“How is Baji?” Jigonsaseh asked, changing the subject. “I think of her often.”
“She’s still strong-willed and too confident for her own good, but my adopted daughter is well. Her warriors elected her war chief three moons ago.”
“Well, that does not surprise me. Even as a child she had a powerful presence. She was a born leader.” A tender smile came to her lips.
Cord tried to hide his pride, but his voice showed it: “Yes, she is. It will sadden her that she missed seeing you.”
“She is away?”
“Yes, and won’t be back for days.”
She politely did not ask why, and it relieved him that he didn’t have to hide the fact that Baji was out on the war trail.
Jigonsaseh sipped more tea. “I pray that Sodowego does not see her face. Has she married?”
Cord shook his head. “No. You know why, I suppose.”
Her delicate black brows pulled down. “No, why?”
“I’m surprised Dekanawida didn’t tell you. It’s a lengthy story.” Cord stretched out on his side on the mats, propping himself up on one elbow. As his sleeve slipped down, the tattoos covering his arms were revealed. She seemed to be studying them, perhaps remembering. “My grandmother has tried to marry Baji several times to good men. She has refused.”
“Does she give you any reason?”
“Of course not. But the reason is clear. No man equals your son.”
Something about the softness in her expression touched him, building a warmth below his heart. He longed to speak of more personal things, things between the two of them, but he couldn’t let himself. He feared where it might lead.
“Why did they part, Cord? He’s never told me.” She drained her tea, set the cup on the floor, and laced her fingers over her knees. Her beautiful face had a pale yellow gleam.
“Oh,” he said through a taut exhale. “I only know part of it. Baji is not one to openly speak of such matters. I heard they had a violent battlefield squabble over captives. There was an infant, a little boy, that Baji wished to bring home and adopt. Dekanawida objected. Apparently they had a pact that neither would ever take a child captive.”
“Had she changed her mind?”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I think, perhaps, she wished to make an exception in the baby’s case. I wonder if her lack of a child is not beginning to bother her. Every other woman in the village who has seen twenty-four summers has five or six children. Baji has none.”
Jigonsaseh blinked thoughtfully at the floor. “I felt that way once after a raid. There was a baby boy crying in the midst of a collapsed house. I couldn’t leave him there. Gonda and I brought him home and raised him as our own.”
“Odion?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know that?”
“Oh, yes, we told him the story as soon as he could understand, at four or five summers.”
Cord watched the silver glints in her hair reflect the firelight that filled the longhouse. “Then I am especially surprised he didn’t help Baji raise the child. They would have made good parents, I think.”
“What happened to the infant boy?”
“I have no idea. I only know that no one brought him home.”
Few warriors dared to adopt infants. Almost no one could afford the luxury of carrying and feeding a baby for days on the war trail. His lips pressed tightly together. “I regret that they parted. I looked forward to having Dekanawida here. Not only because I liked and respected him; but he was a very fine warrior. We could have used him.”
Through a long exhalation, she said, “Well, he’s decided that he will never touch a weapon again. So …” She tilted her head as though to say who knows what the future will bring. Then she exhaled, and her face suddenly appeared haggard.
“Will you spend the night, Matron?”
“No, but I thank you for the offer. We must get home. Our village councils are deliberating the issue of attacking Atotarho Village at this instant. When the vote comes—if it hasn’t already—our war chiefs will begin planning the assault. I must be there.”
“How many days until the battle?”
“Hard to say. At least six or seven. I pray we have more time.”
As she started to rise, he said, “Perhaps …” She looked up, saw his expression, and sat back down. “Perhaps I should send a war party with you. If my people decide to join yours in the fight, there will be no time for us to ready ourselves and get there before the arrows start flying. At least you would have a few more warriors—”
“That is a kind offer, and I appreciate it. But that would be dangerous for you. If your people vote no, they will ask why Flint warriors were engaged in a fight they did not authorize. No, Cord. Wait. I will send a fast runner when the time comes.”