Eliot Pattison - Eye of the Raven

The Indian outside had broken his neck, Duncan confirmed as he bent over the body a minute later. He turned the head toward the light.

"One of those from the barn in Philadelphia," Conawago declared.

Down the street men had begun to shout. "Take the body to the Iroquois camp," Duncan said hurriedly. "Make sure Old Belt finds the other outlaws camped with this one. They are taking Ramsey money. Make him understand the truth, how they are all being manipulated by Ramsey and Felton. Take the book to Brindle, explain the truth about his nephew. I must get back to Skanawati."

"Surely you want to read the entry for Felton."

Duncan shook his head. "No time. And what happened tonight is all the confirmation I need."

Manacles were placed on Duncan and Skanawati before they were escorted out of the jail the next morning. McGregor did not speak, and his men were equally grim as they flanked the doorway and motioned their prisoners forward. Skanawati took two steps and stopped so abruptly Duncan almost collided with him.

Duncan would never have guessed there were so many people in all of Bethlehem. They lined the pathway to the street on either side, they lined the street, past the new construction on the corner, lined the street all the way to the Gemeinhaus, scores of men, women, and children in the dark clothes of the Moravians. Mingled among them were nearly all of the teamsters of the convoy and several of Ramsey's rough private guards, along with at least fifty Indians. What had Ramsey's judge said? This was the day for king and empire.

To Duncan's surprise the guards did not lead them up the broad stone steps of the Gemeinhaus but walked around it to a large grassy flat bordered by elms and oaks. At the far corner were the rows of graves, some already many years old, of God's Acre. In the corner opposite the graves, in front of a long stone stable, was an Indian encampment. In the near corner was a long plank table, on which lay maps and papers, Indian pipes and pouches of tobacco, law books and prayer books.

There was no air of victory, no edge of success among the treaty delegations at the table. Brindle, at the center of the table opposite Duncan, was flanked by two somber Quakers with three nervous clerks behind them. The magistrate stared into his hands as if praying. Hadley, bruised and bandaged, sat at the west end of the table beside the elder Burke representative and the other Virginians. Only Old Belt, sitting a few feet from the Pennsylvania delegation, seemed at ease. The Iroquois chief was alone at the table, with only his warrior escort and Moses behind him. Duncan did not miss the solemn, yet somehow reassuring nod Old Belt exchanged with Skanawati, nor the deep worry that creased Moses' countenance. On the table in front of Old Belt was a large hand-drawn map.

Behind the large table, chairs were arranged like a gallery. Two hundred feet away, closer to the cemetery, was another small grouping of seats facing a different direction. Duncan stared into the shadows they faced, seeing now that another, smaller table had been set up near the headstones. Justice Bradford sat there, wearing on his head one of the long curled periwigs favored in the courts, sifting through papers, casting expectant glances toward the treaty delegations. A throng of Moravians stood on the brick pathway at the edge of the broad square, watching from a distance, their group bisected by a richly dressed man on a bench whose presence seemed to repel bystanders. Lord Ramsey had a campaign table at his elbow, laden with personal refreshments as he conferred with another bewigged man in a blue waistcoat.

Magistrate Brindle stood as he noticed Duncan and Skanawati, gesturing them to sit in chairs opposite him before sitting himself. They were not going, as Duncan expected, to Bradford's makeshift bench but to the treaty table.

"We commence this final day of negotiations for the glory of God and the mutual benefit of our peoples." Brindle's opening words had the sound of a well-rehearsed chorus. As he lifted a piece of paper Old Belt, now with Moses beside him, and the Virginians did the same, seeming to follow as the magistrate outlined the agreement thus far. Brindle reminded the parties as he did so that great parchments were already being inscribed in the Moravian school so the treaty could be properly signed after this final day of deliberation.

Brindle continued with a litany of the smaller matters that were the mortar that held agreements together. Pennsylvania had agreed that its settlers would not water their herds on the banks of the Conestoga River, which one of the Indian settlements relied upon for drinking water. Virginia trappers would not work the forests north of the Monongahela after the third month of the year. The tribes would grant safe passage to missionaries. Duncan watched the Virginians, saw how they cast suspicious glances at the Pennsylvanians, watched too as the man who had been conferring with Ramsey stepped behind Brindle and then conspicuously strained his neck to see the map Old Belt had apparently drawn. Duncan, too, studied it from his seat down the table. The map had lines drawn that divided much of the land west of the Susquehanna into three sections. Old Belt had accepted the inevitable and was ready to barter for Skanawati's life.

Mokie appeared, carrying a tray of wineglasses to Ramsey. The patron was preparing for a victory celebration.

"Gentlemen of Virginia," Brindle declared. "The Six Nations request you abandon your land claims in exchange for the return of the prisoners in the western lands, the details to be agreed by a special commission to sit at Fort Pitt. What say you?"

"Virginia," the senior Burke announced, "will reluctantly-"

"No!" the angry cry that interrupted came from behind. Ramsey was on his feet now, raising his fist at a new group that had appeared on the opposite side of the square. It was Long Wolf, along with the rest of the western Indians, leading horses with empty pack saddles. They were leaving, leaving without a treaty, without their expected bounty. Duncan looked back at Old Belt, who did not react, did nothing to betray his involvement in the desertion of the western tribes.

His guards gathered around Ramsey, who now shoved several of them toward the retreating Indians. But the men, knowing they were powerless, halted after a few steps. As Long Wolf reached the corner of the cemetery he tossed his expensive fowling gun onto the ground. Every Indian behind him likewise dropped something onto the pile. They were not only leaving without treaty payments but they were also returning the advance tokens given to them by Ramsey. Whispered curses rose from the Virginians as they realized the significance of the departure. It meant there would be no participation by the western tribes, and without them no return of prisoners.

Brindle watched the departing Indians with a grave face, though by his worried glances toward Old Belt, Duncan knew he was just as disturbed by the Iroquois chiefs pointed disregard for the exodus. Conawago had done his work. Long Wolf and those who had taken gifts from Ramsey now were exposed, shamed in the eyes of the Grand Council. They were being cast out not by force but by the bonds of integrity that ran deep in the confederation. Skanawati watched the departing tribes without expression. One of the pillars of the treaty had just crumbled.

No one at the treaty table spoke, no one moved, until the last of the western Indians disappeared from sight. But Ramsey's imprecations could be heard from two hundred feet away, as he paced back and forth. Duncan, shifting the chains on his wrists, watched as the patron finally strutted to Justice Bradford, bending over him with urgent words. Moments later a youth sitting in the shade of a tree nearby was summoned to the table and given a coin by Ramsey before he sped away.