Chapter 7: THE CHIEF'S BRIDE
The stars still sprinkled the inky black sky, the world immersed in silence. Leaves whispered in calm, hushed tones as though sharing a secret before the heralding of a new day.
The women were the first to awaken, shifting wordlessly from below thick furs as they withdrew from the comforting warmth of their husband's bodies. Greeting each other with a smile, words were not essential as they began to prepare the morning meal. Their men would be departing at daybreak, their meager food supply sorely diminished. Their hunting party would rejoin the tribe at twilight if they were successful - their first hunt since the recent death of Chief Raven.
Chief Long Knife stood at the opening to the longhouse observing the sun ascend over the hillside just above the treeline. Leisurely sunbeams expelled the final shadows of darkness away. Gentle Doe, heavy with their first child, joined him breathing in the crisp morning air. She placed her hand on her husband's sinewy forearm but didn't say a word. Gentle Doe didn't need to tell Chief Long Knife she would yearn for him, or that she was proud of him and the leader he was to their people. Chief Long Knife didn't need to tell her how much he cherished her, having shown her completely the depth of his devotion throughout the long night. At that moment they shared, Chief Long Knife tenderly caressed Gentle Doe's extended womb. Eagerly anticipating the birth of their first child after so many years of barrenness, he was certain the long-awaited baby would be a boy - the next chief.
Silence.
Perfect silence enveloped the couple.
Chief Long Knife's eyes searched the tree line, a premonition something wasn't right settling on his spirit. There was no movement, yet he couldn't quell the feeling of sinister foreboding.
His people were famished, eating the last of their rationed food supply. Iroquois warriors patrolled the waterways, yet they could not hide from their enemy indefinitely. With no alternative but to venture out, they prayed the Great Spirit would give them success. Without it, they would starve. The heavens had been closed up for weeks now, the ground as dusty as ash.
Chief Long Knife gazed down into Gentle Doe's mahogany-hued eyes, the silent exchange between husband and wife reassuring her of his love before Chief Long Knife turned, following his wife back into the longhouse where he ate the corn mash Gentle Doe brought him. Without a word, he glanced over his shoulder at his men who had finished eating. Standing handed Gentle Doe his empty dish, their fingers touching before the new chief led the way to their waiting canoes.
As silent as a dragonfly hovering over the water, the men submerged their oars into the water, birch canoes gliding over the glistening waves. Arms flexing as they paddled, Gentle Doe watched until they faded from sight before returning to her people. There was much work to be done.
Gentle Doe stood, massaging her lower back before reaching for her basket. A stew could be made from the few scraps of greens she'd managed to salvage along with the unusually small roots. A movement from the corner of her peripheral vision was the only indication that something was amiss before the trees exploded with painted warriors on horses, many holding rifles. Their shrieks shattered the stillness, infusing dread into the hearts of the women and children who had been left behind.
She struggled to escape but was unable to see her feet beneath her sizable womb. Young girls screeched as they were swooped up off the ground. Their brothers, forcing themselves to be courageous, refused to show their captors the slightest indication of fear.
The children were shown mercy and flung unceremoniously onto the horses' backs, the invading warriors pinning them in place so there could be no escape. Older children rode behind the painted warriors, their limbs instinctively gripping their captor's hips. Children screamed for their mothers who fought back, tigerish in the face of fear.
Other women, unmarried or childless, ran, tripping on branches as they fled into the shelter of the forest. There could be no escape, Iroquois warriors claiming the women as they fled. They were surrounded on all sides.
A powerful arm swept beneath Gentle Doe's breasts, lifting her effortlessly off of the ground. The warrior kept her firmly in place in front of him, pinning her against his chest. Escape was futile Gentle Doe realized as she was taken once more, memories of her parents' death after a raid just like this once more surfacing. Long Knife had found her and brought her back once - it was the only hope Gentle Doe had to hold onto as the warrior turned the horse around, galloping in the opposite direction her husband had taken with his hunting party.
Abandoning the venerable and aged, the invading tribe set fire to the longhouse, the flames licking up the dry grass around it. A blazing inferno was the only evidence they'd visited the peaceful tribe before retreating into the forest. Flames crackled as they licked the sky, black smoke thick.
Gentle Doe blinked back tears. She wouldn't cry. Whatever her fate, Gentle Doe was the wife of a powerful chief. He would come for her and their baby. She needed to trust him and concentrate on surviving. The Iroquois, after all, was a merciless tribe.
Straight-backed and defiant, Gentle Doe focused on the hand restraining her. His hand was smooth, brawny sinews just beneath his skin. Young, Gentle Doe assumed as his horse raced sure-footed between the dense foliage. At this break-necking speed, they would put too much distance between what was left of their home and wherever they were going.
Her captor relaxed his grip on her, allowing Gentle Doe to expand her diaphragm. Swallowing great gulps of air, tears burned her eyes.
The children and other women would need her to be courageous. Until the men rescued them, as the chief's wife, she was their leader and wouldn't be defeated now. Chief Long Knife would be proud of her.
Tucking her hands into the horse's mane, Gentle Doe attempted to conceal her emotions betrayed by her trembling fingers.
Gentle Doe knew the truth - she wasn't likely to see her husband again.
Chief Long Knife led his men as they returned with enough fish to nourish the tribe for the next few weeks. Instead of being greeted by their women and children, their village lay in ashes, the sound of mourning reaching their ears.
"Iroquois," those who survived the raid informed their chief.
Fish abandoned, the men ran into the forest, arrows drawn as they searched for the perpetrators of the crime. Hoofprints had trampled the parched grass pointing in one direction: East.
Returning to the charred clearing, Chief Long Knife indicated for his companions to make quick work of gathering what could be salvaged. With sorrowful hearts, they turned their faces towards the East.
It was time to fight fire with fire.
Chief Long Knife had waited too long, retreating from the Iroquois advances. Now they had his wife and child. There would be no more retreating.
A muscle clenched in his jaw as Chief Long Knife led the way toward enemy territory. The Iroquois had raided the wrong camp.
Setting up temporary wigwams, the Wyandotte camped on the shores of what is now known as Lake Ontario while the men raided tribes nearest the lake. In the evening they always returned with captives.
Each night, Chief Long Knife returned without his wife.
Sitting in front of the fire, Chief Long Knife fixed unseeing eyes on the flames his heart tormented. He would not give up.
"We will raid again at dawn. This time, we will divide our number," he indicated to the men sitting at his left side, "You go farther inland, and I'll lead these farther up the river."
There was no arguing with Chief Long Knife. Besides, they were hungry for revenge. Unable to find their wives and children, in this final raid, no mercy would be shown.
Revenge never tasted so sweet.