Savage Betrayal (8 page)

“No, I don’t know. Tell me what you mean!” commanded Sarita shortly.

Sometimes Sarita could be too authoritative, thought Spring Fern. Still, as mistresses went, she was better than most. She sighed aloud. “It’s just that…” She paused.

“Yes?” said Sarita impatiently.

“Well,” continued Spring Fern hesitantly, “I’ve never actually done it—“

“Done what?” shrieked Sarita, ready to throw her heavy wooden comb at the girl. “Will you tell me!” she demanded.

“All right, all right,” said Spring Fern hastily, putting her hands up to protect her face. Sarita rarely got angry but when she did, Spring Fern did not care to be on the receiving end.

“It’s when a man and a woman touch their lips together.” Spring Fern waited for her mistress’ reaction.

“Touch lips together?” repeated Sarita incredulously. “Why ever would they do that?”

Her slave shrugged. “It’s considered very romantic among the
mumutly,
the white men.”

“Oh?” asked Sarita suspiciously. “How do you know this?”

Spring Fern giggled. “Not from experience, I assure you,” she answered. “Do you remember my cousin who lives in Yuquot?”

Sarita nodded.

“She told me about this. My cousin says that ever since the
mumutly
came to our shores in their big ships, the people at Yuquot have been doing this thing—kissing. First the
mumutly
men would kiss the women, then later, the women would kiss their own boyfriends or lovers or husbands. It’s very easy, my cousin says,” concluded Spring Fern doubtfully.

Seeing Sarita’s disbelief written all over her face, Spring Fern continued hastily, “I’ve seen some of the slaves do this thing. I think it’s because the women first given to the
mumutly
were slaves. They spread the practice. Now I hear many people do it, even noblemen. I guess they learned it from the slave women, too,” she added slyly.

Sarita shuddered, thinking of kissing an old man with bad teeth. “I’m sure Fighting Wolf is too old to do that kind of thing,” she reassured herself aloud. Then she gazed thoughtfully at her friend for a moment. “Spring Fern?” she asked casually. Too casually, thought Spring Fern. “Have you ever made love with a man?”

Spring Fern returned her gaze. She shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Hmmm,” responded Sarita. “I wonder what it’s like?’”

Spring Fern shrugged. “From what I hear, some women like it and some don’t. Most of my friends have no say in the matter,” she added bitterly.

Sarita nodded. Spring Fern’s friends were slave women. Sarita mused, “I’m sure that having a choice makes a difference. Especially if you love the man,” she added dreamily. Catching herself she said harshly, “Well, I don’t love Fighting Wolf. I don’t even like him. I haven’t even seen him. Crab Woman says he’s old and has rotting teeth. He’s probably ugly and scarred up from all the fights he’s been in and all the raiding he’s done. Oh, how could Nuwiksu give me to an ugly, old killer like him?” she cried.

“Oh, mistress, don’t despair,” consoled Spring Fern. “I know it seems terrible right now, but maybe things will turn out well. You won’t be alone,” she reminded. “I’ll be going with you.”

Sarita hugged her friend. “Yes, and I’m so glad you’ll be with me. I hope you’re right; I hope things will work out.” She recovered herself. “There’s one thing I will do, and Fighting Wolf won’t stop me,” she said fiercely.

“What’s that?”

“I won’t let him attack my people. There’ll be no more raids on the Hesquiats. If I can’t persuade him personally,” here Sarita gave a small, feral smile, “then I’ll interfere with any such plans he has!”

Spring Fern agreed enthusiastically. “Your marriage will count for something. Even if you aren’t happy in it, at least you’ll be protecting your family and those dear to you.”

Sarita and Spring Fern looked at each other with new satisfaction. “I’ll make sure the Ahousat knows he must treat me, and my people, with respect!”

Spring Fern gazed at her beautiful mistress and did not doubt the Ahousat would indeed treat his wife and her people well.

Suddenly loud shouts and high-pitched yells from outside the longhouse interrupted them. Sarita and her slave ran to the door and peered out.

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” rang the excited cries of the village children. Flying up and down the beach, the boisterous imps danced their news, their excitement and gaiety contagious.

Sarita walked towards the beach, shading her eyes with one hand as she looked out to sea. Far off in the distance, she spotted several small black dots on the water. They’d arrive soon. In spite of herself, she trembled in anticipation. Shaking herself sternly, she dashed back into the longhouse, followed by her slave.

“Don’t let them see you,” cautioned Spring Fern. “You’re not supposed to put in an appearance until the feast tonight.”

Sarita took her slave’s order with good humor. “I won’t. I’ll watch them from inside the doorway. They’ll never know I’m here.” The two women chuckled together, shivering in excitement at seeing the dreaded Ahousats.

* * * *

The villagers slowly drifted down the pebbly beach to watch the arrival of the Ahousats. As if in league with the visitors, gentle sea winds blew away the cloud cover, letting the sun shine hot and brilliant onto the waiting populace.

The Ahousats’ large war canoes circled the cove and their deep chanting voices carried over the water. The crowd thrilled to the sound. After circling the bay several times, the first of the groom’s great war canoes ground into the gravel of the shallow waters just off the beach. Four men jumped out and, heaving in unison, pulled the canoe further up the beach.

People in the assembled crowd commented on the gifts that were no doubt piled under the cedar mats in the large canoes.

Fighting Wolf stepped out. He was draped in a full-length, shiny, black sea otter robe, his glistening blue-black hair twisted into a hundred long, thin braids all over his head. Tiny white feathers of eagle down were scattered over his hair. Across his forehead were painted wide wavy black lines; a solid red covered the lower half of his features. His face was dusted with powdered black mica; silver and gold sparks glinted off his visage where the sun slanted across. His arms were painted red, and large copper rings encircled his ankles. He looked magnificent.

The men accompanying him also wore painted red and black facial designs. Each nobleman’s hair was secured in a large topknot tied by a green spruce bough. Eagle down was strewn over the locks of the high ranking men. The commoners were dressed in bulky cedar kutsacks, their hair loose, their faces painted a solid red.

The visitors debarked from the canoes and stood defiantly facing the Hesquiat crowd. The two groups stared at each other, neither willing to initiate a friendly gesture. Fighting Wolf, planted at the forefront of his men, gazed impassively back at the staring assemblage.

The watching throng of men and women began to shift anxiously. “Why are there so many men?” murmured someone. “There must be over a hundred…and no women.”

“Probably afraid to bring their women,” speculated another. “We haven’t really stopped fighting them. If this alliance doesn’t work—“

“Probably don’t trust us,” came a third opinion. “Afraid we’ll take their women away from them!” Several chuckles greeted this sally.

At a gesture from Fighting Wolf, the visitors began shaking the rattles that miraculously appeared in their hands. Singing to the beat, the Ahousats began the shuffling dance steps that took them slowly up the beach. Swaying and chanting, they made their way towards the longhouses, stopping in front of the largest.

A lean, wiry Ahousat man of indeterminate age stepped forward from the crowd of men, a stout, carved stick grasped in his hand. His wrinkled face screwed up, he confidently addressed the waiting crowd.

“Good people of the Hesquiat tribe,” began the Ahousat Speaker. “You are very fortunate to have our noble prince, Fighting Wolf, ask for the hand of Sarita, daughter of your chief Thunder Maker.

"Fighting Wolf is a great Ahousat war chief. Few warriors have killed as many enemies as has our prince. He is feared far and wide for his prowess in battle, for his cunning raids on our enemies, and for his strength in fighting off raiders foolish enough to attack our village!”

The listening Hesquiats stirred uneasily. “Why’s he dwelling on war talk?” muttered Feast Giver, standing next to his father. “Doesn’t he know this is a marriage he’s come to attend? This marriage is supposed to bring an end to war. His words are too inflammatory.”

Thunder Maker shrugged his large shoulders carelessly. “There’re many things about this marriage proposal that are strange,” he answered. “We’ve little choice but to see it through, for all our sakes. The alternative is war. I’m afraid our people will be completely slaughtered by the Ahousats if we don’t marry into them. I don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He paused. “Look at him,” he added, pointing at Fighting Wolf, who was standing next to the Speaker. Strong legs parted in an arrogant stance, the war chief haughtily surveyed the villager crowded around.

“He doesn’t look like a kind man, but what can I do? I just hope our dear Sarita can defang such a wolf,” sighed Thunder Maker, almost to himself. Turning back to the Speaker, he strained to catch the man’s words.

“Fighting Wolf comes from an illustrious line of wealthy and prestigious noblemen,” the Speaker was saying. “He owns vast fishing grounds near our village; they belong to him and his lineage. He has many slaves who work under him. He is able to provide much meat and fish for his household and he still has great quantities left over to give in potlatches—potlatches that far surpass anything your poor chief can give.” Here a gasp went up from the audience. Thunder Maker would not take such insults lightly.

Indeed, Thunder Maker was frowning darkly at the Speaker. That man, as if oblivious to the reaction, proceeded.

“Not only does Fighting Wolf have many slaves, but he will soon have even more! His wealth will be increased many fold and his name will be known and feared up and down this great coast of ours.”

“Arrogant bastard,” muttered Feast Giver to his father. He received a grunt in reply.

“Whaling is one of our prince’s special accomplishments,” continued the indomitable Speaker, shifting his cocky stance. “Our esteemed prince has killed more giant whales than any other whale hunter, including your Hesquiat chiefs. Because of special, secret rituals, our noble prince is blessed by the gods. Every year they favor him with drift whales.”

Drift whales were those that died at sea and washed up on the beach. The chief owning the beach owned the whale as well. He was said to have “called” the whale to his property.

“Last year, our war chief called four whales to his beaches. Yes, four!” Here another gasp went up from the audience. Four whales was truly a large number of whales to have drift up on shore, by anyone’s standards.

“And,” continued the intrepid speaker, “this year he will call in even more!” Many in the crowd could be seen shaking their heads, some with disbelief openly written across their features.

“But our illustrious prince does not need whales to feed his people. He has clamming beds that supply his family with much meat, and his slaves are always hunting for deer in the forest to supplement the fish caught in his fish traps. Truly our people are very fortunate to have such a wealthy man as Fighting Wolf! You worms are indeed fortunate to be marrying into such a noble family.”

Covert glances were cast at Thunder Maker to see his reaction to the slurs the cagey Speaker was casting. Thunder Maker was glowering.

The Speaker continued, boasting of Fighting Wolf’s illustrious ancestors, the great deeds done by his family, their territorial possessions and anything else he had been instructed to say to intimidate the critical crowd. Much time passed, the Speaker droning on and on. Finally, his voice growing hoarse, he was forced to end his oration.

He made his parting comments to the audience. “Fighting Wolf can afford to give a huge bride price for you insignificant daughter. He can give so much, you Hesquiats will never be able to come up with enough wealth for the bridal repayment gift! You are too poor!”

By now, Thunder Maker’s hold on his temper was gone. He had heard enough insults. Only Feast Giver’s urgently whispered reminders of how badly they needed this alliance with the Ahousats restrained his fury.

With a final croak, the Speaker directed the attention of everyone back to where the canoes lay on the beach. Some of Fighting Wolf’s men separated themselves from the others and headed down to where the canoes waited. The men staggered up the beach carrying armloads of gifts to present to the bride’s family. Although the bulk of the gifts would be arriving the next day, Fighting Wolf brought several canoes filled with blankets, furs and other gifts as representative of his family’s great wealth. The men set the bales of goods down on the pebbly beach, near Thunder Maker’s longhouse and above the high tide mark, so that the incoming tide would not ruin any of the precious items.

Thunder Maker stomped over to inspect the proffered gifts. He did not have to pretend the vehemence with which he angrily rejected this first offering. At his signal, his Hesquiat men carried all the prizes back down to the waiting canoes.

The rejection of the groom’s gifts was a traditional part of the marriage transaction. Over the next few days he was expected to dismiss the bridal price three or four times before finally accepting. Thunder Maker took exquisite satisfaction in refusing, expected though it was. He regretted he could not reject the full bride price today; that treat would have to wait until tomorrow. He brightened.

Turning on his heel, he marched up to the longhouses, too angry to watch the visitors load the gifts back into the canoes.

He would show those cocky Ahousats! He had some difficult games to challenge them with. They wouldn’t be so arrogant after a few failures, he thought angrily. These were games that Thunder Maker owned through inheritance, and only he and his family had the right to display them at wedding ceremonies. He was very proud of the privileges and knew the Ahousats would be hard-pressed to win them.