Algonquian Words
Cattapeak: spring
Cohattayough: summer
Kwiocosuk: shaman, priest
Mamanatowick: ruler of several villages
Montoac: a mysterious, immediate, and pervasive power beyond and greater than that of humans
Nepinough: earring of the corn season
Popanow: winter
Taquitock: the harvest and the falling of the leaves season
Wassador: copper
Weroance: chief of a village
Weroansqua: female chief of a village or dominant wife of the
village’s weroance
Windigo: cannibal monster (plural: Windigoag)
Characters Mentioned
* historically identified person
Alsoomse (Independent) – 17, protagonist
* Andacon (Evergreens) – 25, Wingina’s war chief
Hurit (Beautiful) – 25, weroansqua. Granganimeo’s second wife
Kitchi ()Brave) – Alsoomse and Wanchese’s dead brother, 11 at ime of death, 1580
Matunaagd (He Who Fights) – Alsoomse and Wanchese’s father, 35 at time of death, 1579
* Menatonon – 55, mamanatowick of Choanoac
Mesickek (Striped Bass) – 35, Ramrushouuog weroance
Nootau (Fire) – 20, Sooleawa’s son and Alsoomse and Wanchese’s cousin
* Okisko – 29, Weapemeoc’s Weroance
* Osacan- 26, elite member of Wingina’s council
* Piemacum (He Who Churns Up the Water) – 25 Pomeiooc’s weroance
Rakiock (Cypress Tree) – 25, Menatonon’s war chief
* Skiko – 13, Menatonon’s son
Sokanon (Rain) – 18, Sooleawa’s daughter and Alsoomse and Wanchese’s cousin
* Tanaquincy – 28, Granganimeo’s chief advisor
Waboose (Baby Rabbit) – 16, Wanchese’s bedmate
* Wanchese (Take Flight off of Water) – 20, protagonist
Wematin (Brother) – dead mamanatowich, brother of Ensenore. 50 at time of death, 1579
Wikimak (Wife) – 22, Menatonon’s newest wife
* Wingina –34 mamanatowich
Map
Section 1
They had taken water at Ricahokene and eaten venison stew from the communal pot. Afterward, Wanchese had walked north of the village to the mouth of the crooked stream. Clear, dark water drifted past two cypresses. Staring at them, Wanchese wondered how the Choanoac people chose their village locations. Fresh water -- a creek close by -- was essential, as was a bit of high ground lengthy enough to grow corn, beans, and squash. Access to where deer and turkey and other sources of meat could be hunted was likewise essential. He gazed at the marsh land across the river. Beyond it was a slightly elevated, eroded plateau covered with swamp trees and several loblolly pines. No exit of creek water there, he concluded. Along the eastern shore, where he stood, the land was not continuously swampy. The river here seemed more defined. Andacon had said that it would narrow as they continued northward.
Wanchese wondered whether living in one of these villages would be better or worse than his present habitation. Could you ever judge accurately anybody’s quality of life without a basis of comparison?
Nootau found him staring into the translucent water.
“I have seen five perch,” Wanchese commented.
Nootau looked at him somewhat lengthily, then nodded.
You will not hear what occupies my mind, Wanchese thought.
#
A light breeze was playing upon Wanchese’s sore right shoulder. Keep at it, he told the shoulder. Andacon would likely be ordering them to paddle harder!
Directly ahead a long, narrow island pointed at them. They labored past its west side. Black water flowed past exposed roots of tupelo and bald cypress. He saw a turtle plop into the water. Long strands of moss hung from leafless limbs. The boy in him, the boy who had had yet a father, would have wanted to investigate this island. He envisioned its turtles, birds, lizards, fish, and snakes. How many young Choanoac boys had come here?
The river angled left. “Not much farther,” Andacon announced. The shoreline to their right was expansive marsh. To their left the marsh land had become intermittent swamp and earthen bank. Farther still they saw a lengthy, low ridge divided, they would discover, by a swamp-lined, twisted creek.
“There, at the top of that ridge, just before the creek. I am certain they see us,” Andacon declared. “Paddle to the mouth of the creek. There is a trail to the top.”
#
Loblolly pine branches and knots of red cedar snapped dissonantly. Menatonon, Rakiock -- the great mamanatowick’s main principal – Andacon, and Osacan talked. Nootau listened. Menatonon’s pipe had reached Osacan. Wanchese watched the fire’s gray smoke spiral through the dark hole in the visitor room’s ceiling.
They had conversed initially outside Menatonon’s longhouse.
“I remember Wematin well,” Menatonon had said to Andacon following formal introductions. “I recall when he succeeded his father as mamanatowick. He was ten cohattayoughs younger than I. We traded. And, yes, I remember his principal man, Matunaagd.” Menatonon’s wizened right arm had gestured feebly. “I am pleased, Wanchese, to meet you, Matunaagd’s son. And you, Nootau. You are Wanchese’s cousin. Was your father and Wanchese’s father brothers? No, his mother and Wanchese’s mother were sisters, Nootau had explained.
Skiko, the mamanatowick’s youngest son, standing between his father and Rakiock, had been full of smiles. Wanchese judged him to be a little older than Kitchi had been the day Kitchi had drowned. Who would become mamanatowick when Menatonon died? Certainly not this boy. Probably Menatonon’s oldest, who, Wanchese guessed, was weroance of Menatonon’s second largest village. Or perhaps Menatonon’s successor would be this Rakiock, bald cypress thick, two changing of the leaves older than Andacon, he estimated.
After their brief outdoor exchange Rakiock had taken them into a small chamber in Menatonon’s longhouse. Young women had bathed them. Afterward, they had been led into a larger chamber where they had enjoyed a feast of black bear meat, venison, striped bass, black crappie, mussels and oysters, silk grass, and acorns. Now they were seated in Menatonon’s visiting room. Seated on a bench across from his guests, the sharing of his pipe concluded, Menatonon spoke.
“My useless limbs vex me. I am very old. Before many seasons, I will be called beyond the mountains toward the disappearance of the sun.”
Wanchese noted the many lines on the mamanatowick’s face: there on his forehead, around his cheekbones, about his mouth and chin. His roached hair -- spiked -- was white and thin. Wisps of hair rode his upper lip and marked the end of his chin. He wore sewed together, elaborately fringed deerskin, which reached from his left shoulder to well below his knees. The fur side lay against his skin.
“There will be change then. Not a moon’s passing before!” He looked at Andacon. “My people trust me. They know that collectively we are strong. We have many warriors. We hold off the Mandoag. The Powhatan respect us.” He scoffed. “Okisko dares not defy me!” He smiled, gestured toward Rakiock. “My right hand would crush him if he did.”
Rakiock’s matching fingertips touched. He grunted. “Okisko knows he needs our protection. The Chesapeake are peaceful but the Nansemond are not.”
“Neither is Matunaagd’s son.” Andacon nodded toward Wanchese. “By now Okisko has probably been told.”
Menatonon raised his right eyebrow, gazed expectantly at Wanchese.
Wanchese adjusted his haunches. Was this to be his punishment: belittlement in the presence of the great mamanatowick?
“Tell him, Wanchese,” Andacon said.
He hesitated, knowing how he spoke would influence greatly how he would be judged. “I … struck to the ground a Weapemeoc hunter at Perquiman. For slapping a canoe builder living separate from four hunters staying there. He had given them no offense other than his refusal to hunt and fight. He had given me deerskin to cover me, a fire to warm me, fish to eat, and conversation before I slept. What I did was hasty. I risked the lives of my friends.”
Rakiock looked at him, looked then through him.
“I … struck one of your subjects.”
Menatonon’s face exploded in lines. “If I were not so feeble, I might have, also!”
All but Wanchese laughed.
“If Okisko complains, I will tell him to bring me the hunter.” Menatonon’s ancient eyes pranced.
“Proximity to power strengthens loyalty.” Rakiock repositioned his bare feet.
“As does the closeness of my villages. I have fifteen, all along the Nomopana. Not spread out and few, like the Weapemeoc. Not spread out even more, like your people and the Secotan.” Menatonon touched the whiskers at his chin, studied for a moment his arthritic right forefinger. “Distance breeds disloyalty. Okisko is losing Pasquenoke.” He leaned toward Andacon, leaned back painfully. “You have come here to learn if Wingina has lost Pomeiooc, and with it probably Aquascogooc and Secotan. Is that not so?”
Andacon looked at his hands. Menatonon and Rakiock waited. Wanchese stared past the principal man’s head.
“We have, mamanatowick.” Andacon shifted his position on the tree branches bench.
Menatonon drew smoke through the stem of his pipe.
Wanchese watched Nootau’s left hand touch his left knee.
Menatonon exhaled. “If not, you are close to losing them. Piemacum sent traders here half a moon ago. Did Wingina not demand tribute?”
Andacon spoke rapidly. “Wingina sent us here and sent another canoe to Moratuc. After the taquitock moon Piemacum’s hunters shot arrows at us on hunting grounds we have previously shared.”
Menatonon sucked in more smoke, slowly exhaled. He pointed the bole of his pipe. “Prudent. Your mamanatowick is prudent, although, I believe, some of your young warriors must want to prove themselves.” Examining Andacon’s face, he nodded, smiled.
A lengthy silence followed.
Andacon stirred. “We request your wisdom.”
“Wisdom? Wisdom?! I am not Wingina. I do not rule there.” He turned slightly, his copper bead earrings swinging. “Rakiock, provide them your wisdom.”
Sitting very tall, Rakiock inhaled, lifted his right hand. “You can tell Wingina, if you choose, what he already knows. He has two options. Allow Piemacum to take what he wants. Or use force and the prospect of the use of greater force to restore obedience. Wingina must decide if he has enough warriors and the desire to commit to war if he chooses to use force.”
Andacon moved his left thumbnail across his upper lip.
“Upstarts must always be crushed.” Menatonon looked at Osacan. “So you have brought trade items to barter, hoping that the Pomeiooc had not come. We traded with them, but I left in my storage house some of what you have wanted before, believing I would see you. We can see tomorrow what we might trade. I will soon be distributing some of what I received from the Pomeiooc to my villages, starting with Ramushouuoq. Mesickek may have received rocks and such from the Mandoag since I visited his storage house. You are invited to accompany my men and trade.”
Andacon and Osacan thanked him. Menatonon and Rakiock stood.
Menatonon addressed Wanchese and Nootau. “It is time that I retire. I envy you virile, young warriors. The spirit is willing but the body quits. Each of you will find in a separate chamber of my guesthouse a thoughtfully chosen host waiting for you to share the night.”
#
She was waiting for Wanchese in a corner of the chamber close to a raised, small-branched, deerskin-covered bed. At first he thought he was alone, that the girl would enter from outside. A slight movement caused him to look in her direction.
He stepped over to her. It was difficult to see. He made out her features.
She was young. Fifteen? Sixteen? Not yet Alsoomse’s age. She was naked, adolescent slim, her breasts small, her limbs and buttocks not yet pleasingly rounded.
Her eyes darted. She appeared defensive. This was not what he had experienced the year before at Mequopen.
“What is your name?”
Her right hand moved toward her mouth. “Waboose.”
Wanchese smiled. “Do you have a white, furry tail?”
She looked at him. The corners of her mouth nudged.
“My name is Wanchese.” He waited. “You are but a girl.”
Her head dropped. She looked at the mat underneath her feet.
“Well?” he said.
“You are disappointed,” she said, her voice scarcely audible.
He was disappointed. He felt cheated. Disrespected! Why had Menatonon done this?
“You are angry.”
After a pause: “Not at you.”
“You will tell them. I will be punished.”
Wanchese sighed. He moved a step away from her, turned about. “You do not want to do this.” He turned around, stared at her.
“I … must. It is a great honor to be chosen. Wikimak has told me. The others.” Her right hand moved across her collar bones.
“Who is Wikimak?”
“Mamanatowick’s newest wife. She selects us.”
Wanchese thought of his sister. He imagined Hurit choosing Alsoomse and Sokanon to lie with guests from Weapemeoc. He laughed. Alsoomse would have sent every one of the Perquiman hunters running.
He saw anger in her expression. It stayed.
“I do not consider her choosing me amusing.”
“Of course not. It is a great honor. You said so.”
Her eyes flashed. “Do not mock me.”
“I mock my sister, when she deserves it.” He waited.
“Your sister.”
“Yes, Alsoomse, who is not afraid to say what she thinks of me. You made me think of her.”
After a pause, “Why?”
“She would not lie with a stranger, either. She has not done so with anybody.”
Wanchese now saw curiosity.
“Is … your sister young?”
“A falling of the leaves older than you, I think.”
“Do you … dislike your sister?”
“No.” He paused. “We just argue.”
She looked away. “I have a brother. We argue. He moved away two harvests ago to Ricahokene to live with his wife and her family.” She looked at Wanchese, looked away. “I miss him.”
“Sisters? You have sisters?”
“Two. Both older. Married. Both here. Always telling me what to do.”
“Do you have an admirer? Somebody who looks at you at every opportunity?”
He saw her face blush.
“Do you look at him at every opportunity?”
He sat upon the bed. After a moment she sat next to him, an arrow’s length away.
“I am not going to tell you,” she said.
He was beginning to like her.
They talked. He asked about her parents. Her father was dead, killed by the Mandoag. He told her about his dead parents and brother and sister. They talked superficially about loss.
Eventually, she stood. She glanced at him. “I have been chosen. I will be questioned. I must obey. I have not done this before. I am afraid. My sisters say it is time.”
He looked at her. He saw the smooth line of her shoulders and thought that despite his pangs of conscience he would do it. “All right,” he said.
He reclined beside her. She pulled a sewed together deerskin over their shoulders. He remained still for half a minute. She was lying on her back. He reached for her, felt her stiffness, reached for the curve above her right hip. She was not drawn to him.
He hesitated. Sitting partially upright, he looked at her eyes. He saw tears.
Dasemunkepeuc and Roanoke women did not cry.
“I cannot do this,” he said.
She blinked, brushed away the moisture. “You must.”
“We will lie together. That is all.” He lay back on the bed. Minutes later, he scoffed. “When they question you tomorrow, use your imagination.”
In the middle of the night, lying on his stomach, he put his left arm across her upper body. Seconds later she placed her right hand gently on his forearm. A minute later she said: “If you lived here, I would be looking at you at every opportunity.”
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