Savage Betrayal (16 page)

“Young men who are going to be chiefs someday do not hit girls,” she said sternly.

“How would you know?” retorted the boy, somewhat taken aback at her interference. “You’re nothing but a slave!” he exclaimed, repeating gossip he had heard in the longhouse.

Sarita took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I know,” she said as calmly as she could, “because I am the daughter of a chief. My father taught my brother, who will be chief after him, not to hit girls and women but to respect them. That’s the way a wise chief behaves,” she stated firmly.

The boy, embarrassed, looked down at his feet as he kicked the sand. “She started it!” he cried. Seeing that Sarita remained unimpressed with this age-old argument, he tried again, “Well, she did!”

Keeping her face serious, Sarita admonished, “Nevertheless, as a future chief, you must learn to ignore the picky little things people will do to you and concentrate your attention on correcting the important things. A chief would not let a small girl’s teasing bother him. He certainly would not hit her. Her would speak calmly to her and tell her to go away and play somewhere else.”

The little girl, meanwhile, was hopping about and sticking her tongue out at her cousin when she thought Sarita wasn’t looking. Sarita, however, had words for her, too. “Duck Feather,” she said to the girl, “a noble girl does not behave so rudely. Is this what your mother has taught you? She will be shamed by such a daughter if you continue to tease your cousin and then laugh when he gets into trouble. A true noblewoman likes to play, of course, but not to hurt others by her actions.”

Sarita thought perhaps she was being heavy-handed, but she would not let these children run roughshod over her. Besides, she remembered many lectures from her childhood and knew this was how high-ranking parents disciplined their children.

Somewhat subdued, the children made their way to the beach, following peacefully at her side. Seeing their friends hunting for crabs down near the waterline, they asked for, and received, her permission to run over and play there. Sarita sat down on a log nearby, content to watch them and contemplate her future.

There Rottenwood found her, on his way to repair a nearby canoe that lay a short distance away from where Sarita was sitting.

Bending over ostensibly to locate the small hole in the boat, he nodded politely to Sarita. She recognized him as the captured slave from her home village.

Seeing her return his nod, he quietly asked her, “Are they treating you well, mistress?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “I’m very fortunate. Precious Copper, sister of the war chief that abducted me, has taken me under her protection and I’m living in her quarters. What about you?”

“No complaints,” he shrugged. “I live in the slave quarters of that longhouse over there.” He pointed to one of the houses. “I get enough to eat; they don’t work me too hard... " He let the sentence trail off.

“Don’t you get tired of being a slave?” Sarita asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but I certainly don’t like being at another’s beck and call.”

“Hah, you’ve only been a slave for a few days. Wait. It gets worse. Some nights you lie awake cursing your fate and you know you’d give the rest of your life to taste just one day of freedom!” he said bitterly.

“Oh?” said Sarita cautiously. “Do you wish for your freedom?” Seeing a frown cross his face at her careless words, she said hastily, “Of course you do. How silly of me.” She added dejectedly, “I, too, long for my freedom.”

Rottenwood’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Realizing that the next move was up to her, Sarita began tentatively, “Do you think it’s possible to escape from here?”

Looking around cautiously to make sure no one was watching or listening to them, Rottenwood answered slowly, “Might be.” He paused for effect. “It depends—“

“Depends on what?” she asked eagerly.

“It depends on how desperately you want to get away. Slaves are killed for escaping, if they’re recaptured, you know.”

“Better to die in the attempt, than live as a slave,” she responded bitterly.

He had to admire her courage. Maybe, just maybe, he could use her in an escape attempt. Realizing that someone might come along at any moment, he said quickly, “Are you serious about escaping?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Very serious,” she answered firmly.

“Then maybe we can help each other. I too, want to escape this place. If we work together, we are more likely to succeed.”

“What can I do to help?” she asked eagerly. “I just want to get away from here and back to my people as soon as possible.”

“It may take some time,” he replied. “I have to get hold of a seaworthy canoe first. We’ll need provisions, food, paddles, rain gear if it’s rainy season, things like that.”

“I can help with saving and storing food,” she answered hopefully. “I can easily get dried fish and smoked meats, too. I’m also a good paddler,” she added for effect, hoping to convince him that she would indeed be useful. “Not only that,” she said cagily, “but I will listen in on conversations and find out when the warriors will be away from the village.”

He looked at her for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face, giving him a boyish look. “You may do after all,” he teased.

“Of course I’ll do,” she said scathingly. “You just get the canoe!”

He chuckled, then became serious. “And what’s in it for me? Why should I help you escape? You need my navigation, my paddling ability, my canoe, more than I need your help.” He watched her closely.

She flushed, wondering what he was getting at. She remained silent.

Seeing that he could not prod an answer from her, he said carefully, “Don’t you wonder why I, a slave, should want to go back to your village, to certain slavery there?”

Now that he mentioned it, it did seem odd, she thought. What was he getting at? Then she remembered Spring Fern had mentioned this man. “Spring Fern,” she guessed shrewdly. “You want to go back because of Spring Fern.”

A flash of annoyance crossed his face for a moment, but he did not deny her answer. He pressed on, “Should our escape prove successful—and it will if you follow my instructions completely—I would ask for a certain reward upon returning to Hesquiat village.”

“What is that?” she asked smugly, knowing he would ask for Spring Fern.

“My freedom,” he answered curtly, watching her face.

Astonished, Sarita merely stared for a moment. She had misjudged the man. Then she answered slowly, “If we get to my village successfully, I give you my word as the daughter of Thunder Maker, chief of the Hesquiats, that you will have your freedom. I promise you this on my honor and my life.”

Realizing there was little he could do if she chose to go back on her word, he nodded. “Very well,” he answered, “let’s meet again.” He pointed to a landmark. “See that big rock further down the beach?” At her nod he continued, “When the moon is full, and is rising over that large tree,” pointing again, “come to the rock and we’ll discuss our plans further. For now, it is enough that you hide food away and listen for any news.”

Sarita did not like him ordering her about, but decided to say nothing. She needed his help too much.

Seeing her quiet nod again, he stood up, “I’ll leave now. It’s best if we’re not seen together. People will get suspicious.”

Agreeing with the wisdom of his remark, Sarita answered quietly, “Yes. And thank you for your help, Rottenwood. If we get out of this alive, I will abide by my promise to you.”

He smiled briefly and went off, wondering if she truly would keep her promise.

The days passed quickly. Sarita helped Precious Copper with household tasks. It was fortunate, though perhaps Sarita had not quite appreciated it at the time, that Crab Woman had insisted that she learn to do all household tasks. Many noblewomen did not know how to do housekeeping chores, always depending on their slaves. Had that been the case for Sarita, she would have had a very difficult adjustment to her new status, as the household tasks she was expected to do were not light work.

In addition to working in the longhouse, she was expected to go into the forest with the other slave and commoner women. There they would dig up roots and bulbs for the evening meal. There were fern roots to be dug, the odoriferous skunk cabbage roots, and clover roots. People considered all these roots delicious.

Sometimes they also dug up the long spindly spruce roots to be used not for food, but for weaving.

Occasionally, a few men would accompany the women into the forest and carry back long strips of yellow cedar bark that the women peeled off the tall trees. Later, these strips of bark would have to be carried down to the beach or to a quiet cove and weighted down with large stones. The bark would soak in the salt water for several days before being dried and separated into feathery strands for weaving. She was involved in every stage of this textile production, from gathering the bark to weaving it.

Then there were berries to gather. Several varieties ripened through the long summer; the juicy, orange salmonberries, the red seedy thimbleberries, the plump pink huckleberries and blueberries, and the delicious blackberries. Tasty berries were the only sweets in the Nootka diet.

The only berries kept year-round were black salal berries. To preserve this favorite, salal berries were parboiled in wooden boxes, then poured into other long wooden frames. These were dried over a fire and finally sun-dried. The berry cakes were then stored away for winter.

And firewood had to be collected as well. The pieces of driftwood found on the beach made the best firewood.

Slaves were also expected to catch salmon and preserve then for the long winter ahead. One method was to dry them. Long strips of salmon were hung over the drying racks overnight, then smoked thoroughly before being piled into bales for storage.

Halibut and cod were sun-dried. On sunny, windy days the fish was filleted and hung on racks to dry.

Every night Sarita fell into bed exhausted. She had never worked so hard in her life! She was familiar with what had to be done from her training at home, but there she had mostly directed others in what to do; she hadn’t actually to do it all herself.

By the fifth day, her blistered hands were forming calluses. Every muscle in her body ached. Her legs hurt from tramping up and down forest slopes. Her back seemed to be made of cedar wood, it was so stiff. But that evening she sat in front of the fire and started a piece of weaving before tottering wearily off to bed.

Whenever thoughts of Fighting Wolf crossed her mind, she shoved them mercilessly away. At first she was just too busy concentrating on all she was expected to do to think of him. But now that she was catching on to the intensive routine, she was able to daydream a little, and she found herself thinking of him more and more.

She wondered what he was doing, if he thought of her at all. Memories of his kiss still sent shivers down her spine but it all seemed so long ago. Try as she might, she had not been able to forget the touch of his lips to hers, and the memory tugged at her heart constantly.

Did I affect him so? she wondered. What shall I do when next I see him? She knew what she should do. She should run in the other direction but she was becoming too curious about him and the new feelings he had awakened in her.

She remembered his rugged face; he was really one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, and his eyes…!
It’s too bad we hadn’t really been married,
she thought idly, then caught herself with a start. What was she thinking of? The man was her enemy! He had ruthlessly attacked her father and brother and herself. Feeling safer with this train of thought she shrugged off the softer feelings his memory evoked.

Her plans for escape had not proceeded very well. After her talk with Rottenwood, she had kept her ears open for news of the warriors’ return, but no one seemed to know when to expect them back.

Dried food had not been that easy to secure as yet, either. Precious Copper kept a close eye on her charge, more for Sarita’s safety that anything else, but still it did prevent Sarita from secreting away any dried food for the escape attempt.

She hoped Rottenwood was having better luck, but she had not been able to contact him. The moon would be full in four more nights and she would meet him as planned. She would find out more then.

One day on the way back from a berry-gathering expedition with some of the other women, Sarita glanced down the beach and recognized the war canoes. The warriors—returning home. She had no trouble picking out the distinctive markings on Fighting Wolf’s canoe. Her heart sank with dread.

She made her way slowly into the longhouse, a basket of huckleberries draped over her arm. Thinking quickly, she decided her best strategy was to keep out of sight. Maybe, just maybe, he would have forgotten about her.
You don’t really want him to, do you?
asked a small voice in her mind. She chuckled apprehensively to herself.

Quickly piling her berries with those of the other women, she hurriedly made her way out the door of the longhouse.

She headed toward a narrow trail that ran in back of the longhouse. Normally, a slave would not be allowed to go off by herself like this, but Sarita knew that everyone was too busy welcoming the homecoming warriors to watch where one insignificant slave went to.

She had followed this trail before and knew it eventually led to a knoll overlooking the village. She needed time alone anyway--time to sit and relax with no one’s eagle eye upon her and no one finding more work for her to do.

She reached the knoll and knelt down on a patch of the soft green moss that grew scattered amongst the brown grass. A large rock partially hid her from the village.

She peeked down at the village. Her perch reminded her of another day, far in the past, when she had been picking blueberries and had looked down on her own village. Then, she had been the carefree daughter of Chief Thunder Maker. She sighed. Now she was living among strangers and doomed to a life of toil and drudgery and, she shuddered, possible concubinage.