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HE WAS BEING DRAGGED along by his feet like a butcher ready pig.
Dirt clouds eroded his face. Grit stung his eyes and choked his throat. His arm had nae feeling. His ribs burned with each breath. The cuts and lashes crossing his bare torso and back felt like a thousand ants scouring his flesh.
A buffalo hide flap was lifted. He was taken to the center of a large room.
The council house.
He was pulled to his feet. His back was thrust against one of the many large logs a foot or more in diameter that dotted the room and supported the massive gabled roof. His hands and feet were tied. His neck was corralled with a rope wound many times around the log.
His knees gave way. The rope tightened around his throat and cut off his wind. He forced his legs to straighten.
Indians ringed the meeting house in layers, some sitting, others standing. While they were largely Shawanese, Wyandottes and some Delawares and Mingoes could be seen. Elizabeth sat to one side with Red Bear. Iron Gun sat in the center and before Thomas, a brave to either side.
The chief’s thick lips thinned. Black, almost blue hair brushed his shoulders. High cheekbones and a chiseled jaw line stiffened, then lifted upward.
Black eyes, almost as dark as the man’s hair, bit into Thomas. The Shawanese words burst from his chest. “Where is the brave that brings me this shemanese?”
Red Bear stood.
“And did Red Bear bring the others?”
Red Bear pointed in Elizabeth’s direction. “Just this woman.” He launched into a speech about Elizabeth’s beauty and her fire. He assured Iron Gun that Squithetha Nenothtu would be a good replacement for his wife, that she could bear him many sons, and that there was no need of the others.
Iron Gun studied the lass. “And is she in P’cataweh Wawakotichethe’s heart?”
“Deeper than a river and as wide as the sea.”
Iron Gun wiggled his fingers for her to come. “Pe-e-wah.”
The lass looked stricken. Had it not been for Red Bear pulling her to her feet and bringing her forward, Thomas was not certain she would have ever moved.
Iron Gun stood. He lifted his fingers to her face. “Oui-she e-shi-que-chi.” Your face is filled with strength.
The chief was pleased with her, and while such assured her safety, it did not bode well for Thomas bargaining his way to freeing her.
Iron Gun motioned for her to sit to the ground at his side. Red Bear pushed her down, then sank into the shadows.
The chief turned to Thomas. “Black Fox, at one time you were my favorite white son. Now, you kill my wife and child.”
It took all Thomas’ efforts to push the words past the blinding pain splintering him into a thousand parts. “I was told by Blue Hoof that only braves were inside the cabin.”
The murmur spun around the room.
“Why would Blue Hoof lie?” Iron Gun asked.
“He wished you to destroy the bridge to your English brothers and to build a new one to the French.” And the chief had.
Iron Gun’s eyes stoked the crowd with a quiet dignity. He lifted a hand upward. “Are there braves that can vouch for Black Fox’s story?”
Silence.
Thomas had not thought any of them would.
Red Bear stepped forward. “This man cannot be condemned simply because there are no witnesses to his claim. He has built many bridges with our people in past years. His own wife and child were killed at the hands of Wyandotte warriors, and he still warred not with Iron Gun. Why would he suddenly seek to kill the wife and child of Iron Gun’s heart?” He swept his hand toward Elizabeth. “I say Iron Gun keep the woman which will grieve Black Fox’s heart worse than his death and send him on his way.”
There was no way in hell Thomas was leaving here without Elizabeth. He would die first.
Iron Gun conferred in low tones with those closest to him. They looked at Elizabeth. They looked at Thomas.
Iron Gun turned back to the crowd and lifted his hands upward. “Iron Gun say Black Fox guilty of murder and that he be declared cut-ta-ho-tha and burned immediately.”
Thomas’ head dizzied. Sweat poured into his hands.
“No!” Little Swan rushed from a far corner.
The loud cry of the braves swelled upward. Iron Gun silenced them with a sweep of his hand.
He turned to Little Swan. “It is forbidden you to be here.”
“Black Fox was lied to. Blue Hoof told me he did so.”
Another sweeping murmur.
“And Black Fox allowed the white woman to save Boy Sun’s life.”
“When did this happen?” Iron Gun asked.
“You sent me to Creet’s Town to uncle.”
“You were sent because your friendship with the White Man’s God angered Wishemenetoo and brought a cough to your brother.”
“The cough was brought on by sickness. The woman cured it. She showed me how to make a tea with honey and grated ginger. She gave me some. You have seen me tend the plants in the garden.”
Iron Gun flipped his hand in the air. “The Black Robe you sneak off to see could have given you the plant.”
“Father LeBlanc knows little of herbs and Boy Sun coughs no more. Black Fox would not have allowed Girl Warrior to help if his heart wished war on women and children.”
The chief’s eyes narrowed. “Words of Little Swan war with others.”
“Iron Gun does not believe his daughter?”
“My daughter has no proof, and she disobeys me. She leaves Creet’s Town. She believes in the White Man’s God.” His voice was rising rapidly. “Go. I will hear no more from you.”
“But Father,” she begged.
“Take your beads and pray to a God that will not save this man.”
She opened her mouth for more, but Red Bear grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the crowd.
Braves stepped forward one by one. Speeches were given. Praise was heaped upon Red Bear for capturing P’cataweh Wawakotichethe. Condemnation was leveled against Thomas for his ingratitude in the wake of Iron Gun’s generosity. Grievances against the white man, in general, were spoken of.
The afternoon wore on. At times, Thomas drifted elsewhere in the pain. At other times, he lost all feeling in his legs. He was then not certain what held him upright.
With each vote of guilty Iron Gun carved a notch into the stick which lay before him, and Thomas moved further into a fate that only the Almighty controlled.
Finally, with more than two dozen notches on the right side of the branch and only two on the left, his fate was sealed.
Iron Gun lifted his hands upward. He twirled in a circle, then stopped to face Thomas.
“It is done. P’cataweh Wawakotichethe is cut-ta-ho-tha. He will burn as soon as the fire is readied.”
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CHEERS STIRRED, LIFTED, then swept around the room. Chilling war cries followed. Two braves came forward carrying bowls of what appeared to be black paint. They spread it across Thomas’ face and chest.
Dear God. No. They could not kill him! He had done nothing wrong!
Elizabeth staggered to her feet. She lunged toward them.
“Mat-teh.” Red Bear grabbed her arm. She kicked and screamed. Laughter erupted around her. Fingers grazed her cheek. A hand stroked her hair. One brave grabbed her breast. She shoved his dirty fingers aside and spit at him.
More laughter.
Red Bear carried her through the crowd and outside. He set her to her feet and pulled her along. Drums rattled her gut. Rounded huts and neat gardens blurred past her. At the far edge of camp, beneath the ridge they had come down that morning, they came to a hut. Red Bear ripped the hide back and shoved Elizabeth inside.
She fell into the arms of Little Swan.
Red Bear spat the words through his teeth. “P’cataweh Wawakotichethe. Cut-ta-ho-tha.”
Little Swan released more angry words and gestures. Red Bear fired back at her, then spun around and left.
Elizabeth grabbed the wavering hide and yanked it back. Smoke lifted near the council house.
Cher Dieu! No!
“Are they going to burn him?”
“Yes.”
She swiveled around to the girl. “You can speak English?”
“Some. Blackrobe. Over three ridges.” Little Swan pointed to Elizabeth and herself. “Little Swan. Girl Warror. Pray.”
“I am tired of praying. Besides, this day alone I have worked a thousand Aves past my lips. And for what?”
“Pray more.”
“’Tis not enough,” she cried. Her fingers clenched. She hungered to hit someone. To strike out at the injustice and at her fear.
She turned back and lifted the flap again. Could she race across the village without being caught? Could she throw herself against Thomas and burn with him before they could catch her?
Little Swan grabbed her arm. “No. Girl Warrior not get far.”
The smell of smoke thickened. Indians screamed and danced throughout the village.
A cold fist slammed into Elizabeth’s heart. Her lungs splintered against her rib cage.
Little Swan pulled her to the center of the hut. The girl lowered to her knees and faced a crude wooden cross suspended between two poles and braced against the bark wall. She lifted rosary beads from a pocket at her waist. She touched the crucifix to her forehead, her chest, and then one shoulder and the other.
Pray for me that I may have the courage to face my end.
Elizabeth’s gut lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes. The revulsion drenched her.
Please, love me at my end.
How could this be the end? Even if she prayed for his courage to not falter, who would pray for hers to face life alone and here?
She shoved shaking hands into her pocket. She pulled out Thomas’ rosary. She rambled her fingers over beads that Thomas had touched every day and then some since being captured.
She pushed the words through her teeth. “I offer this rosary for Thomas’ courage.” The tears filled her face. “But I beg of you, Lord, to spare him.”
Outside, the war drums ratcheted to a frenzied pace.
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THOMAS WIGGLED HIS toes in the ashes of former fires. His hands were bound behind him to a post twice as high as he was tall.
The firewood, in a ring no more than two feet from his feet, licked around him. He could move a few steps right or left, but no further.
The Indians planned it that way.
He knew he needed to pray for courage. He knew he needed to unite his prayers with Elizabeth for she was doing as he asked.
I am at my end, finally, and all I wish is a beginning.
He had prayed the Almighty would gift him with such after his life-changing confession before leaving Baltimore Town. He had thrown his fears and worries into prayers, for what else was there left for him to do? Even so, he well knew that God did not always work out lives as people sought.
A rush of wind swept over the ridge and down. The flames at his feet burst upward. The warmth waved toward him. The fire might burn faster with such gusts, but it would burn harder, too. Regardless, he would not cry out. Elizabeth could be watching. She would certainly hear of his last moments. He would not dishonor her or his family as a coward.
“I believe in one God, the Father Almighty,” he whispered.
A harder gust of wind tossed his hair about his brows. A tan hide tore from its staking and rushed across the village like a sail on a gusty sea. Trees bent sideways. Small objects tumbled along the ground. The smell of rain assaulted his nostrils. Over the ridge, a black cloud skulked.
The air thickened. Another gale battered at the cuts and lashes over his upper body. Village dirt, trod with a thousand Indian feet, swirled and deviled along the ground. Thomas closed his eyes against the grainy shards threatening to blind him.
A roar pounded from the heavens. The sky ruptured. The rain sheeted and battered downward.
Lightning struck the ridge to his left. Screams filled the air. Mothers grabbed their children and ran for cover.
In a matter of minutes, his feet stood in water. Then, they sank in the mud. The fire around him sputtered towards its end.
Two braves slit his cords as curse words hurled from their lungs. Thomas’ knees collapsed. He was pulled through the smoldering pyre. Embers burned his feet. His knees furrowed the wet ground.
He was dragged for what seemed hours but could only have been a few minutes. A buffalo hide was pulled back. He was tossed into a hut. The pain fired so hot and hard through his body he could nae breathe nor think.
He was rolled over. He cried against the stings coursing his back.
The lass’ face drifted above him. Was it really her? He tried to lift his fingers to grab a hold but his arms were too heavy. His fingers fell to his side.
“Is it you?” he croaked.
“Oui, Tomas. ‘Tis Elizabeth.”
The tears reared to his eyes. He could nae stop them. “I . . . I thought . . .,” he gasped.
“Sh!” Her fingers pressed against his lips.
He still murmured against them. “I thought I would never see you again.”
And then, he slipped into nothing.