Savage Betrayal (3 page)

It makes sense
, thought Sarita.

“The best thing for you to do is to accept this marriage. It seems our Nuwiksu is determined to go through with it.” He paused for a moment. Finally he pointed out, “You’ll be in a position to help our people.
If
you can gain—and give—this man love and respect.”

“Love and respect!” she flared. “How can I love and respect a man who kills our people and sells our women and children into slavery? How can I overlook that?”

Her brother had no answer. He could only stand helplessly in the gathering dusk. Reaching to touch her arm, he quickly dropped his hand and shrugged, as if knowing nothing would comfort her. Not while her anger and agony were so fresh.

Sarita sorrowfully turned away, bitterness and despair washing over her.

The village of Ahousat sat nestled at the foot of several high mountains, their tall forest-covered peaks thrust into curling white clouds. Twenty longhouses were stretched across a narrow field of yellowed grass that fronted a gravel beach. On this sunny day, small waves danced in from the broad green sea, teasing the shore. Behind the houses, a forest of graceful alder and tall cedar trees rustled in the summer wind.

Canoes lay on the beach, resting at crazy haphazard angles, waiting for the tide to come in and once more restore their dignity. Up and down the beach raced small children, shrieking and chasing each other. Nearby, their mothers watched with benevolent brown eyes while smoking salmon on racks over the open fire pits.

Summer was the time to dry salmon, pick berries, and preserve foods for the oncoming winter when rain would keep the people bundled up in their cedar cloaks and cedar homes.

In the darkened interior of one longhouse set off from the others, a large group of men huddled around a smoking fire. The lean, brown, muscular men squatted or hunched in various positions as they listened intently to the tall warrior speaking in their midst.

Fighting Wolf, war chief of the Ahousats, addressed his warriors with his customary air of imperious command. His wide shoulders tapered to a lean waist and narrow hips that were hidden by the cedar robe he wore tied cavalierly at one shoulder. He stood with muscular legs planted firmly on the floor, his bearing confident and majestic.

Shoulder-length, blue-black hair framed the hard planes of his face. The cleft in his chin was the only gentle feature in an otherwise rugged, masculine face. It was his eyes, however, that held the combative audience of fighters in thrall. Jet black eyes, glinting with anger, surveyed his fellow warriors…eyes that captivated, then dominated the battle-scarred veterans.

“Men,” he exhorted. “Many times you’ve fought for me and for our people. Many times you’ve gone forth in battle against great odds. It is because of you, your bravery, your ferocity, that we are the strongest people on this coast today!”

Here he was interrupted by cheers and loud exclamations attesting to the truth of his words. “Yes, the name ‘Ahousat’ strikes fear and terror into our enemies.” More cheers. When silence was restored, he continued, “I am asking you to once again take up arms against our enemies, the hated Hesquiats.”

Some groans were heard. Fighting Wolf frowned briefly. “This time, however, I can promise an easy victory.” Mutters of interest ran through his audience. “This time you will have a chance to revenge yourselves—“ the mutterings increased, “—on the murderers who killed your beloved chief, my father, just twenty-six moons ago. On the murderers who slaughtered many of our beloved brothers and sons!”

He paused for effect. “You, Otterskin, you lost your brother in that raid.”

A grim-faced man nodded.

“And you, Comes-from-Salish.” A barrel-chested man straightened, his full attention on the dynamic speaker. “Your only son was blinded when that cowardly Hesquiat speared him with a lance.”

The father glowered. “I’ll follow you, and gladly, whenever you care to lead a war party against those Hesquiat dogs!” He spat on the dirt floor for emphasis.

The serious look on the men’s faces told Fighting Wolf he had not only their bodies to command, but their hearts as well. “I’ll need brave men like you when we raid those bastard Hesquiats. For two years, I’ve waited for the right time to take our revenge. That time is now!”

Lusty cheers broke into his impassioned speech. He waited patiently until they died down. “This time we’ll use cunning as well as weapons to bring the Hesquiat worms down. They’ll be like the dirt beneath our feet when we’re done with them.”

Shouting and stamping interrupted him once more. “Their names will be spat upon by our neighbors up and down the coast. Our friends will have nothing but contempt for the name ‘Hesquiat;’ for the name ‘Thunder Maker;’ for the name ‘Feast Giver.’ Hah! The only feast he’ll give will be for the dogs.” Gruff laughter greeted his sally.

“We’ll take their women and children as slaves, the only status a Hesquiat deserves. We’ll laugh at their shame!”

This time the shouts were interspersed with eager whoops.
Time to calm them down and tell them my plans,
he thought. “No longer need we torment ourselves over the treachery of the Hesquiat killers. No longer need we fear another brutal slaughter like the one that took my father’s life.”

Hoarse murmurings and low rumblings could be heard as the warriors remembered the humiliation inflicted from the vicious Hesquiat raid. Fighting Wolf spoke in a calm, deadly voice now. “They killed our war chief, the greatest Ahousat war chief we’ve ever had. And why? Merely because we killed one of their chiefs. An insignificant chief, at that! No, we cannot allow our beloved chief’s death to go unavenged!” Thoroughly angry now, the men were ready to kill every Hesquiat still alive.

“Listen closely, men. I want these plans completely understood. This is what we’re going to do…” and he smiled to himself as his warriors leaned closer to hear his long thought-out plans of revenge.

* * * *

“So you’re planning a wedding with the Hesquiats?” began Birdwhistle conversationally as the warriors gradually dispersed from the meeting.

Fighting Wolf looked at him. Since childhood the two cousins had clashed, competing over everything from the number of salmon caught to the number of enemy killed. As he sauntered through the doorway of the longhouse into the bright sunlight, Fighting Wolf answered casually, “You heard the plans, cousin. Any objections should have been raised at the meeting.”

Fighting Wolf began walking toward the beach. Falling into step with him, Birdwhistle responded, “Oh, I’ve no objections.” As they walked along, he toyed with the sea-otter fur on his kutsack, the cedar robe he wore. “I'm just wondering what this woman, Sarita, looks like.”

Fighting Wolf shrugged. “What does it matter? That’s not my concern. All I care about is that her father agreed to the wedding.”

“Did you get to see her?”

Fighting Wolf shook his head. “No. The marriage negotiations were carried out between my messenger and his. I sent a relative to ask Thunder Maker for his daughter. My instruction to my messenger was to convince the Hesquiats that peace would come from such an alliance. Thunder Maker sent back his answer, by his own messenger.”

“Sounds like you two don’t trust each other.” Seeing his companion’s sardonic look, Birdwhistle added hastily, “But at least Thunder Maker agreed to the marriage.”

“All too readily, I thought.”

“How so?”

“He seemed most anxious to give her away. He didn’t reject my offer the usual two or three times before accepting. Any respectable father would have said ‘no’ the first time I asked. But not Thunder Maker. He agreed to the marriage on the first request. He didn’t even demand any expensive gifts for the bride. Practically shoved her at me,” said Fighting Wolf.

“Ho, ho, cousin,” laughed Birdwhistle, “It sounds like she’s someone he wants to be rid of.” His eyes twinkled. How amusing to see the proud Fighting Wolf stuck with a flawed bride. “Probably ill-tempered.”

“Or ugly,” added Fighting Wolf with disgust.

“Or has already been married two or three times. You know how some upper-class fathers marry their daughters off every few years to a new husband. Each time it’s to a man more exalted than the last. Maybe that’s what Thunder Maker’s doing. You should be flattered he thinks so highly of you, cousin,” smirked Birdwhistle.

Fighting Wolf frowned. “I’d prefer a virgin.” Then he added lightly, “Perhaps she’s just an uncontrollable nag.”

“Or missing a few front teeth.” Birdwhistle chuckled at Fighting Wolf’s mounting dismay.

With great enthusiasm, Birdwhistle launched into an eloquent, unflattering description of Fighting Wolf’s bride-to-be. How pleasant to goad the younger man.

At last Fighting Wolf wearied of the game. “Cousin,” he said, “if she’s as bad as you think she is, I promise I’ll give her to you…as a symbol of my esteem.” He snickered.

Birdwhistle eyed him warily. “No, no, I insist you keep her. After all, it was your idea to get ‘married!’"

Fighting Wolf laughed, and clapped his cousin hard on the back as they shared the private joke. “Ah yes. Married.”

* * * *

Fighting Wolf walked through the village. The afternoon sun slanted through the clouds and illuminated the Ahousat village longhouses that stood so proudly.

A longhouse was as wide as seven men laying head to toe and twice that distance in length. The height of the house was equal to two tall men. A frame of long cedar ridge poles ran the length of each side, and was supported by sturdy posts at the four corners. Two stout posts framed the main entrance.

A carved sea lion figure-post stood at the back of the house. Poles as high as two men, and carved in human design, supported the central beam. Long cedar planks made up the siding of the house, and a gabled roof of rafters, covered by cedar planks, kept the inhabitants dry through the long, rainy winters.

From inside the house, smoke holes were made by shoving roof planks back with poles. During winter storms, large stones and logs anchored the roof and kept its cedar plank covering from blowing away. At various places along the back side of the house were small doors—escape hatches should enemy raiders come sweeping into the village.

As he neared one of the longhouses, Fighting Wolf heard his name called. There, leaning in the doorway, stood Limpet. She took her name from the small, pointed-shelled sea animals that clung firmly to rocks at the tideline. Limpet was a woman who, it seemed to Fighting Wolf, had dedicated her life to making herself his mistress.

Crooking a finger at him, she gave him a lazy look over one shoulder as she sauntered seductively into her longhouse. Grinning to himself, Fighting Wolf watched her full hips sway against her tight robe, slightly torn at the hem. He took his time following her into the darkened building.

Within the house, along the inside walls, each of the several resident families had their own cooking fire and sleeping benches. Often, planks or cedar chests filled with the family’s belongings were piled high to mark off each separate apartment. The highest ranking chief in the house lived in the right rear corner with his wives, children and slaves. The next ranking chief lived in the left corner and lower ranking chiefs, or nobles, and their families occupied the remaining two corners. Along the sides, or middle of the house, lived commoners and their families, usually relatives of the ranking chief.

Smoke from the many fire pits hovered in the interior of the long building. Rows of smoked fish hung from the rafters. The smoky aroma mingled with the rancid smell of oil-filled fish bladders, but the strong odor went unnoticed by the inhabitants.

Inside the longhouse, Fighting Wolf went to the middle section, Limpet’s living area. He noted the haphazardly piled cedar boxes that marked the boundaries of her apartment. Torn and ragged cedar mats hung against the walls, ostensibly to provide decoration. Instead, they added to the air of impoverished tackiness.

Moth-eaten furs clung desperately to the wooden plank bed perched precariously one hand span above the dirt floor. The circular fire pit in the center of her living area burned with a sooty fuel of some sort that gave off small puffs of smoke, causing a gentle haze that stung the eyes and suffocated the nose.

Old fish bones, broken clamshells, discarded tools of antler and the twisted remains of a woven cedar basket, long since deceased, lay scattered across the floor, giving the place a well-lived-in appearance.

Limpet smiled languidly at him. Fighting Wolf was amused that she thought she was irresistible to him; she was always giving him come-hither looks.

The men of the village took great delight in telling each other tales of her ardent advances and novel approaches to lovemaking.

The most famous of the stories told of the time when she and Sea Turtle, one of her favorite young lovers, decided to go line-fishing for salmon. Getting into a tippy old canoe, they paddled slowly towards the fishing grounds. As the day was hot, and they felt lazy, they only got as far as the middle of the bay in front of the village before they decided to set out their fishing lines. After waiting for a while and getting no bites, Limpet became amorous and began to seduce Sea Turtle right there in the old canoe.

All went well until the lovers forgot they were sporting in a canoe, which is an unstable craft at the best of times.