* * *
The Prussian soldiers had been given bunks at one end of the barracks. The dragoons who normally occupied those bunks had been sleeping in the stables since the Europeans’ arrival. That had added to the sense of friction between the two groups, although that tension hadn’t erupted into violence until tonight.
After the men had turned in and snoring filled the barracks, one of the Prussians slipped out of his bunk and padded stealthily to the door. He eased it open and stepped outside with a silent grace that was unusual in a man of his bulk. Moving along the side of the barracks to the corner, he went around it into an area of deep shadow.
A voice spoke quietly in German. “Is that you, Becker?”
“Yes, Baron, reporting as you ordered.”
“You realize that your actions tonight could have jeopardized our entire plan.”
Becker hung his head. “My apologies. I let my distaste for the Americans get the better of me. The man just smelled so bad!” He sighed. “But of course, I will accept any punishment you wish to give me.”
“No punishment,” Baron von Kuhner said. He chuckled and clapped a hand on Becker’s shoulder. “I understand. I despise these Americans every bit as much as you do, Sergeant. But we must cooperate with them . . . for now.”
There was a note of eagerness in Becker’s voice as he said, “But when we reach our destination, eh, Baron . . . ?”
“That’s right, Herman. They must never find out what truly happened five years ago.” Von Kuhner paused. “So when we reach our destination . . . we will kill them all.”
Chapter 18
Stone Bear’s village, 1847
Katarina did not sleep much that first night of captivity in the Blackfoot village. Neither did the other two female aristocrats, although exhaustion had caught up at last with the servants Gerda, Lotte, and Ingeborg, and they dozed off. Countesses Marion von Arnim and Joscelyn von Tellman whimpered and tossed back and forth on the ground for most of the night.
Katarina von Falkenhayn would not allow herself to give in to such despair. No matter what happened, she vowed that she would meet it bravely.
Of course, it was easy to tell oneself that when the worst hadn’t happened yet.
Along toward dawn, Marion and Joscelyn finally quieted down. Katarina figured they had fallen into terrified stupors. The same sort of lassitude claimed her as well. She didn’t think she actually slept, but for a while, her brain retreated from the horrors to which she had been subjected.
When awareness began to seep in on her again, the first thing she thought about was the realization she’d had the night before that it had been white men who’d attacked their camp and took them prisoner. The guttural tones she had mistaken for those of a savage actually belonged to a white man, but one to whom English was not his native language.
Now that the terror had receded to a dull horror and she could consider everything more clearly, she decided that the accent of the man who’d forced her along so brutally had sounded very much like some of her own countrymen speaking English.
Such a thing was almost beyond belief. Why would Prussians attack their fellows, slaughter many of them, and turn the survivors over to the Indians?
Why, indeed?
Katarina could think of one reason: ambition. Call it what you will—lust for power, ruthlessness—some men hungered to achieve their own ends so badly that they would do anything to get what they wanted. They would kill their own countrymen and traffic with savages. They would commit murder and treason.
All in their endless quest for power.
Peter von Eichhorn was in the line of succession for the monarchy, she reminded herself. The sheer fact of his existence might be regarded as a threat to others, whether in his own family or a rival family that had an eye on grasping the throne.
Americans probably would find it absurd and unbelievable that anyone would contemplate mass murder in order to further their own ambitions, but Katarina knew such conspiracies were common in Europe. Every monarchy was full of dark secrets, including the spilling of much blood.
That might be exactly the fate that had caught up to her and her companions.
The sudden thrusting aside of the hide flap over the lodge’s entrance broke into her bleak thoughts, then they were banished entirely as the tall, haughty figure of Stone Bear stepped inside.
The other women were waking up, too, and the unexpected appearance of the Blackfoot chief abruptly did away with any drowsiness that still gripped them. Lotte and Ingeborg screamed. Gerda scrambled closer to Katarina. Marion sat up and glared at Stone Bear, while Joscelyn began to sob softly, no doubt thinking that her doom had come to claim her.
“Be quiet!” Stone Bear barked at them in English. He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Women should be silent!”
Katarina put a hand on Gerda’s shoulder and told her, “Stay calm. We don’t know why he’s here.”
Gerda sniffled and said, “The savage has come to kill us all, Countess. I know he has.”
“If they wanted to kill us, they could have done so many times before now.”
Stone Bear said, “You are right. You will not be harmed. This morning your men battle for their lives. You will watch.” He grunted. “You can even encourage them, for what little good it will do.”
“What do you mean, battle for their lives?” asked Katarina. She kept her voice and her gaze level, not wanting to show anything but disdain for their captors.
Stone Bear looked equally disdainfully at her. “Do you not understand the white man’s tongue, woman?”
“There are white men from many different lands, with many different tongues,” Katarina snapped back at him. “But I understand English—what you call the white man’s tongue—very well. You say our men will fight, but fight who? Not each other, surely.”
Stone Bear looked interested for a second, as if that idea hadn’t occurred to him then shook his head. “Each of the prisoners will battle one of my warriors. If any of them defeat their opponent, that man’s life will be spared and he will live among us as a slave. But those who lose will die as men should, in combat.”
Katarina thought about Walter von Stauffenberg and said, “One of our men cannot fight. He is injured.”
Stone Bear looked at her for a long moment. She hoped that meant he was considering what she’d said. Finally, he nodded.
“You mean the one who acts as if he hears the spirits speaking in his head.” The chief shrugged. “Do you ask me to spare his life?”
“I do,” Katarina responded without hesitation.
“You are condemning him to life as a slave.”
“That’s the best he could hope for if he fought, isn’t it? And you have to know that with the shape he’s in, he would stand no chance of winning.”
“You are right,” Stone Bear admitted. “I will spare him. There is no honor in defeating a man touched by the spirits. To do so is to risk being cursed by them.”
“What about Peter?” Marion suddenly asked. Judging by the look on her face, it had taken her this long to work up enough courage to speak to Stone Bear. “Is he still alive?”
“I do not know how they are called,” the Blackfoot said dismissively.
“Peter is the tall man with the mustache,” Katarina said, running a finger over her upper lip. “Peter von Eichhorn.”
“He lives,” Stone Bear confirmed. “As does the man in buckskin, and two soldiers.”
She thought of Lieutenant Barton and the two American dragoons. “There were three soldiers—”
“One is dead,” Stone Bear said, interrupting her. He had a look of disgust on his face, and Katarina couldn’t help but wonder what had happened.
She wondered, too, which of the men had died, whether it was Lieutenant Barton or one of the dragoons who had been taken prisoner.
She would find out soon enough, she supposed, since Stone Bear had said they would serve as an audience for the desperate battles the male captives would
fight today.
“Women will bring you food,” Stone Bear went on. “Soon, warriors will come to bring you out. Do not try to escape. You have some worth to us as slaves . . . but we can always get more slaves.”
It was pretty obvious what he meant by that, thought Katarina.
A few minutes after Stone Bear had shoved aside the hide flap and left the lodge, the women he had mentioned came in, bringing with them two large wooden bowls of some sort of bitter-tasting mush, as well as a bucket full of water from the creek. The prisoners had to share the food from the bowls and eat with their hands.
At first Marion and Joscelyn refused to lower themselves to such indignity. Even in the depths of their fear, they were conscious of their station in life. But hunger overcame that ingrained arrogance and soon they were dipping their fingers into the mush and licking the bitter stuff off of them, just like Katarina and the three servants.
They passed around the water, which tasted much better than the food. Further humiliation followed, as they had to crawl away from the others as much as they could and tend to their personal needs. The other two noblewomen began crying again at the sheer misery of it all.
Katarina felt like joining them in self-pity, but with an effort, she managed to keep herself from sinking into that morass. If she ever did, it would be difficult to get back out.
At least they didn’t have it as bad as the men, she told herself. She and the other women were assured of being kept alive, as long as they didn’t cause any trouble. True, they would be facing brutal, probably short lives as slaves, but at least they would survive for a while.
Katarina doubted if any of the men would live to see the sun set today.
On the other hand, Reese Coburn was a seasoned frontiersman. Was there a chance he could defeat one of the Blackfoot warriors? Katarina couldn’t rule it out. And Peter at least had some martial experience. He had been trained in the use of the saber and the dueling foil since he was a young man.
Of course, it was doubtful either of those weapons would be used in the battle Peter would have to fight today.
The women had barely finished their unsatisfying meal when several of Stone Bear’s warriors showed up, armed with lances. They looked like they would enjoy having an excuse to prod the captives with the sharp tips, so when they motioned with the weapons, the women quickly got to their feet.
“We had better cooperate with them,” Katarina said in a low voice. She didn’t know if any of these warriors spoke English, as their chief did.
“Of course we’re going to cooperate with them,” Marion said, her tone scathing. “What do you think we’re going to do, Katarina? Take those spears away from them and fight?”
Joscelyn groaned and said, “Don’t give her any ideas, Marion. You know how she’s always been.”
Katarina felt a flash of anger at that comment. It was true she’d always been a bit headstrong and accustomed to getting her own way, and she preferred pursuits that were not as vain and trivial as the other women in their circle. But that didn’t give them any right to think less of her.
None of that mattered at the moment, of course. They were all slaves of the Blackfeet. That terrible fate was the best they could hope for.
She really wouldn’t have minded getting her hands on one of those lances, though. If the men were being allowed to fight for their lives, why shouldn’t she?
The warriors ushered them outside. It felt good to step into the sunlight again, although the brightness of the morning made all the women flinch a little and squint against the glare until their eyes adjusted. Surrounded by warriors, they shuffled over to a large open area near the creek where the rest of the village appeared to be congregating.
Once they stopped, Katarina looked around for Peter, Coburn, Walter, and the two soldiers. She didn’t see any of them. Evidently they hadn’t been brought out yet from wherever they were being held.
Not far away, a thick post was sunk into the ground. It stood about six feet tall and looked like the trunk of a small tree with all the limbs peeled off and the bark trimmed away. A shiver went through Katarina as she realized that was where the Blackfeet burned captives at the stake.
Children ran around, playing and laughing merrily, trailed by barking dogs. The Blackfoot women smiled and chattered among themselves. Men stood with their arms folded over their chests, talking solemnly, but they appeared to be enjoying themselves, too.
They were all as happy as if they were attending a fest, thought Katarina . . . all because they were about to watch men fight and probably die. The spilling of blood was an occasion of celebration for them, and she was horrified by their cheerful acceptance of that. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend the depths of cruelty and savagery a people had to have in their hearts to glory in such a thing.
The hubbub came to an abrupt halt, and all eyes swung toward the lodges. Katarina and her companions looked in that direction, too.
Blackfoot warriors were bringing out the male prisoners, prodding them along with lances toward the bloody fate that awaited them.
Chapter 19
A short time earlier, several warriors had come into the lodge where the prisoners were being held and cut the bonds on their ankles. They had been dragged onto their feet, which were numb from being tied so tightly for so long. The Blackfeet had shoved them out of the lodge, not giving them any time for feeling to return to their feet.
That made walking pretty difficult. All the captives struggled as the warriors forced them toward a large clearing beside the creek where the rest of the villagers waited. Pins and needles bedeviled Coburn’s feet, hurting like blazes. He stumbled a little as the tip of one of the Blackfoot lances jabbed him in the back but managed to stay upright and keep moving.
A wave of relief went through him as he spotted Countess Katarina among the crowd. She and the other female prisoners were surrounded by guards. They looked pretty haggard and bedraggled, but none appeared to be seriously injured.
Baron von Stauffenberg was walking beside Coburn. He swayed and staggered and looked like he was about to fall down. Coburn moved closer. He would have put an arm around von Stauffenberg to steady him, but his wrists were still tied together behind his back. All of them were still bound that way. Coburn got a shoulder against von Stauffenberg’s shoulder and braced him up as best he could.
“Hang on, Walter,” he muttered. “Maybe they’ll let us stop in a minute.”
That was exactly what happened when they reached the clearing. Warriors still surrounded them, holding lances ready to strike, but at least the prisoners got to stand still and let more blood seep back painfully into their legs and feet.
Von Stauffenberg leaned against Coburn and muttered something in his own language.
“I don’t speakin’ zee Dutch, Walter,” said the frontiersman, “but I reckon you’re right, whatever you just said.”
Von Stauffenberg looked over at him wide-eyed and said, “Papa?”
Coburn could understand that. He was about to tell von Stauffenberg that he wasn’t his father, then thought better of it. Instead he said, “That’s right, Walter, it’s me, Papa. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
Coburn didn’t believe that for a second. The state the baron was in, there was no point in making things worse for him. If the delusion helped, then so be it.
Von Eichhorn looked around and said, “I wonder which of these savages we will be forced to fight?”
“Just look for the biggest, meanest-lookin’ ones,” Coburn told him. “I reckon that’ll likely be them.”
Von Stauffenberg said something else in German. Coburn could tell that he was asking a question of his father. As gently as he could, he said, “I don’t know, Walter. But just don’t forget, you’ll be all right.”
“Stop lying to him,” snapped von Eichhorn. “None of us will be all right. You know perfectly well that so-called chief was lying to us. He doesn’t intend for any of us to live. Even if we defeat his champions, he’ll
have us killed. Otherwise, our continued existence will be an insult to his honor.”
“I ain’t so sure about that,” said Coburn. “You’re lookin’ at it from a different way of thinkin’ than he is. To him, breakin’ his word would be more of an insult to his honor.”
Von Eichhorn glared at him. “Are you implying that a Junker lacks honor?”
“Not implyin’ nothin’,” Coburn replied with a shake of his head. “Just sayin’ there’s at least a chance ol’ Stone Bear will keep his promise.”
“We will see. And soon, it appears. Here he comes now.”
Coburn looked around and saw Stone Bear striding toward them. Lieutenant Barton saw the chief approaching, too, and began to whimper. He knew their time was running out. The other soldier was talking fast and soft, under his breath, and although Coburn couldn’t make out the words, he was pretty sure the fella was praying.
Even though he wasn’t much of a spiritual man, Coburn didn’t see how that could hurt anything, so he quickly muttered a prayer of his own.
Stone Bear walked past the prisoners and turned to face them. “I am a man of my word. Each of you will battle one of my warriors. Victory means you will not be killed. Defeat means you die here today, either in battle or burned at the stake . . . if you fight well enough. If you do not . . . if you show that you are a coward . . . your death will be long and painful, and you will beg for the flames.”
Barton broke down and started to sob.
“Stop it, you spineless fool!” von Eichhorn told him. “Can you not see that you are just making it worse for yourself?”
“I . . . I don’t care,” Barton choked out. “I don’t want to die!”
“Then win your battle! But death comes to all men. The only thing that matters is how you meet it.”
Coburn wasn’t sure he completely agreed with von Eichhorn on that part, but the man still had a point. However, more important things were on Coburn’s mind at the moment, so he spoke up. “Stone Bear, heed my words.”
Stone Bear looked surprised. “You dare speak to me like that?”
When All Hell Broke Loose Page 12