by Mike Rhynard
Myllet said, “Should help, Sir, as long as we’re not vastly outnumbered.” He nodded repeatedly. “Another advantage to it is that we can make new arrows from now until Christ’s second coming, but we can only make shot until the lead runs out.”
Smith Smiled. “What ho! Prithee listen to the brilliant ideas flowing from that ancient head.”
Waters snickered. “Agreed. So let us effect this change immediately.” Waters again paused, looked intently at each man. “I have a question for you. If you were the Powhatans, and you hated us and wanted to be rid of us, what would your strategy be?”
The three grinned slyly at one another. Myllet spoke. “Well, Sir, happens that the three of us discussed that very question after Lassie’s burial, and we agreed the Powhatans have seen enough Englishmen come to know we intend to keep coming. So we think they plan to annihilate each group that comes; and we think what they did to Lassie was but the beginning— meant to scare us half to death, which it did. And we think they’ll attempt to do more of the same, which means no single person, or even small group, is safe. We must always do what we’re planning to do: have larger groups defended by enough firepower to deter attack. By the bye, several woodcutters and hunters have reported seeing what they thought were Savages watching them, though they weren’t certain, saw only fleeting, ghostlike shadows in the brush. Precisely what one would expect from these Savages.”
Waters nodded. “But at some point, if they mean to annihilate us, they’ll have to attack in force; and to that point, the Chesapeakes say the Powhatans have many alliances which provide them more than enough warriors to handily do so. Therefore, a massed attack is my greatest concern; for in our current circumstances, I know not how we could withstand it.” He fashioned a painted-on smile. “Any ideas?”
Myllet said, “We’re of like mind, Sir; we discussed this as well.” He paused, took a breath. “This resembles our situation in Holland, where we faced a greatly superior Spanish force. There we relied on deception to make the enemy believe we had far more men than we did. And it actually worked . . . for a while. We built extra campfires at night and conducted extra drills in plain sight during the day, but they eventually realized it was a ruse and attacked. Fortunately, our reinforcements arrived the second day of the battle, and we eventually won the field. And the delay in their attack, caused by our deception, was what saved our arses. But there were many frightening, uncertain moments along the way. So to your question, we think such a deception is, for now, our only hope against the Powhatans; but that brings us back to our fundamental weakness: too few men— soldiers and civilians. For if we’re to create this illusion, we’ll need to show the Powhatans more woodcutters cutting wood for more fires, more hunters, fisherman, and guards out doing their jobs in plain sight far more often.” He wrinkled his brow. “And unfortunately, there’s a further weakness: methinks Powhatans are better, smarter scouts than arrogant Spaniards are and won’t be so easily deceived. Why, I’d even wager they already know our true strength, or lack of it.”
Waters nodded with a frown. “Indeed, they may, Michael. A grim picture, painfully grim.” He sighed, looked at the ground for a moment. “Still, we must hold on until Governor White returns, and that means resumption of palisades construction as soon as spring arrives. Then with more men and a fort around us, we’ll perchance be able to not only deter a large attack but also repel one and possibly, just possibly, win the fight. Let us all think on this for a few days then talk again to see where we are. Said another way”—his eyes sparkled as he broke a sarcastic smile—“ it remains for our fertile military minds to conceive a way out of the impossibly deep hole we’re in, eh?” As he looked at each of them, he thought for a misplaced moment of his parents in England, then of Rebecca Roberts, who he prayed still waited patiently, lovingly for him. He saw her smiling at him, wondered if his eyes would ever behold her again, then wondered how quickly the Powhatans would grow bolder, attack larger groups.
Myllet pointed at Gibbes and Smith. “You two sluggards are overdue for a good idea. So get to work and save our skins.”
Waters laughed. “Well, at least our morale is high. Let us now—oh, on that subject, how are the men? What’s their morale? What do you see?” He looked at Myllet.
“A bit worse in the last ten days or so, same malcontents—Taverner, Dutton, Allen—but they seem a bit more open in their whining, mayhap finding a bit more sympathy with the others.”
“Hmm. Anything that requires immediate action?”
“Close, but not yet.” He pressed his lips together, tightened his gaze. “There is one thing.” He took a contemplative breath. “I’ve several times noticed Tayler, a few of his friends, and Taverner engaged in guarded conversations.” He looked at Gibbes and Smith. “Have you two seen anything?”
Smith nodded. “Aye, I have.”
“I, as well,” Gibbes said. “And they clammed up as soon as they saw me. Of course, Tayler always has his eyes on me for reasons you well know.”
Waters nodded, felt a chill creep slowly down the back of his neck like a light-footed caterpillar. “Useful information, Michael. May be something amiss. Watch them closely but subtly—Allen and Dutton, as well. If they’re hatching something, we must be onto it and gather good evidence to damn them. Understood?” His mind sprang instinctively back to the day John White had departed for England. Just before he’d stepped onto the boat, White had waded back ashore, summoned him and Roger Baylye to the shoreline; he’d huddled closely with them, told them that shortly before they’d sailed from England, he’d met with Raleigh. White had then lowered his voice to a breathy whisper, said that Raleigh suspected that his arch competitor, Sir Francis Walsingham, had secretly engaged someone to undermine the colony and abet its failure. Raleigh had not stated why or whom he suspected; but because of Walsingham’s forceful intervention when Hugh Tayler had been stricken from the ship’s manifest, White had believed Tayler to be Walsingham’s agent. So, Waters reasoned, perchance White was right, and perchance ’tis time for Baylye and me to reassess this suspicion. Then there’s the other matter Raleigh had mentioned to White, also involving Tayler—a sticky one, indeed, and so serious and damning that it had to wait for White’s return, hopefully with a warrant in hand and enough evidence to hang him. Waters considered disclosing both matters— one a suspicion, the other an apparent fact—to his sergeants but decided against it for the moment.
The three spoke in unison. “Aye, sir.”
Roger Baylye and Lieutenant Waters ceased their whispering when the other Assistants, absent Thomas Colman, filed into Baylye’s cottage. After the usual pre-meeting courtesies, Baylye said, “Gentlemen, let us begin.” He took a deep breath, looked at each man with somber eyes and downturned lips. “You all either saw or heard of the discovery of James Lassie’s remains this morning. So you know that what befell him was so gruesome it would have sickened King Henry’s Master of Persuasion, who’s better known as his Captain of Torture. What you may not know is that the arrows in Lassie’s skull were Powhatan arrows, so we know they perpetrated this poor man’s torture and death. This discovery, however, is far more significant than one man’s demise. ’Tis significant because it further signals the intention of these Savages to destroy us. And with that introduction, I’d like Lieutenant Waters to present his plan for our survival; and gentlemen, make no mistake, nothing less than our survival is at stake here. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you, Governor.” Waters presented the plan he and the sergeants had contrived, with the addendum that he’d already chosen four citizen augmentees. With seemingly clear understanding of the colony’s dire circumstances, the Assistants quickly approved the proposal.
Baylye said, “Very well, gentlemen. Understand that we cannot suffer any lapse in vigilance. We suddenly find ourselves in a most desperate situation.” He paused, drifted his gaze from man to man. “Another contributor to that desperation is our food supply. Now into winter, we’re reasonably well supplied from t
he bay, but we remain deficient in our meat supply. We must, therefore, weather permitting, increase the number of hunting parties until we acquire adequate venison for the remainder of winter. So, Roger Prat, realizing you’ll have to draw men from other tasks, I ask you to organize additional hunting parties with reliable leaders, to bring our deer harvest closer to what we need.”
“God’s teeth, Roger, I shall try but know ’twill be a daunting task; for we remain challenged by the large distance we must now travel to find game, much of it through unfriendly, dangerous territory. And that means we should probably be accompanied by even stronger guard contingents than what the lieutenant proposes.”
Waters said, “What Master Prat says is true, but to do as he suggests will require an even greater number of civilian augmentees and will further decrease the basic labor force, though we clearly must eat before we can work. I should also say that we’ll soon face a shortage of shot and powder and must take care to preserve enough of both to fight off a large frontal attack against the colony—perhaps more than one. So I suggest that, just as we plan to do with our armed escorts, we employ more longbows in the hunt. We can retrieve arrows that miss or strike, and make new arrows, but not so for lead and powder. Bows also offer the added benefit of silence, which should remedy the problem that constantly plagues us with matchlocks: scaring twenty deer away by shooting at one.”
Baylye said, “A fine point, Lieutenant. So, Roger, see what you can do. Any more thoughts on this subject . . . anyone?”
No one spoke. “Good. Now to the next subject.” Baylye cleared his throat, glanced furtively at Waters. “With great sorrow, I announce that Thomas Colman appears close to death. I know we shall all miss him, not only as a friend but also as a sound-thinking contributor to this council. Thus, we arrive yet again at the need to elect a new Assistant, and I now ask you for up to three nominations.”
Roger Prat raised his hand. “I nominate John Stilman, a man of fine character and judgment.”
Christopher Cooper said, “Second.”
Thomas Hewet raised his hand. “I nominate Brian Wyles.”
No one spoke.
Baylye said, “Is there a second?”
Cuthbert White said, “I’ll second.”
Baylye said, “ Stilman and Wyles, both good men. Is there a third?”
William Willes said, “I nominate Hugh Tayler.”
Thomas Stevens immediately seconded.
Baylye and Waters glanced at one another, then Baylye took a deep breath, looked at each man. “The Assistants shall now vote, treating Thomas Colman as an abstention, which gives us a total of eleven voters. I shall log each vote with a charred stick on this tablet of tree bark.” He scratched an S, a W, and a T on a piece of white birch bark, turned to John Brooke, who stood to his immediate left. “John, you’re first.”
“I vote for Stilman.”
After each Assistant had voted, the tally was three for Wyles, four for Stilman, and four for Tayler.
Baylye gave Waters another stoical look, studied the others, in turn, searched their eyes. “As you know, our procedures now call for a second vote, between Hugh Tayler and John Stilman. Since it appears we could have a close vote, ’twould be a good time for anyone with anything to say to do so.”
Waters raised his hand. “Sir, I should like to repeat the caution I gave when we last voted on Master Tayler to be an Assistant. I have unfavorable information about him, which unfortunately, I remain unable to disclose. I also have persuasions from two impeccable sources against Master Tayler’s character, persuasions that would cause any righteous man to vote nay. I apologize for my lack of presentable evidence, but I’m bound by duty at this time to say no more, so I ask that you place your faith in my judgment.
Willes and Stevens grumbled quietly, shook their heads.
Baylye said, “Do you gentleman wish to speak?”
Willes said, “Only to say that such unsupported allegations should not be permitted, and the lieutenant’s words should be disregarded.”
Baylye said, “Well, we shall leave that to the conscience of each man. Does anyone else wish to speak?” After a brief, uneasy silence, he said, “Then let us vote. I shall start to the right this time. He nodded at Christopher Cooper.
“I vote for Stilman.”
Roger Prat said, “ Stilman.”
Thomas Stevens said, “Tayler.”
With one vote remaining, the tally was five for Stilman and five for Tayler.
Baylye faced John Brooke for the deciding vote.
Waters’ mind danced on the edge of panic. No surprise with Willes, Stevens, and Sampson, but White and Bright? Good men who’d never vote for Tayler unless . . . unless bribed or threatened. He looked at the pair, adjudged both faces wallowing in guilt. We’ve trickery at play here.
John Brooke hesitated, looked at Baylye, who looked back with desperate, pleading eyes. “I vote for”—he then glanced at Willes, who glared threateningly at him—“ for Hugh Tayler.”
Willes, Sampson, and Stevens smiled, slapped each other on the shoulder while White, Bright, and Brooke stared at the floor, seemed afraid to look at Baylye or anyone else.
Willes said, “So Hugh Tayler it shall be.”
Baylye’s face was red, his lips pressed firmly together. He raised his hand. “Wait a moment. As governor, I retain the ultimate decision-making authority, and I . . . I will not have Hugh Tayler as an Assistant.”
Willes said, “But, Governor, a few weeks ago you promised you’d abide by the Assistants’ vote on grave matters. You used the election of future Assistants as an example of such matters. Did you not say this? Do you now go back on your word?”
Baylye paled, looked flatly at Willes then hopelessly at Waters. He swallowed hard, looked back to Willes, hesitated. “No, I shall not go back on my word. Hugh Tayler will be our new Assistant.”
The Panther stood to Wahunsunacock’s right, faced the council, and held up James Lassie’s scalp, which held Lassie’s pierced fingernails and toenails dangling like ornaments around its perimeter. “You watched this man die poorly—a screaming, begging coward unworthy of manhood, weaker than a young child of our people, unworthy of a warrior’s piss. I say to you that this is the nature of these people. They lack courage; they lack honor; they are soft, filthy; they do not know how to fight; but above all, they fear us. And because they fear us, we will defeat them—defeat them in a way that discourages all whites from coming to our land again.” Amid the council’s nods and words of agreement, the Panther’s mind drifted to Isna, imagined him bound to a tree and stripped as Lassie had been, women cutting his flesh with shells, his body burned with torches, his skin then stripped away, his guts spilled to the ground as he watched them fall, his limbs yanked from their sockets and burned on the fire before him, his eyes gouged out, and the head and torso roasted on the fire—all without screams of agony or fear, nothing but one piercing war cry. I know this man’s courage, he thought. I shall give him the death he deserves, a brave warrior’s death, and his courage will show all of the people that Kills-Like-the-Panther faces none but the greatest of enemies. And we will then honor this man’s courage with a dance. His mind drifted to his young wife; but as he began to mentally caress her now-large belly, Wahunsunacock spoke.
“And does Kills-Like-the-Panther still believe we should attack these people in small bites and reduce them to a size we can destroy in force?”
He met the chief’s gaze, nodded. “Yes, Great Leader.” He turned and looked into the eyes of each man before him. “We should capture and kill any other foolish ones who stray from protection, and at the same time, watch the movements and behavior of those who gather their water and wood, and those who hunt our deer and take our fish. They do not know how to defend themselves; for they rely on the big sticks that bark, which take too much time to ready for a shot. So at the right time, when they again become lazy in their vigilance, we shall ambush one of these groups by showing ourselves and tempting them to sh
oot at us. We will then hide ourselves while their stones fly through the air; and when they’ve passed, and while they put new stones in their sticks, we shall attack them with bows, shooting them in the legs, arms, and face if they wear their hard shirts. We will finish them with clubs, hatchets, and knives, capture the ones they seek to protect, and bring them here for their deaths.” He again drifted his eyes around the lodge, listened to the cries of assent. “But to make them fear us more, we will do this to a party of their women collecting water; and after we’ve killed their guards, we will bring them here to use for our pleasure and to produce our children, for as long as they remain alive. We will also place some of their clothes and light-colored hair outside the fort, so the whites will know we use their women. And this knowledge will fill them with anger toward us, but their anger will remain inside them and further demoralize them, for they know they cannot attack us.” He restrained a smile as the council voiced enthusiasm.
Wahunsunacock nodded, then raised his hands for silence. “And when would Kills-Like-the-Panther make such an attack?”
“Before the half-moon of the cycle just begun, Great Leader.”
The chief looked uncertain.
“I propose this because we are in the cold-air moons, and the white men will not expect an attack.”
Wahunsunacock nodded, stood, raised his hands. “It shall be so.”
The Panther nodded at the leader then turned and started to follow the others from the lodge. He had gone but a few steps when Wahunsunacock spoke his name. He stopped, looked back.
“Kills-Like-the-Panther, my trusted friend and advisor, I fear that more and more of these people will come to our land even as we kill them.” He held his gaze on the Panther, but his eyes showed his mind to be deep within his thoughts. After a few seconds, he blinked, refocused his eyes on the Panther, and sighed. “The prophecy says that a people from the land of the Chesapeakes will destroy us.”