The King`s Commission

Some wanted no dealings with white men on any terms, and could not have cared less if all the colonists from Louisburg to St. Augustine got in their ships and sailed back where they came from. Some wanted to take the guns and stomp on the Cherokee and Chickasaws. There were questions about why the British didn't bring their troops and run out the Rebels up north, or take on the Spanish themselves.

It was maddening that any Indian of substance or reputation, no matter how lunatick his ideas, could get up and speak for hours, raising inane irrelevancies, which would have to be thrashed out completely before they got back to the main point. And, Cowell and his officers learned, chiefs and mikkos could not just decide and get on with business; they had to form a consensus of all parties involved, which took time to wear each other down until they were tired of arguing and gave in.

Alan's only consolation was to borrow a horse from McGilliveray's clan and go for a ride around the settlement during the afternoons, or ride Soft Rabbit in the corn-crib after supper. While he could not get his tongue to work around the guttural Muskogean words, he did have some success in teaching her some English, and showed her a few tricks he had picked up from whores he had known back in London. The days she spent doing the heavy chores for her owners were galling to him, and he had to own to a growing affection for her and her ways. She was sweet and modest in public demeanor, sweet and passionate in private, with an almost insatiable lust once the crib door was kicked shut for the night. Since he had so little part in the Creek council, he napped through most of the negotiations, or part of the afternoon before supper. It was the only chance for shut-eye that he got. How she ground corn, fetched and toted water and firewood, skinned and dressed hides and cooked during the day, and then rogered all night and awoke fresh and full of energy amazed him.

After a few more boresome days spent heaving for the amusement and edification of the Muskogee, Alan finally called a halt and went hunting with his men, who had been growing restless for some time. English lads from the country did well enough to fill the pot, and the ex-soldier Tom went along to teach them some woods-craft.

They returned with several deer, one of them Alan's that he had hit with his fusil at seventy yards. He was damned proud of his shot through thick brush, and was looking forward to eating the bugger.

'Alan!' Cashman called as they entered the yard of the huti with their kills. 'We're out of here!'

'Everyone finally give up?' he asked. 'I say, Kit, come take a look at this. One shot, just behind the shoulder and down he went like he was pole-axed.' Alan stepped to the side of the horse that bore his kill to point out how well he had done.

'Damn the deer, man. They agreed,' Cashman insisted.

'To what, actually?'

'If we give them the muskets and all the accoutrements, they go to war, on our side, soon's we land a regiment'r two.'

'But we have to land the guns and munitions first, I take it.'

'And show up with a fleet from Jamaica, and troops. But it's a start. And no matter how it turns out, we can get back to the coast and out of this place. Cowell's pleased as punch with himself.'

'And I suppose McGilliveray is trumpeting the Apocalypse,' Alan said, smirking. One blessing was that he had had much less to do with the man since he had started hunting by day and topping by night with Soft Rabbit. On a good day, he would only see him at the morning bath and breakfast, and didn't have to put up with his pontificating more than an hour.

'Well, he's mighty high in council now,' Cashman told him. 'Not that he wasn't already. I don't know if they're all that keen on all his ideas about a Creek alphabet and teachers and such, but they finally saw the light about their future security. We may leave tomorrow.'

'Thank bloody Christ!' Alan exclaimed happily. 'Another week of this, and my men would have gone native on me.'

'It's been all I could do to keep my troops on their toes, too.'

'Then let's eat this bloody deer of mine to celebrate.'

'Gad, yes, he's a big'un, ain't he? Nice shot. For a sailor.'

'We've bagged enough to feed the whole town, even the way they eat. He'll do for our mess, and we'll share out the rest. That ought to make the Muskogee turn back flips.'

The supper was very cheery, and the smell of roast meat floated from every huti cook-fire. McGilliveray's Muskogee relations ate with the white party in the yard between the winter house and the summer, all smiles and laughter and singing, so different from the usual stoic silence that Alan had thought was normal for Indians. Everyone seemed hellishly pleased with their new-struck bargain of support.

It was towards the end of the supper that one of McGilliveray's uncles on his mother's side came forward to sit before him on the ground and offer a pipe. They smoked, blowing the smoke to the cardinal points, and talked back and forth in Mus-kogean for some time apart from the others.

'Ah, Mister Lewrie, this concerns you, I fear,' McGilliveray said after the palaver was ended.

'Eh?' Alan asked, stuffed near to bursting and sleepy. 'What the hell have I done now? I haven't offended them, have I?'

'Nothing serious.' McGilliveray grinned, and if McGilliveray found it amusing, Alan was sure he wasn't going to enjoy it; their dislike for each other by that time was hotly mutual. 'But it seems Rabbit, the Cherokee slave girl, no longer has need to go to the woman's house.'

'The woman's house,' Alan said with a dubious look, missing the drift completely.

'Surely I don't have to lecture you on what it means when a girl's courses cease, sir.' McGilliveray beamed happily.

'What, you mean she's pregnant?'

'That is exactly what I mean, sir.'

'Well, so what, then?' Alan asked, unable to believe it. 'You're sure this isn't a jape? She's really ankled? I mean, do I have to marry her or something?'

'It would help if you did.' McGilliveray chuckled.

'Well, I'm blowed, damme if I ain't,' Alan gasped. 'I mean, what's the difference, she's just a slave, right?'

'She's my uncle's property, you see, so that makes her part of his clan, and of this huti, this lodge,' McGilliveray said, obviously enjoying every minute of it. 'He would be insulted if you ran off and left your get. Marriage doesn't mean much in these circumstances, but it does preserve honor. If you don't, he can't sell her off, and he might come looking for you.'

McGilliveray's uncle, a side of beef with a round moon-face, and a famous chief warrior, gave Alan a look as menacing as any he ever did see.

'He'll be stuck with a bastardly gullion, a bastard's bastard.'

'But the boy'll be some kind of Wind Clan Muskogee, so he'll do alright. Or her,' McGilliveray insisted.

'But we're leaving tomorrow, so…'

'Simple really. You shot that deer today? Go get a chunk of it.'

'Now look here, McGilliveray, this…'

'Did I tell you my uncle's name is Man-Killer?' McGilliveray smiled sweetly.

'Oh, holy hell.' Alan looked to Cashman, who was as amused as any of the others around their fire, laughing behind his hand. And damn their black souls, but Andrews, Cony, and the other seamen from Shrike were nudging each other and grinning at him openly! 'It doesn't mean a damned thing, right? I mean, it doesn't really count, does it?'

'Even if she was properly Muskogee, it isn't official until the Green Corn Ceremony in late summer, and could be dissolved then. She'll gain status. Especially if you buy her from Man-Killer, and he adopts her as a daughter afterward. No more slavery for her then.'

'Oh, alright, then,' Alan sulked, burning with embarrassment at how funny everyone else seemed to think his predicament was. But he rose and fetched a large chunk of the deer from the roasting spits and brought it back to the fire-circle.

'This shows you're a man who can provide meat for her,' McGilliveray said. 'She'll present sofkee and corn to you to show she can provide grain from the fields, and cook it for her man. Now, before she can be married, you must buy her from Man-Killer.'

There was much palavering, with a rant about how Man-Killer had gotten Rabbit in the first place, how he had