Eye of the Raven (42 page)

"Finally it was decided that all his immediate family had been massacred, so other relations had to be tracked down. When his Philadelphia relatives finally came he saw they were all somber Quakers and at first declined to see them. One of the brothers who was in the school says he thinks he dropped his objections to them when he saw they were wealthy, although others insist he finally came to be bathed in their Christian love."

A chill had descended over Duncan as Macklin had spoken. "Did he take his leave for Philadelphia before the departure of Sister Leinbach?"

"Two days after her departure."

Duncan stared at the piece of bread in his hand. He had lost his appetite. "And she was never seen again? Surely she had an escort.

"Sister Leinbach was a strong-willed woman, with a very particular vision of God's calling for her. Her only escorts were the mule she rode and a pack pony. She insisted on traveling alone to Shamokin for the first stage of her journey, to talk with God and build her spiritual strength for the challenges ahead. She meant to travel far into the Ohio country."

"Surely there was a search for her?"

"The road from here to Shamokin can be difficult because of the river crossings. There had been heavy rains. Sometimes in such weather our people will be taken in by a settler's family and shelter for a week or two. I waited a month before I decided to send a query asking when we could expect her. Many searchers were sent to look for her, but by then the trail was long cold, and the Huron raiders were getting active again."

Duncan watched Skanawati speaking with Mokie, smiling patiently as the girl traced with her finger the complex tattoos on his arm. When she was done he reached into his blanket and pulled out a little doll fashioned of straw from his pallet, expertly woven and pinched to give it shape. Duncan remembered seeing a similar one, made of corn husks, at the chiefs village. The girl's eyes lit with excitement, and Skanawati glanced with embarrassment at Duncan as the girl hugged him.

"The treaty negotiators are at the end of their patience," Macklin declared. "There will be further conferring today. Magistrate Brindle has clerks in the Gemeinhaus preparing terms on parchment for signature. The trial may be tomorrow." Macklin looked uneasily at a group of men who were erecting a wooden structure near a corner of the main street. "Lord Ramsey has contributed a large sum for the expansion of the chapel here. That man in the lace collar who always sits with Ramsey isn't just his lawyer, Duncan, he is a judge. The one who has all the other witness statements. The one who is now to determine Skanawati's fate."

With those words the door was flung open. One of the kilted guards stood with an expectant gaze, waving the visitors out. Mokie solemnly shook hands with Skanawati, then Duncan. "Mr. Hadley says I must stay in my service for now, until it is over."

"Service?"

"With the great lord from Philadelphia. Lord Ramsey thinks he will buy us when this is over." The words were spoken not with foreboding but mischief as Mokie offered an exaggerated curtsy and skipped away.

McGregor soon appeared, the hobbles in his hand, gesturing Duncan and Skanawati outside once again for fresh air.

"Sergeant, have you heard of any other Indians camped in this valley?"

"The treaty followers have been drifting away. The villages need them for spring planting."

"I mean a small band, trying to be inconspicuous. Perhaps some from that barn in Philadelphia."

"I'll ask. That Moses seems to know everyone, German and Indian alike."

As McGregor moved purposefully toward the huge Single Brethren house where Moravian visitors stayed, Duncan stretched and caught a scent of spring in the air, of apple blossoms and fresh tilled earth. He wandered around the corner of the building, testing the length of his chain, and he was glancing back toward Skanawati when something slammed into his back. As he staggered forward his hobble was pulled out from under him, knocking him to the ground. It took only a moment for him to come to his senses, but by then Felton had seized his collar and had dragged him to the rear wall, slamming his back against it.

"You interfere with the affairs of your betters!" the young Quaker hissed. His eyes were wild. For the first time, Duncan saw a line of thin oval scars that ran around his neck like a necklace, an adornment used by some of the western tribes.

Duncan cast a desperate, searching glance for the sentry who was supposed be guarding the rear of the jail. The man lay in a heap against a stack of firewood.

"Not for a slave to decide anything!" Felton growled. He nodded at Duncan's hobble. "Now run."

The heavy leather of the hobble had been sliced apart.

"I'm supposed to trust you?" Duncan asked. "How many do you have waiting for me? I saw how you roasted your friend Red Hand alive."

"I shall wear those laurels for months," Felton boasted.

"Only among those who believe your ruse. I saw the calculation in your eyes that night. You could have shot me or Mokie. But Ramsey had claimed me, and you couldn't murder the girl with so many witnesses. Red Hand, on the other hand, was about to be captured and would have spilled his guts for a pot of rum. I wager you told your Indian friends the soldiers killed the Shawnee. But they will hear the truth soon enough. Watch your back."

"You have not a shred of evidence, Scotsman. And even if you did, a lowly slave of a great house will not be permitted to speak in the new court."

Duncan swallowed hard, realizing now that Ramsey had bought and paid for his new judge.

"Now run," Felton repeated.

"As you say, I am in bond."

"But here is an opportunity to stretch your legs, to have a taste of freedom for an hour or two before we track you. It's a handsome offer. A chance to soak up the light before being sealed into your rat hole for a few years."

It was a tempting offer indeed, and Duncan would relish a chance to meet Felton on his own terms in the forest. But Felton would not be alone, he would be with his pack of wolves. And the offer was meant to assure Duncan would have no role in the final act of the drama about to unfold in Bethlehem.

"I am in bond to Skanawati."

"Then you are in bond to a dead man!" Felton slammed the end of the log in his hand into Duncan's belly. As he doubled over in pain Felton seized him again, shoving him against the stone wall. "It's a dilemma, McCallum. Ramsey offers a fine price to keep you alive, but I begin to think you are worth more to me dead. I have a place I could put your body, McCallum, a place no one will ever dare look." As he swung the log again Duncan jerked forward, ramming his shoulder into the scout, pushing him off balance a moment. Aiming a kick at Felton's belly, he used the inertia of the kick to drop and roll past the corner of the building. Instantly the sentry at the front called out in alarm.

When Duncan looked back Felton was gone.

ORD RAMSEY WAS a man who lived with one foot squarely planted in another century. As Duncan was escorted, his hands tightly shackled, into the firstfloor chambers of the Gemeinhaus now relinquished to Ramsey, he recalled his first visit to the patron's mansion in New York. The dominant portrait had been one of old King James. Here he saw that Ramsey had not just borrowed the room from the Germans, he had transformed it into a peculiarly English shrine. Two small oil paintings in gilt frames leaned against the wall on a sideboard, one of a castle, no doubt an ancestral seat, the other a likeness of William and Mary. On the sideboard stood ornate glass wine goblets and a pair of intricately brocaded gloves that once might have been worn by the dandy Inigo Jones in the court of a hundred years earlier. A fine lace cloth had been thrown over the plain German table, with an extravagant gold candlestick looming over maps and papers. It was these documents Ramsey and another elegant gentleman now perused.

Duncan did not resist when one of his escorts, all Ramsey men but for a single kilted soldier, jerked his manacles, propelling him to the edge of the table. He glanced over his shoulder at the Scottish guard, hoping for the sound of boots in the corridor. Another soldier had been dispatched to find McGregor when Ramsey's deputies had come for Duncan in the jail. He felt a new pressure on his arm. The man nearest him had put a leash on his arm, a metal plate that curved halfway around his bicep, tightened with a length of chain.

"Ali, McCallum," Ramsey said coolly. "At last we can chat in more relaxed circumstances. No more savage chaperones, eh?"

Duncan cast a pointed glance at the four rough-looking men hovering nearby. "That remains to be seen."

Ramsey lifted an eyebrow. "These men are deputized by our esteemed court."

Duncan eyed the stranger, an older man with the air of a courtier. "I look forward to experiencing such a court."

There was a quick movement at his side. The man holding the leash dropped a small object into the curved plate on his arm and began twisting the chain, tightening it. Duncan jerked back as a needle of pain shot up his shoulder. The man had dropped a little barbed ball into the harness to dig into his muscle. It was not a leash. It was a torture device.

"Save your ironies, McCallum. You have no audience for them here. In fact these men are charged with making certain your words have been subdued by the time we arrive back in Philadelphia. My disappointments in New York were all because I failed to see you properly broken to the harness. There is a special enclosed wagon arriving tonight, equipped with other useful devices," Ramsey announced with a cold smile. "It will be a memorable journey for you. I understand they have a team of deaf horses, so your screams will not startle them." Ramsey's thin laugh was obediently joined in by his minions. Duncan ventured another look backward. The Highland soldier had been blocked at the door by two of Ramsey's deputies.

"We have put our idle time here to good use," Ramsey explained, emptying the glass of wine beside him. He pointed to a freshly drawn document, a new indenture. "We have of course given you credit for the time since you stepped off the boat. Six years and three months remaining."

"My indenture was assigned to your daughter. She has the document at the settlement in New York."

Ramsey gave a shrug. "So far away. The mountains between here and there are high. Everyone knows I brought a company of Scottish bondsmen from Britain last year. We just want to perfect the title, as it were, for the Pennsylvania province." The bespectacled man at his side nodded approvingly. Ramsey raised his empty wineglass and turned to a side door. "Where is that damned girl?"

The lawyer lifted the document and extended it to Ramsey, who ceremoniously lifted a quill from a silver inkpot and signed it as Mokie appeared with a freshly decanted bottle of wine. She glanced at Duncan then averted her eyes to the floor. She was breathing heavily.

Ramsey extended the quill to Duncan as Mokie filled his glass. The barb on his arm bit deeper. He looked dully at the pot of ink, gestured for it. As Ramsey pushed the pot to the side of the parchment, Duncan upended it onto the paper.

The little barbs digging into his flesh felt like a dozen knives. He groaned, closing his eyes against the new pain, hearing only Ramsey's furious curses at first, then a hammering like the drums of battle. Boots. Soldiers' boots. He heard a protest behind him, the sound of a quick blow, and a groan as one of the deputies doubled over. Suddenly McGregor was at his side, his face clenched in fury. He grabbed the chain on Duncan's arm and loosened it, throwing it to the floor, stomping on the curved plate. The barbed ball that rolled away was covered in blood. A moment later Magistrate Brindle stepped into the room.

"This man," he declared, "is remanded for assistance in concluding the treaty." Duncan glanced at Mokie. She had been running. Brindle's chambers were a quarter mile away.

"We conduct a purely private contract matter here," Ramsey observed in a level voice. "We do not require your assistance, Brindle." As he spoke the judge beside him dabbed at the parchment, trying to salvage it.

"The governor has directed that the treaty is the paramount purpose of our mission to Bethlehem." Brindle paused, looking at the blood dripping to the floor from Duncan's fingertips.