Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Commission

After a few more boresome days spent heaving for the amusement and edification of the Muskogee, Alan finally called a halt and went hunting with his men, who had been growing restless for some time. English lads from the country did well enough to fill the pot, and the ex-soldier Tom went along to teach them some woods-craft.

They returned with several deer, one of them Alan's that he had hit with his fusil at seventy yards. He was damned proud of his shot through thick brush, and was looking forward to eating the bugger.

"Alan!" Cashman called as they entered the yard of the huti with their kills. "We're out of here!"

"Everyone finally give up?" he asked. "I say, Kit, come take a look at this. One shot, just behind the shoulder and down he went like he was pole-axed." Alan stepped to the side of the horse that bore his kill to point out how well he had done.

"Damn the deer, man. They agreed," Cashman insisted.

"To what, actually?"

"If we give them the muskets and all the accoutrements, they go to war, on our side, soon's we land a regiment'r two."

"But we have to land the guns and munitions first, I take it."

"And show up with a fleet from Jamaica, and troops. But it's a start. And no matter how it turns out, we can get back to the coast and out of this place. Cowell's pleased as punch with himself."

"And I suppose McGilliveray is trumpeting the Apocalypse," Alan said, smirking. One blessing was that he had had much less to do with the man since he had started hunting by day and topping by night with Soft Rabbit. On a good day, he would only see him at the morning bath and breakfast, and didn't have to put up with his pontificating more than an hour.

"Well, he's mighty high in council now," Cashman told him. "Not that he wasn't already. I don't know if they're all that keen on all his ideas about a Creek alphabet and teachers and such, but they finally saw the light about their future security. We may leave tomorrow."

"Thank bloody Christ!" Alan exclaimed happily. "Another week of this, and my men would have gone native on me."

"It's been all I could do to keep my troops on their toes, too."

"Then let's eat this bloody deer of mine to celebrate."

"Gad, yes, he's a big'un, ain't he? Nice shot. For a sailor."

"We've bagged enough to feed the whole town, even the way they eat. He'll do for our mess, and we'll share out the rest. That ought to make the Muskogee turn back flips."

The supper was very cheery, and the smell of roast meat floated from every huti cook-fire. McGilliveray's Muskogee relations ate with the white party in the yard between the winter house and the summer, all smiles and laughter and singing, so different from the usual stoic silence that Alan had thought was normal for Indians. Everyone seemed hellishly pleased with their new-struck bargain of support.

It was towards the end of the supper that one of McGilliveray's uncles on his mother's side came forward to sit before him on the ground and offer a pipe. They smoked, blowing the smoke to the cardinal points, and talked back and forth in Mus-kogean for some time apart from the others.

"Ah, Mister Lewrie, this concerns you, I fear," McGilliveray said after the palaver was ended.

"Eh?" Alan asked, stuffed near to bursting and sleepy. "What the hell have I done now? I haven't offended them, have I?"

"Nothing serious." McGilliveray grinned, and if McGilliveray found it amusing, Alan was sure he wasn't going to enjoy it; their dislike for each other by that time was hotly mutual. "But it seems Rabbit, the Cherokee slave girl, no longer has need to go to the woman's house."

"The woman's house," Alan said with a dubious look, missing the drift completely.

"Surely I don't have to lecture you on what it means when a girl's courses cease, sir." McGilliveray beamed happily.

"What, you mean she's pregnant?"

"That is exactly what I mean, sir."

"Well, so what, then?" Alan asked, unable to believe it. "You're sure this isn't a jape? She's really ankled? I mean, do I have to marry her or something?"

"It would help if you did." McGilliveray chuckled.

"Well, I'm blowed, damme if I ain't," Alan gasped. "I mean, what's the difference, she's just a slave, right?"

"She's my uncle's property, you see, so that makes her part of his clan, and of this huti, this lodge," McGilliveray said, obviously enjoying every minute of it. "He would be insulted if you ran off and left your get. Marriage doesn't mean much in these circumstances, but it does preserve honor. If you don't, he can't sell her off, and he might come looking for you."

McGilliveray's uncle, a side of beef with a round moon-face, and a famous chief warrior, gave Alan a look as menacing as any he ever did see.

"He'll be stuck with a bastardly gullion, a bastard's bastard."

"But the boy'll be some kind of Wind Clan Muskogee, so he'll do alright. Or her," McGilliveray insisted.

"But we're leaving tomorrow, so…"

"Simple really. You shot that deer today? Go get a chunk of it."

"Now look here, McGilliveray, this…"

"Did I tell you my uncle's name is Man-Killer?" McGilliveray smiled sweetly.

"Oh, holy hell." Alan looked to Cashman, who was as amused as any of the others around their fire, laughing behind his hand. And damn their black souls, but Andrews, Cony, and the other seamen from Shrike were nudging each other and grinning at him openly! "It doesn't mean a damned thing, right? I mean, it doesn't really count, does it?"

"Even if she was properly Muskogee, it isn't official until the Green Corn Ceremony in late summer, and could be dissolved then. She'll gain status. Especially if you buy her from Man-Killer, and he adopts her as a daughter afterward. No more slavery for her then."

"Oh, alright, then," Alan sulked, burning with embarrassment at how funny everyone else seemed to think his predicament was. But he rose and fetched a large chunk of the deer from the roasting spits and brought it back to the fire-circle.

"This shows you're a man who can provide meat for her," McGilliveray said. "She'll present sofkee and corn to you to show she can provide grain from the fields, and cook it for her man. Now, before she can be married, you must buy her from Man-Killer."

There was much palavering, with a rant about how Man-Killer had gotten Rabbit in the first place, how he had slaughtered with the best of them and taken her from a traveling party of Cherokee hunting too far south of their mountain fastness, even if he was a little too far north of his usual haunts, poaching on Upper Creek lands.

Alan's bride cost him a dragoon pistol and saddle holster, with forty pre-made cartouches of round-shot and buck-shot, two of his deer hides Rabbit had already dressed, one of his shirts, and a leather cartouche pouch with George III's ornate brass seal on the flap. Alan suspected that buying the mort wasn't strictly necessary, since Man-Killer and McGilliveray/White Turtle both seemed to be enjoying it so much, but there wasn't much he could do about it, so he went along sullenly.

Once the purchase was done, Man-Killer got to his feet and went on another high-pitched, formal rant, which McGilliveray translated into short, pithy phrases now and again, the upshot being that he didn't know much about this young white man, but he would be considered "of Man-Killer's fire," which seemed a grudging sort of honor short of actually becoming Indian, more specifically of the Muskogee Wind Clan, since everyone Creek knew that they were the best people on the face of the earth, and they wouldn't adopt just any upstart as a Real Person until he had proved himself a superior sort of being, perhaps on par with a Seminolee or Apalachee, who at least could speak something like Muskogean. Man-Killer also grudgingly allowed that since this strange white man had bought the girl Rabbit from him at such a damned good knockdown price, he would allow her to remain in the Wind Clan and in his lodge as "daughter" instead of slave after the white man went back where he came from, so the offspring would be raised Muskogee, which Man-Killer thought would be the best for all concerned. He didn't like the way white men raised their children, anyway, with all that spanking and beating, which broke the spirit.

"At least the little bastard's going to be spared tutors and algebra," Alan sighed.

All through these preliminaries, the Indian women of the clan and the huti had gathered their sisters from the other hutis to witness the ceremony. Through it all they had yipped and whooped with delight, eager as harpies discovering a newly slain corpse to feed upon.

Finally, they brought Rabbit out. She had bathed and drawn her raven hair back into a single long braid, adorned with beads and a few feathers other than eagle. She wore a new, richly embroidered and beaded deerskin skirt, a little longer than her usual style, with a new upper garment much like a match-coat or bed-sitting coat, tied under the arms, which still left her right breast free.

"How much ritual does it take for her to get ready?" Alan asked as she was paraded before her new "sisters" of the Wind Clan. "I'd say this was arranged a long time before I heard about it. Well, damn their pleasures, I say!"

"More to the point, blessin's on yours, Alan," Cashman replied, sobered by how lovely the girl was, and by the solemnity of the moment, no matter how absurd it was. "If they were forcin' me to wed her, I'd think myself lucky. Damn shame you can't take her with you when you leave tomorrow."

"Oh, for God's sake," Alan groaned. Still, she was tricked out right handsome, even he had to admit that, and had been fawn-pretty before.

A way was cleared, and she knelt down before him on her knees, her eyes swimming with tears even as she beamed at him with happiness so open and adoring it silenced even the most cynical of his crew.

Man-Killer read the rites, which were simple to the extreme. He offered her the platter of venison, and she took a bite to accept him. She offered him a bowl of sojkee and an ear of corn still in the shuck, which he tasted. Then she was allowed to come sit beside him and link arms with him, pressing her young body to his side and gazing up at him in shuddering reverence.

"Now what?" Alan asked, putting an arm around her shoulders in spite of himself.

"That's it, you're married," McGilliveray said, and Man-Killer and the women said pretty much "amen" or "here, here," which raised whoops and shouts from all present. "Give you joy of this day, Lieutenant Lewrie. Go, take your bride to your new home yonder. It's only a summer chickee, but private enough. I helped built it yesterday."

"Damn your eyes, McGilliveray!" Alan said, unable to do anything other than smile as people crowded around to congratulate the "happy couple."

"Go forth, be fruitful, and multiply," Cashman called with an exaggerated bow. "Though you've a fair start on that, hey?"

It was expected that the newly-weds would retire immediately, and Rabbit was almost dragging him, so he finally allowed himself to be led off to a new and fresh-smelling chickee back towards those fatal corn-cribs, near the rear of the family huti. They climbed up onto the mat-covered floor and pulled the split-cane wall mats down for privacy. Almost before the last mat had fallen in place, Rabbit was on him like a ferret, dragging him to the floor. Taking heed of her lessons in passionate deportment from Alan's earlier teachings, she flung her arms about his neck and showered him with kisses, babbling away softly and rapidly in Cherokee/Creek/English, all the while tearing at his clothes.