“Then I will have to take care that nothing happens to you, won’t I?” she said, retaining her smile with an effort. It was unthinkable that he could die. He was far too alive.
“You need not worry. If I am killed, I—”
“Don’t say that!” she interrupted, her tone sharp.
He went on as if she had not spoken. “I want you to go at once to Pierre; at once, you understand. He will take you to Fort Saint Jean Baptiste or to New Orleans if the way is clear enough. You can depend on him to protect you.”
She looked at him, her throat so tight it ached. After a moment, she said, “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I would rather not think of it.”
“You must. As much pleasure as it might give me to think of you as my companion in the afterworld, I can’t bear the thought of your death on my head. You will do as I say.”
Because it seemed that he would not stir from where he stood until she agreed, she forced herself to nod. Satisfied, he turned away.
‘‘Wait!”
He swung back, lifting a brow in inquiry.
“Who told you that your brother had proposed to me?”
“The Great Sun himself,” he answered, his voice dry.
“What else did he say?”
“That he had also offered you the joys of his sleeping bench and that you had refused, violently. I believe he was complaining.”
“And nothing else?” Such as the belief that she was in love with Reynaud?
“What more could there be?”
“That — that he was the worse for drink at the time and had no liking for my answers.”
“He didn’t hurt you?”
“No, nor did he come close. It was just … embarrassing.”
Laughter sprang into his eyes. “For my brother also. It isn’t something that has happened to him often, being refused. I will see you at noon.”
He turned once more and left the hut, sliding the door shut behind him.
Elise stood staring in front of her, the smaller matter of the Great Sun already forgotten as her mind dwelled on the arrangement Reynaud had made for her in the event of his death. Death. It had been near them in the night. Fear of it might well have been the basis of their desperate need for each other. It must come, as surely as spring would bring the French. Many would die and who more likely than the who would lead the Natchez into battle? The French would not spare him; in fact, it was likely that they would want him dead above all.
The more she tried to push such thoughts from her mind, the more firmly entrenched they became. It was a relief then when, in the middle of the morning, a knock came on the door.
She opened the panel to discover a Frenchwoman standing outside. She thought at once of Madame Doucet, but there was no immediate message of trouble from that quarter. Instead, the young woman, extremely fair of hair and skin and far gone in pregnancy, stood silently. There was hesitancy in her manner and she twisted her hands in the grimy apron she had used to cover her stomach, which was escaping the bounds of her faded, bedraggled gown.
“Won’t you come in?” Elise said, at a loss.
The woman gave a hunted look around her, then stepped inside, moving into the center of the room. She watched Elise with an intensity that was unnerving. Elise offered her refreshment and invited her to sit. The woman refused anything to drink, but sat down on the edge of a bench.
Elise was quiet. After a moment she realized that she had become so accustomed to the ways of the Natchez that she waited as they did for her guest to speak. Collecting her best hostess manner, she asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”
The woman looked up, then down at her hands again. She licked her lips which were pale, almost colorless. “Is it true … Can you tell me … That is, I have heard that you were rescued from the massacre by Reynaud Chavalier and — and some others. Is this … Can this be true?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,”
“They say that there were three men saved, three who are now alive.”
“Yes?”
“Was one of them — could one of them have been Jean-Paul St. Amant?”
“Oh,” Elise said in sudden enlightenment, “you are his chére amie!”
The woman jumped up in agitation. “I was never his mistress, never! It wasn’t like that; it wasn’t like that at all!”
“No, of course not,” Elise said soothingly, cursing herself for her impulsive outburst. “Come, sit back down.”
“We were in love,” the woman said, her face twisting as she sank back down, her voice breaking into a sob. “We were in love.”
“I know. St. Amant told me.” She reached out to put her arm around the thin, shaking shoulders of the other woman who turned, clinging to her and crying as if her heart would break.
When St. Amant had spoken to her of the woman he loved, she had never thought that she would find her. In the press of other things, she had forgotten the woman’s existence and had not troubled to inquire about her. She could not have done so in any case since St. Amant, with gentlemanly reticence, had not told her the woman’s name. She could hardly have gone among the captives asking for the married woman who had indulged in an affair with the Frenchman.
Elise began to talk, speaking of St. Amant’s fear for the woman he loved, of his concern for her condition and how capture might affect her, of his confession that he had prayed she had been freed of her husband by the atrocities of the Natchez. Slowly the woman quieted, then straightened.
“You are too kind,” she said, wiping her face. “I — I have been under such strain; the child, you know, and — and my husband dead. And thinking St. Amant dead with the others. I — will be better now.”
Elise stared into the pale blue eyes of the woman, seeing such stalwart courage there that she felt somehow inadequate. “Is there something I can do to help you?”
“You have already done that; you have given me hope.”
Elise reached out to take her arm, turning it to the light where the yellow and blue marks of both old and new bruises marred the fine white flesh. Gently she said, “There must be something more.”
Her name was Helene and she was a slave to Red Deer, the mother of Path Bear. It had taken her so long to hear of Elise’s story and to find the opportunity to speak to her because she was seldom allowed out of her mistress’s hut, was rarely able to speak to her own kind. She was given an endless series of tasks from dawn to dusk and was beaten if she did not finish them; she was sometimes struck or jerked here and there if she failed to understand instructions instantly or got in the way with her clumsy movements. It was as if she had become a scapegoat for the woman’s rage over die banishment of her son brought about by another Frenchwoman.
As the story came out in bits and pieces, Elise felt an enormous guilt. She did not know what she could have done to prevent the mistreatment of Helene, but it seemed that there must be something to be done to relieve it now. It would take time to make any change, however. Though it was hard to be forced to stand aside and to permit Helene to go back to Path Bear’s mother, for the moment Elise could do nothing else.
As soon as she had seen Helene back to her hut, Elise went in search of Reynaud. He could not be found, however. He had gone into the woods to choose more trees for the wall. She turned instead toward the house of the Great Sun. She doubted that it would do any good to lay such a problem before the ruler himself, doubtless he would consider it trivial, beneath his attention, even if he was not out of charity with her for refusing him. She would ask for Tattooed Arm.
The mother of Reynaud entertained her graciously, listened with interest and every expression of concern, but gave her little support. The Frenchwoman was the property of Red Deer. How she was treated was no concern of anyone else. It was a great pity that she was being abused, but the one most likely to be able to help her was the slave herself. If she could best her mistress, then that, too, would not be the concern of anyone. There would be no reprisal. The woman’s con
dition made it unlikely, but not impossible, if she chose her weapon well.
Elise tried to imagine Helene taking up a chunk of wood or stone bottle and defending herself. The girl had courage, but it was of a quiet, enduring kind. She would be no match for the mother of Path Bear. Soon, in a matter of days, her child would be born and what would become of her then?
Later that night when Reynaud returned, she spoke to him. He went at once to visit Red Deer, planning to present her with an offer to buy the Frenchwoman. He cautioned Elise not to depend on an acceptance, however. It was just as well that she listened to him. The refusal came within the hour.
Elise did not give up. She spoke to Little Quail, urging her to join her in visiting Helene to see that she was all right. She did the same with the Frenchwoman, knowing that it would be more difficult for them, but feeling that their numbers and their interest would make a difference, perhaps keep up Helene’s spirits, if nothing else.
On a morning five days later, such small matters lost their importance. The Natchez woke to find sixteen hundred Choctaw warriors, allies of the French and painted for battle, encamped outside the wall.
A council of the elders was held with the Suns, male and female, sitting behind them, listening. Elise, by virtue of being the wife of the war chief, was given a place. She listened as Reynaud urged caution, suggesting delay by any means until the walls of their forts were completed. The Choctaws were there because they knew the French were coming. They had joined forces with the white men because they wanted vengeance against the Natchez for putting forward the day of the attack on Fort Rosalie, thereby depriving them of booty. If they could be fobbed off with a portion of the spoils taken from the French, even given some of the French slaves, they might be satisfied. It was possible that they might even go away without a blow being struck. If not, then at least the Natchez would have gained time and readiness.
Accordingly, a delegation was sent with a beautiful calumet, one covered with feathers and wrapped in spirals of polished copper wire. The warriors, led by the eldest men of the Natchez, were arrayed in their finest and most impressive costumes, with swansdown capes floating about their shoulders and swan plumes nodding in crowns above their heads. The sun shone down upon them, gleaming on their splendor, shining with a copper sheen on straight broad backs and wide shoulders. Reynaud was among them.
Would the embassy be accepted or would it be rejected, the members killed or maimed, except for a messenger sent to dictate terms? The tension of the waiting to find out gripped the village. When an hour had passed with no word, Elise had a visitor.
Tattooed Arm gave no hint of the anxiety that she must have felt as she sat placidly sipping at herb tea. She spoke of generalities for a time, of the warming days, of the wild onions coming up again, of the swelling buds on the trees and the haze of green grass in sheltered spots. After a time, she fell silent. When she spoke again, it was on something entirely different, perhaps a little closer to her concern.
“It was wise of the women to choose Reynaud as war chief over Path Bear. He is using the weapons of his father’s people against them. All may yet be well over this accursed affair of the massacre.”
“We must hope so,” Elise answered politely. “But I have heard before that he was the choice of the women. How can this be? I thought the position was more or less hereditary, that it was merely confirmed by the council of elders.”
“This is true in part, but the council could reject him and choose another in his place if they thought him unworthy. It is in the evaluation of those young men who might be eligible that the women play their part.”
“I see,” Elise said and truthfully thought she did.
“My son is a warrior, yes, but he does not glorify war. He is wise as well as strong; he prefers to be gentle when there is a choice between persuasion and force. He was tested in this, as was Path Bear, when he was a young man and has now borne out the test.”
“Tested? How was that?” It was well to keep some conversation going. Tattooed Arm seemed to need to talk and she herself did not want to be alone with her own fears.
“Where else but in the bed furs? It is there that men reveal themselves. My son had strength, but it was held in reserve. He exercised patience and consideration always. He sought to guide and protect, not to dominate. In the beginning, you see, that was the purpose of a war chief, to protect. No man was ever chosen who would use his strength to gain what he wanted, who would stoop to base trickery to have a woman, or who would callously leave her immediately after he had her.”
Elise lowered her lashes. “In this test of Reynaud, were there … many woman?”
“It was a most thorough test.”
That explained a great deal. “He was aware of it, that he was being judged?”
“No, never. It would not then have been a true evaluation, would it? He was merely surrounded with females who invited his attention.”
“I see. And was the Great Sun also tested in this way?”
“Indeed, for as a man uses a woman, so will he rule.”
“And St. Cosmic?”
“Even my third son, for should either of the first two die, he must take their place until the daughter of my sister can provide sons to carry on the line, it being that I have no daughters myself.”
Elise did not like the tenor of this line of conversation. Changing the subject, at least in part, she said, “The women of the Natchez have a great deal of influence and freedom, more than other Indian women or so I believe. How does that happen?”
“We are closer to the ancient times, the times before war.”
“Is that what you meant by saying ‘in the beginning’?”
The Indian woman was silent, staring into space for long moments. Finally she began to speak. “According to the ancient words, kept not by the guardians of the temple but by the oldest women, the Natchez in the beginning, long before we came to this place, were children of the moon. Women, the givers of life, the tillers of the fertile soil who made it give forth food, ruled. The council was a council of women, the ruler not one, but a trio of women: mother, daughter, and granddaughter. It was this trio who once blessed the marriage unions of men and women without the nonsense of capture, which is a mockery of the woman being stolen from her people. Women, in the ancient days, gave themselves freely without fear, for men, needing women and holding them sacred, courted their pleasure.
“Men, worshippers of the life-force, of the moon that in its waxing and waning controlled the periods of flow for the waters of the land as well as for women, the moon that is like the round belly of the pregnant female, were content to be ruled. They hunted to provide food, cleared the land to be planted, shared the houses of the women, and protected her and her children. All lived in prosperity and peace. So it was for generations beyond counting.
“Then came from the east a tribe who wanted our rich lands. They sought to take them by force, killing our people. The men were invited to join the council since it was their strength dig would be needed to repel the foe. Little by little they became important. The woman and mother was set aside as ruler. A man was set in their place as every part of life, the planting and gathering of food, the safe-guarding of the children, became the province of men because of the dangers of war.
“The guardians of the temple say that a white man and woman came down from the sun and dwelled among our people, bringing the worship of the gun. They claim this pair sired the race of Suns and gave us a command to be kind and generous to one another. But the women say that the sun became supreme because no battles are fought in darkness and because the hard brightness of the sun is the opposite of the gentle light of the moon. The women who were the priestesses of the moon were pushed out to make way for the stronger sun worshippers and men took over the tending of the temple. They stole the eternal flame, once the symbol of the safety of the hearth fire, claiming that it had been brought down to them by a man and woman who came from the sun itself, that bad fortune would
befall the tribe if it ever went out. They said that no woman could be trusted to give up her freedom to tend the fire, though women have tended fire from the beginning of time. In truth, they want no woman to have that responsibility, for it implies leadership. The changes have been swift, compared to the countless years that had gone before.
“Now the men seek to keep women from the council; they hold meetings they consider important in secret, as was done when it was decided to strike at the French. They do this because they know the women would not agree, would counsel patience instead of attack. Soon, if we survive as a tribe, they will want to own the land and the huts, the cooking pots and even the children of our bodies. They will want to control us as the French do their women. Then will we be lost, indeed, for what will be their purpose except war, constant war? They cannot give life, only take it; that is their power. Without the use of this power, they must lose it. The role of women would become supreme again. The tribe would then revert to the women and this they will not allow.”
Women, always the givers of life, in spite of war and the cruelty it brought, the loss and the pain. It seemed right, somehow, that it was at that moment, as Tattooed Arm ceased to speak, that Elise heard Helene calling.
She jumped to her feet, running to the door that stood open to the fresh air of the day and the warmth of the afternoon. The pale-haired Frenchwoman, clasping her stomach, gasping, awkwardly trod the last steps to the hut, stumbling and staggering as she came toward Elise. She fell into her arms, her face contorted.
‘‘The baby, Helene cried. “The baby!”
15
IT WAS A beautiful child, a girl. The labor was neither long nor particularly hard. According to Tattooed Arm, it was normal for the first child of a healthy woman, even if she was French.
Elise was grateful for the older woman’s presence, grateful that she had stayed to help, that she had sent for the medicine woman who was also the midwife. Childbirth was something Elise had no experience with, though she thought she could manage the next time if there was a next time. The moment of birth had been one of such pain and stress, and yet such joy. It had been a small moment of glory.
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