Chief Blue Coat was waiting for them on the shore with a group of tribal elders dressed in their ceremonial finest.
True to his name, the Chief was wearing a blue sailor’s coat from which the buttons had been removed. He was bare-chested under the coat. A large loincloth fell nearly to his ankles to cover his leather leggings. A large cowry shell medallion hung around his neck. His head was shaved except for a long coiled top-knot that rose about 4 inches from the crown of his head.
“Et tay ya ho, Wahaya-Wacon,” the chief said in a loud ceremonial voice. “We welcome you to Passaunkack.”
Tyoga and Trinity Jane were wearing the clothes that the Mattaponi had brought to them two days earlier at Twin Oaks. It so pleased the Chief and the elders that they pointed and smiled at one another when they saw that the gift of their clothes had been put to such ready use.
Tyoga stepped from the canoe and turned to lift Trinity out so that she would not get her new moccasins wet.
She surveyed the crowd in hopes that she would see her stepsister, Grows Strong, racing to her through the throng. She was nowhere in sight.
Walking up to the Chief, Tyoga said, “It gladdens our hearts to be your guests on this beautiful day. I, Wahaya-Wacon—and my woman, Adohi Yutsa—thank Chief Blue Coat and the People of Passaunkack for the many gifts they have given to us. Your giving spirits have saved our lives.”
Trinity’s eyes met Tyoga’s. Her dimpled smile was all the thanks that he needed for the announcement that he had declared before the People. Not many were there to hear his pronouncement, but it was enough to keep her safe from unwelcome flirtations.
Stepping toward Tyoga, the chief put his arm around his shoulder and escorted him toward the entrance to the village. “Wahaya-Wacon, brother to all Algonquin, the Powhatan tribes speak of your legend around their lodge fires. The stories are of a proud, strong man who has the heart and courage of Wahaya. That you have come to the Mattaponi at just such a time is a blessing from the great spirits. We are pleased that you will put our gifts to such good use. It makes our hearts glad. In the days ahead, these gifts will be repaid by the courage of Wahaya-Wacon. Come. Enter our village and let us give thanks for your deliverance to us.”
Tyoga looked at Trinity, who returned his inquisitive gaze.
The Chief had something in mind, and whatever he asked could not be denied.
Passaunkack was very large. The palisade wall enclosed many lodges that housed roughly eight hundred villagers. Unlike the Cherokee lodges, their homes were round rather than long. However, they were spacious enough to house several family units. The sides of the huts were constructed of stick and mud daub latticework. The roofs were made of marsh grasses and reed interwoven into a waterproof matting.
While Tyoga, Trinity, and the party of elders made their way along the neatly landscaped central avenue, children ran out from the lodges and alley ways to present them with gifts and tokens of greeting. Trinity received many bouquets of wildflowers and a laurel of daisies to place on her head. They also presented her with dresses made of beautifully woven cloth and delicately cured leather, doe hide and elk skin boots, and more blankets and cooking utensils than she could carry. Tyoga received more substantial gifts of iron hatchets, metal knives, iron tipped arrows and ornately decorated quivers. Iron tools for clearing and working the land were placed at his feet while he went along the central boulevard. Young braves followed behind the procession to collect the gifts for them.
It was beyond anything Tyoga and T.J. could have imagined.
Being so near to Hampden Roads, Middle Plantation, and Yorktown, the Mattaponi were frequented by many white traders anxious to exchange tools and weapons for blankets, pottery, moccasins, and precious metal ores.
Their fire pits were rife with cast iron kettles, Dutch ovens, and
copper pots, which were all in used in baking, roasting, and smoking the food for the great feast that was being prepared in honor of Wahaya-Wacon.
Mattaponi women were roasting loins of elk, deer, and bear. Others were smoking herring and shad by the hundreds. Fires were roasting ducks, geese, and pheasants, while rounded earthen ovens were baking breads made from the coarse flour of various grains.
The men were tending a giant vat of wheat beer that was many times more potent that the ale consumed by the colonists.
Everyone in the village was busy preparing for the feast and dancing to come. Mothers stood in the avenues and lanes of the village admonishing their children not to get their ceremonial garb dirty while they chased after barking dogs and free range chickens and guinea fowl.
While their sisters and friends brushed and decorated their hair, young Indian maidens straightened their finest doeskin tunics outside their huts. Musicians tuned their drums and flutes because music was a central component of any Mattaponi celebration.
The procession stopped outside of Chief Blue Coat’s lodge, one of the largest huts in the village.
Turning to the Mattaponi elders, the Chief said something to them that Tyoga could not hear. Nodding in agreement, they turned and walked away.
“Come into my lodge,” the Chief said to Tyoga and Trinity as he bent down to enter the building. “We have prepared a space for you to rest before the celebration. My daughters will bring something for you to eat and drink. Rest now. It will be a very long day.”
Leading them to a place in the hut that had been cordoned off to provide some privacy, the Chief smiled broadly before leaving them alone.
The area had several buffalo robes on a wooden frame upon which they could sit or recline. A bowl of berries and nuts was on a three-legged stool next to some warm, flat bread. Elk jerky and dried sturgeon filled an ornate ceramic bowl, and a jug of asi was on the floor next to the stool.
Tyoga stretched out on the buffalo robes while Trinity Jane sat on the edge of bed and helped herself to some berries and nuts. Tyoga took her hand in his. They clenched each other’s hand in the universal gesture of unity common to those placed in unfamiliar territory.
Tyoga asked, “What do you think he wants of me?”
“I don’t know yet, Ty. We’ll just have to wait and see. By the look of all those things they possess that are of the white man’s world, my guess is that it will have something to do with the colonies.”
“Maybe,” he said. “If he wants me to translate for the Mattaponi in their dealings with the whites, I’ll be happy to oblige. It is the least that I can do to repay their kindness.”
“Don’t be so anxious,” Trinity wisely cautioned. “Much harm can come from words misspoken.”
Knowing she was right, Tyoga did not reply.
The celebration began after noon and lasted well past the setting sun. After they had eaten and drank their fill, Tyoga and Trinity Jane took their seats of honor next to the Chief and the tribal elders to watch the dancing and listen to the music and songs. The Mattaponi danced around the enormous ceremonial fire in the village square, not in the exuberant fashion of the Cherokee or Choctaw, but in a more reserved, rhythmic walk/dance that was melodic rather than frenzied in its presentation.
When the circle of mostly women danced past the head table for a second time, Trinity grabbed Tyoga’s hand and squeezed it hard. She jumped up from her seat and ran into the circle screaming, “Adelu
(sister)
, adelu!”
When Grows Strong saw her stepsister running to greet her, she broke from the dance circle and ran into her embrace. “Adohi, Yutsa, adelu, adelu! What are you doing here, Yutsa?”
Trinity did not answer because of the tears streaming down her face. Instead, she glanced toward Tyoga who was now standing up next to Blue Coat. “Adelu, you are with Wahaya-Wacon? How can this be? Why have you come to me? Is father, or mother? Are they okay? Is it—”
“Adelu,” Trinity interrupted. “Everyone is fine. I will tell you later how all of this has come to pass. For now, know that I am here and being well cared for. We will speak later.”
Trinity returned to her place of honor next to Tyoga. He reached out and took her hand to help her step up to the dias. “Your sister?” he asked.
“Yes, that is my sister,” she replied.
“She’s quite beautiful,” Tyoga said.
Trinity furrowed her brow and replied, “Yes. Yes, she is.”
After several hours of dancing and more food and drink, Chief Blue Coat signaled that it was time for counsel. The men stood up and followed him into his lodge.
As Tyoga was standing, Trinity grabbed his hand and flashed her dimpled smile up at him. In English, she said, “Careful, Tyoga.”
“Okay.” He squeezed and then released her tiny hand.
She watched him follow the elders down the boulevard to Chief Blue Coat’s lodge.
Chapter 47
Speak for the People
W
ith Chief Blue Coat leading the way and Tyoga right behind, the elders entered the chief’s lodge.
The inside of the lodge had been rearranged for the counsel. A ceremonial fire was burning in the middle of the lodge. Animal hides of buffalo, elk, deer, and bear had been arranged around the fire pit. The private area that had been set-aside for Tyoga and Trinity had been dismantled.
The council members took their seats as if prearranged. An ornately decorated pipe, with a two-foot long stem wrapped in fox fur and a bowl the size of a tea cup, was lit and passed to each man in turn. The braves held the pipe in their raised arms before bringing the stem to their lips and inhaling deeply.
Tyoga noticed that the tobacco in this pipe was very different from the tobacco passed around the Shawnee council fire. It was mild and sweet with a taste not nearly as unpleasant as he remembered.
This is another advantage the tribes living so close to the English colonies enjoy.
In the one hundred years since the colonists first landed at Jamestown, the white man’s understanding of horticulture, and their ability to selectively breed-in desired tastes, had produced a tobacco that was remarkably mild. The robust trading that took place between the Mattaponi and the colonists truly had its advantages.
But at what price did these many gifts come?
Chief Blue Coat and all of the elders were eager to hear Tyoga tell the tale of his battle with the leader of the Runion wolf pack.
Tyoga was surprised by how much they already knew about him. They were very familiar with the battle on the ridge and his superhuman effort to carry his Cherokee brother to safety.
While recounting the battle on the ridge, Tyoga could see the disappointment on their faces at learning that the wolf did not rise from the dead after he had bashed his head in with the boulder. They were, however, impressed when he told them that he had spared the wolf’s life in the same way that the wolf had spared Tyoga’s.
The Indians understood and revered this benevolence.
Tyoga related the events that occurred at the Shawnee Council, and verified to them that the Ani-Unwiya Chief, Silver Cloud, had remained true to his word and had turned Sunlei over to Seven Arrows. They had heard about the Shawnee council and of Chief Yellow Robe’s demand for Sunlei to become the wife of his loathsome son Seven Arrows. As the tales made their way across the mountains and to the shores of the Chesapeake Bay, Seven Arrows had become so demonized that he had been given the ability to change shape and to dissolve into nothingness like the rising morning mist. They wanted to know what had become of Sunlei after she had killed the chief’s son, and where she was hiding now.
In a ruse that was more protective than deceitful, Tyoga disavowed any knowledge of Seven Arrow’ demise or of the whereabouts of Sunlei.
“You do not know where your woman has gone?” Chief Blue Robe persisted.
“I do not know where she is, Chief Blue Robe,” Tyoga said.
“The beauty of Sunlei-Awi is known to our people. Her understanding of the white man’s tongue is a precious gift. How is it that you can lose such a woman?” he asked with outstretched arms inviting communal agreement with his amazement.
Tyoga did not reply.
Seeing that Tyoga was not going to be more forthcoming, Blue Coat continued, “So, Adohi Yutsa has taken Sunlei’s place in your lodge?”
Tyoga continued to stare into the fire. Without averting his gaze from the flames, he said, “I have known Adohi Yutsa for only a short time. She saved my life.”
Chief Blue Coat paused to look into the eyes of the elders around the council fire. “We know of this woman, Wahaya. She, like you, is of the white eyes. Do you not find it strange that in the land of the Powhatan and Algonquin you would be rescued by a white woman living among the Nansmond clan? Among all the people roaming the land that she should find you on that day is no matter of chance, my son. There is a reason that she nursed you back to health.”
The elders grunted their approval of the words their chief had spoken.
Chief Blue Coat was not finished. He had one more thing to tell Tyoga. With the wisdom of his years, and the tone of a father advising his son, the Chief counseled Tyoga while he continued to stare into the flames, “My son, a warrior should not sleep alone. Your eyes tell me that Adohi Yutsa has not yet found a home in your heart. That, my son, is a burden that no brave can long carry.”
The lodge fell silent for a long time.
“Chief Blue Robe, is there a service that you wish of me?” Tyoga asked while the chief’s wife and daughters poured more asi into the buffalo horn goblets beside each counsel member.
“There is, my son,” the chief replied, “The People need the wisdom and courage of Wahaya to do what must be done. More than that, we need one who understands the white man’s tongue and can speak for the Mattaponi at their council fires.”
Tyoga nodded his head in agreement.
“We have lived in peace with the white man for many moons. They are welcome in Passaunkack, and the Mattaponi walk the streets of Middle Plantation in peace. What the white eyes bring to trade with the Mattaponi are good for my people. The iron tools help us to clear the land, cultivate our crops, cook our food and hunt our prey. Yet, they are no longer content to trade for blankets and pottery and buffalo robes. They now wish to trade for our lands. If we do not agree to trade, they claim our land just as the beaver turns a creek into a pond.”