I
The Hill of the Snake
Engbrecht of Geldern was a handsome man by any measure, and he cut a picturesque figure as well; blue eyed,strongly featured, with a golden beard and head of tawny hair that was wildly unkempt in an appealing fashion. He had the rangy build and corded thews of a man who made his livelihood through woodcraft. His garb was the chaotic combination of beaver hides, buckskins, and linens common to many of the fur trappers who ranged far and wide in the New World collecting pelts for the Hudson’s bay company and other European interests.
For all his masculine beauty, the circumstances of his life had led him to take on a solitary temperament. He found the company of others discomfiting, and personal interactions awkward. Thus he prefered to isolate himself in the wilderness, only engaging with his fellow man to trade his pelts for the necessities of life, and cultivating a somewhat friendly relationship with the Iroquois and related native tribes in the area. His experience with women was scant to nonexistent, and some have speculated that this inexperience is what led to his disastrous union with the notorious she-pirate, “Mad” Morwenna Jones.
Engbrecht never knew her by that name. She called herself Mary Purlee when she attached herself to him at a trading post some twenty miles west of Jamestown. The Dutchman was smitten with her immediately, for he had never seen her like before. Her skin was bronzed by foreign suns. Long, straight ebon hair spilled out from her oversize felt hat and draped her face and shoulders. The gaze of her smoldering dark eyes both enticed and unsettled him.
Her features and figure captivated Engbrecht to the utmost. Though he did not fail to notice her tobacco-stained teeth and general lack of hygiene, or the angry, livid scars that encircled her otherwise flawless neck, he found these to be minor distractions. Her clothing was at odds with her environs: red silk breaches, high leather boots, a gaudy Spanish coat of black and yellow over an ostentatious silken blouse. An overcoat of beaver pelts was her only concession to the local norms. She would speak to him in his native Dutch with an accent he found barbarous and charming.
“Mary” covered Engbrecht with attention and affection, and initiated him into feminine mysteries that he never imagined to exist. In no time, the trapper was completely devoted to her, and could refuse her nothing. Critics of this relationship were unable to entirely account for their disapproval as Mary Purlee did not seem overly interested in Engbrecht’s money, in fact, she had a sizable supply of Spanish doubloons that she jealously guarded with a cutlass and a brace of flintlocks.
It was only after Mary Purlee received a surreptitious visit from a cagey lascar that she exercised her influence on Engbrecht, bidding him to guide her deep into the wilderness toward the Ohio river, to a location indicated with esoteric symbols on a crude map sketched on some unidentifiable hide with a rust colored medium. They set out on a Sunday morning with two mules laden with supplies. Mary pushed them at a breakneck pace, pressing Engbrechts endurance and knowledge to the limit. She made no effort to spare herself hardship either, rising before sunrise and trudging over hill and dale each day until the darkness was so complete as to preclude further travel. The trapper sought to learn the purpose of their urgent journey, but Mary would avoid the subject and distract Engbrecht from further inquiry with the same charms that bent him to her will in the first place.
They travelled for about a week, sustaining themselves and avoiding dangers both natural and man-made through the woodcraft and knowledge of Engbrecht, at last they came to the base of a wooded hill that spread across their path like a wall. Mary gestured to upward and to her right.
“There Engbrecht! Mark ye those two gnarled oaks that come together like a rude arch? We’ve arrived within feet of where we need to be! Step lively and crest the hill!”
The Dutchman balked.
“Please Mary! It is nearly dark! Let us make camp here!”
Mary spat and snorted derisively.
“To hell with that. We’ll camp up there, at the crown of the hill, where our goal should be in sight!”
“Our goal? Will you now tell me what the point of this mad dash through the wilderness is?”
Mary grinned, her eyes flashing ominously.
“I’ll show you, darling! Come! Beat me to the top and I'll let you give me a green gown.”
The suggestion purged the trapper’s misgivings, and provided him with a renewed vigor. He seized the reigns of the mules and charged up the hill at a robust pace.
They crested the hill and emerged into a clearing,redly illuminated by the setting sun. Engbrecht had indeed arrived first,and was keenly pleased.
“Hah! I win! Come here wench, and I’ll…”
Mary dexterously avoided is grasping lunge.
“Hold your horses! Look yonder!”
Following her gaze, the Dutchman discerned some sort of low earthwork that wound its way along the clearing in a serpentine fashion. Engbrecht found them somewhat familiar.
“That reminds me of the old barrows reared up around Grave Creek. Oddly shaped though. Like a worm or..”
“A snake!” Mary finished for him. “Come, let’s walk it’s length ere it gets too dark!”
Thus the couple circuited the complex earthwork, mary all the while consulting her parchment. At length they came to another mound that was separated from the main earthwork. Mary jabbed a dirty finger into the parchment, and for the first time since their journey began showed it to Engbrecht. She indicated a sketch of a snakelike form, with what could have been a maw opened to swallow and egg shape.
“See? The serpent swallows the egg! Within that egg shaped mound, we will find a smaller, duplicate egg. About the size of my head, cast in solid gold.”
The trapper was taken aback.
“Gold? Is this some sort of treasure hunt? This is folly! The natives here speak of no golden eggs hidden anywhere!”
“They wouldn’t! The egg was brought here by people who lived ages before the red man!”
“How do you know this?”
Mary grabbed Engbrechts arm and drew him close, her tone becoming conspiratorially intense.
“I spent a good portion of my youth at the tender mercy of Barbary pirates, It was among them that I heard the first hints of a golden ‘world egg’ worshipped by people that lived long before The Flood. They traveled to the New World long before white men knew of its existence. And left the egg in the mouth of a great serpent. Years later, after I’d cut my captor’s throat and struck out on my own, I heard the egg mentioned again and again. By a merchant in Cairo, a Portuguese slaver in Senegal, a Witch-doctor in Hispaniola! I found myself marooned in this part of the world and remembered the rumors. It was pure luck that I recognized the lascar in Jamestown. We’d sailed together under Van Hoorn. He had a Map he claimed showed the location of the egg, but lacked the guts to go for it! In the end he sold it to me for a few pieces of eight.”
Mary’s voice grew unsteady, her eyes began to take on a maniacal glaze. Her grip on The Dutchmans arm became uncomfortably tight.
Engbrecht was becoming unsettled.
“Van Horn? The Pirate? Have you…”
“Sailed under the Black Flag?”
Mary chuckled and tenderly stroked Engbrechts beard. pouting in an exaggerated manner.
“Don’t be upset with me, darling, A girl has to make her way as best she can in the cold cruel world! No! Ask me no more questions! Follow”
Pulling him along by the arm, Mary led Engbrecht over the earthwork until they stood in the center of the egg shape. He started to speak, but she shushed him and pressed herself against the trapper, guiding his rough hands into her blouse so he could caress the smooth warm flesh beneath. She whispered purringly inn his ear.
“The egg should be directly under us. We will dig it up on the morrow, but now, I think we should pierce the hogshead on the spot where we’ll make our fortune.”
Engbrecht grinned and started to lay Mary upon the grass. Before they could fully engage in lovemaking, a voice rang out in near perfect English.
“I don’t advise rolling in that grass, the chiggers are bad hereabouts. I’d at least lay a blanket down first.”
Engbrecht whirled about, drawing a great knife from his belt, cursing himself for leaving his matchlock with the mules. Mary was better prepared, and quickly produced a pistol, drawing a bead on the intruder.
A man stood above them upon the earthworks. He was a native, a sinewy bronze giant of indeterminate age. His raven hair was mostly shaven, save for a coiffed topknot. he was clad in a sort of fringed kilt and a European style linen shirt. His face and arms were painted in elaborate designs and great bone hoops weighed down his earlobes. A large knife and a wooden club where thrust through a coarsely woven sash wound about his waist. He was grinning broadly, and carried The Dutchman’s matchlock casually across his shoulders.
“Iriquois!” muttered Engbrecht.
“Susqueannock, actually.” replied the native. “The Iroquois, with the white men, have damn near wiped us out, that’s why I’m this far west. Looking for spot to settle down where no one is apt to kill me.”
“I’m apt to kill ye now, red man!” Mary snarled, in the same tongue that he’d addressed them in. “Better make a damned good account of yerself, or ye’ll have an extra hole or two in that painted head.”
The indian’s good humor was unabated. He laughed heartily and replied.
“I’m Sarangaroro. I came across your trail a few days ago, and figured out where you were headed. At first, I thought i’d mind my own business. But I could scarcely live with myself If I hadn’t followed to give you a warning.
Mary sneered and took a step forward, keeping her pistol trained on the Indians head.
“Warning? Give yer warning, then be off!”
Sarangaroro shrugged with apparent nonchalance.
“As you wish, woman. Leave the Hill of the Snake at once, and by no means delve into it, for it will bring you both naught but death and damnation!”