by Paul Clayton
Robert turned to Ananias. “Why is Mortimer not here?”
“He caught a fever last night and cannot leave his cottage.”
Robert nodded. He looked at Lambert and Phillip. “We must stand firm,” he said, “and insist that Captain Stafford punish his Lieutenant.”
“What has happened?” said Phillip.
Robert faced him. “Lieutenant Hawkins and the soldier named Rogers left our corn field unguarded and the savages ripped it all up!”
Lambert and Ananias nodded in assent.
The little gentleman looked down darkly at the table.
“Well, Phillip,” said Robert, “I trust you will vote with us on this?”
Phillip nodded grimly. “Aye.”
Footsteps clumped up the steps and Captain Stafford, Lieutenant Hawkins, and Charles Colpepper entered the room. They regarded Robert and the others coldly, their looks making clear the differences between the two groups of men. Robert noted that Captain Stafford still projected strength and ferocity. Charles’s eyes still burned bright with intelligence and spirit, but like Ananias, Lambert and Phillip, he was thinner and weaker-looking. Lieutenant Hawkins wore a surly look. Robert and the others took their seats.
“As ye must know by now,” said Stafford, “we have lost four men.”
“I will conduct a service on the morrow,” said Parson Lambert.
Stafford went on as if he had not heard the parson. “I will go back to their village in force in a few days’ time. The rebels must not be allowed any victories, no matter how trifling.”
“The rebels?” said Robert in surprise.
Stafford said nothing and Robert and Lambert exchanged curious looks.
“Captain,” said Robert, “the savages have destroyed our last corn field.” Robert looked at Lieutenant Hawkins. “Your lieutenant left the field unguarded.”
Hawkins sneered at Robert, saying nothing.
“We will take all the corn we need from the savages who killed my men,” said Stafford.
“That will not be enough to save us,” continued Robert. “We must make the move to Chesapeake.”
“Never!” scoffed Stafford. His face reddened. “I will never abandon this fort to them!”
“Captain,” said Lambert calmly, “we have been here two years now. If you are against a move then we must send some men in the shallop to get help.”
“That again!” said Stafford incredulously. “Waste not my time with that. We must teach them a lesson they will never forget. Otherwise they will think we are weak and attack.”
Stafford raised his hand to vote. “I wish to make another raid. Give me a vote now.”
Charles immediately raised his hand.
Stafford turned to Phillip who did not move. “Damn it, man! Surely yeh do not mean to cheat me out of my revenge?”
Phillip looked nervously at Robert, then raised his hand.
“You have no majority,” said Robert.
Stafford glared at Robert. “Sir Mortimer votes with us on this. I have already talked with him.”
“So you say,” said Robert.
Stafford ignored the comment. “I will leave in two days.”
“Captain,” Robert insisted, “what about the corn?”
Stafford waved away his words. “Bother me not with trifles, sir. I have already told yeh that I shall take all the corn we need from the savages.”
Robert got to his feet. “‘Trifle?” He glared at the captain. “And if you get no corn we shall all starve this winter!”
Stafford said nothing and looked at Robert as if he were a bug to be squashed.
Robert went on. “The Lieutenant’s manner toward Master Dare and myself was insulting and set a bad example for the other soldiers. I demand that he be put in the gaol to teach him to respect his betters.”
Stafford’s face had grown as red as freshly sliced beef. He glared round at the others. “And what do ye say?”
“Aye,” said Ananias nervously. “I agree with Sir Robert.”
Stafford eyed Lambert. “And yeh?”
Parson Lambert nodded. “Aye.”
Stafford looked at Phillip and the little man nodded quickly. Stafford turned to Lieutenant Hawkins. “Take yourself to the gaol. You will spend the next two days and nights there.”
Lieutenant Hawkins walked out sullenly.
Stafford stood. “I leave in two days’ time.”
***
Torchlight flickered as little Virginia played with her doll and Maggie swept the stale rushes into the hearth. The muffled tones of Eleanor’s and Ananias’s conversation floated down from the darkened loft where Eleanor had taken to her bed. Maggie thought she heard the sounds of merry-making out in the night, but knew she must be imagining it. She finished her sweeping and put down fresh rushes. As she worked, she felt nervous and fretful. She knew she should rest and, perhaps, read to Virginia, but a state of agitation and unease had come over her. She felt almost as if she were being pursued. To stop moving would be the end of her.
She looked over at the mantle, wondering where she had put the herbs for calming the nerves that Elizabeth, God rest her soul, had given her. She would make a fusion and perhaps that would help her sleep tonight. She did not sleep well these days, nor did many others. She thought she heard a child’s cry and turned to look at Virginia. But the child was sitting with her back to her, playing quietly and unconcernedly. As Maggie stared at the child’s tiny form she suddenly grew afraid for her. Shaking her head rapidly as if to ward off her fears, she went back to her search for the herbs. A knock came at the door and Maggie almost dropped a pot. She opened the door.
Sir Robert and several others stood outside in the darkness. Sir Robert’s handsome face wore a grave look. “Tell Ananias to come out, Maggie, for there is something I must discuss with him.”
Maggie nodded, turning to call up the stairs. Master Dare came down and went outside and Maggie closed the door. She looked round for Virginia, but did not see her. Assuming the child had gone up the stairs, Maggie resumed her search for the herbs. Again she thought she heard a child’s cry. She looked round and saw Virginia under the table, her fingers in her mouth, her eyes wet with tears. She knelt to the child.
“What is it, Virginia?”
Virginia said nothing and Maggie pulled her up. The girl clung to her skirts fearfully. Maggie’s foreboding grew. She looked down at Virginia’s helpless, little form and her own hands began to shake uncontrollably. Something was terribly wrong. She felt an urgency, as if something bad was coming, as if the child was in immediate danger. She glanced over worriedly at the door.
“Virginia,” she said softly, “get thee to bed.”
The girl wiped her tears away with her hands and smiled bravely. “Aye, Maggie.”
Maggie sat and watched Virginia climb the stairs. She heard her crawl into her mother’s bed. The soft rustle of their voices floated down, mingling with the crackle of the fire. Silence slowly descended as Eleanor and Virginia fell asleep. Chewing on the inside of her mouth, Maggie seemed unable to move as she listened to the growing insect racket of the night. After a time she forced herself to her feet and resumed her search for the herbs. She went to the sideboard, feeling about under the wooden platters. The herbs were nowhere to be found! Had Eleanor taken them? She looked frantically through the pewter, knocking a wash basin with the back of her hand. It rolled to the edge of the sideboard. Before she could reach it, it crashed loudly to the floor.
A woman screamed in terror and another pot clattered loudly and distinctly onto a stone floor.
A sad, familiar male voice pleaded, “For the love of God, not in front of the girl!”
From her hiding place beneath the table, Maggie saw the lower half of the soldier, saw his hand gripping the sword tightly. She stared at his mutilated finger.
“No,” she muttered, revulsion filling her as she realized what was coming. “No! Leave Father be!”
“Maggie!”
The vaguely famil
iar voice was calling to Maggie from another world.
The soldier raised his sword and Maggie covered her eyes and screamed, backing further under the table.
Eleanor Dare sat up at the sound of the crash. Virginia clung tightly to her, frozen with fear. Downstairs, Maggie continued to scream madly and there were sounds of a struggle. Eleanor’s head swam as she got to her feet. “Quiet, child,” she whispered to Virginia, “Maggie is having a bad dream. That is all. Stay here.”
Eleanor felt her way to the stairs. Below in the dark Maggie’s wet sobs and muttered protestations chilled Eleanor to the bone. The glow of the embers faintly illuminated Maggie cowering under the table. Had she gone mad? Eleanor wondered as she knelt, pulling Maggie to her. She put her arms around Maggie and rocked her gently. Eleanor marveled at the younger woman’s trembling. “God a mercy, Maggie. ‘Tis I, Eleanor! What is it?”
Maggie’s eyes remained shut tightly. “‘Tis him,” she said in sobs. “He is the one.”
“Who, Maggie?”
“Captain Stafford. ‘Tis him!”
Another spasm of sobs shook Maggie. Eleanor continued to hold her tight, rocking her back and forth to comfort her. “What do you mean? What did the captain do?”
Maggie trembled as if she were fevered. “Captain Stafford killed my father. He is the one.”
“Hush,” said Eleanor worriedly. She looked over at the door as she felt Maggie’s brow to see if she were fevered. “Speak not of this to anyone. Wild talk such as this will land you in the gaol. Do you understand?”
Maggie cried softly, continuing to tremble.
The two women remained on the floor, bathed in the pale light of the hearth. “Now,” said Eleanor, “prithee, tell me all about it.”
Outside, Ananias, Mortimer Reed and Phillip Mattingly walked in the dark with Sir Robert. Robert indicated that they should be silent as he led them past the cottages and gardens. Finally Ananias could no longer contain his curiosity. “What is it, Robert, that you bring us out at this hour?”
Above, the moon waxed bright, painting the many clouds a silver tint. Sir Robert did not break his stride. “’Tis better I show you all, than tell you.”
The other men remained silent for a spell, then Phillip turned to Ananias. “Charles has taken ill with fever.”
“God a mercy,” said Ananias. “Does Parson Lambert know?”
“Aye,” said Phillip, “he is with him now.”
The men walked through the quiet night and soon came upon the gaol. The little building was deserted.
“Where are the guards?” said Ananias.
Instead of answering, Robert went to the front door and peered through the barred aperture. He waved the other men over to join him. Bright moonlight lit the room, illuminating its emptiness.
“What happened to the Lieutenant?” said Ananias.
Mortimer laughed at Ananias’s naïveté.
Robert answered patiently. “Captain Stafford let him out after it grew dark.”
“Where is he now?” said Ananias.
“With the others,” said Phillip, “boosing in the storehouse.”
“Good sirs,” said Robert, “we can no longer trust the captain. Remember when he said that Mortimer had voted with him?”
Ananias and Phillip nodded and looked at Mortimer for confirmation.
Mortimer shook his head. “He never spoke with me. ‘Twas all a lie.”
“I think he is close to madness,” said Robert. “Remember his comment about the rebels? He thinks he is back in Ireland.”
“We have all had our moments of madness, Robert,” said Phillip. “Our situation is maddening.”
“Perhaps,” said Robert impatiently. “But the captain is devious and a danger to us all now. We must act.”
“But what can we do?” said Ananias.
“We could relieve him of his duties,” said Phillip.
As if in answer, a chorus of drunken laughter came from the direction of the fort, then faded away. The gentlemen avoided each other’s eyes in the moonlight.
“Nay,” said Mortimer. “That is too drastic. He has the support of all the soldiers and they are all that stand between us and the savages.”
“Aye,” said Phillip, “‘tis so. There must be another way.”
Robert grew angry at their reluctance to act but hid his true feelings, for they were all he had to work with. He must be patient, but tenacious.
Another outburst of drunken laughter filled the night and the gentlemen looked around at the blackness nervously.
“We had better get back to the cottage,” said Mortimer. “They will soon be out and about by the sound of things.”
As they began walking back to the cottages, Phillip said, “There is still a chance that a ship will come. We should wait a while longer before we go against them.”
“Do you think so, Robert?” said Ananias.
Robert had to restrain himself from laughing aloud at such utterances. “Perhaps,” he said, “there is always that chance. But it grows smaller with every passing day.” Robert’s resolve had been shaken a bit by the men’s weakness. They would need a little more time. But soon he must open their eyes and give them the courage to act before it was too late.
The other men were quiet and looked furtively about at the shadows as they walked on.
Chapter 32
Powhatan sat under a bower of broad leaves, surrounded by his wives and slaves as the mock battle began in the village square ground. A hundred Monacan braves, leaping and whooping their war cries, advanced on a hundred of his own braves. At his signal his men launched their arrows, all aimed to fall well to the rear of the ‘enemy’, and the Monacans did the same. Then the two groups rushed angrily and noisily at each other. As they fought, Powhatan’s wives and slaves commented loudly and excitedly on the spectacle. Powhatan ignored their chatter as he studied the different contests. He needed strong, brutal men to install as weroances in the villages he planned to conquer, fearless men, but men who would be loyal to him.
Powhatan’s tired eyes had no trouble picking out Wanchese as he spun an enemy about by his hair knot and flung him to the ground. Wanchese struck the Monacan several mock ‘killing’ blows before racing off after another victim. The sullen ‘fallen’ warrior picked himself up and left the field. Powhatan had already decided to make Wanchese weroance of Roanoke. He would install him soon.
As the battle raged, Powhatan drank a cool draught of walnut milk served to him in a conch shell. He wiped his lips with his hand and concentrated again on the melee. Although no one was severely hurt, most of the braves now suffered bloody noses, sprains and bruises. Their strength was quickly waning and they swung their clubs lethargically, slowly aiming and dodging blows. Powhatan smiled at little Towaye, who, after having ‘killed’ two Monacan braves, attacked another brave, much larger than himself. Despite his speed and courage, however, the Monacan flung him down and ‘killed’ him. Powhatan pointed the big man out to Capahosic, the Monacan weroance sitting beside him, wanting to know what he was called.
“Look!” interrupted the weroance, Kiskiak, standing to point in the distance.
Powhatan followed his withered finger and saw a group of men running along the edge of the square ground. The son that Powhatan had made with his third wife, White Flower, who they had named Pochins, and whom he had installed as weroance of Secotan, ran alongside Kiptopeke, another of his sons, and the weroance of Occohannock.
Powhatan signaled the braves to stop their fighting. As the men slowly reformed into two weary groups, Pochins and the others ran up.
Pochins bowed slightly. “Honorable Mamanatowick!” he said breathlessly, “I have news.”
Powhatan nodded almost imperceptibly and Pochins went on.
“We have fought a battle with the English boat people at Tandowommuc, near the river.”
Powhatan frowned. “Surely you are not taking it upon yourself to launch a war on the English, are you?”
Pochins face c
ontorted with fear. “No, Mamanatowick. The English attacked the village of Occohannock earlier and we helped them drive them off.”
Powhatan looked at Kiptopeke and the weroance nodded in agreement. “They snuck upon us before daybreak, but the dogs warned us. I thought they might come to steal our corn and I was right! They went straight for our storehouse, but I had already removed the corn.”
Pochins spoke excitedly. “We joined forces and attacked them while they were digging up the ground looking for wasadore.”
Both Pochins and Kiptopeke smiled at the ignorance of the English. Everyone knew there was no wasadore to be found in their lands. The English could dig all they wanted and would get only tired backs and blisters for their efforts.
“How many men did you lose to their thundersticks?” said Powhatan.
Pochins shook his head in wonder. “Only three. The thunder sticks only spoke seven times and were quiet after that. Then the English fled in their little wind canoe.”
Powhatan signaled the warriors on the field to disperse. He looked at the weroances before him. “Go to my longhouse and await me there. Later you will tell me more about your encounter with the English.”
As the men walked off, Powhatan signaled Wanchese. The brave quickly trotted over, evidently unfazed by the rigors of the mock war.
“You will go back to Roanoke immediately. Harass the English more frequently and count the number of times their thundersticks bellow. But do not allow yourself to be drawn into a fixed battle. I will decide if and when it is time to rub them out. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mamanatowick.” Wanchese turned to Towaye. “Find the others. We will leave at once.”
