Now the words were spilling out, tumbling over each other. “My father told me I was to marry Fighting Wolf. He and his men came to my village. My people welcomed them. My father entertained them. We feasted together. After the feast, everyone lay around relaxed and full of food.”
Sarita brushed a shaking hand across her eyes. A bitter note crept into her voice. “It was then that Fighting Wolf’s men sprang up. They fought with my people. They killed unarmed warriors. They wounded my father and brother. Fighting Wolf denounced my father, shaming him before all. Then,” she paused, struggling visibly not to cry, “Fighting Wolf stole me and several other Hesquiat women away.”
An awkward silence greeted the end of her sad tale as she stood there, forlornly staring at the floor, her mind flooded with the scenes she’d just described. But she had not cried. She could not, would not, cry in front of these Ahousats. She glanced at Precious Copper, wondering if the woman even cared that her brother’s treachery was exposed.
Sarita watched as Precious Copper’s lips tightened. What a fool she’d been to confide in Precious Copper! How the woman must be laughing at her! Sarita’s pride rose and she straightened, looking Precious Copper directly in the eye.
At last Precious Copper spoke, her melodious voice giving no hint of inner turmoil. “Allow me to get you another cedar robe to wear. We can put your beautiful dress away in a safe place.”
Twice over a fool! Sarita cursed to herself. Very well, if Precious Copper was going to ignore the treachery that had brought Sarita to this longhouse, Sarita would go along with it. She couldn’t prod a conscience that didn’t exist.
Seeing what she thought was an obstinate look cross Sarita’s face, Precious Copper hastened to explain. “I make the suggestion to put away your dress only because, should you continue to wear such a beautiful garment, I fear some jealous woman will tear it off your back for her own use.”
Sarita glanced down at her dress again. Precious Copper’s veiled reference to Sarita’s new status sparked a sharp retort. “It’s what I’d expect of thieving Ahousats!” she spat.
She heard the quick intake of breath from one of the women attendants. Precious Copper stared at Sarita, then motioned to the women to leave. Once they had left, Precious Copper sat down on a nearby mat, indicating that Sarita do the same. Defiantly Sarita continued to stand. Precious Copper shrugged.
“When I first heard that my brother was to take a wife,” began Precious Copper, “I was very pleased. His first wife and child died in childbirth three years ago. He’s been alone for far too long.”
“No wife?” echoed Sarita. “Then who--?” She stopped, embarrassed. That meant the sloe-eyed woman she’d seen hugging him in the canoe was not his wife. Sarita couldn’t explain the sudden lift in spirits she felt at this news. “Excuse me,” she muttered stiffly. “Please continue.”
Precious Copper nodded genially, and went on. “When I heard he was to marry a Hesquiat woman, I was surprised.” Seeing Sarita tense defensively, she added, “But still pleased. I thought at last there’d be an end to the fighting between my people and the Hesquiats. I hated seeing my people at war. I hated seeing widows and orphans weeping when a husband or father failed to return from a raid. I wanted peace.”
She paused and Sarita looked at Precious Copper with new eyes. There was no mistaking the sincerity in the melodious voice. “So, as I said, I was pleased. I thought the warring would stop when my brother married into the Hesquiats. Now,” and here Sarita could hear the heavy disappointment, “I see you and hear you tell me about Fighting Wolf’s raid on your people, and I realize I was wrong to hope. He never intended to marry you; I see now that he only intended to avenge the death of our father.” Sarita saw the sheen of tears in the smaller woman’s velvet brown eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for what he’s done to you and your family. I deeply regret that my brother has brought you such pain.”
Sarita stared open-mouthed at Precious Copper after hearing this quiet declaration. She sank slowly to her haunches on a nearby mat, her thoughts churning. This woman did not hate her, nor was she proud of what her brother had done!
Finally Sarita could trust herself to speak. “I’m amazed that you feel this way,” she answered Precious Copper. “Amazed and pleased.” Her quick mind was whirling. “Knowing you feel this way, can I look to you for help during my stay here?”
There was a long pause. “I’ll do what I can to keep you from being overworked,” replied Precious Copper cautiously. “But please understand that my brother is war chief here. I cannot and will not go against him. I don’t know how long my brother intends to keep you with him, but I’ll do what I can to make your lot with him easier.”
Sarita also quickly realized that while she might expect help from Precious Copper during her stay in the Ahousat village, she could not depend on any help in planning her escape.
Sarita smiled and nodded her head at Precious Copper, indicating her understanding of Precious Copper’s position. Grateful to have an ally in the village, Sarita quickly decided it was advantageous to get along peaceably with Precious Copper for the present.
“Now that I understand that you don’t wish to hurt me,” Sarita said, “I’ll take your advice about changing my dress. I would like to keep it, if possible, as it is so beautiful.”
Precious Copper nodded. She left and soon returned with a plain, undecorated, dull-brown cedar robe. Handing the robe to Sarita, Precious Copper looked up into her eyes and smile shyly. Why, she’s beautiful, thought Sarita, watching the dimpled smile light up Precious Copper’s gamine face.
In the alcove, Sarita swiftly changed into the plain cedar robe and reluctantly folded her wedding dress. She rubbed her cheek on the soft material and wondered sadly if she’d ever wear the dress again. She knew that, for practical reasons, a slave had to wear plain, serviceable clothing. Still, she wished the unadorned, roughly woven cedar robe did not have to be quite so plain—and scratchy!
At least it would not draw unwanted attention to her appearance, thought Sarita ruefully. In this she was mistaken. Even the homely garment could not hide her beauty. She attempted a severe hairstyle. Long brown hair, pulled back tightly and tied with a leather thong, was left to hang loosely down her back. But such a style only showed her beautifully molded face to even better advantage. The robe was short and hung only to her knees, exposing shapely calves and graceful feet. Short sleeves left her slim forearms bare. She was pleased that Precious Copper had supplied an ornament: a carved wooden bracelet, polished until the rich, brown wood gleamed. Slipping the bracelet over her wrist, Sarita stepped back into the main room to help Precious Copper with dinner preparations.
As she worked, she casually glanced about, looking for Fighting Wolf. She saw no sign of him. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. One of the women mentioned the victory party being held down on the beach. A large bonfire was blazing and some of the village women were cooking food for the celebration. Hearing chanting from outside the longhouse, Sarita concluded that Fighting Wolf was probably one of the celebrants. Well, at least she wouldn’t be bothered by his presence for a while, she thought in relief.
* * * *
On the beach, the victory party was underway. A large bonfire of driftwood logs had been built and bright flames leaped high into the air. The roaring blaze was too hot to stand close to. Delicacies—clams, mussels, sweet berries—to tempt the most discerning palates were set out. Small boys darted about, first listening to boasts about the recent battle, then running off to play at war with each other. Little girls dashed screaming for their mothers, the boys hard on their heels. Exuberant warriors related brave exploits to each other, the tales growing more fantastical with each telling.
The evening sun was dipping into the sea, sending the day’s last golden rays over the earth. Fighting Wolf lounged casually near a large rock, facing the hot fire. He was listening to Birdwhistle finish a boastful, rambling account of how he’d sneaked up on a particula
rly vicious Hesquiat and stabbed him in the back. After a short silence, Birdwhistle turned to Fighting Wolf and asked, “What are you going to do with your female slave?”
“Which one?”
“’Which one?’” mocked Birdwhistle. “Come now, cousin…The tall one. The one that wore a blue trading blanket cloak. The one that rode in your canoe. Remember her?”
“Oh.” Fighting Wolf shrugged indifferently. “You mean Sarita.”
“Hmm, so that’s Sarita. I guessed it might be.” After a pause Birdwhistle asked, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you going to give her to me like you promised?”
“Cousin,” chortled Fighting Wolf, “you have a very faulty memory.” He paused, “I offered her to you, it’s true…as a ‘symbol of my esteem.’ But,” he sighed exaggeratedly, “you rejected my generous offer.” He eyed Birdwhistle sardonically. “It’s not my fault you said ’no’ to a perfectly good gift.”
“But that was before I saw how beautiful she was,” snapped Birdwhistle. After a stealthy glance at Fighting Wolf, he offered, “What about a trade?”
“Such as?” answered Fighting Wolf, appearing interested.
“Well, such as that new freight-canoe I recently had built. I saw you admiring it the other day. I had the best craftsmen available working on that canoe!” boasted Birdwhistle.
“I know,” came Fighting Wolf’s dry reply. “You borrowed them from me.”
“True, true,” responded Birdwhistle, undaunted. “Then you know it’s well-made.” He paused, watching Fighting Wolf carefully. “How about a trade—my canoe for your slave? Straight across.”
Fighting Wolf seemed to ponder his cousin’s words. “You’ll never get a better offer,” argued Birdwhistle. “You’d better trade her while she still looks good. It won’t be long before she’s as beaten and cowed as the rest of the female slaves. Then you won’t get even a one-seater dugout for her.” Birdwhistle spat on the ground, showing his contempt for such a poor bargain.
An image of Sarita, bruised and cringing, flashed through Fighting Wolf’s mind. He felt sickened at the thought.
“That canoe’s new. Made from the best cedar tree I could find,” added Birdwhistle convincingly.
Suddenly Fighting Wolf was tired of toying with his cousin. “Keep your canoe,” he stated. “No trade.”
“Wh-what?” Birdwhistle’s look of disappointment almost made Fighting Wolf laugh.
“You heard me. No trade.” With that, the war chief grinned disdainfully and turned on his heel. Watching him stride away, Birdwhistle’s jaw clenched and unclenched in anger.
“”Master! Master!” A slave came rushing up. “Your wife wants—“
“Shut up!” snarled Birdwhistle as he viciously backhanded the unsuspecting slave across the mouth. The man staggered from the blow, then caught his balance. He touched his hand to his injured face. Bright red blood dripped through his brown fingers. “Get out of here, you useless offal!” shouted Birdwhistle. The slave fled, glad to get away from his master’s cruel temper.
Fighting Wolf strolled in the direction of his longhouse. The villagers stepped deferentially out of his way as he passed through the crowd.
He brooded on what had just passed between himself and Birdwhistle. His cousin was a fool to think that Fighting Wolf would part with such a beautiful slave woman so easily. Trade, indeed! Fighting Wolf snorted. No, he was not ready to trade her. Yet. Perhaps later, when he’d grown tired of her. For now, he found her…attractive. No, not merely attractive, he admitted. Devastatingly beautiful. He wanted her for himself. His heart swelled as he remembered how lovely she’d looked dressed in her wedding finery. She’d made a beautiful bride, indeed. Now she was no bride, would never be, he thought sardonically, but she was still beautiful. And she was his.
He quickened his pace, anxious to see how his new slave was doing under Precious Copper’s tutelage.
Chapter Six
Fighting Wolf was winding his way slowly through the crowd of people gathered around the bonfire, when his uncle approached him. Scarred Mouth, elder brother to Fighting Wolf’s deceased father, was head chief of the Ahousats.
Scarred Mouth had been anxious about the Hesquiat raid. During the council when Fighting Wolf had introduced his plan for attacking the Hesquiats at a wedding feast, Scarred Mouth had spoken against the motion. He argued that his younger brother’s death should go unavenged because the Ahousat people were weary of fighting. He asked the warriors at the council to reconsider. While the death of Fighting Wolf’s father was indeed a great loss to the tribe, the loss of more Ahousat warriors killed in the revenge raid would be much worse, stated old Scarred Mouth. Why not make a genuine offer of peace to the Hesquiats? Then the Ahousats would no longer have to defend themselves on that front.
At the council meeting, Fighting Wolf had respectfully pointed out to his esteemed uncle that few Ahousat warriors would be killed as the Hesquiats were not expecting treachery. Also, if a war chief’s death was left unavenged, the Hesquiats would think they could kill an Ahousat whenever they wanted. Surely the venerable leader of the Ahousats did not want to have his people called cowards? To be the prey of any aggressive tribe on the coast? No, Fighting Wolf thought not. And so, hearing the young men’s cries for vengeance, Scarred Mouth had reluctantly acceded to his nephew’s bloodthirsty plans.
Fighting Wolf watched with eyes narrowed as Scarred Mouth approached, for this uncle never did anything without good reason. After all, his position as chief of the large tribe of Ahousats rested solely on his astute political maneuverings, and Fighting Wolf had reason to suspect that he was about to see more of his uncle’s widely touted political abilities in action. Scarred Mouth, however, merely greeted Fighting Wolf with a bland smile.
“Nephew, I’m glad the raid on the Hesquiats went so well!” he said heartily. “Truly, you pulled off a successful attack and brought home many prizes. I saw a number of captive women and children—even a husky male slave!” He paused for a moment. “Did you have any real trouble with those Hesquiat dogs?”
“No, Uncle, I did not. Everything went according to plan. They were caught completely unawares,” answered Fighting Wolf, not willing to tell his uncle any more than the man asked.
“Ahh, good, good,” grunted his uncle. His nephew could be exasperatingly closemouthed at times. “And what of old Thunder Maker? Is he still among the living? Heh, heh.”
“Why as a matter of fact, he is,” answered the nephew smoothly. “Last time I saw him, he was humiliated, but definitely still alive.” What was the old uncle up to now?
“Hmmm,” responded his uncle. “It might have gone better for us if Thunder Maker was dead.” Drat the nephew! Why hadn’t he killed the Hesquiat leader when he had had the chance? Now Thunder Maker would lead a revenge raid and the fighting would begin all over again. Scarred Mouth sighed heavily.
“Dead? I don’t think so, uncle,” responded Fighting Wolf carelessly. “I wanted Thunder Maker’s humiliation more than his death and I succeeded in that. The woman you saw step out of my canoe this morning is his daughter. Now warriors up and down the coast will spit on Thunder Maker’s name. They will say he can’t even protect his own family!”
Scarred Mouth looked with interest at his nephew. “That woman is Thunder Maker’s daughter? Huh! I didn’t think the old man had it in him!” he muttered almost to himself. “His daughter, you say,” he marveled anew. Well, his bloodthirsty nephew certainly seemed to have a good eye for women, he conceded.
Aloud Scared Mouth said, “Well, well. Perhaps there is something in what you say, after all. You know, for a fine nephew like you, I could spread the word among some of my good friends—chiefs every one of them—up and down the coast that Thunder Maker cringed and tried to run away when you attacked him. No one thinks much of a coward!” He gazed assessingly at his nephew.
Fighting Wolf’s eyes narrowed. Here it comes, he thought. He remained silent, however, watching
his uncle intently.
“Of course, in return, I’d expect a little gift,” continued Scarred Mouth. “That useless Hesquiat woman you just mentioned, Thunder Maker’s daughter, would be suitable, I suppose.” He tried to gauge the effect of his words on the younger man. Fighting Wolf, however, was not easily read. “Surely she will not be of much use to you,” Scarred Mouth added disparagingly. “She’s far too thin to be a strong worker. And,” he went on grandly, “my friends would be very impressed to hear how brave you were, how well you fought. They would flock to your potlatches…” He was watching Fighting Wolf closely now.
The younger man was silent, pretending to consider his uncle’s offer of influence. At last he drawled, “Many thanks, uncle, but I think I’ll keep her for myself. Despite what you say, she looks to me like she’d be, uh, a strong worker. As to her thinness, at least she won’t eat much, will she?” Fighting Wolf had to grin at his own words. Everyone knew his uncle was tightfisted, and this would just exacerbate the old man’s greed.
“Hmmph. Well, it’s up to you, Nephew. It’s up to you. Just let me know anytime you want the word to get around, though. I do have a lot of friends,” he added importantly, hoping this smug nephew would change his mind. Seeing that Fighting Wolf remained steadfast, Scarred Mouth decided to retreat. Hastily making his excuses, he was soon lost in the crowd.
Fighting Wolf turned to watch him go. In just one day, he marveled, he’d been offered a new canoe and political influence in trade for a supposedly “useless” female slave! He chuckled to himself. Birdwhistle and Scarred Mouth must think him a blind fool not to see through their offers! All they wanted was a beautiful woman to warm their beds.
He continued chuckling as he walked in the direction of his longhouse, shrugging off a slight irritation that the woman they wanted he considered his.
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