Eliot Pattison - Eye of the Raven

The old Nipmuc sipped, then coughed, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Good," he said after a moment. "Take her now and put her in a little circle of that ochre in a pool of moonlight. Someone should sit with her to say words of comfort. If I were able I would sit with her all night."

"We will do it together soon."

Conawago somehow managed a smile. "Sit with her, tell her the last of the Nipmucs lived with honor." His good hand reached onto the straw to grip something else, the little fur amulet given him by Skanawati.

"No. We will do it together," Duncan repeated.

Conawago coughed again, closing his eyes as if to gather his strength. "Might I ask one more favor?"

Duncan, finding his tongue would not work, nodded.

"Stay near the tree they pick," Conawago said, his breathing labored now. "I would like to gaze on the face of a friend. Then return the little god to her cave. It was a fool's errand." He smiled weakly then slipped into unconsciousness.

Duncan pointed Hadley to a bucket with a rag hanging on its side and began cleaning the old man's wounds.

"He. . he speaks well," Hadley ventured over Duncan's shoulder.

"I daresay he is the best-educated man in the fort. Conawago was brought up in Jesuit schools. He speaks English, French, and half a dozen native tongues. He knows more about healing than most doctors in Europe." Punctuating his words was a rustling sound from one of the darkened chambers further down the corridor. No doubt there were rats in the shadows. He pulled the linen bandage roll from his belt and began wrapping the broken finger against the adjacent one.

"He had his knife out, McCallum. Why did he have his knife out if he was trying to tend my cousin's wounds?"

Duncan did not reply at first, only searched the tail of Conawago's shirt. After a moment he showed Hadley where a small strip had been sliced away. "To cut a bandage. He is innocent."

"That is for the court to decide."

"Court? You mean Major Latchford, the Indian hater, and a mob of Virginians in the payroll of the Burke family?" When Hadley did not reply Duncan gestured to Conawago's shoulder. "Help me lean him against the wall, so he can drink more."

When they lifted the ladle to Conawago's lips, his eyes fluttered open again. "Not me. You can do more for her," he said weakly, extending a trembling hand toward the shadow.

Duncan hesitated, glancing at Hadley, who shrugged. A muffled cry rose from the darkness.

The two figures were in the deepest and darkest of the chambers, and they reacted to the light of the lantern by burying their faces in the tattered sacks left them as blankets.

"We mean you no harm," Duncan declared. Two wide, shining white eyes emerged from a blanket. The girl, in late adolescence, leaned over as if to protect the second figure, who lay under sackcloth, writhing. Duncan advanced slowly, his hands open before him, and knelt beside them. The figure in agony was a woman of perhaps thirty, her dark, handsome face contorted with as much fear as pain.

Hadley groaned. The lantern fell from his fingers.

"You know her?" Duncan asked as he grabbed the lantern.

Now he saw that Hadley's face too was gripped in fear. "She … they belong to Colonel Burke, back in Virginia." He said nothing more.

Duncan lifted the lantern closer to the two prisoners. Their skin was a light cocoa color, African hints in their features.

"Damn the French for toying with lives the way they do," Hadley murmured.

"The French?" Duncan asked.

"Rumors have spread like wildfire back home, from the Piedmont to the ports. Any slave who can make it to the French-controlled Ohio country will be granted their freedom and given land to work. A cheap way of blocking British plans."

The girl had clearly recognized the Virginian. Tears were streaming down her face. "Mama needs help, Mr. Hadley."

Duncan's companion seemed about to bolt.

"Please, Mr. Hadley," the girl pleaded. "It's the only reason the soldiers found us. Mama cried out from all the pain."

"Mokie … no," Hadley answered, retreating a step.

Duncan put a restraining hand on his arm. "I can't do this alone."

"What do you mean?"

"Fetch me clean blankets, even if you have to steal them from the major himself. The officers' quarters may have their stove banked for the night. Boil some water."

"I don't understand."

Duncan threw back the sacks covering the woman. "Your uncle's slave is about to have a baby."

By the time Duncan emerged from the guardhouse the eastern trees were mottled with gray light. His heart sank as he saw men running to the officers' quarters, and he dropped onto a split log bench, too exhausted to worry about the verbal and probably physical flagellation he was about to receive for breaking into the jail and interfering with the prisoners. Yet he was not merely overcome with fatigue. For the moment he was seized also by an odd flush of satisfaction. He had delivered a healthy infant boy. The woman herself, Becca by name, had been more experienced than either Duncan or Hadley, but Duncan had played the role of the midwife.

He had an unexpected longing to write a letter to Sarah Ramsey in the New York colony, who had claimed his heart the year before, to tell of delivering his first baby. Then an officer appeared at a fast, hopping pace, buttoning his gaiters as he moved out of the officer's quarters, spitting invective at the soldier who trotted in front of him. Duncan looked into his hands, stained from the night's work, collecting himself, bracing himself. But suddenly more invective rose from the outer gate, still lit by lanterns. A chorus of new angry voices erupted from outside the walls.

"My God, McCallum," came a weary voice behind him. "I never. . " Hadley failed to complete the sentence as he dropped onto the bench beside him. "Becca said her son is named Penn. When I was leaving the old Indian called out."

Duncan, only half listening, was watching the officer at the gate. Then the words registered. "Conawago is awake?"

"He asked to see the little boy, to hold him. Mokie brought him, and he whispered in the boy's ear, an Indian prayer, I think, and told her he would have a long and rewarding life."

Duncan kept watching the gate, slowly realizing that the sudden activity marked the unexpected, early arrival of the treaty delegation. "A prayer?" he asked, turning to Hadley.

"Thanking the gods. He said it was a very good omen, that a young one arrives when the old depart, that the spirits were saying they are ready to welcome him today."

"Tell me, McCallum," Latchford demanded, "who is the commanding officer responsible for the rangers in this theater of war?"

Duncan fought to steady himself. He had been at the well, washing his hands, when Latchford's men had dragged him into the major's office. "Captain Woolford is the only name I need to know."

An icy grin grew on Latchford's face. "What is the monthly pay for one of the king's rangers?"

Duncan stared silently at the officer.

The amusement in the major's eyes fanned into a smoldering anger. "What is the official kit issued to a ranger?"

"The rangers, sir, are irregulars. Some serve as the need arises."

"You have the stench of a fugitive. I should clamp you in irons right now, McCallum," the officer snapped, then gestured to a piece of folded foolscap on his desk beside one of the brown envelopes used for army business. "I have already drafted a letter to Philadelphia seeking the truth about you. If I decide you have stolen that badge I will hang you forthwith. I could write the order this morning. A double hanging would be excellent for discipline. We have enough damned Scots in the infantry. We don't need more skulking about the wilderness."

Duncan lifted his gaze from the letter. He could ill afford to have inquiries about him raised with senior officers. He returned the major's stare, the fog in his head beginning to lift as he recognized the note of invitation in Latchford's voice. "What is it you want, Major?"