But Murdo would not move. The big African whom Duncan had often seen watching them work now advanced, clenching his fists. The huge man, dark as walnut, gestured for the boy to flee, and the young slave ran into the arms of a weeping woman. The tall slave hesitated, clearly fighting the compulsion to intervene. The lines of decorative scars on his face moved up and down as he clenched his jaw. He looked toward Duncan, who shook his head in warning, then frowned and retreated to the woman’s side.
Gabriel gave full vent to his wrath, slamming the metal ball down with sickening force, again and again, until at last the sturdy Scot broke, collapsing onto all fours then onto his belly. Gabriel had found a release for the wrath he felt toward Duncan and his friends. The superintendent only stopped when the blood began dripping down the shaft onto his fingers. “No one touches him!” he screamed. “No one! If anyone tries I’ll feed them to my dogs! Not now! Not the rest of the day! Not tonight. Let him crawl in his filth back to his quarters!”
Tanaqua, sensing Duncan’s own impulse, clamped his hand around Duncan’s arm. Murdo’s companions, rage in their eyes, seemed about to charge the superintendent, but then Webb appeared, pushing them back, pointing to the pharaoh riders who were now watching from the edge of the field with their dogs, waiting for the command to unleash their fury. Gabriel mounted his horse and rode off with one of his grotesque laughs.
Duncan stood motionless, gazing at his friend in despair, until Tanaqua finally pulled him back to the work crew. For over an hour Ross did not move. The blood oozed out of his back, staining the soil. Crows landed beside him, and Duncan was about to charge at them when several well-aimed stones scattered them. The big African man with the scarred face was throwing them, as if standing guard from a distance, and when he hit one, stunning it, the others flew away. When Ross finally moved, it was only to lean up on his elbows before collapsing into unconsciousness again.
Duncan knew his spine could be broken. His brain could be bleeding under a crushed skull. Lesser wounds had killed men. Black thoughts seized Duncan. Jessica Ross appeared in his mind’s eye. He had failed her again.
Another crow landed and another stone was flung from a different direction. To Duncan’s surprise he saw Trent, tossing a second stone in his palm as if waiting for another bird. Winters grabbed Trent’s drinking gourd from his belt and emptied it on Ross’s back before taking his own water gourd from his belt and dropping it beside the Scot’s outstretched hand.
“Ai ya yi yo wayaka.” An African woman started singing, a rhythmic chant in a strange tongue that was soon taken up by all the women in the crews working nearby. One of them, nervously watching Winters, inched forward and knelt, putting her hand on Murdo’s head while raising her other hand in a beseeching gesture toward the sky, murmuring low, emphatic words. She pulled off her necklace, bearing a pendant of what looked like twisted roots and feathers, and tied it to Ross’s arm. The big black man with the ring of scars around his head slowly advanced. Trent raised a restraining hand but the man did not halt until the woman rose and grabbed his arm, pointing toward the boy, who stood watching, crying now. Duncan realized he must be looking at the boy’s parents. The man shook the woman off then stared toward the manor house, where Gabriel had disappeared. He began his own chant, aimed at the manor compound, more angry and much louder than that of the women, then with a finger drew symbols in the air. The Judas slaves could not understand his words but they all recognized a curse.
By the time the bell sounded for the end of the day Murdo had risen up once, to drain the gourd, then collapsed again. When they reached the yard not a man moved to the supper kettle but instead all watched as the big Scot began crawling toward the stable in slow, agonizing stages, seldom going more than fifty feet before collapsing, each time leaving a trail of blood. Winters and Trent herded the company toward the kettle, but as they ate they silently watched Murdo’s slow, excruciating progress through the dying light. The rangers watched Webb, waiting for an order to rush out onto the field, but the major, with a forlorn glance toward Duncan, gestured them inside. It was dark as the last men reached the entry. Trent was pushing the door shut when he gasped and abruptly retreated. Winters, holding the bar, dropped it and stumbled backward.
A huge shadow was moving toward them. A moment later the tall African materialized out of the darkness with Murdo in his arms. Tanaqua and Ononyot pushed past the overseers and draped Murdo’s arms over their shoulders as the African lowered him. The big man spoke several incomprehensible words in a rich, deep voice, then pointed to Murdo. “War-i-oor,” he said, stretching out the word. “Warrior,” he tried again. He thumped his own chest. “Like Ursa,” he said in introduction, then looked back at Murdo.
“My son . . .” the African began, then seemed unable to find any more English. He pressed his hand over his heart, lifted it and placed it over Murdo’s own heart, then spoke words in his native tongue that had the sound of a prayer. Duncan silently returned Ursa’s nod as he backed away into the night.
Murdo pushed himself away from Tanaqua and, holding onto the wall, staggered into the slave shed. He collapsed onto a platform and closed his eyes as Duncan examined him. When he opened them a few minutes later he lifted his head toward the despairing companions who surrounded him. “I’ve been beaten, damn ye,” he growled, “but I’m not beat.” The big Scot paused and looked with a wrinkled brow at the bundle of feathers, now stained with his blood, that had been wrapped around his arm by the African woman.
Duncan had to touch him to get his attention, then asked him to move his feet and grip each of Duncan’s hands. “He’s built too much like an ox for any serious damage,” Sinclair quipped. Murdo gave an affirming grunt and, as Jaho began washing his wounds, he fell asleep, his fingers on the feather totem. Amazingly, despite his terrible flailing by the metal ball, he had no broken bones. Duncan sprinkled the last of his healing herbs onto the open gashes.
“He needs better food to heal properly,” Duncan declared, looking at Webb but speaking loudly enough for all to hear. “There’s dandelion greens and pokeweed shoots in the field. Gather some for him tomorrow.” He surveyed the gaunt faces. They had no hope of escape if they could not build their strength. “And any other you find eat yourselves.”
That night he again followed Jaho outside, reaching him as Chuga emerged from the reeds to greet the old man. “No, Duncan,” the Susquehannock warned when he realized Duncan did not intend to stay with him. “You will be caught. You don’t know the hills the way I do. I know every outcropping, every blind spot. This is my land.”
Duncan grabbed some mud from the swamp and began rubbing it over his face. “But I’m not going onto the land,” he declared, rubbing Chuga’s head, and then stole away along the bank toward the river.
A sliver of moon reflected on the still water of the Rappahannock. A deer at the edge of the river looked up then returned to drinking. Duncan stripped to his britches in the shadow of a cedar tree then silently eased into the water. He reached the two-masted snow after surfacing for air only three times, then hauled himself up the anchor line, clapped onto the rail, and watched the deck. The cutter and the brig that had recently arrived would have marine guards posted but a trade ship anchored in a quiet river was unlikely to follow such discipline.
There was no sign of life on deck other than a dim lantern at the stern. He moved like a shadow, the way Mohawks and rangers moved through enemy camps to rescue captives. Below the deck his nose quickly led him to the galley. Heaped beside the cold stove were baskets of produce. He filled an empty flour sack with carrots, onions, and potatoes, then dropped in three knives. He was about to throw more utensils into a second sack but thought better and filled it instead with more food. He fastened both the sacks with twine, then tied them together and draped them around his neck.