Grail Quest by D. Sallen Read Free Book Online Page B

manhood.”
    While all this talk was going on, I kept an ear open, and half an eye on reaction of the men around me. If anything they appeared mildly amused. No one stood up to grab me. No one took his side until three young men in the crowd rushed up to grab me.
    I drew my steel sheath knife and waved it at them. Now they circled me. I kept fending them off. I lunged at one. He stepped away. Because I missed,   was off balance, the other two jumped me. On the ground I twisted and   stabbed one of them in the shoulder. He groaned and rolled away holding his arm. The second one was still on top. I freed my wrist from his grip and slashed across his face. He hung onto my arm. The first one tried to kick my head. I twisted and he kicked his friend. I threw off the kickee…sprang up to attack the kicker. He backed off.
    The older men I’d been smoking with had withdrawn to watch the activities. I faced   Rapid Raccoon again. “Hah. You want to unman me. Three children come to do your work. Hah. I am right here in front of you. Are you man enough to fight your own battle?”
    “I will fight you…and I will unman you. You have strange powerful knife with much magic.” He was all talk. He didn’t step towards me. “I have only flint knife. No matter. After I cut you, I kill you!”
    He didn’t sound confident. I threw my knife at Moyock’s feet. “Keep this for me. I don’t need a knife to defend myself against a man in women’s kilt.”
    Enraged at the insult, Raccoon sprang for me. He was no knife fighter. Holding his flint high instead of low, he sought to slash down at me. I stepped back…His blade whistled past my chest…He drew back…and tried the same technique. Again I stepped back…to fall over one of his friends crouching behind me! With both feet I kicked the tripper…and blocked Raccoon from leaping on me. Springing to my feet in a crouch…I charged Raccoon. He swung down with his knife…Big mistake…I stepped into his rush…trapped his arm…broke it…and threw him down. His knife flew out of his hand. He was writhing in pain. To his credit he didn’t cry out. I poised over him with his own knife.
    Chief Canawaha came near me.   “I think he has been punished for his threat to you. You may kill him, but you gain no honor for it. I think he is out of his senses. He was crazy to attack you for his foolish pride.”
    I dropped Raccoon’s knife near him, and said to the Chief. “You speak with the wisdom of your years. I honor your words. I have no further anger for Raccoon. Perhaps we can finish our smoke.”  
    During our week, finally two weeks, Moyock and I studied this tribe’s language and way of life. Chief Canawaha said this village was part of a larger tribe called Pensyca. Their wikkiups were similar to those around Jamestown. In open places along the river, or in the woods, they planted beans, squash, pumpkins and watermelon. Sunflowers were harvested for their oil. Like the Powhatan, they also ate wild berries. They traded for one called ‘cranberry,’ with which I wasn’t familiar. Claimed to be healthy, they tasted sour. The Pensyca crushed and mixed the cranberries with honey.    
    What really impressed us were the canoes they paddled on the river. Instead of dugout logs like the Powhatan made, these were constructed of birch bark fastened around a frame of saplings. Very light and easily propelled, they were tied together with black spruce root, and caulked with pitch. Once Moyock and I developed the balance needed, we paddled like veterans.
    After a river outing Moyock said to me: “Squire, we could never get our horses in one of those canoes.”
    “So? What for? What ever gave you that idea?”
    “We could travel much faster on the river.”
    “Perhaps, but to carry the horses we’d need a large boat, or even a raft. We don’t have the   skill or means to build such a vessel.”
    “We could load all of our goods in two of those canoes. Why bother with the