Savage Betrayal (6 page)

Sarita carefully folded several elbow-length capes that tied at the neck. The capes were worn out-of-doors. Lastly, she placed three conical rain hats on top of the garments. She would not be caught unprepared when the torrential west coast rains poured down from the heavens.

She frowned pensively as she reached for one of her beautiful hair ornaments, a delicately colored white and pink dentalia shell hair clasp.

Her thoughts dwelt on her upcoming marriage. She did not want to marry this Fighting Wolf. The last few days had given her time to think about what she
did
want. She knew she wanted a husband she could love and respect and one who would love her in return. A husband who was in love with his wife would not take other wives to his longhouse. Nor would he marry a woman just for the wealth or property she could bring him.

Her parents’ marriage, she remembered, had been loving. That was when Sarita was small, before the tragic death of her mother one dark night when she was paddling back from visiting a nearby village. A sudden storm arose; violently lashing waves overturned the canoe. Her mother’s body was found washed up on the beach the next morning. For a long time, her father had been inconsolable and had neglected his small daughter and son.

Though only eight years of age at the time, Sarita thought the pain of losing her mother would never go away. But with time, it had…or at least it had dulled. Now she could think peacefully of her mother.

Two years after her mother’s death, her father remarried. His new wife, Crab Woman, brought property and a political alliance with a nearby village to the marriage, but no love. Lacking affection and love from her, he had taken another wife into his longhouse and then a third. He now had four wives living in his longhouse, but very little peace.

Yes, thought Sarita to herself. She knew about loveless marriages. She had watched her father battle with his wives. Their unhappiness and discord often kept her away from the family’s hearth. Many nights she pressed her hands to her ears to keep out the shrill cries and vicious words said during an argument among her father’s wives. It was only after her father bellowed for quiet that a seething peace was restored. The squabbles occasionally involved intended or imagined slights to one wife’s children, but most often were over Thunder Maker’s attention, or lack of it, to one or another wife.

Sarita honestly could not blame her stepmothers for fighting. She would not want to share her husband with other women. No, that was not for her. Not for her the jealousy and unhappiness. Not for a young, beautiful woman like Sarita. She wanted a man to love her, and her alone. Not one who would take other wives and then cease to love her or her children.

She sighed. Now those wishes were past dreams. She was to be married to the enemy. What hope did she have that he would love her, and only her? As for herself, she shuddered to think of loving an enemy of her people. Well, when he took other wives—and chiefs were expected to—she certainly would not care. Let him marry as many women as he wanted, then she would be spared his foul attentions.

A new thought occurred to her. If she did not like him, or living in his village of hated Ahousats, she would leave him and return to her father. Other wives did that.

Her favorite stepmother, Abalone Woman, had done that very thing. Abalone’s first husband had been a cruel man and she had suffered his behavior for a long time. Then one night his malicious taunts exploded in a vicious beating. The next day Abalone left him and, bruised and battered, returned to her parents’ house. Shortly after that, Sarita’s father noticed the quiet young woman. Her spirit had not been crushed by what she’d been through; her resiliency and gentle manner appealed to him. He asked to marry her. Her family gladly accepted the suit of their chief and Sarita’s second stepmother moved into the longhouse.

Dragging her thoughts back to her own troubles, Sarita felt the gooseflesh rise when she thought of living amongst the Ahousats. To be surrounded by enemies, dependent on a man who fought and killed her people, made her tremble inside. Perhaps she should take Spring Fern with her. She deliberated. If she brought Spring Fern, she would have company and comfort in the village of her enemies.

Turning to Spring Fern, who was kneeling beside her as they folded garments, she asked, “Do you wish to come with me to my new village?”

The slave locked her deep brown eyes with Sarita’s golden ones. “Yes,” she replied simply. “Please take me with you.”

The urgency in her voice startled Sarita. “What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

The pretty slave looked down at the floor for a moment. “I was so hoping you would take me with you. You see…” her voice trailed away.

“Yes?” prompted Sarita.

“It’s just that I—I’m afraid to stay here by myself.”

“What do you mean? You’re not by yourself. You’re surrounded by people here.”

“Pardon, mistress, but that’s not what I mean. I—I’m afraid of some of the men. Without your protection—“

“Oh.” It was beginning to become clear to Sarita.

“You see,” burst out the slave, “I’m very much afraid to stay here without you! That big slave your father recently traded for, Rottenwood, keeps staring at me. I’m afraid of him and I fear he may ask your father for me as—as a wife! Your father seems to like the work he does and might humor him. I could never live with that man.” She was in tears now. “Please take me with you!” she cried.

Sarita patted the sobbing girl gently. “There now,” she soothed. “No one’s going to marry you off to some slave just because he stares at you. I’ll take you with me when I leave this village. Then you won’t have to worry about that old Rottenwood anymore.”

Spring Fern clutched Sarita’s arm and sniffled into her robe. “Oh thank you, mistress. Thank you! I do so want to come with you!” Spring Fern wiped her eyes, and tried gamely to smile.

Sarita stroked the soft ebony hair and said, “It will be reassuring to have you with me when I’m in a strange village, surrounded by strange faces.” She paused, seeing that Spring Fern was regaining her composure. “Go now, wipe your eyes and fetch my other dentalia shell clasp for my cedar jewel box.”

Spring Fern hurried away to do as bid, leaving a quiet Sarita staring off into space. Would that all her problems could be solved so neatly, the young noble woman mused wryly.

* * * *

On the day before the wedding, the village bustled with activity. Thunder Maker’s slaves were kept busy emptying his fish traps of the beautiful silver salmon that would tempt the guests’ palates at the lavish feast Thunder Maker was hosting.

Several female slaves picked berries and dug roots to add to the table. The commoners who lived on Thunder Maker’s bounty were out digging clams as soon as the tide was low enough. Everyone was working hard to make the feast and wedding a great success. The more Thunder Maker impressed his unfriendly guests, the safer the village would be from further Ahousat depredations.

Thunder Maker’s chief wife, Crab Woman, oversaw many of the details, and Sarita tried to stay out of her way. Crab Woman had a sharp tongue for most people, but especially for Sarita. Crab Woman could never forget that Sarita’s beautiful mother had been so very loved by Thunder Maker. Her eyes narrowed every time she saw the favors and gifts Thunder Maker lavished upon his eldest daughter. Her own children seldom got such fine presents. In retaliation, she never let Sarita forget for an instant that it was she, Crab Woman, who ruled the longhouse.

Today she was amusing herself by badgering Sarita about her betrothal to the enemy.

“And the cost…” Here Crab Woman rolled her eyes, having come upon Sarita just as she had finished packing away her robes. “The cost of his wedding is going to be enormous. Your father will be poverty stricken by the time it is over. Who knows what the rest of us will have to eat this winter, but Nuwiksu’s dear daughter must have a lavish wedding. Oh yes,” was Crab Woman’s malicious refrain on this hot afternoon.

“And such a fine bridegroom,” she hinted slyly. “Old, with rotten teeth, and I hear he likes to beat his wives.”

“What?” gasped Sarita.

“Oh yes,” answered the older woman. “I’ve heard such things about him.” She shook her head as if in pity. There, that should scare the girl. She chuckled, then added deprecatingly, “Of course he’s merely a war chief, second in command in his village. Your father is head chief here.”

Sarita caught her meaning. The older woman was gloating because she’d married the highest ranking chief while Sarita was being married off to a second ranked chief.
I don’t care,
thought Sarita to herself.

“And it doesn’t really count for much to be a chief of the Ahousat dogs,” the old woman added for good measure.

Seeing Sarita’s face flush under her light tan, Crab Woman hugged herself in delight. “The bride price the Ahousats pay for you should be huge. Oh, not because your worth it,” she snorted. “But so the Ahousat bastards can show their good intentions of peace toward us.” She spat, then complained, “All that means is your poor Nuwiksu will have to come up with a costly bride repayment gift to give back to them when you have your first child.” She spat again, contemptuously. “
If
you have a child.”

Happily she continued her tirade, “I don’t know how your poor Nuwiksu will ever come up with enough slaves and furs to give him. I told him! But no, he has to put a good face on these things, even if it means the rest of the family suffers. So much expense and all for a useless girl like you!” She glanced scornfully in Sarita’s direction.

“And another thing,” she harped, “You’d better be a virgin! All this family needs is a scandal to bring down your poor Nuwiksu’s good name. Which is exactly what will happen if your new husband finds you’re no virgin!”

Humiliated, Sarita got to her feet and ran out of the house, her face flushed with anger and shame. One thing she would not miss, she raged, was Crab Woman’s spiteful tongue. Of course she was a virgin, Sarita railed to herself. What a thing to say!

Crab Woman was correct in one respect, thought Sarita after she’d regained her composure. It could prove difficult for her father to come up with the bridal repayment gift.

Traditionally, the groom’s family paid a bride price, and at the birth of the first child the bride’s family returned a gift of approximate value. This was known as the bridal repayment gift. Sarita knew her father would need at least a year to come up with the repayment gift, especially after giving such a costly wedding feast. He couldn’t save the articles and slaves he received as the bride price, to repay later, because he was obligated to distribute those goods amongst his loyal supporters.

Suddenly Sarita realized how tightly bound she was by the betrothal agreement. If she left her husband, there would be little likelihood her father would welcome her back. He’d be too concerned about paying back the massive bride price. Feast Giver was right, she mused, more rested on this alliance than she had first thought.

* * * *

A wide-chested, medium tall man, his dark bronze skin dappled in the afternoon shade of the trees, stood poised on the river bank. One of Thunder Maker’s many slaves, he waited patiently for a large salmon that was slowly nosing its way into the cone-shaped fish trap set into the stream. Rottenwood gazed unseeingly at the fish under the clear water.

Rottenwood had not always been his name. Once, when he was free, he’d had a free name.

He cast his thoughts back to that fateful day of his capture, the memory as clear as if it had been yesterday. The young boy, Crouching Fox, had walked swiftly away from his parents’ camp, anxious to try out the new bow his grandfather had carefully and lovingly made for him. The dark forest he entered was quiet and, in the hush, he searched carefully for a quail or a large grouse to surprise his family with. Several times he had gone hunting alone in the forest, but never so far from camp as he did this particular day.

Suddenly he froze. There, not more than one good arrow shot away stood a four point buck. Slowly bringing his bow up, he aimed the arrow straight at the buck’s heart. The boy’s gaze did not stray from the deer standing so still and majestic, its nose sniffing the air, alert to impending danger. The boy’s heart beat rapidly as he let fly the arrow. He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he released it in one long gasp. Excitedly, he watched the deer crumple to the ground, all in silence.

Crouching Fox took only a step towards the deer when suddenly a large hand covered his mouth and a piercing pain ravaged his skull. He sank forward onto his knees and from there he sank into sweet, merciful, dark oblivion…

Upon awakening, he shook his head slowly and painfully, only to find himself bound and gagged and lying next to a smoking camp fire. The mouthwatering scent of venison tantalized his nostrils. Nearby lay two other, trussed-up small figures, while several men hovered in and around the camp clearing.

Over the next several days, the boy learned he had been captured by the notorious Wishram slave-catchers, who worked the territories along the Columbia River, searching for women and children to sell in the slave market at The Dalles.
At the slave market, the boy was bought by a man from Neah Bay and taken far from his home and family.

It was the Neah Bay man who gave him the insulting slave-name of ‘Rottenwood.’ It was a joke…the boy was soft and useless, just like rotting wood. Crouching Fox determined to himself to prove the foolish man wrong, and over the next few years he learned every skill he could. The dull master could not see beyond the name he’d given the young slave and decided to trade him up north to the wife’s relatives.

The two embarked on the long canoe trip. For several days they canoed north, across open water and then followed the coastline until they finally arrived at the bay of Hesquiat village. The Hesquiat chief, Thunder Maker, saw the strength in the young man’s build and hoped to make a good worker out of him.

Rottenwood found that Thunder Maker could be a good master and one appreciative of an industrious slave. Rottenwood therefore did his best to impress Thunder Maker with his working abilities, but he never forgot that he had once been free.