Sitting quietly in a corner, his sister, Precious Copper, was weaving softened cedar strands into a winter cloak. She raised her eyes to his and asked in her musical voice, “Did your meeting go well, brother?”
She gazed briefly at his face then dropped her eyes to her work when she received no answer. She sighed quietly. Fighting Wolf had become so bitter since the death of his wife and infant son three long years ago, she thought to herself. Sometimes it was almost as if he didn’t care about anyone or anything. After the death of their father a year later, his feelings had turned to rage. Fighting Wolf had always been close to their father and he still had not recovered from the older man’s death.
Many times Precious Copper had found herself hoping that a young woman from the village would catch her brother’s eye; that he would want to marry again and put his losses behind him, to the past where they belonged. But her brother was content to visit several different women; he had not established a stable relationship with any of them. Nor had he forgotten the deaths of those he loved.
Precious Copper knew he had approached the Hesquiats about marrying one of their women. She thought it strange that he would marry an enemy, but she was glad of his decision to marry. He was not acting like a man about to take a bride, however; he continued to visit his various paramours and parried her questions whenever she inquired about her new sister-in-law to-be.
She suspected something was afoot. There had been several meetings of all the warriors, but no word leaked out as to what was discussed at the councils.
Fighting Wolf looked fondly at his only sister. Her straight, black hair hung in two heavy braids on either side of her delicate face. A high forehead with finely arched brows gave her face a studied dignity. Her small nose and finely drawn lips were set in a sweet face, made even sweeter when she smiled by the dimple in each cheek.
“The meeting went well enough,” he finally answered.
Seeing that this approach would gain her nothing, Precious Copper switched tactics. “I’m looking forward to greeting my new sister-in-law soon. I think you’re very wise to bury the hatred we’ve had for the Hesquiats for so long.”
Noticing the wide grin he shot at her, she continued, “What are you laughing at? You know I hate war. I truly hope this marriage you’ve arranged with the Hesquiats will stop all the senseless killing.”
She bent to her work again. “My brother, I’ll truly try to make your new bride feel welcome…” She looked up, sincerity shining on her face. “Even if she is a Hesquiat.”
He stared at her before answering. When he did, his voice was cold. “Don’t involve yourself in my business.” Seeing Precious Copper recoil from his tone, he added more gently, “You’ll meet the woman soon, but you may regret your kind offer to make her feel welcome.”
He flashed her a smile as he made that enigmatic statement, then turned and strode out through the doorway, leaving a dazzling blaze of sunlight that lit up the room, then disappeared as the skin swung back into place.
Precious Copper thoughtfully went back to her weaving. She felt a chill of foreboding. Something was definitely afoot. But what?
* * * *
Precious Copper is getting too concerned about my personal life, Fighting Wolf reflected as he strode down to the beach. Time to marry her off and let her concern herself with a husband and children.
He sighed. In the past, he’d been too busy with his own pursuits to tend to the business of arranging her marriage. He’d talk to his uncle, Scarred Mouth, the senior ranking chief of the village. He recalled the old man had mentioned two recent requests from neighboring tribes for her hand in marriage. He supposed he should choose the warrior with the most assets and fighting men.
She’d be angry, though. Every time he’d brought up the topic before, she’d fought him, saying she had not seen anyone she could love. Women! Why did they confuse love with marriage? The two were separate. Everyone knew that one married for wealth and status—at least the noble class did.
Still, she was his sister and the only close family left to him now that the others were dead. He realized suddenly that he wanted to see her happy. And if anything happened to her…he didn’t allow himself to complete the thought.
Yes, he decided, when the trouble with the Hesquiats was settled, for her sake he would marry her off to a good man who would love and care for her, not just for her wealth or the alliance with their tribe.
Glancing up at the sky, he speculated that it was going to rain soon. He hurried down to his canoe to prepare for the forthcoming raid.
As he strode down the path to his canoe, an attractive, willowy girl with flashing eyes intercepted him. She greeted him eagerly. “Fighting Wolf, where are you off to in such a hurry? Visit with me awhile. Better still, why not come to my longhouse and I’ll prepare you a meal?” Her dark eyes sparkled and her shining black hair gleamed, even in the dull light of an overcast sky.
He realized he was hungry and politely accepted her invitation. As they walked slowly to her longhouse, Rough Seas regarded him coquettishly and said, “I hear rumors that you’re marrying a Hesquiat. You don’t have to look so far for a bride. I’m right here.”
Fighting Wolf answered lightly, “Why take another husband? You just got rid of one.”
“Ohhh, him!” she pouted. “He was too boring. All he wanted to do was fish, hunt, trade, and potlatch. He was always trying to show others what a great chief he was.”
“That’s what all men do,” answered Fighting Wolf dryly. “That is, men who care about their families and want the best for them.”
“He had no time for me,” she stated petulantly.
“I thought it was the other way around,” laughed Fighting Wolf.
“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.
“The men,” he prodded. “The many lovers you took while he was gone fishing or hunting or trading. Remember?”
“Oh. Them,” she sighed. She smoothed the irritated frown from her brow. “He didn’t care about them.”
Fighting Wolf thought that was probably true. Jealousy was frowned upon by Nootka men and women. It was the jealous spouse who was scolded by friends and relatives, not the wandering wife or philandering husband. It was foolish to fight over a woman; a jealous man never became wealthy if he was worrying about who his wife was sleeping with. A wife was cautioned not to get upset over her husband’s amorous affairs. Men were like that, anyway.
She watched him covertly. “Would it bother you if your wife had lovers?” she asked.
“Not particularly,” he answered indifferently. “No one would catch me making a fool of myself over a woman.” He grinned. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged, but did not answer his question; she turned her dark brown eyes on his and batted heavy eyelashes. “I’ve given up all my lovers,” she remarked.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I wanted you to know that. I—I wouldn’t want any other man if I could have you.”
He laughed. “I suppose that’s because you’ve already sampled every high ranking chief, married and otherwise, in the village.”
She shrugged again. “They don’t thrill me like you do, Fighting Wolf.”
“Is that so? I only thrill you because I don’t come every time you call me.” She flushed and he knew he’d accurately guessed why she was attracted to him.
“Oh, Fighting Wolf. Look around you,” she gestured at the surrounding longhouses they were passing on their walk. “How many eligible women are there here for you?” When he didn’t answer, she went on, “There’s none. Except me. I’d make the perfect wife for you.” His silence encouraged her; she rushed on, hoping to convince him. “Both our families are wealthy. Our names are spoken with respect. I’ve even had practice as a wife. What more could you want?”
Fighting Wolf looked at her askance. “As to wealth, marriage to you won’t bring me any extra wealth. The bride price I’d have to give would equal the repayment gift your family would have to return�
�� neither of us would profit from the exchange. So don’t try and bribe me into marriage.” He paused. “As you said, we both come from powerful, illustrious families. There’s no problem there.”
“Then where is the problem?” She wanted to shriek at him, but managed to control her voice.
“The problem,” he said calmly, “is that I don’t want to get married at this time.”
“Oh?” she sneered. “What about the Hesquiat?”
Mentally cursing himself for forgetting the impending “marriage,” he answered coolly, “The Hesquiat woman is none of your concern.”
Feeling his withdrawal, she implored, “Fighting Wolf, I love you. Surely you know that. I’ll even be your second wife. For no other man would I suggest such a thing.”
“I appreciate your sacrifice,” he chuckled. “But there’s really no need.”
“Ohhh, how can you be so cruel as to laugh at me?” she demanded. She was relieved to reach her longhouse and step inside, away from prying eyes. “What’s so wonderful about this Hesquiat woman, anyway?” she asked sullenly. “Why won’t you take another wife?”
“It’s not that I won’t take another wife,” he said calmly. “I will. It’s just that I do not wish a second wife right now.” His voice turned grim. “One is enough.”
Hearing his solemn tone, Rough Seas felt renewed hope. “I understand,” she said.
“You do?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes, I do. Oh, Fighting Wolf, why didn’t you tell me?” She threw herself into his unsuspecting arms. “How generous of you.”
“You’re talking nonsense, woman,” he stated sternly, trying to disengage her arms from around his neck.
“I understand now,” she said, laughing up into his eyes, her good humor miraculously restored. “You’re doing it for our people. You’re only marrying that Hesquiat for political reasons. You don’t love her!” Rough Seas’ voice rang with triumph. “Oh, Fighting Wolf, I’m so glad! She’ll never come between us, I swear!” She threw her arms around his waist and cuddled close to the bemused man.
He stared straight ahead, thoughtful.
She looked up at his again. “I can understand such a marriage. I can only respect a man who would go to such lengths to save our people.”
Of course, she thought to herself, I’ll make sure it’s a marriage in name only. She released her grip, then took his hand. “Come,” she enticed, leading him towards her bed. “Let’s celebrate our new understanding!”
Chapter Three
The summer village where Sarita resided totaled eleven longhouses of various lengths. Her father lived in the biggest longhouse; appropriate for his standing as chief of the village. Thunder Maker’s family, his four wives and their several children, occupied the best corner of the house. Across the way, in the second choicest space, lived Feast Giver and his servants. The two corners near the door were occupied by two lower ranking chieftains and their families. The middle of each wall was the space allotted to commoner families who were distantly related to, and wished to work for, Thunder Maker.
Sarita kneeled on a cedar mat in her father’s quarters. Packing her best woven-cedar robes into a wooden chest, she was preparing for the move to her betrothed’s village. The wedding was two days away.
Spring Fern, acting as maid this time, was helping her pack. As the two worked, they chatted quietly together in the cozy confines of the family’s living space.
The cedar kutsacks that Sarita lovingly packed into her wooden chest had been made from cedar bark soaked in salt water and beaten into a soft fibrous thread then woven into the ankle-length robes that women—and men—always wore. She included several small cedar aprons to be worn under the dress in the women’s style. Men went naked under their kutsacks.
Sarita carefully folded several elbow-length capes that tied at the neck. The capes were worn out-of-doors. Lastly, she placed three conical rain hats on top of the garments. She would not be caught unprepared when the torrential west coast rains poured down from the heavens.
She frowned pensively as she reached for one of her beautiful hair ornaments, a delicately colored white and pink dentalia shell hair clasp.
Her thoughts dwelt on her upcoming marriage. She did not want to marry this Fighting Wolf. The last few days had given her time to think about what she did want. She knew she wanted a husband she could love and respect and one who would love her in return. A husband who was in love with his wife would not take other wives to his longhouse. Nor would he marry a woman just for the wealth or property she could bring him.
Her parents’ marriage, she remembered, had been loving. That was when Sarita was small, before the tragic death of her mother one dark night when she was paddling back from visiting a nearby village. A sudden storm arose; violently lashing waves overturned the canoe. Her mother’s body was found washed up on the beach the next morning. For a long time, her father had been inconsolable and had neglected his small daughter and son.
Though only eight years of age at the time, Sarita thought the pain of losing her mother would never go away. But with time, it had…or at least it had dulled. Now she could think peacefully of her mother.
Two years after her mother’s death, her father remarried. His new wife, Crab Woman, brought property and a political alliance with a nearby village to the marriage, but no love. Lacking affection and love from her, he had taken another wife into his longhouse and then a third. He now had four wives living in his longhouse, but very little peace.
Yes, thought Sarita to herself. She knew about loveless marriages. She had watched her father battle with his wives. Their unhappiness and discord often kept her away from the family’s hearth. Many nights she pressed her hands to her ears to keep out the shrill cries and vicious words said during an argument among her father’s wives. It was only after her father bellowed for quiet that a seething peace was restored. The squabbles occasionally involved intended or imagined slights to one wife’s children, but most often were over Thunder Maker’s attention, or lack of it, to one or another wife.
Sarita honestly could not blame her stepmothers for fighting. She would not want to share her husband with other women. No, that was not for her. Not for her the jealousy and unhappiness. Not for a young, beautiful woman like Sarita. She wanted a man to love her, and her alone. Not one who would take other wives and then cease to love her or her children.
She sighed. Now those wishes were past dreams. She was to be married to the enemy. What hope did she have that he would love her, and only her? As for herself, she shuddered to think of loving an enemy of her people. Well, when he took other wives—and chiefs were expected to—she certainly would not care. Let him marry as many women as he wanted, then she would be spared his foul attentions.
A new thought occurred to her. If she did not like him, or living in his village of hated Ahousats, she would leave him and return to her father. Other wives did that.
Her favorite stepmother, Abalone Woman, had done that very thing. Abalone’s first husband had been a cruel man and she had suffered his behavior for a long time. Then one night his malicious taunts exploded in a vicious beating. The next day Abalone left him and, bruised and battered, returned to her parents’ house. Shortly after that, Sarita’s father noticed the quiet young woman. Her spirit had not been crushed by what she’d been through; her resiliency and gentle manner appealed to him. He asked to marry her. Her family gladly accepted the suit of their chief and Sarita’s second stepmother moved into the longhouse.
Dragging her thoughts back to her own troubles, Sarita felt the gooseflesh rise when she thought of living amongst the Ahousats. To be surrounded by enemies, dependent on a man who fought and killed her people, made her tremble inside. Perhaps she should take Spring Fern with her. She deliberated. If she brought Spring Fern, she would have company and comfort in the village of her enemies.
Turning to Spring Fern, who was kneeling beside her as they folded garments, she asked, “Do you wish to come with me to m
y new village?”
The slave locked her deep brown eyes with Sarita’s golden ones. “Yes,” she replied simply. “Please take me with you.”
The urgency in her voice startled Sarita. “What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.
The pretty slave looked down at the floor for a moment. “I was so hoping you would take me with you. You see…” her voice trailed away.
“Yes?” prompted Sarita.
“It’s just that I—I’m afraid to stay here by myself.”
“What do you mean? You’re not by yourself. You’re surrounded by people here.”
“Pardon, mistress, but that’s not what I mean. I—I’m afraid of some of the men. Without your protection—“
“Oh.” It was beginning to become clear to Sarita.
“You see,” burst out the slave, “I’m very much afraid to stay here without you! That big slave your father recently traded for, Rottenwood, keeps staring at me. I’m afraid of him and I fear he may ask your father for me as—as a wife! Your father seems to like the work he does and might humor him. I could never live with that man.” She was in tears now. “Please take me with you!” she cried.
Sarita patted the sobbing girl gently. “There now,” she soothed. “No one’s going to marry you off to some slave just because he stares at you. I’ll take you with me when I leave this village. Then you won’t have to worry about that old Rottenwood anymore.”
Spring Fern clutched Sarita’s arm and sniffled into her robe. “Oh thank you, mistress. Thank you! I do so want to come with you!” Spring Fern wiped her eyes, and tried gamely to smile.
Sarita stroked the soft ebony hair and said, “It will be reassuring to have you with me when I’m in a strange village, surrounded by strange faces.” She paused, seeing that Spring Fern was regaining her composure. “Go now, wipe your eyes and fetch my other dentalia shell clasp for my cedar jewel box.”
Spring Fern hurried away to do as bid, leaving a quiet Sarita staring off into space. Would that all her problems could be solved so neatly, the young noble woman mused wryly.
Savage Betrayal Page 4