by Paul Clayton
“Aye,” said Ananias. He looked at Parson Lambert. “You said that there were a few soldiers sympathetic to our cause.”
Lambert blinked his soft eyes. “Aye. Rogers despises the captain for hanging Paulina. And he and his mates have not forgotten the flogging they got.”
“Then why are they not here with us planning an escape?” said Robert.
Lambert stared at the dagger. “Nay, they are too afeard for their lives.” He shook his head. “But this talk of killing is not the answer. We must pray for guidance.” He bowed his head. “Almighty God, who has created us in Thine own image…”
“Enough praying,” said Robert, getting to his feet. He faced Lambert. “I will pray no more. There is no Moses, no Deliverer… We must save ourselves!”
Lambert’s face went blank, like a sail suddenly slack for lack of wind. “Surely you do not mean that, Robert?”
“Aye, I do.”
Lambert and Ananias looked at Robert in shock. Lambert went on, “Robert, unless we want to end up like those lost souls in the big house we must continue to pray to God.”
Our Father, who art in Heaven. . .”
Ananias joined in the prayer.
Robert was red-faced as he watched both men conclude their prayer with an, “Amen.” “Somehow,” he said, “I will get my Margary and John out of here. I know not how yet. But I shall. I have already asked Lionel and his wife to come with me and they have agreed. And Mister Slade and his wife have agreed also, as has Widow Bane and her serving man, Smith. I will give you a fortnight to think about it.”
Robert went out into the night.
Later that evening, Maggie sat up in the hot humid darkness of the loft. Her thoughts constantly assailed her, allowing her no sleep. She decided to pace in the cool darkness of the garden. When she came down the stairs, Masters Lambert and Dare were still sitting at the table, staring at the dagger in silence. She went to the door.
“Maggie?” Eleanor called down to her. “Where are you going?”
“To the garden.”
Eleanor started to protest but Maggie ignored her and went out.
The night was quiet, the soldiers having all gone back to their gathering place behind the big house. Overhead, a rich jewel-like patch of stars was visible through a hole in an otherwise cloudy sky. The sight of God’s work was almost enough to make Maggie want to pray, but despair weighed too heavily upon her. After all, God seemed no longer to care about her or the others. Why? She leaned against the timbers and cried.
“Cry not,” said a voice. She looked around the dark in fear, having heard no one approach.
“Maggie!” The voice whispered her name hoarsely. She recognized it as Manteo’s voice. He was on the other side of the timber wall. She pressed her face to the timbers.
“Take heart, Maggie,” he said. “Soon I take you away.”
“Take me tonight,” she said. “I can not wait.”
“Maggie, what has happened?”
She sobbed quietly, her head pressing closer to the timber. “The captain… he…” Pale light suddenly illuminated Maggie as someone opened the door to the cottage.
“Soon I come,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear and then he was gone.
Every day Maggie stayed in bed until she heard Ananias shuffle tiredly off to make bricks. Although only Eleanor had witnessed Maggie’s humiliation at the hands of Stafford, Eleanor had obviously shared the tale with others, and when they would stop by the cottage, Maggie could not look at them.
She became loath to show her face during the day. Master and Mistress Dare did not require her to go outside, but she would have refused if they had. Despite the heat, she spent her days in the cottage, vaguely aware of little Virginia playing at her feet. Eleanor did more of the work and sometimes Maggie forgot she was there until Eleanor would lay a hand upon her shoulder to try and comfort her. The men came and went. And the dagger remained stuck in the plank table. No one removed it and it was a humiliating reminder of the deep, bowel-churning fear they all felt for the man who had come to rule them so completely.
Every day Parson Lambert came to visit with Maggie. Always he would steal a nervous look at the dagger stuck in the table. They would pray and then he would sit quietly with her. One day he said, “Maggie, Eleanor told me what happened, and…” She turned away from him and began crying. He prayed over her and left without a further word. Twice more he came to pray with her but she would not talk to him and his visits stopped.
When dusk fell, Maggie would perform her outside chores of bringing in firewood and water, staying well away from Stafford’s men, who were always hanging about, sometimes besotted with spirits. At night she would stay in the garden alone. But Manteo never returned to talk to her. She imagined him hurt, or worse, and she sank even further into despair. She took to her bed long after the others had. Her dreams were frightful, horrid affairs, full of shouting and menace and she would awaken in the mornings feeling worse for them. Gradually, what the captain had done to her filled her with a great shame and she began avoiding the looking glass in the cottage. The shame grew and grew until it changed, taking the form of a vow. Slowly a plan formed in her mind, like the skin on a cooling pot of boiled milk. She was loath to do it but there was no other way. A dark, fateful resolve filled her.
***
In the flickering light of the pine knot torch, Lambert stared at the pale whiteness of his wife’s face. She had her arms wrapped tightly around William and was rocking him so roughly that the boy was frightened. Lambert felt revulsion at his own impotence. He remembered Harvey’s refusal to pray and anger welled in him. He could not help his wife nor could he help anyone else. He wanted to strike Mary to get her to listen, to strike the boy to stop his crying. His violent thoughts frightened him. “Where is your faith, Goodwife” he said soothingly. “Without faith all is lost!”
“Faith?” Mary shrieked. “Faith?” Then she laughed with a sound that sent a chill through him. He had a vision of her wandering about in the night upon a cliff with William in her arms. Below, waves pounded a rocky shore. If he went to her she might lose her footing, or worse, jump. She seemed beyond his help. Had he already lost her? He knew he must back away for now.
He went out into the hot night. The soldiers slept heavily after their noisy boosey debauch. He saw only two of them silhouetted against the moonlit sky on the south wall as he walked toward the Dares’ cottage. He wondered if Ananias was awake. He remembered him sitting at his table, the dagger before him. Poor soul! Eleanor must have been fevered when she’d suggested that they use the dagger. What an ungodly thing to do. “But,” a little voice taunted him, “had not God deserted them, just as Raleigh, Queen and country had?” That was what many of his flock thought. He would not believe it. God in Heaven! What sins could they have possibly committed that would warrant this punishment in this awful place? As he thought these things there was another thought which he did not want to let in. But finally he could deny it no longer. Neither Harvey nor Ananias could pick up that dagger and do what must be done. If either of them requested an audience with Stafford they would be immediately suspect. They would be searched, the dagger found, and they would swing from the gallows in the same evening’s breeze. Only he could get close enough to the tyrant to do this thing. Only he would never be suspect. But, he realized he could never do this thing. Every part of him would rebel. He decided to take the dagger and hide it away. Such a puny thing could never bring down Stafford. And it was a call to violence, to murder. He turned his feet in the direction of the Dare cottage.
As Parson Lambert crossed the common, he thought he saw a small figure ahead. It was there and then it was not. A ghost? There were those who swore they saw the ghosts of the dead children about on the common at night. Perhaps it was one of the soldiers stumbling about drunkenly? More likely he was simply seeing things that were not there.
Lambert entered the Dares’ gate and went to the door. Would they be awake? He swallowed hard as he
pushed the door open. The fire flickered anemically, casting barely enough light to see. They were all asleep upstairs. He could not believe what he was doing. What if they awoke? Never mind, he told himself. Just take it and be gone. He ran his fingers about on the table, searching for the dagger.
Maggie’s thin, white nightgown moved in an anemic breeze as she walked across the common. Her white form seemed to float past the graves and shadows. She came to the big house and entered. Disorientation washed over her, eating away at her resolve. The big house resembled more a cave than the grand dwelling and sometime house of worship it had once been. Planks from the floor had been ripped up and everywhere the small fires of the soldiers smoldered evilly. But even the pall of wood smoke could not overwhelm the rank smell of the place, like the lair of a pack of beasts. She realized with a shock that she hadn’t been in the building for over a year.
The place was deathly quiet but for the occasional snore of a man or the pop of a knot in the fires. She felt as if she had stepped out of her body and was now watching herself. Men slept everywhere and she worried she’d step on one of them as she walked slowly toward the old Governor’s quarters in the rear. Her heart began pounding expectantly and she prayed he’d be alone. She heard voices and her strength began to leave her. She fought against the temptation to turn round and go back out. She pushed open the door to the small anteroom. Captain Stafford and one of his Lieutenants sat before the hearth. They got to their feet when they saw her. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord and she entered. A look came over Stafford’s face that sickened her. He turned to his lieutenant.
“Get out.”
The man quickly left the room.
Stafford smiled. “I knew yeh would come.”
“Yes,” she heard herself saying. He was nearly naked, but for his kirtle. In the dim firelight the strange, black tattooed figures seemed to crawl about on his skin He went to the door and her heart pounded. What had she done? Could she really do this? As he slowly closed the door she studied his broad back, watching the bones and muscles ripple beneath his skin.
In the darkness of the cottage, Lambert brought his head closer to search the table. Where was the dagger? Several pewter plates and spoons were scattered about. He quickly felt beneath the platters. Was it gone? He continued to search, knocking a platter clattering to the floor.
A sleep-drugged voice called down. “Maggie?”
“‘Tis I,” he said, “Master Lambert. Where is the dagger?”
Timbers creaked overhead. He heard worried muttering. Ananias and Eleanor Dare came tiredly down the stairs.
Ananias scratched his head. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I am sorry,” said Lambert, “I was going to take the dagger. I…”
“Where is Maggie?” said Eleanor, interrupting him. “I thought she was down here?”
Parson Lambert shook his head. “Where is the dagger?”
Eleanor put her hand to her mouth in horrified realization. “Ananias! You must stop her.”
“Do you think she would?” Ananias said.
“God have mercy!” said Lambert. They hurried outside. Wordlessly they ran toward the big house. They heard shouting when they passed the gaol. As they came in sight of the big house, it erupted with activity, like a beehive struck by a rock thrown by mischievous boys. Several soldiers came running outside to look around angrily. Ananias and Parson Lambert hurried forward as a soldier exited the big house carrying a torch. Stafford exited next, followed by two soldiers dragging Maggie’s unconscious form. Stafford’s back was covered with blood and his left arm seemed damaged, hanging limply at his side. Parson Lambert immediately went over to Maggie only to be pushed roughly aside.
“Get away, priest,” bellowed Stafford, “unless yeh want to lose yer head.”
Ananias pulled Parson Lambert back.
“She is dead!” said Parson Lambert. “I must be allowed to pray over her.”
“She is not dead,” said Stafford, “but she will be in a fortnight when we put a rope around her neck and haul her up. I myself will have the pleasure as soon as I am healed and able.” He turned to one of the soldiers. “Damn it, man. Get a bandage on my back.”
Stafford pushed Ananias and Parson Lambert aside as he led the way to the gaol. Ananias and Parson Lambert followed the angry soldiers from a distance, watching helplessly as they dragged Maggie inside the gaol.
Later, when they went back to the cottage, Eleanor met them at the gate. “Where is she?”
“In the gaol,” said Ananias, shaking his head.
“God in Heaven!” said Eleanor, her hand going to her mouth.
“We were too late,” said Lambert. “She has stabbed the captain in the back. It appears to be a minor wound.”
“God a mercy!” Eleanor turned and ran back inside the cottage.
Parson Lambert left and Ananias squatted down against the timbers of the palisade. He did not want to go back in the cottage and listen to Eleanor’s crying. There was little comfort he could offer anymore.
Ananias thought he heard someone calling softly for Maggie. He looked to the cottage door, thinking Eleanor had come out. But the door was closed. The voice came again, much closer. It seemed to be coming through the timbers.
“Maggie!” it whispered urgently.
With a shock Ananias realized that someone was on the other side of the palisade wall. He recognized the voice. “Manteo,” he said softly, “where have you been?”
“At Croatoan, Master Dare! Is Maggie well?”
“Not well, Manteo,” said Ananias, “she is in the gaol.”
“The gaol! What happen?”
“Much, I am afraid,” said Ananias. “Put your ear close and I shall tell you all of it.”
When Ananias finished, Manteo whispered boldly, “Master Dare, my people and I will take you all away. Three nights’ time. Let hanging ladder down when night is blackest and I will come up. Tell all to get ready.”
Ananias did not know how they could possibly get Maggie out from the gaol. He leaned close to the timbers to explain. “Manteo…”
There was no answer. He had gone.
***
Despite the shade of the trees, the air was terribly hot as sunlight bore down through gaps in the leaves like bright, shining pillars. Thomas Shande led the other two soldiers through the island’s thick forest. Dust rose from the dry earth and burned the men’s nostrils as the deadfall crackled beneath their feet. Thomas now sported a little tuft of beard on his chin like that of a he-goat and, like the others, wore a skin kirtle and many tattoos. His rusting comb helmet weighed heavily upon his head, but he wore it always now, it having saved him from savages’ arrows on two occasions. The helmet and his sword were the only pieces of English gear he had left. Many other soldiers had gotten sick and died, but Thomas’s youth had helped him weather their hard lot here and he had grown tall and strong, although thin, a green weed in a barren patch of earth.
“Hold up!”
Thomas stopped and turned. Barnes, the older of the two men behind him, glared at him angrily.
“We been trompin’ all over the island for naught, I tell yeh. I need a rest.”
Thomas scowled as he thought what to do. The night before, one of the men guarding the shallop claimed to have seen a light on this side of the island. Captain Stafford had put Thomas in charge of a patrol to investigate and he was determined to find something and prove his worth. Damned if he would let this lazy old fool stop him.
“Very well,” said Thomas. “If yeh must rest, then give me yer crossbow and I will go forward to have a look.”
Barnes sullenly handed over the weapon. The other soldier, Ashton, set his musket upon its firing stand.
Leaving the other men behind, Thomas held the crossbow at the ready and crept forward. He walked a spell and soon spied the blue of the sound through the trees. He moved stealthily through the bushes, working his way closer to the beach. He peered out and his breath left
him. A savage dugout sat high on the sand of the beach. Two savages stood near it, waiting. Thomas was about to go back for the others when he heard voices nearby. He crept closer.
In a little clearing, two savages talked softly. Thomas recognized one of them as Manteo. This sight of him plotting with others of his kind confirmed everything Thomas had always suspected. Captain Stafford would think much of Thomas if he could bring both of these trophies back. But that would be an impossible task by himself. He silently cursed Barnes and the other soldier. He could probably get close enough to put a bolt through one of the savages, but the other would undoubtedly run off. And if he went back for Barnes and his mate, the savages might be gone before they returned. He decided to watch them a while longer. He crept closer.
Thomas frowned as his ears picked up the savages’ voices. From their tone he could tell they were planning something, but what? A branch snapped behind him. Barnes? The brush erupted with shrieks and howls as several savages rushed at Thomas. Backing up, his foot caught on a root. He fired the bolt as he fell backward and it went high, missing its mark. He pulled his sword and parried a savage’s club. He looked around with astonishment as the savages also attacked Manteo and his companion. Manteo’s companion escaped, but Manteo was knocked to the ground and was immediately straddled by two savages. A third quickly tied his hands behind him. The savage Thomas was fighting with made ready to rush him again. Thomas raised his sword when something rock-hard crashed down on his head.
Cool air washed over Thomas as he rocked gently back and forth. Cold water periodically splashed over him. He opened his eyes to find his hands bound painfully behind him. He lay on his side in a savage dugout. He sat up. Two savages stood forward, and two in the rear, paddling the dugout quickly toward the main. Another dugout canoe kept pace with them off their starboard. The big savage named Wanchese, who had killed Wapping and Payne, sat in the very forward part of the canoe, wearing Thomas’s own comb helmet. Thomas turned round to see Manteo sitting behind him, his hands also bound. The canoe jerked rhythmically as the savages dug their paddles deep into the water. Manteo’s brown eyes were without malice as he looked at Thomas. “Pamunkey people,” he said, indicating the other savages with a nod, “Powhatan people. Very bad.”
