Appearing out of the shadows, thirty Mattaponi braves stepped into the sunlight of the glade. As they emerged from the cover of the forest, the braves did not remove their long bows from their backs. At the edge of the glade, they watched in silence while Tyoga and Trinity calmly continued to eat their lunch.
“What do they want, Ty?” Trinity quietly asked.
“Don’t know, T.J., but it don’t appear they’re lookin’ for any trouble,” Tyoga replied. “They kept their bows on their backs and their arrows quivered. We’ll keep eatin’ and let them have a good look.”
When they had finished their lunch, Tyoga stood up. “Let’s see if they want to talk.” He extended his hand in a gesture of peace, and began walking toward the braves. Two braves, whose heads were wreathed in eagle feathers, crossed the glade toward him with their open hands raised high above their heads. The three men met in the center of the field.
“A tey ya ho,” the taller Mattaponi said.
Tyoga smiled. “A tey ya ho.”
“I am Acuna-tunckala
(Gray Sky)
, and this is Tuneesichealo
(Swift Wind)
.” He pointed to his companion.
Smiling broadly, Tyoga nodded a friendly greeting while trying to buy some time.
He was hesitant to give his name. He was certain that his legend had made its way to the Eastern shore, but unsure exactly what the piedmont tribes had heard about him. While they would know his name, he was less sure what their reaction might be.
If he did not tell the truth about his identity and was caught in a lie later on, they would never trust him again. Native Americans never forgive a lie. Tyoga had always dealt with his Native American brothers honestly, and he was annoyed at himself for considering doing otherwise now.
“I am Tyoga Weathersby.” He pointed over his shoulder to Trinity Jane. “She is Adohi Yutsa.” Unsure of their reaction if they learned that they were both of the white world, he used the shortened version of her Indian name. “I have traveled many days across the mountains from the land of the Amansoquath. I—We wish to winter here near our brothers in Passaunkack.”
Gray Sky and Swift Wind exchanged glances of enthusiastic glee. Shattering the afternoon silence with an eagle-like war cry that filled the forest behind them and sent the grazing geese into panicked flight, Gray Sky lifted his bow high over his head.
Suddenly, all of the Mattaponi standing along the north perimeter of the glade ran at full speed toward Tyoga while shouting wildly and lifting their bows high in the air. Their frightening screams and cries were nearly deafening.
Standing still, Tyoga did not know if the glance exchanged between Gray Sky and Swift Wind was joyful because a mighty enemy stood before them completely at their mercy, or the happiness they shared was in genuine friendship at recognizing the presence of an honored guest.
He felt his muscles swell and the life drain from his eyes.
It was a good day to die, but he would not go alone.
Trinity reached out and touched him on the arm when she saw what was happening. Tyoga knew at that moment, she understood clearly who he was. She also knew that there was no danger and this was not the time for Wahaya to appear.
When the war party was about to overtake the two of them, Gray Sky reached out his hand and patted Tyoga on the shoulders and back. He moved closer so that he would be able to hear his words above the shouting of the Mattaponi braves.
“We have heard of Wahaya-Wacon and his friendship with the Algonquin tribes. Stories are told around lodge fires to this day about the Great Powhatan Chief Openchanecanough who was saved by your ancestors. You and your woman are welcome here, great Wahaya.”
The party of whooping warriors encircled and danced around Tyoga and Trinity Jane until Gray Sky held his hand in the air to ask for quiet. “To hey yo. Ichti a way ha, Wahaya-Wacon.”
At this, the circle of braves crushed in to touch Tyoga’s face, arms, hands and chest. It was as if they hoped that his legendary power would transfer to them by the mere touch of his skin.
When order was restored, Gray Sky stepped through the crowd of men toward the tiny lean-to as if to survey the scene. “You need food. And blankets. And pots and fresh water. All of these things we will give to you. But you must come to Passaunkack and meet with Chief Blue Coat. He will want to meet you and your woman—”
“She’s not my woman—,” Tyoga tried to interject, but Gray Sky kept on speaking over him,
“—and hear the stories of your many adventures.”
Tyoga’s interjection had not gone unnoticed by Trinity. Leaving his side, she went through the crowd of Mattoponi braves toward the shelter.
“We will come to Passaunkack to see Chief Blue Coat,” Tyoga said.
“Good. Come.” Gray Sky turned to lead them to the village.
“No, Gray Sky. Wait. We cannot come with you today.” Tyoga stopped Gray Sky’s determined lead into the woods. “We will come in two moons. There is much work that needs to be done here at Twin Oaks.” He pointed out the two large oak trees that shaded the shelter. “We will come in two moons.” This time, he held up two fingers.
“Eh ya ho,” Gray Sky nodded his head in agreement. He looked around the campsite one more time, raised his bow, and trotted off into the woods.
Looking over at the lean-to, Tyoga slowly walked toward the shelter. It was obvious that he had done something to hurt Trinity’s feeling, but he had no idea what it could have been.
“T.J.,” he called from outside the shelter.
Trinity Jane had become too cumbersome to say, so he called her T.J. as a pet name between the two of them. She liked it. Very much.
She did not answer.
“T.J.,” he said again softly. “Did I do something wrong?”
She still did not respond.
Tyoga bent down and entered the shelter.
Crying quietly into her hands, Trinity was facing the back wall.
He put his hands on her shoulders and whispered again, “I’m sorry, Trinity. What did I do?”
“You did nothing wrong, Tyoga.” While tears streamed down her delicate face, she turned to face him. She pulled her ponytail over her right cheek and said quietly, “I have no one in my life. I am alone in world. We have been together for only two weeks time—I know that. But, in that short time together, I have known a sense of family more intense that I have experienced in my entire life. Even though, we have not slept side by side, and you have not warmed me with the embrace of your strong arms in the night, it is not because I wish it to be so. You have never tried to touch me like that. I understand.” She pulled again at her hair to make sure that her scar was hidden from view.
Tyoga reached out and brushed her hair aside. He cradled her scarred cheek in his huge strong hand and started to say, “No, T.J. You are a beautiful—”
“I am not!” she replied, removing his hand. “Let me speak.” She looked into his eyes as if asking for permission to continue.
Tyoga nodded silently.
“My family—my mother and father—were killed by the Shawnee when I was only eight years old. We were on our way to Cumberland where my mother was to be the settlement’s school teacher. My father was going to open a law practice there. It was just before noon when they struck. We had stopped for lunch. My baby sister was napping in her cradle and Mama was reading a book to me. The first arrow sliced through my father’s neck. I remember the look in his eyes as he tried to make sense out of the blood that was pouring from his mouth. My mother screamed and got up to run and get my baby sister, but it was too late. A warrior had ripped her from the cradle and was galloping off through the woods with her in his arms. I haven’t seen her since. I remember someone grabbing my head and feeling fire race along the right side of my face. I saw my own blood splatter off the trunks of the pine trees and turn the ground at my knees bright red. I heard my mother scream. And then everything went black. The Shawnee did not take me because they must have thought that whoever slashed my face had cut my throat and that I was dead. I woke up in the lodge of Kicking Deer. His wife was rocking me in her arms and all of his children were standing around me. I have lived with them for the past ten years. Now, I find the great Tyoga Weathersby—Wahaya Wacon—alone and hurt and crying in the woods. Your legend has been told around the lodge fires of the Nansmond Powhatan for as long as I can remember. I know what they say about you—the good and the bad. But I could not leave the legend to die alone on the shores of the Mattaponi. So I cared for you and nursed you back to health. I thought that perhaps we were building something together here at this beautiful place. And now? Now, I am all alone again.”
Tyoga looked at Trinity with a new set of eyes. “Trinity, why did you leave Kicking Deer’s lodge?”
“I ran away because I will not be traded like a gutted deer. I will marry for love—or not at all.” Trinity’s declaration was spoken with a passion that surprised Tyoga. He knew that she was a head-strong young woman, but the determination in her words was uncompromised and final.
“When I was a young girl,” she continued softly, “Chief White Elk promised me to the son of the chief of the Chickahomony Algonquin, Night Hawk. Their land is very close to the colony of middle plantation. White Elk was certain that the white eyes would look favorably upon a chief that had allowed his son to marry a white woman. His son would be placed in a positon of power and influence.”
“I begged my Father to not let this marriage come to pass, but he was powerless to help. The only way out was if a brave of our own clan claimed me for himself. No one would have me.”
“Oh, as I was growing,” she said looking down at her ample bosom, “I received plenty of attention from the Nansemond braves.” Looking toward the back wall of the shelter, she added, “But no one would claim me for their own.”
Trinity Jane turned to look into Tyoga’s eyes and continued, “Do you know what it is like for a woman—a white woman—to be unclaimed? No, you couldn’t know.”
Prairie Day’s face flashed in Tyoga mind. He did not tell Trinity Jane that he understood more than she could know.
“My flight from my adoptive family may have been for nothing at all,” she added. “Your words have made me an unclaimed woman once again. What I have run from, I have stumbled into.”
Tyoga had not thought of the impact of his words in the context of the Native American’s cultural norms.
Trinity was right.
He had openly declared that she was not his woman. Consequently, she was available for the taking. Women from other tribes were highly coveted commodities. Tribes depended upon a steady stream of progeny to keep their culture alive. That relied upon couplings outside of familial ties. Intermarriage was frowned upon by Native American cultures. When the pool of women of reproductive age was on the wane, cousins were sometimes allowed to marry.
The imperative was to replace the ranks of tribal warriors. If to do so, a taboo had to be relaxed to accomplish the desired purpose, then permission for the unions was readily granted. A woman from another tribe was seen as a source of strength and renewed vitality.
Tyoga slowly retreated from the shelter and went back to work felling trees in the pine grove.
After a while, Trinity Jane came out of the shelter and made her way towards him. She picked up her hatchet, went to the top end of the pine and continued removing the branches.
They did not speak.
In the silent understanding shared by those tested by travail, they re-connected through the rigors of common purpose, the reliance upon fidelity and the ethereal bonds that tether souls.
As the shadows grew longer and the temperature began to drop, they put down their tools and sat side by side while listening to evening’s descent.
Trinity rested her head against Tyoga’s arm, a gesture of forgiveness that both seemed to understand. Suddenly, she picked her head up. “Ty, do you hear that?”
“Yeah. People comin’ this way. A lot of people.” He stood and picked up the ax.
From the north side of the glade, where the Mattoponi braves had appeared earlier in the afternoon, a long line of men and women with baskets hoisted on their shoulders emerged from woods. Walking past the tiny shelter to the stone-ringed fire pit, they placed their baskets of beans, corn and squash, sacks of flour and salt and sugar gently on the ground. Iron kettles brimming with venison stew and succotash were placed directly onto the bed of coals, and loaves of unleven bread were set on the flat stones surrounding the fire pit. Wool blankets and skins and cloth shirts and deerhide skirts were placed on the ground inside the lean-to. Some Mattaponi women entered their shelter and replaced their coarse reed sleeping mats with a thick buffalo robe mattress. They set bees’ wax candles in the corners of the tiny shelter and bowls of dried fruit by their bed. The Mattaponi spoke no words of welcome, but waved and smiled while dissolving into the shadows of the forest.
With a smile and nod of his head, Gray Sky was the last to leave the now darkening glade.
Tyoga and Trinity Jane looked at each other with astonishment. They ran to Twin Oaks and knelt before the pots of fresh food already bubbling on the coals.
It was their first real meal in many days.
Chapter 46
Passaunkack
I
t was a two-hour walk to the Mattaponi village of Passaunkack, but only twenty minutes down-stream by canoe. The Mattaponi had given a canoe to Tyoga and Trinity the day after they had delivered the food and supplies. They used it now to make their first visit to the village.
About halfway to the village, they were greeted by groups of young boys who kept pace with the speed of the canoe by running along the shoreline path. Several canoes joined in a celebratory flotilla to escort the guests the final quarter mile to the village.
Rounding a gentle bend in the river, the Mattaponi village came into sight. Set back from the water’s edge about one hundred yards, it was surrounded by a circular palisade of rough hewn pine. Rather than a traditional opening through a gated entrance, the circle of the palisade folded over itself like a snail’s shell to create a long, narrow passageway into the village that was easily defensible.