The second man was taller, muscular, his face painted white with blue lines radiating from his eyes. His long black hair was braided and hung down over his left breast. Dark and predatory eyes fixed on hers.
“Come forward,” she ordered, and waved her household staff away. As they scattered, the messenger and his companion climbed the seven steps.
One day soon, they shall have to climb a great many more steps, and they’ll grovel when they reach the top.
“Lady,” the messenger greeted in a low voice, glancing around uneasily. “This man comes bearing a message.”
She glanced closely at the copper-clad staff. Someone had quickly wrapped copper sheeting around a dowel—not the Morning Star’s high standard at all.
“What message?” she asked, a slow smile coming to her lips.
The braided warrior spoke softly, his voice rising and falling in Caddo. As he spoke, the messenger nervously translated, “Your brother, Walking Smoke, sends greetings to his beloved sister. He says to tell you that we have the pieces in place. By the time you are hearing this, The Evening Star House will have discovered the importance of their role. Your presence is requested, and with it, all of Cahokia shall be yours within two days. He asks if you need help eluding your current guard.”
She nodded and stifled a chuckle. “Tell Walking Smoke I am coming, and he need not concern himself. I have everything here in hand. Slipping away will be no trouble at all.”
As her words were translated, the Tula bowed and touched his forehead. As he and the messenger rose and left, she watched the tall barbarian descend the steps.
Turning, she hesitated, glancing east toward the Morning Star’s great black mound with its high-walled palace. Someone stood in the soaring southwestern bastion. Sunlight glinted on a polished copper hair piece, the sort of thing only worn by a high-born chief or lord. The Morning Star? Had he been watching her meeting with the Tula?
Surely the distant figure couldn’t be the Morning Star. He had more important things to do than watch her palace from afar. Most likely, some lord paying tribute had been invited to enjoy the view.
If an important chief was expected, I should have been informed.
She forced it from her thoughts. Not her problem.
“Let’s hope you’re recovered, Husband. This is the last chance we will get to enjoy each other’s bodies for a while. And next time, we’ll be playing with each other in a much nicer palace.”
Fifty-two
Lady Columella had taken her midday meal in her personal quarters, away from prying eyes. She sat on her sleeping bench, a wooden trencher on her lap. Beside her, Flat Stone Pipe, his hair up in a bun, balanced his own dish.
Columella sank her teeth into the succulent white meat. She absolutely loved paddlefish. The curious fish grew to huge sizes, often weighing as much as two men, and was netted from the river’s deep waters. There, down in the depths, they used their long, spoonlike noses to stir the mud for food.
The steak she now ate was cut from the sweet-tasting white meat; not the red, inner meat that tasted like mud. Hers had been basted in walnut oil, sprinkled with onion leaves, and finished with a pinch of salt.
“How’s yours?” Flat Stone Pipe asked. His own plate sat propped on his diminutive lap. He’d requested his to be flame-seared and seasoned with bison gall.
She shot him a ribald wink. “Excellent. I don’t know how you can ruin yours with those gall drippings.”
“Keeps me virile and potent in bed … as you well know. Foods have Spirit and qualities they impart to the body. Gall, roasted testicles from bison and deer, falcon breast meat, wolf hearts, these are foods that enhance a man’s ability to satisfy a woman.” He licked his stubby fingers and studied her from the corner of his eye. “Or would you rather limit yourself to your husband’s hearty ministrations?”
“Considering that I haven’t seen him in two moons?” She tossed her head back, exposing her throat. “I think I’ll let you eat all the gall, buffalo testicles, and onions you’d like.”
“Perhaps this evening?”
“That would be nice.” A flicker of a smile played at her lips. “You should probably know … I’ve missed my moon. At my age, and given the stresses, I rather doubt that you have planted a child. I’ve missed before, sometimes twice in a row, so it’s nothing for certain.”
“No morning upsets?”
She shook her head, staring around her private room with its boxes, carved bed posts, and wall hangings. Across from her, the woven cane wall rose nearly to the roof. She loved that wall, had caught herself staring at the intricate pattern for hands of time. To her knowledge it was the largest, most intricate in all the world. “I don’t feel pregnant. Usually there’s that queasiness, that need to alternately shout or cry. Instead I feel remarkably focused, much too preoccupied with what’s going on over at the Morning Star House, and almost desperate for your company. So eat more gall drippings. Drink it if you have to. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have no relief at all.”