Eliot Pattison - Eye of the Raven

The colonial delegations broke into anxious whispers, the Virginians glancing up at Brindle, the Pennsylvanians at the bewigged judge. Duncan looked at his friends, trying to understand. Moses had turned his back and was still watching the direction taken by the defecting westerners. Conawago had taken a seat at Old Belt's side.

Duncan, still not certain why he and Skanawati had been summoned to the treaty table, watched in confusion as a number of the bystanders split away, moving toward the little shed that was being constructed on the main street, visible between a gap in the buildings. There seemed to be some sort of argument, with protests raised in German, as several of Ramsey's men began helping the carpenters.

Suddenly the senior Burke, who had been arguing with Hadley, stood up to seize the initiative. "The Virginian delegation," he announced, "is prepared to submit evidence that the murder of our brave Captain Burke was in direct retaliation by the Iroquois, who had been turned back by our citizens in the Shenandoah some years ago. There is the nailing of the hand. The nail itself. And a gear used to mutilate our noble officer, of a type hoarded by the Indians in Shamokin."

Hadley looked up with anguish at Duncan then buried his head in his hands. His companions were using his chronicle of the murders.

"This is no court of law!" a deep voice called out. Duncan turned to see Reverend Macklin standing before a knot of other Moravians near the table.

Brindle glanced at McGregor, who sent two of his men to Macklin's side. As he did so Duncan saw that another figure had joined the table. Justice Bradford had settled into a chair at the empty east end of the table, holding one of the polished squares of wood often used to pound courts into session. Macklin was wrong. The treaty negotiation was becoming a surrogate trial. The promise of returned prisoners had vanished with the western Indians. Now the delegates were competing to see who could pose the greatest threat to Skanawati's life, and the winner would get the condolence prize, the land that the Iroquois would have to offer to save him. The integrity of the Iroquois had forced the western tribes out, and they were now forced to surrender vast lands.

The Philadelphia delegate in the blue waistcoat stood, raising the bid. "We have a signed statement that Skanawati murdered the surveyor Townsend." He flourished a piece of paper in the air. Duncan suddenly recalled that Red Hand had taunted them by saying he signed such a paper. "We have the oath of the commander of Fort Ligonier that Skanawati was the murderer of Captain Burke!

"We have statements from teamsters in the convoy swearing they saw Skanawati send one of his warriors to kill Bythe!" the Philadelphia delegate continued. Brindle lowered his head, gripping his prayer book now. The speaker looked questioningly at Old Belt. As if to punctuate his words a sharp command rose from the construction on the street. A team of oxen, hooked to a hauling chain, was being urged forward. The delegates paused and turned as the animals strained in their yoke, lifting a timber frame. With a shudder Duncan recognized the structure. They were assembling a gallows, calculated to be in the sight of the Indian delegation.

"And how many statements were filed saying Bythe died by accident?" the angry words leapt from Duncan's throat unbidden. "No doubt your honor will wish to compare them to see how many of the same drunken teamsters signed both sets!"

"Those first statements are in Philadelphia with another judge," Bradford rebuffed him. "I am not able to recognize them here."

Brindle spoke, looking severe. "Not entirely true," he said as he extracted several folded sheets from an inside pocket.

The Philadelphia judge went rigid for a moment, glaring at the magistrate. He glanced at Ramsey before answering. "Those, then, represent a different inquest in a different Philadelphia court," he parlayed. "I have jurisdiction over all the Penn colony and set the rules in my proceedings as I see fit."

"The killing of Townsend was a misfortune of war," Duncan broke in again. "And the officer at Ligonier would accuse his own mother of murder if it offered a prospect of promotion! The nails and the clock gears were but ruses, so fingers would be pointed to Shamokin. The murders were done by several men," he concluded, "but all orchestrated out of Philadelphia."

Several angry gasps rose from the Virginian delegation. Brindle stood up. "If this treaty hinges on the killings, then let the truth of these killings be told!"

This then, was why Brindle had brought the prisoners to the treaty table. He had known that the western Indians were leaving, and he meant to end the game that had overtaken the negotiations. As the magistrate turned his head toward him, Duncan saw the anguish in his eyes, along with a new melancholy determination. He had finally glimpsed the current of deceit and murder beneath the surface of the negotiations. Brindle nodded for Duncan to continue. But as Duncan opened his mouth to speak, a deep, steady voice cut through the silence.

"It was Skanawati who killed the surveyor Townsend. It was Skanawati who killed Captain Burke." The Iroquois chief spoke of himself in the third person.

A sharp crack of wood turned every eye to the powdered judge at the end of the table. He was pounding the table with his polished block, exhorting his court to order.

"Surely there must be proofl" Brindle insisted.

The judge offered a petulant frown. "Are you this man's lawyer now, Brother Brindle?"

"If need be, yes!" Brindle shot back. "Injustice in this matter works injustice in the treaty."

"Any injustice here," Bradford corrected, "could always be remedied by a properly negotiated treaty."

"We do not play with lives, or the law, for personal greed!" Brindle barked.

The judge replied with a frigid stare.

"This man knows no details of the deaths," Brindle said. "How could a murderer not have the details of his work?"

"It was a midsummer day at a huge sugar tree," Skanawati suddenly declared. "That is where I killed Townsend. A blow to his head with a war ax was all it took. Nailing him to the tree was to remind his Virginian employers of their treachery in the Shenandoah."

"The killer carved symbols into the trees," Brindle interjected.

"A code that spoke the name of the dead to the Virginians, taught me by the Jesuits."

It was a lie. Duncan knew it was a lie. He glanced frantically at Conawago, who only looked into his folded hands.

"You were not there when Townsend died!" Brindle insisted. The chief reached inside his sleeveless waistcoat and pulled out a familiar wooden box, inscribed with a turtle. "I am chief of the turtle clan. The chief of the turtle clan was there." Skanawati slid the box down the table, to Judge Bradford, who picked it up with an uncertain glance at Ramsey, then turned it over to read Townsend's name. Duncan had handed the box over to Old Belt to be sure it would not be used by Ramsey.

Ramsey, satisfied, nodded to the judge.

The judge smiled. "Just as you have described," he said to Brindle, lifting a folded paper. With a sinking heart Duncan saw it was Brindle's notes, from the night in Philadelphia when he'd spoken to Duncan and Conawago about the murders.

Brindle was stricken, the color slowly draining from his face.

Duncan struggled to get words out. "He does not know … " he began in an anguished voice, then realized to his horror Skanawati did know, everything. More than once he had sat silently, feigning disinterest, as Duncan had explained the evidence to his companions. Duncan saw the steady, determined gaze between the two Iroquois chiefs as Skanawati revealed every detail Duncan had collected, and his heart lurched. At last he saw the truth that drove the two warriors, that had driven them from the start. The future was plain to see for two such men, in the settlements, in the rum that corroded their young, in the streets of Philadelphia. They knew the tribes were slowly being strangled, and they had determined to do what they could to save them for at least one more generation.