Savage Betrayal (7 page)

Always he thought of escape and knew that one day he’d be free again. But he had to be very careful. Slaves who escaped and were caught again were usually killed as an example to the others. Now he was so far away, and so many years had passed, that it would be very difficult to return to his people, even if he could find them. Yet, he knew one day his chance for freedom would come and he would take it. Slavery was too humiliating for a man who had once been free.

Quick, darting movements under the water brought Rottenwood out of his reverie. A large silver salmon lunged into the trap and Rottenwood quickly scooped him out. He grinned in satisfaction. This plump fish would feed many guests at the feast.

Sometime later, the cedar net bag filled with salmon and slung over his back, Rottenwood made his way slowly back to the village. As he was passing by the river path, he chanced to look up at the hillside where several women were picking berries. Ducking behind the branches of a tree and shielding his eyes with his hand, he gazed up at them. He was too far away to hear any of their conversation, but close enough to hear the drift of low laughter ever few minutes.

One graceful form in particular caught his eye. The beautiful slave girl, Spring Fern, was leaning over some blueberry bushes, intent on reaching some of the juicy fruit hidden deep in the bush. A slight tremor shook Rottenwood’s body as he gazed at her. He had watched for her many times, deeply smitten by her beauty. His manhood stirred as he thought of making love to her. His heated gaze devoured her. A strong desire to hold her, touch her, swept over him and he vowed to himself that, somehow, he would make her his.

***

As if feeling eyes on her, Spring Fern turned in the direction of the forest. Seeing nothing, she turned back to her berry bush, a cold shudder passing over her delicate frame.

She wondered why the day had suddenly turned so chill. “I feel cool all of a sudden. Do you?” she asked the slave woman next to her.

“No,” answered Cedar Bundle.

“Oh.” The two women picked berries in silence for a while. “The blueberry harvest is certainly bountiful this year,” said Spring Fern conversationally. “It seems as if we have been picking berries for many days.”

“Yes,” agreed her companion. “Back home, though, there were even more berries than these.” She sighed heavily.

Spring Fern heard the sigh, and guessed what caused it. Gently she asked, “Are the people in your longhouse treating you any better?”

Cedar Bundle didn’t answer for a moment. “No,” she finally admitted in a tremulous voice. She pretended to be very interested in a patch of the luscious fruit. Finally, she could hold back no longer. “I hate being a slave!” she burst out.

Spring Fern nodded. “It’s a very difficult life. I was born into slavery and I still find it hard to accept. For someone like you, it must be terrible.”

Cedar Bundle responded, “It is terrible—for me and even worse for my two little sons. For me, it means being ordered around by women who, back at my old village, wouldn’t have been fit to invite to my longhouse. For my sons, it means fetching water and wood. For them, it means the loss of their rightful names, their wealth and property. Their father…” Cedar Bundle choked on her words.

Spring Fern put down her burden basket of berries, and patted the distraught woman. “It’s better to talk about it, if you can,” she encouraged.

“I must tell someone,” sobbed Cedar Bundle. “It’s just that their father was such a good man, a high ranking chief, beloved by his people. I loved him, too. When the Hesquiats came and raided our village, they killed him. I ran to him and threw myself on his body, weeping. My two little sons followed me. That’s how we were taken so easily. If only I had thought to hide my sons—“

“Now Cedar Bundle,” Spring Fern said, a hint of sternness creeping into her voice. “Don’t blame yourself. Your sons would have been taken anyway. The Hesquiats would have searched everywhere until they found your boys. You know a chief’s wife and children are especially prized as slaves.” She added, “Perhaps it’s a good thing you were taken with them. At least you can protect them while they’re in this village.”

“Protect them?” repeated Cedar Bundle bitterly. “I can’t even protect myself!” Sensing Spring Fern’s unspoken understanding, Cedar Bundle continued, “It’s so humiliating. I was always a faithful wife to my good husband. Now I’m preyed upon by any and every man who wants me. I’ve no protection from them at all. Never before have men talked to me or touched me like that. I don’t know what to do.”

Spring Fern nodded sadly. “Slave women are considered fair game for any man who wants then. It’s only because my mistress, Sarita, is so protective of me, that I’ve been able to avoid those lechers.”

“You’re very fortunate,” answered Cedar Bundle, wiping her eyes. “What will you do when she goes to the Ahousat village?”

“She’s taking me with her.” Ignoring Cedar Bundle’s dubious look, Spring Fern added, “But I know what I’d do, if Sarita weren’t around to protect me.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d find one wolf to keep the other wolves away. I’d find the smartest, strongest, highest ranking man I could attract. I know that commoners and noblemen won’t marry slaves, but I could still be a concubine. That status would certainly give me protection.”

Cedar Bundle stared at her. “But what about marriage? Back home, unmarried women who slept with men were considered loose women.” Seeing Spring Fern start to object, she added hastily, “Oh, I know everyone does it. But they’re all married. Most of my noblewomen friends were seldom happy, so they would have affairs. I knew they did, but I never did.”

Spring Fern looked sternly at Cedar Bundle. “Your situation is changed now. The old rules don’t count. You’re no longer a noblewoman; your sons are no longer the heirs of a great chief.” Cedar Bundle opened her mouth to say something, but Spring Fern held up her hand. “Hear me out. You are a slave. A slave! Now you must do what you can to protect yourself and your sons. What alternative do you have? It’s either be raped by several men or be one man’s concubine. Those are your choices.”

Cedar Bundle was silent for a long while. At last she said, “Thank you for sharing your wisdom with me, my friend. I must think on what you have told me.” She picked up her burden basket and started slowly back to the village.

Spring Fern watched her go, head bent, shoulders bowed, and wondered if she’d been too hard on her friend.
No
, she thought at last.
Someone had to tell her.
What Spring Fern had not told her was that Cedar Bundle’s life was at stake. Some slave women died from the brutal treatment they received. Spring Fern knew enough of slavery to realize that Cedar Bundle had to make a choice, and soon.

Spring Fern couldn’t let Cedar Bundle walk away, defeated. “Cedar Bundle,” she called. “Wait!”

Lugging the almost full burden basket, she caught up to Cedar Bundle. “What are you going to do?”

Cedar Bundle smiled slowly. “Do? As you said, what choice do I have?” Seeing the sad look on Spring Fern’s face, she added, “I’m going to take your good advice.”

“You are?” Surprise crackled through Spring Fern’s voice.

Cedar Bundle nodded. “It won’t be easy, though. I’ve been so upset and afraid of men lately. I’d given up noticing men because I didn’t wish to encourage anyone. I’ve also avoided any man who showed an interest in me.” She smiled ruefully. “There’s a certain man who’s been watching me. I suspect he’s attracted to me, but I’ve avoided him. Maybe if I encourage him—?”

“Oh, do that,” implored her friend. “Perhaps if you seem interested in him, he’ll seek you out and keep the other men away.”

“I think he would,” mused Cedar Bundle. “He’s a nobleman. He seems to treat his family and slaves well. I’ve never seen him strike or beat anyone, even when he’s angry.”

“Hmmm, it’s a good thing you’d given up noticing men!” teased Spring Fern. They both laughed as they sauntered back to the village.

The day of the wedding dawned. Gray seas rolled across the horizon, white sea gulls wheeled overhead, their raucous cries striving to alert the inhabitants of the sleepy Hesquiat village. The overcast sky threatened to rain at any moment onto the verdant plain of the village and the gray, weather-beaten longhouses.

Inside Thunder Maker’s longhouse, the commoner and slave women had been up for hours, preparing the last details for the huge wedding feast to be held later that day.

Crab Woman dropped heated rocks into a bent cedar wood box filled with water. She would first boil the large chunk of venison and then allow it to cool before it would be fit to eat. Spying Thunder Maker strolling towards the door, she called, “Husband, those Ahousat dogs will eat well today!”

Thunder Maker walked over, a pained expression on his face. “Please. These people are now our allies. I won’t have you insulting them.” Then to mollify her, he added, “I’m glad we’ve plenty of food to offer the Ahousats. They’ll see we Hesquiats don’t come begging to them for this alliance.”

Crab Woman snorted. “It’s the other way around. The Ahousats beg us to make peace with them!” Her husband raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. After all, his wives weren’t privy to the men’s talks and she had no way of knowing how wrong she was.

“Tell me,” began Crab Woman, “Why are the Ahousats so insistent on giving us the bridal price the day after the feast?”

“It is strange,” answered her husband. “Usually they’d present the bridal gifts—the slaves and furs—on the first day so we could turn them down two or three times over the next few days. Then, of course, we’d politely accept them on about the fourth day of celebrating.”

“They are an ill-mannered people!” snorted Crab Woman. “Anyone knows they are supposed to present those gifts on the first day!”

“You can’t wait to get your hands on all those gifts, can you?” teased her husband. She nodded, her eyes glistening with anticipation.

“Well,” he continued, “you’ll be pleased to hear that Fighting Wolf is bringing some gifts with him. The majority of the bride price will arrive the next day. He needs more time because he’s giving so many presents that his heavily laden freight canoes must travel slowly.”

“I knew it!” shouted Crab Woman. “I knew he’d pay us a high bride price! That’s how desperate he is to make peace with us!”

Her husband chuckled as he left the longhouse. The only reason he’d gone along with Fighting Wolf’s suggestion to wait for the bride price was because that’s how desperate he, Thunder Maker, was to make peace with the Ahousats. One more day of waiting would make no difference.

After he left, Crab Woman stepped back from the steaming box and wiped her sweating brow with the back of a greasy hand.
Where is that lazy Sarita?
She should be awake and helping with the food preparations.
It’s her wedding day; she should help
, thought Crab Woman as she stomped off to awaken her stepdaughter.

Rudely interrupted from a sound sleep by Crab Woman’s loud entrance, Sarita quickly gathered up a soft blanket, and headed for the nearby river. She followed the narrow path to the women’s bathing spot, relieved to see that this morning no one was there.

Slipping out of her cedar robe, she stood on the riverbank, shivering in the cool morning air. Breathing deeply of the fresh water fragrance, she waded out into the slow-flowing river. Her tan skin looked almost translucent in the early morning light. She stood poised, her high, firm breasts set above a narrow waist that flared out to graceful hips. Her long, slim legs were partially hidden by the water.

At last, taking a deep breath, she plunged into the cold water. Gasping from the shock of the freezing liquid, she paddled around in the slow current until she felt numb. Scrubbing herself quickly, she raced for shore. Grabbing the soft blanket, she vigorously dried her hair and body.

Dressed once again in her cedar robe, she felt refreshed and invigorated. She was now ready to face marriage to Fighting Wolf, she told herself. Humming quietly, she walked briskly back to the village.

Later, sitting on a cedar mat in the longhouse, Sarita listened patiently to Spring Fern’s chatter about the upcoming ceremonies.

Spring Fern’s practiced hands enthusiastically combed Sarita’s long hair, still damp for her river bath. In the dark interior of the longhouse, Sarita’s soft mane gave off the dull gleam of auburn highlights.

In stark contrast to her dark hair, she wore a beautiful cream-colored kutsack. To make the garment, cedar bark had been pounded to exceptional softness, then bleached for many days until the color of spring dogwood flowers. Interwoven into the pliant bark was the soft, white wool of the mountain goat. The wool attested to Sarita’s noble status, and also gave the robe a luxurious texture.

She wore a low-slung girdle of shiny, black sea otter fur around her waist. Shining copper earrings dangled gracefully from each delicate ear and a necklace made of white dentalia shells alternated with shining copper beads encircled her long, elegant neck.

The robe reached to the white dentalia anklets she wore, leaving bare her long, narrow feet. Over the robe, Sarita donned a brilliant blue trading blanket cloak, a surprise gift from her father. He was determined to marry off his daughter in the finest of clothing and to spare no expense for her wedding ceremony.

Sarita stood quietly as Spring Fern carefully darkened the arch of first one thin eyebrow, then the other. Spring Fern stepped back to appraise Sarita’s completed costume. Nodding approvingly, she brushed an imaginary speck of dust off one shoulder.

“Your husband-to-be won’t be able to take his eyes off you, you’re so beautiful,” she said admiringly to Sarita. She added, “I’ve heard rumors that the Ahousat is sending great canoes full of gifts to our village.”

“Maybe when he sees me, he’ll send for even more canoe loads of gifts,” snickered Sarita.

Spring Fern chuckled. Then she said hesitantly, “I wonder if he’ll kiss you.”

“Kiss” me?” echoed Sarita. “What’s that?”

“Oh, surely you know,” answered a blushing Spring Fern.