the knife beneath his back and its touch gave him a fresh spurt of energy. He pulled and pulled – and bit back a shout of triumph as the peg came out suddenly.

  With his right hand free, he wriggled until he could feel the knife and manage to close his numbed fingers on it. His whole aching body was crying out with pain but he was borne up by the excitement of feeling that freedom was near. The blade bit through the ropes that bound his left hand. Igrak had done his work well, the blade was razor sharp. The strands of hemp parted in seconds. After that, to free his feet was a simple exercise.

  Once on his feet, he stretched himself several times and flexed his knees. Painfully at first, but then more easily, the circulation began to flow once more. Then he took a cautious look outside.

  There was no one to be seen. All those who were not going were crowded at the gateway to the river where the canoes were being launched. Those Indians who were mounted had already set out on horseback, the rest were getting into the long painted war canoes. No one was paying any attention to what might be happening in the village, all were concentrated on bidding farewell to the warriors. His heart thudding, Gilles saw that there was no one at the gate giving on to the maize fields. Grabbing the blanket which was lying in a corner, so as to make himself some sort of a garment when he had time, he darted out, stark naked, and ran until his heart was bursting, praying that no one would see him. Then he was through the palisade and plunging into the maize field, which swallowed him up like the sea.

  He paused only for an instant. His flight might be discovered at any moment. He must lose no time. He used his knife to cut a broad strip off the blanket and make himself a kind of loincloth, stuck the invaluable b
lade into it and rolled up the rest and carried it under his arm to put over himself at night. Then he set off across the green sea, making for the woods that flowed down almost to the valley bottom.

  The sun was glaring hot and he was grateful for the coolness when he reached the wood. It was thick and dark with dense thickets of blueberries and brambles which scratched him but from which he was able to glean a little nourishment as he passed. The wild fruit was sour and indigestible but it stayed his thirst.

  The wooded slope was steep and Gilles' heart was pounding in his chest like a drum. His breath came in noisy gasps. It crossed his mind that if the Senecas gave chase he would very soon be overtaken and recaptured. It might be better not to go too far but to look for a hiding place where he could wait until nightfall. His pursuers would probably not expect him to stay so close to the camp but the chief difficulty lay in concealing his tracks. Tim had told him a hundred times of the Indians' incredible skill as trackers.

  The sound of a stream caught his ears, one of the hundreds that flowed down into the river. Thinking that this was the best way to cover his tracks, Gilles stepped into it and went on climbing, rather enjoying it because the cool water was pleasant to the sores on his bare feet.

  The sound of shouting reached him, still much too close. It came from the village where his flight must certainly have been discovered. Now the hunt was up and if he did not find himself a hiding place very quickly, his chances of escape would be very slim indeed.

  He looked about him. His glance rested on a huge tree, obviously of immense age, that stood beside the stream. One branch overhung the water, so low that it might just be possible to reach it…

  Gilles scrambled on to a rock whose surface was just under water, stretched out his arms and poised himself for a spring, then he leaped upwards, praying that he would make it, for he could never regain his foothold on the slippery rock. His fingers touched wood and clung. For an instant he hung suspended between the tree and the water, while he got his breath for the final effort, then he had succeeded and was sitting astride the branch. From there he studied the tree.