“He is not?” Livia asked, smiling at her niece. “He is no longer my partner, when we have been hand in glove for years? You know this? When we have committed every sin we chose and every crime that made a profit? For years? And you have had two weeks in Venice and you are now an authority?”
“Yes, I am,” Sarah said, ignoring the sarcasm. “I’m going to sell the antiquities. Not him, and not you. He is not your partner, he was not your fiancé; he never was.”
For the first time, Livia lost her smiling calm. Shocked, she looked from Felipe to Sarah. “What is this folly? Does the child have a fever that she thinks she can speak to me like this? Does she think she can claim my antiquities? Does she think she can claim you?”
Felipe did not even hear Livia’s outrage. The handsome Italian turned to the English girl. “I am not her fiancé? You have decided this, Miss Jolie? On your own account?”
“Yes,” she said bluntly to him. “She’s married another man, she’s given up her child. She runs everything as if she is a woman of the world and knows how it turns; but in truth she knows nothing. She knows about money but not about value. She knows everything about profit and nothing about love. I saved Rob from her. My ma has saved Matteo from her. And now I’m saving you.”
Felipe laughed out loud and caught both her hands. “Ah! Bathsheba!” he exclaimed. “Jolie! I knew you would not fail me! You have decided? You have finally decided in my favor though I am so very, very unsuitable and neither the uncle nor the grandmother will ever approve of me? And the mother will know I am not good enough for you—and she is right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m saving you.”
FEBRUARY 1671, HADLEY, NEW ENGLAND
Ned was preparing his toboggan for travel, tying new buckskin leads to the wickerwork frame, fitting the harness over his oilskin winter cape, his essential foods packed at the back of the sledge, his warm clothes in the middle where the waxed leather cloth would keep them dry, and his tools and gun at the front where he could easily reach them. His cow and sheep he had pushed and driven and urged to his nearest neighbor, breaking them a path through the snow, telling the neighbors that the roof of his stable had collapsed under the weight of snow and asking them to house the animals. He had produced hens from under his arms and asked them to keep them warm. He could not bring himself to tell them the truth, he was not even sure of the truth himself.
He wanted to leave before the thaw, before the white world turned dirty brown, before the muster, so that his name was never called and there was no answer. He felt dishonored—an old comrade who was no longer guarding the north gate. He felt faithless—a traitor to his people; he felt loveless—a man who could not court a woman and take her where she wanted to be. But he knew he could not bring himself to serve in another army, especially one that would march with guns against people with bows and arrows.
He wanted to leave without saying good-bye to his friends, the men he had hidden and guarded and served for so long. He wanted to leave before the Council summoned the Indian king to stand before them at Plymouth and the Indians all around the Dawnland rose up in their righteous anger and their pride to defend him. He wanted to leave without saying good-bye to the men he had guarded for years. He could not bear to face them and tell them that, though he would have laid down his life to protect them when they were persecuted by a tyrant, he could not support them when they turned tyrant themselves.
He wanted to leave before the thaw so he could go by sledge on snow and across lakes, and on frozen ground. He was going north, away from the settlers into the forest, which had always frightened him, hoping to find empty lands, unclaimed unused lands, where he could live without choosing sides, where he could be himself: neither master nor man. Ned thought that it was as painful to leave the little village where he had made a home and the men he had promised to guard, as it had been to leave England. But in some ways, it was the same questions—the unanswered questions that had haunted him, for all of his life: what side was he on, what man must he obey, what did he want to protect?
The sledge was ready, he shut the door of his house with pointless care, he whistled to Red, who came to his side at once, bounding through the deep snow. Ned leaned forward, took the weight of the toboggan and stepped forward on his snowshoes, finding the sledge slid easily behind him, and Quiet Squirrel’s snowshoes made shallow tracks. He turned east, going alongside the river past the gate at the end of the common lane of Hadley, unrecognizable in drifted snow, and then into the trees of the pine plain of Hadley forest, and then beyond the settlers’ stone marker post, bearing the initials of the friend he would never see again, into the forest of the new lands.
He walked for an hour, following the river as it curved to the north, his eyes dazzled by the sunshine on the snow. There was a frozen lake to his right and Ned, glancing up from the way before him, checked as he saw a figure through the haze of snow which was making the whole world into a blinding mist.
It was the silhouette of a man, crouched on the ice, a cape thrown up over his head so that he could look down into the icy water below. His left arm moved slightly, as he jiggled the little decoy fish, dancing it in the water so that the big fish that dozed on the bottom of the icy water would come up, the other hand holding the spear, ready to stab the hidden fish in the dark waters below. The figure was so clear that Ned bit back a shout of greeting, and started to undo the harness to the toboggan so that he could approach Wussausmon quietly. As his cold fingers fumbled with the bindings he knew that he was deeply glad to say good-bye, glad that they would have one moment together before their ways went forever apart. He loosed himself from his burden and stepped towards the lake, as he thought that only to Wussausmon could he explain why he was going. The only man in this new world who would understand the division of loyalty that was pulling him north, into unknown country, and away from both his own people, and the strange people that he had come to love.
He got himself free of the harness and stepped onto the frozen lake and then hesitated. Now he looked again, there was no one there. There was nothing in the blank whiteness, no figure bulky in furs bending over the hole, no fishing bag laid on the ice, no spear, no freshly dug ice hole filling with black water—nothing, there was no one there but the unbroken ice of the lake and the whirling drifting whiteness of the snow.
“Wussausmon?” Ned whispered. “John?”
There was no answer. There was no figure bending over a hole in the ice. The long level whiteness of the pond stretched forever, there was no one there. There had never been anyone there.
A cold wind, whispering up the river valley, reminded Ned that he had to make ground away from Hadley before he set a camp for the night, and that there was no time to linger here, looking for ghosts. He thought that his mother and his sister would tell him that this was the sight, and that he had said good-bye to Wussausmon for the last time, as the man waited for his fish, poised with his spear in his hand, most truly himself in his furs, on the ice, hunting as his people had done for hundreds of years, listening as he always did for the sounds beneath the wind, watching as he always did for the movement in the dark water below him.
Ned retied his harness, looking down at his dog. “You didn’t see him, did you, Red?” he confirmed. The dog wagged his tail, stood to leave.
“Good-bye then,” Ned said uncertainly into the wind, and took the weight of the toboggan for the first pull, as it shifted from the snow and then glided behind him. He walked slowly and steadily, turning north, tracing the course of the frozen river, the setting sun coldly bright on his left cheek, following a native path that was somewhere under the snow, the story holes hidden but still there, leading him one step before another, with a bleak determination, as if the only way to be a free man is to walk, one step before another without stealing, without lying, without leaving anything more than footprints which were quickly blown away in the snow.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
John Sassamon/Wussausmon’s frozen b
ody was found in Assawomp-set Pond beside an ice-fishing hole, the day after warning the Plymouth authorities that his leader, Massasoit Po Metacom, was preparing to make war against the settlers. Without any conclusive evidence of murder, the Plymouth Council tried, found guilty, and executed three Pokanoket men for his murder. It was claimed that they were assassins: punishing Wussausmon for treachery—though this would not have been Pokanoket law or tradition. In response to the execution of his men without his consent, and enacting his earlier war plan, Massasoit Po Metacom launched a defense of his lands that would cost the lives of thousands of settlers and American Indians, and take the New England colonies to the brink of destruction. His defeat and death were part of a campaign to eliminate his nation forever, even banning the Pokanoket name. The persecution of all American Indian people, the obliteration of their history and culture, and the theft of their goods and lands continue to this day.
The sections of the novel set in New England are based on historical research, and while Ned is a fictional character, as is Mrs. Rose, the other people in the tragic story of one race colliding with another were real. The regicides, Edward Whalley and William Goffe, escaped the revenge of the restored King Charles II to hide out in New England until their deaths. Most of the time they were at Hadley, at the home of the minister John Russell. There is a traditional story that William Goffe appeared when the town was attacked by American Indians and mustered the troops for defense: the so-called Angel of Hadley.
I am deeply grateful to the historians at Historic Deerfield, who were so generous with their time: Anne Lanning, Barbara Mathews, Claire Carlson, Phil Zea, James Golden, and Ned Lazaro. Their conversation and their notes have been invaluable. I owe Professor Peter Thomas particular gratitude for his interest and guidance and the privilege of a long correspondence about the detail of early life in Hadley.
During my time in New England, I also had the pleasure of visiting the wonderful Mashantucket Pequot Museum and was very grateful to Joe Baker for his welcome, and Kimberly Hatcher-White, Nakai Northup, and Matt Pina for their time and expertise at the best American Indian museum I have ever visited.
I was honored with an invitation to Montaup (Mount Hope) to meet the current Sagamore of the Pokanoket Nation: Po Wauipi Neimpaug, William Winds of Thunder Guy; the Sachem of the Tribe: Po Pummukaonk Anogqs Tracey Dancing Star Brown; First Council Person: Quogqueii Qunnegk Deborah Running Deer Afdasta; and two of the Tribe’s Pinese: Po Kehteihtukqut Woweaushin William Winding River Brown and Po Popon Quanunon Ryan Winter Hawk Brown. I was deeply moved by their knowledge of and passion for their history and their willingness to share it with me.
I am very thankful for the help given to me during research for the Venice sections of the novel by Roberta Curiel and Sara Cossiga, who patiently took me all around a flooded Venice, and even to the extraordinary Lazzaretto Nuovo, where the curator was kind enough to admit me. I am also very grateful to Silvia Cardini for her knowledge of and enthusiasm for Florence, and especially to Clara Marinelli, for welcoming me into her family’s foundry and marble workshops. To see marble carved in the old way and in the new was an unforgettable experience. Franco Pagliaga was kind enough to meet me and talk about his work on forged paintings.
My friends and fellow historians Malcolm Gaskill and Stella Tillyard were kind enough to read the manuscript and advise. I owe a debt of gratitude to them and to Zahra Glibbery and Victoria Atkins for their support through research, travel, writing, and the pursuit of accuracy.
Writing this book has been a moving experience at a time when our modern life has sometimes seemed as anxious and uncertain as the lives I am describing. The present seems to echo the past to tell us that we will only survive if we live tolerantly and generously with one another, treating nature with respect and welcoming strangers as did the Pokanoket, imagining a better world like Ned and the Mayflower generation.
Philippa Gregory,
2020
Dark Tides
Philippa Gregory
This reader’s guide for Dark Tides includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club, and a Q&A with author Philippa Gregory. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.
Introduction
In Dark Tides, two unexpected visitors arrive at a shabby warehouse on the south side of the River Thames on Midsummer Eve, 1670. The first is a wealthy nobleman seeking the lover he deserted twenty-one years earlier. Now James Avery has everything to offer: a fortune, a title, and the favor of the newly restored King Charles II. He believes that the warehouse’s poor owner, Alinor, has the one thing he cannot buy—his son and heir.
The second visitor is a beautiful young widow from Venice in deepest mourning. She claims Alinor as her mother-in-law and has come to tell Alinor that her son, Rob, has drowned in the dark tides of the Venice lagoon.
Alinor’s brother, Ned, in faraway New England is making a life for himself in the narrowing space between the worlds of the English newcomers and the American Indians as they move towards inevitable war. Alinor writes that she knows—without doubt—that her son is alive and the widow is an imposter. But how can she prove it?
Topics & Questions for Discussion
The novel begins with a letter from Alinor, the protagonist of Tidelands, to her brother Ned, with news that her son, Rob, has reportedly drowned in Venice. She does not believe this can be true. How does this letter set up what is to come? What role do letters and communications play throughout the novel?
Ned tells a selectman that he didn’t come to the New World “‘to be a king looking down on subjects, forcing my ways on them in blood. I came here to live at peace, with my neighbors. All my neighbors: English and Indian.’” How does Ned abide by this intention, especially as tensions mount between the settlers and Native Americans in New England? How does his previous support for Cromwell and the republicans affect his life during this period?
When Alinor is presented with Matteo as a replacement for Rob, she tells Livia, “‘I don’t think that one child can take the place of another. Nor would I wish it.’” Consider this in terms of all the characters and children in the novel. Can any of these characters or children stand in for one another? How does this affect Matteo’s fate at the end of the novel?
Alinor, Alys, and Livia form an unusual trio of women, all women living without the protection of a man, all operating in a man’s world. How does each woman respond to the challenges of the patriarchal society in which she lives?
Alys explains to Livia that the Reekie family was “always on the edge, between poverty and surviving, between friends and enemies, in the tidelands between water and fields. We were on the edge of everything. At least here we are in a world with a firm footing. At least Uncle Ned is making a new life in a new land as he wants.” How do the characters exist in the space between land and sea? By the end of the novel, how do you think the family’s position has changed?
When James asks if Livia is willing to give up her ideals in order to get ahead, she replies, “‘If it was exiled: let it return. If it burns down: rebuild it. If it was robbed: restore it. If it is free—let us take it.’” How does this reflect Livia’s point of view? Has she lived by this edict?
Alinor believes that Sarah shares her gift of sight. She explains that “‘For some people, this world is not quite . . . watertight. The other world comes in . . . sometimes we can reach out to it. It’s like Foulmire—sometimes it’s land and sometimes it’s water. Sometimes I know this world, sometimes I glimpse the other. Don’t you?’” How does Alinor’s sight affect her perception of the world around her? Do you believe that Sarah has her gift?
Livia tells Alys, “‘I am a beautiful liar, if you like. I am all twists and turns and misdirection. You cannot trust me. I recommend that you do not trust me. I am not actually evil;
but I am not straightforward. I am not simple.’” Livia tells Alys exactly who she is. Why does Alys refuse to believe her? How do the other characters react to Livia’s treatment of Alys?
Mrs. Rose feels trapped by her circumstances, having come to the New World for the “‘same reason as everyone. . . . I came in the first place as I had hopes of a better life. God called me and my master ordered me. I didn’t know it would be like this. I hoped for better, I still hope. And I don’t have the money for my passage back home anyway.’” Do others in this novel feel hemmed in by their lack of opportunity as they search for better lives?
Alys rebukes her mother, stating, “You were a fool once for love! Are you going to be a fool for spite?” How do characters act as fools for love in this novel? Does anyone become a fool for spite?
When Sarah arrives in Venice, Signor Russo tells her that “‘Everyone here is either a spy or a villain. Or both.’” Does Sarah find this to be true in Venice? Do you believe that Signor Russo is a villain? Do you believe that the Reekies are heroes, as Sarah later suggests? Or does the complexity of these characters exist outside of the concept of heroes and villains?
Wussausmon, Ned’s friend and advisor to the Massasoit Po Metacom, says, “‘I pass like a spirit from one world into another, I tell of what I have seen. But then I go back and speak of where I have been. . . . And every day I fear that I am not translating one to another; but just making the misunderstanding worse. I am trying to bring these two worlds together but all they do is grind against each other. They don’t trust each other, nobody wants to hear what I say, and they both believe I am a liar and a spy.’” How do all of these characters live between worlds? Between the lives they have and the lives they aspire to? Between who they are and who they could be?
Signor Russo instructs Sarah that “‘Every profit comes at someone’s cost.’” What are the costs in this novel? Who do you think pays the greatest cost? Why?
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