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farther into the room, pacing across its width. He stopped directly in front of the Governor’s desk.
    â€œThey are here,” said Black Eagle, as he reached into a bag that hung from around his shoulder. He presented the letters forthwith to the governor, who took them at once.
    â€œAh,” said Governor Shirley who scanned the papers. “Ah, I see. Victory was ours today, but that incompetent Johnson was injured, though I see that he writes that he is almost well now.”
    Black Eagle frowned. Both men seemed to hold the other in contempt. Perhaps within their own ranks, the English were not as invincible as one might suppose.
    Black Eagle, however, remained silent, alert.
    â€œHow is it that Johnson is almost well? ” Governor Shirley asked as he eyed Black Eagle as though the bearer of the news were to blame. But to blame for what? For Johnson’s speedy recovery? Black Eagle quietly noted another peculiarity that did not fit the general picture the English liked to present to the Mohawk sachems.
    However, all Black Eagle said was, “The Water-that-runs-swift is healing.”
    â€œIs it?” Governor Shirley’s look at Black Eagle was skeptical. Then, with a note of condescension, he added, “I thank you for delivering these papers to me. I suppose that I am indebted to you, and so I ask, is there anything that I can do for you? Anything that you need? ”
    â€œSome food and water would be welcome,” said Black Eagle.
    Governor Shirley might be many things, including a prude, but it was obvious to Black Eagle that Shirley dared not break with the convention of giving aid to one who has executed a service. Therefore, he said, “It will be done. Mr. Coleman? ” he called to his aide.
    â€œYes, sir? ”
    â€œTake this scout to the kitchen and see that he has a good meal.”
    Coleman saluted. “Yes, sir.” Then, barely missing a beat, Coleman turned to Black Eagle, “This way.”
    Black Eagle acknowledged Shirley with a nod, and followed Coleman out the door.
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    The delicious aroma of food being cooked announced the kitchen long before Coleman and Black Eagle attained its inner sanctum. With every footfall, the air surrounding them became warm, and filled with an enticing fragrance.
    There was a feel in this area of the house that boasted of the best that the white civilization had to offer, and as Black Eagle stepped into the kitchen’s inner chamber, he was surrounded by the bustle of several different women. The moist heat that radiated throughout the place, which he supposed was created by the various stews that were cooking over the fire, was pleasant. He relaxed.
    â€œStay here,” said Coleman as though he addressed an idiot, instead of a grown man. He then left Black Eagle standing at the room’s wide entrance, while he trod farther into the room. Black Eagle could see the Englishman trying to capture the attention of one of the cooks, noted with pleasure that Coleman was not having an easy task of it. Black Eagle breathed in deeply and took in the scene before him more fully.
    A few of the women had hiked up their skirts to tie around their waists, although several of the younger women wore no more than a simple shift of white, most likely to avoid accidents from the fire, Black Eagle surmised. Two windows served as lighting for the room, while tables—and there were several—boasted various brass pans, funnels, wooden bowls, many skillets and kettles. Several dressers against the walls held dishes, and adorning those walls were pans, which were all sorted out by their different shapes.
    It was a busy environment, and Black Eagle felt as though he were intruding on a domain that was exclusively feminine. For a moment he experienced a notion of being ill at ease, until someone brushed past him, leaving in their wake an arousing scent of the fresh outdoors and femininity.
    Black Eagle’s attention was