Free Spirited by Nancy Holder Page A

has honor lived among your people. Not one Yangee speaks with a true heart.”
    Her face hardened. She stood arrow-straight as she retorted, “You have never met
me
before.”
    “Wusamequin,” Oneko said. “Come here. I will confer with you.” He hailed Sasious over as well. “My sons, I will talk a moment.
    The two younger men obeyed, standing before Oneko as he spread his arms and addressed the People.
    “We are no longer the friend of the Yangees,” he said. “But the Yangee war chiefs don’t know this. We haven’t broken our tomahawk and shown it to them. In matters of the past, today’s deaths avenged us.”
    The villagers began to mutter angrily. Oneko cut them off, raising his hand.
    “We have made tentative friends with
les Français.
We have not smoked the peace pipe, but selling this war chief to them would make their hearts rest easier with us.”
    He turned to Sasious, who was glowering at the ground. “Listen, my son Sasious.
Les Français
will pay us well for a Yangee warrior. Since the white skins came, we have need of their wampum. Although wampum is nothing but useless beads, we must have it. The white skins trade with it. They pay for things among themselves with it. They don’t pay in food and weapons, as was our custom before the white skins came.”
    “They pay in firewater,” Sasious spat. “They pay in the poisoning of our young men.”
    Oneko held up a hand. “If we burn the grayhair, it will be the same as burning a deer or a tomahawk. A waste. I’ve seen in Wusamequin’s eyes that his honor has been restored by the deaths of the other Yangee soldiers today. Is that true, medicine man?”
    Wusamequin was annoyed with Oneko. First he told him to bury the hatchet with Sasious, and now he was pitting him against the one man whose honor today had been blighted by Wusamequin himself. Sasious certainly needed no reminders that he, Wusamequin, had stopped him from taking advantage of a captive. But he answered, “My honor has been restored.”
    “What of
our
honor?” Sasious demanded, hisvoice rising. He balled a fist and held it over his head. “We have been destroyed as a people by the white skins! Our sources of food have been pillaged! Tribes of People all over this valley are starving, and why? Because of them!” He pointed at
Mahwah
and Stevens, who were speaking to one another. The girl was trying very hard not to cry.
    “We are a strong people,” Oneko replied. “We will survive until we find a way to turn the tide. And then we will be rid of all of them.”
    Sasious closed his eyes and shook his head. “That is a dream, Great Sachem. They are here, and here to stay.”
    “The spirits will help us be rid of them,” Oneko insisted. “But not today.”
    “You’re going to spare them, then.” Sasious glared at Wusamequin. “This is
your
doing. An evil spirit has entered our medicine man and weakened his heart.”
    “Sasious,” Oneko said sharply. “I am still your sachem. I can still think for myself. And I am not
sparing
them.” He looked hard at both men. Sasious was seething. Wusamequin kept his own counsel and remained impassive.
    “I’ll send scouts to look for a war chief of
les Français
, one who is able to pay us well for the Yangees. Because of the war, there are several such chiefs in these parts. I’ll give each scout a belt that will discuss the terms of selling the hostages. All this I will do within one moon’s time. If by then I haven’t found a suitable buyer, I’ll burn them both at thestake.” He adjusted his blanket of office and raised his chin. “Does this satisfy you, Sasious?”
    The man lowered his head and said, “Better, Sachem, if you burn the father and give the daughter to me.”
    Clearly intrigued, Oneko cocked his head. “As your wife or your slave?”
    Sasious sniffed with contempt. “My slave. Sasious does not marry white skin women.”
    Oneko took that in, pondering a moment. He looked neither pleased nor displeased.