The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 620
"If they know that I live," Brendan replied, "they will search for me."
It was much more difficult trying to explain that his men were paddlers of the great canoes—the closest he could come to seamen—who could become hunters and warriors whenever it was necessary. His men carried special bows with short arrows and did not need great strength and skill to use them. With a broken arrow he scratched out a picture of a crossbow and bolt on the dry earth before the fire, and he thought that a few of them grasped the principle. But when he said that there were no squaws in his tribe, even the Chief lost his impassivity.
"A Chief," said Tall Tree, inclining his head in the direction of the adjacent longhouse, "should have the comfort of squaws."
He did not have to add that several of the eligible girls of the village, one of his daughters included, had made overtures to Brendan, all of which had been for some reason refused. Nor did he have to point out that a marriage between one of his daughters and another Chief, albeit a very strange one of as-yet-unknown powers, was desirable in that it would remove the likelihood of war between them.
Brendan seized the chance both to reduce the hostility between Kargha and himself and to remove the constant assaults on his vow of celibacy.
"Many of my men have squaws and children in their home villages," he said solemnly. "But I have willingly foresworn the right to the comfort of a woman in my tent, and to the begetting of children, in return for great knowledge and power and the respect of my tribe. Among my people, and yours, the price to be paid for such knowledge and ability is high."
Kargha looked haughtily pleased with himself. He was not a pleasant man, either as a person or in his habits, and not even the least comely of the village women would open her blanket to him. But now Brendan had given a reason for Kargha's enforced solitude by making a virtue of necessity.
Tall Tree smiled faintly, and said, "What is this knowledge for which you have paid so dearly?"
Brendan decided to simplify matters by omitting his years of priestly training and study, and the restlessness that had made the peace of the monastery a hell to him. He said, "I wanted this knowledge long before I reached manhood, the knowledge and skills that would enable me to find a path over the trackless seas to strange lands and peoples. I wanted the ability to live among those people and learn their ways, and to give them my own knowledge in return, if they wished it.
"There are many strange lands and many, many tribes hunting in them," he went on. "Not all of the tribes have pale skins like mine. Some of the lands are so hot that the sun has burned their skins black, and even the children are born with black skins. In other lands the skins are brown and, although I have not seen it for myself, tales are told of a land far to the east where the skin is yellow. But this is the only land to be discovered where the skin is red."
"Do these tribes speak with each other?" asked Tall Tree. "Do they make war?"
Brendan explained that some of the most powerful tribes were separated by great distances. The dangers of traveling for many moons over stormy seas or in lands filled with fearsome beasts left them without the strength to make war. But they talked together and made peace treaties, and sent great canoes filled with goods to each other—goods that one tribe had in plenty and the other desired, in exchange for goods the second tribe possessed that were wanted by the first tribe.
The idea of trading between distant tribes was difficult for them to grasp.
"The land of the Algonquin has food enough to fill the bellies of our people," said the Chief. "Why should we seek more from distant lands?"
Brendan plunged into a long, difficult explanation of trading between tribes, during which he discovered many things about the Algonquin Nation, of which Tall Tree's people formed a very small part. The total area occupied by the Algonquin Redmen exceeded that of Hibernia herself. Scattered throughout were hundreds of villages, some larger, some smaller, than that ruled by Tall Tree. Holding supreme authority over the village chiefs was Running Bear, the Paramount Chief of the Algonquin Nation. Paramount Chiefs were elected to the position, much as were the High-Kings at Tara, but the physical requirements for the position were not as demanding, because the candidates were usually old, wise, and greatly respected men. Local Chiefs were also elected, but the son of a Chief had advantages over the other candidates. The village Chiefs and their advisers gathered together from time to time before their Paramount Chief, but, in spite of everything that Running Bear could do, the meetings were usually councils of war. War was necessary to prove manhood.
Tall Tree and Kargha were launching into a tale of great exploits in battle by members of their tribe, when Brendan brought them back to the subject of trading—for beautiful silks and furs, or precious, hand-carved ornaments, or rich spices that improved the taste and smell of food.
"... The goods are not carried in litters or on the backs of squaws," Brendan went on, "but on horses and mules which eat only the grass all around them, and drink water from the rivers—"
"What are horses?" asked Tall Tree.
Brendan likened them to large forest deer without antlers, whose backs were padded with blankets so that goods could be carried on them, or a man could ride on them over long distances at great speed. If the ground was flat and the trees did not grow too thickly, he told them, a messenger on a horse could travel many times faster than one who traveled on foot through the forest or by canoe along the rivers. But still they could not grasp the idea. He swept the ground before him clean of his earlier crossbow sketch and attempted to draw a mounted man.
Brendan had never thought of himself as an artist nor, for that matter, had anyone else. He tried very hard to get the outline and proportions correct, but he felt that the two horses they had brought with them deserved an apology.
He had always liked horses, and Black Seamus was a lovely beast who had been moved to Sinead because of his habit of trying to kick a hole in the side of the ship in his attempts to reach his mate, the docile and friendly White Dancer. When their food ran short, the cattle they had also carried had been slaughtered one by one, but no member of his three crews would agree to killing and eating either of the horses, although by then they were so emaciated and their mouths so full of sores that there was no strong temptation to do so. He was finishing his sketch and wondering if Black Seamus and White Dancer—who were a present to the expedition from the stables of the High-King—were still among the living, when Kargha gave a great shout of laughter.
"This is no beast," he cried. "It is a thing dreamed of in a fever, or a picture drawn by children."
"It is a beast," Brendan said, angered by the scorn in Kargha's voice even though he knew that the criticism of the drawing was merited. "It is a lovely and useful beast. You speak without knowledge!"
Kargha was glaring at him and gripping his staff in a way that suggested he might use it for physical rather than spiritual exercise. Brendan felt like biting off his tongue. He, a stranger, had called Kargha ignorant, something that no other member of the tribe would dare to do. Never a friend, Brendan was sure that he had made of the medicine man a bitter and unforgiving enemy.
He was searching desperately among his few Algonquin words for an apology when Tall Tree held up his hand.
"Peace," he said. "The day has been long and tiring. The night grows cold, and the smoke of the fire hurts our eyes and beclouds our minds. One last matter must be considered."
He unfolded a beautifully embroidered and decorated sash and laid it on the ground before him. The light glittered off the regular patterns of polished bone beads and tiny seashells which, Brendan had learned, carried its message in the ideographic written language of the Algonquin Nation.
"News of the coming of the pale-skinned strangers was sent to Running Bear," said Tall Tree, in the deep, resonant voice he used when addressing the elders of his tribe, "and these are his words. He has called together a great council of Chiefs in this, our village, at the full of the next moon. Many preparations must be made."
"Yes," said Kargha, no longer angry. It was as if he had received an apology or, perhaps, was already sure of his revenge.
"Only a Chief of the Algonquin Nation may speak before the council of Chiefs," Tall Tree went on, in answer to Brendan's unspoken question. "The stranger is Chief of the Tribe of the Great Canoes, but has no land here. He can be given the land which breeds fevers in its swamps and is rarely hunted by us, the land to which he first came. Should the deliberations of the great council deem otherwise, it will be taken from him or he will make war so that he may keep it. He will be adopted by our Nation, he will be bound by its laws and customs, and he will be given a name befitting an Algonquin Chief."
Tall Tree smiled and went on, "I had thought of naming you Short Arrow, or No-Squaw, but these are not names of respect. A Chief must—"
"A Chief," Kargha broke in quietly, "must first prove that he is a man. That is the law."
For a moment Brendan thought of the things he would like to do to this mean and vengeful man, all of them contrary to the teachings of the Christus. Kargha knew his area of greatest weakness and was attacking it.
As a seafarer, Brendan had much more freedom of action and choice of apparel than the majority of his fellows, but the rules of his Order were nevertheless strict. He could not even imagine how his aged and irascible abbot would react to the news that, for purely political reasons, he had taken to himself one or more Algonquin squaws. Public disgrace, summary unfrocking, and excommunication would be the least he could expect.
Tall Tree regarded the medicine man and said gravely, "If the stranger tells us that among his own people he has proved himself worthy of election to Chief, we will believe that it is so."
Kargha raised his staff high and plunged it into the ground between Brendan and the Chief. The charms hanging from it shivered and rattled for a moment, then were still except for a gentle stirring by the night wind.
"If the pale-skinned stranger is to be a Chief of the Algonquin," said Kargha firmly, "then the tests of fitness must be according to Algonquin law."
Brendan regarded Kargha for a moment while the firelight played with his face and moved his features into expressions that were not there. If the stranger was not to dishonor himself it was for him to speak.
"The Algonquin Nation does me great honor," Brendan said, because there was nothing else that he could say. "Provided I do not share my blanket with any woman, willingly do I submit to the tests of fitness required by Algonquin law."
The tests took many days and nights to administer. Some of them were childishly easy, because they were given to older men-children, but Kargha was insisting on the strict observance of all the laws. The requirement of exercising, in lieu of traveling, for long periods without food or water was not difficult for someone who had survived the closing weeks of the voyage on Sea Dragon and, fortunately, he was required to learn the use of bow and tomahawk without becoming proficient with those weapons. But the later tests were mentally and physically quite difficult.
"Tell me," said Kargha, striking Brendan's naked back lightly with his staff, "of the Kitcki Manitou."
"He is the most powerful of all the Manitous," Brendan replied, allowing no hint of discomfort to show in his voice. "He is the Great Spirit, the father of life who was never created. He is the source of all good things. It was at his direction, and it is in his honor, that the Redmen smoke the pipe of peace."
"There is more," said Kargha.
He tried to change his grip on the branch so as to ease the tightness of the rope binding his wrists, but suddenly the muscles of his arms and shoulders knotted in cramp. He opened his mouth and let the cry of pain move silently past his lips as a quiet breath. This was not, he thought, the ideal way to receive religious instruction.
He had been suspended by the hands and feet from a low branch of a tree close to the water's edge, his rump hanging about waist-height from the ground. At night the wind had been cold and during the day there had been no clouds to cover the burning sun. In theory he was the helpless prey of any wild animal that came along, but this close to the village the risk of being clawed or eaten was small. His naked body had been decorated with daubs of clay where it was not covered by red streaks and patches of juice from a local berry that was sweet enough, it seemed, to attract every biting or stinging insect for miles around.
The purpose of the exercise, according to Kargha, was to sharpen his mind and enable it to absorb knowledge while ignoring physical distractions.
"There is more," Kargha repeated, giving him another whack with his staff.
"The Great Spirit dwells in Heaven," said Brendan obediently. "His is above all other powers. He is master of light and is manifest in the sun. He is the breath of life and, as the winds, he moves everywhere. The Algonquin believe that there is another very important spirit, Michabo, called the Great Hare, who was born on the island of Michilimackinak. Michabo is the father of the race, and made the earth, and invented fishing nets, and created water, fish, and the great deer—"
"Tell me of the Thunder Bird," Kargha broke in.
Brendan paused to flex and ease his arm muscles, but briefly so as to avoid the staff.
"The Thunder Bird is a powerful spirit whose eyes flash lightning and the beating of whose wings is the rolling of thunder," Brendan replied. Then he veered from the subject as he went on, "The paleskins, too, have a Great Spirit, who lives in Heaven and is all-powerful, all-knowing, and omnipresent. We believe that He created everything which exists in the earth, sea, and sky, and He did not allow the smaller works of creation to be given to lesser spirits. There are lesser beings who attend the Great Spirit, and men and women who have performed great deeds, of bravery, of endurance, or of kindness on earth, have been brought to Heaven and are especially loved and honored by Him. We pray to these lesser spirits, because they are beloved by and have influence with the Great Spirit, but we do not worship them. He is called by many names, but there is only one Great Spirit."
To ward off any evil that might befall him as a result of listening to such heresy, Kargha shook his staff. It was a perfunctory gesture.
Brendan knew that he could never grow to like the medicine man, but he had grown to respect him. Kargha was not wantonly cruel, now that the laws and customs of his tribe were being properly observed, and he was both intelligent and intensely curious. This was not the first occasion that the teaching of Algonquin law had progressed to a debate on comparative theology. But both men were fully aware of the difference between the possession of knowledge and faith, and each knew that they would never succeed in converting the other no matter how much they talked.
"How and when does the paleskin talk to his Great Spirit?" asked Kargha, with another protective rattle of his charms. "What sacrifices are necessary? What rituals must he perform?"
While the medicine man had been speaking, Tall Tree had approached them to stand listening silently on the other side of Brendan.
"Rituals and token sacrifices are performed when large numbers of paleskins gather to speak to the Great Spirit," Brendan replied, "but they are not necessary. The Great Spirit hears because He is everywhere. He hears even the words spoken silently in the mind."
"You have spoken to him since sunrise?" asked Kargha, looking slightly worried.
"Yes," said Brendan.
"And what," said Tall Tree, joining the discussion, "do the paleskins ask of him? Does the Great Spirit speak and answer?"
"We ask for many things," said Brendan. "For enough food to eat, for contentment of mind for ourselves or our friends, for the success of our plans, for many things. The Great Spirit does not often speak, but answers with deeds. Sometimes there is no answer, or the deeds are not those which were asked, but other deeds which have better results than those which were asked. There are times when the mind of the Great Spirit is difficult for men to understand."
Kargha and the Chief exchanged looks that suggested that the Redmen, too, shared this difficulty. It was Tall Tree who spoke.
"What did you, stranger, ask for yourself?"
"I asked for guidance during the council of Chiefs," Brendan replied, meaning every word. "I asked that there be friendship between the Redmen and the paleskins. I also asked that my friends would find me, but not until after the council has—" He broke off to look out across the beach and its natural harbor, then added sadly, "One of the requests has been denied."
With her paddles threshing and hull nearly obscured by forward-blowing smoke, Sea Dragon, closely followed by Sinead and White Heron, were moving rapidly around the headland and into the bay. Her paddles stopped turning, but the smoke billowing around her and blowing toward the shore concealed the frantic activity on board all three ships as they lowered sails and dropped anchor just inside the harbor. By the time that the longboats of White Heron and Sinead, dangerously overloaded with armed men, emerged from the smoke, the Redman shelters and cooking fires around the harbor were deserted.
Tall Tree and Kargha watched impassively as the men splashed ashore, leaving only enough of their number behind to return for more, to come running up the beach. They appeared to be well-fed and healthy, Brendan saw, and very, very angry.
O'Donnell, Master of Sinead, flanked by Malcolm, was first to reach his tree. The Chief and Kargha had neither moved nor changed their expressions.
"Captain!" Malcolm burst out. "What have the heathen devils done to you? And they stand here, too busy torturing you to run away like the others. I'll cut out their black hearts ...!"
"Don't harm them!" said Brendan sharply. Since the untimely arrival of his flotilla, he had been trying desperately to think of a way to avert what promised to be a massacre, and to do it quickly and with the fewest possible words. Urgently, he went on, "Hail the ships. Tell them that no more men are to be landed. You have frightened only the aged net-menders and children ... Don't touch me, Healer!"
Malcolm stopped, his fingers only a few inches from a patch of livid red on Brendan's shoulder, and his face showed deep concern as he said, "I am no stranger to the sight or touching of an unclothed body, Captain, and even though you are an anointed priest, it is just another body."
