“Of course.” Her expression narrowed as she used wooden tongs to remove the pots, reached for a water jug, and poured it into a bowl. “He’s coming here for a bath, is he?” She eyed Violet Bead suspiciously.
“No, it would seem he has been given a new slave. We are to clean her up and make her presentable for his bed.”
“Huh,” she grunted. Then she squinted. “Don’t expect him too soon.”
“Ah, what have you heard?”
“Loose talk.”
“About what?”
Wide Leaf shot another glance at Violet Bead, then added, “Trouble with the Albaamaha. They found a runner on the trail. Someone sent to warn the White Arrow that they were about to be attacked.”
Heron Wing shot a look at Violet Bead, who shook her head, indicating she’d heard nothing of it. That slaves often knew more than she did was no surprise. Wide Leaf was her greatest source of information on whom Smoke Shield was bedding, and when.
“Do they know who sent the runner?” Violet Bead asked.
Wide Leaf shrugged, but from long association, Heron Wing could tell she’d heard something. “It’s all right. Tell us what you know.”
Wide Leaf hesitated for a moment. “Some man named Paunch.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
With the arrival of Thin Branch further talk was impossible. The man would tell Smoke Shield anything he overheard. He held the door hanging aside while the burly young men muscled the limp Morning Dew through the doorway.
“Place her there.” Heron Wing pointed to the cattail matting near the fire. They watched as the men lowered the woman’s limp body to the floor. She might have been dead for all the life she exhibited. Through matted hair, Heron Wing could see the young woman’s eyes staring fixedly at nothing. Gods, had her souls fled?
“We are to stay close,” one of the young men said. “In case she runs, we are to chase her down and bring her back.”
“Thank you.” Heron Wing reached for one of the jars, lifting two acorn cakes from it. “Here, this is for your time. I imagine you haven’t eaten.”
“No,” one replied. “We thank you for this. If she makes a break, we won’t be more than a stone’s throw away.” Both nodded politely and stepped out.
“Do you need anything?” Thin Branch asked, looking from one to the other.
“Nothing we can’t find on our own.” Heron Wing cocked her head. “And you, Thin Branch, have you eaten?”
“No, mistress.” He glanced back toward the tchkofa. “But I’d best be getting back. He might need me.”
She removed another cake from the jar. “You can wolf it down on the way.”
“My thanks.” Then he turned, ducking out into the night.
The three women stared down at the captive for a moment, contemplating the listless Morning Dew.
Wide Leaf, as usual, was the first to break the silence. “She sure doesn’t look like much. The story is that she’s the White Arrow matron. If that’s a matron, I’m a chief.”
Irony laced Violet Bead’s voice. “She might be a matron, but now she’s just a slave.”
Wide Leaf’s jaw muscles tightened the way they did when she knew better than to say what was on her mind.
Heron Wing slapped her hands to her hips. “Let’s get her out of that dress.”
“Indeed,” Violet Bead replied. “I want to see what kind of prize would drive our husband to risk his precious neck on a Chahta square.”
Morning Dew didn’t resist as they sat her up and pulled the dress over her head. That she was young, with a ripe body, came as no surprise.
Wide Leaf inspected the dress, her critical eye absorbing the quill work and the patterns of pearls. “Good workmanship. As good as my own.”
Violet Bead bent down, wet a cloth, and extended it to Morning Dew. “You can wash yourself, can’t you?”
The woman gave no response, her face slack and listless.
“Gods,” Wide Leaf muttered, reaching over to pull the woman’s hair out of her face. “Hey! You in there?” She lightly slapped Morning Dew on one cheek. “Come on. Is that all they breed into you Chahta bitches? You could be a lump of mud for all I care. Pampered matron!”
For the first time, Heron Wing saw the eyes flicker. They cleared, and glared for a moment before going blank again.
“Well, lay her out flat,” Heron Wing decided. “We’ll just have to do it the same way the Hopaye cleans a corpse.”
Trader stood in the doorway and stared glumly out at the slanting rain. Just down the slope, their canoes were pulled up and hidden in the tall grass. What once had been a canoe landing was overgrown and almost invisible.