by Mike Rhynard
Newton stepped over White, turned about, kicked him in the stomach.
White groaned, dropped his food, grabbed Newton’s foot with both hands, then twisted until Newton, a slight man, spun about to avoid disjointing his leg, dropped to his knees, and tried to kick free. “Let go of me, you son-of-a-whore!” He wiggled back closer to White, stood, and twisted toward him; whipping a dagger from his belt, he stabbed it into White’s shoulder, then into his back.
“Ahhhh!” White flattened onto his stomach.
His leg freed, Newton grabbed an axe from the log, lifted it overhead, started to swing it downward at White’s head, but stayed the blow when the bore of Waters’ pistol pressed harshly against his head.
“Drop it, Newton!”
Waters summoned three soldiers, who tied Newton’s hands behind his back while several of the loggers attended to Cuthbert White. The soldiers then placed a rope around Newton’s neck, led him like a donkey behind Waters to Roger Baylye’s cottage, where they waited until Baylye and Ananias Dare arrived, followed by Myllet and Smith. Waters motioned the sergeants to take charge of Newton and follow Baylye and Ananias inside. He turned to the soldiers. “Find Sergeant Gibbes. Tell him I said to post four guards around this cottage, fifty feet out from it. Let no one in or out. We’ll be conducting a trial. Understood?”
“Aye, sir.” Two soldiers immediately took up positions fifty feet from the cottage while the third trotted off to find Gibbes.
Waters entered Baylye’s cottage, nodded at Baylye and Ananias, then spoke to Myllet and Smith. “Sit him down; don’t let him move.” He looked at Baylye and Ananias, flicked his head toward the door, led them outside.
Newton watched them leave then anxiously eyed the two sergeants. “What are they going to do to me?”
Myllet said, “They’re going to try you for assault with intent to kill . . . perchance also for stupidity in doing so in front of the lieutenant and the others.”
Newton spit on the ground. “I care not, been tried before.”
Smith said, “For a hanging crime?”
“What . . . what do you mean . . . hanging crime?” He swallowed hard. “I ain’t killed no one.”
Myllet said, “Matters not. You should read the charter, Newton . . . if you can read. Says assault with intent to kill, and several other things, are capital offenses under martial rule . . . which we are under.” He slowly eyed Newton from top to bottom with a studious glare. “You’re not a heavy man, Newton . . . probably kick a long time before you strangle and die.”
A sudden pall of fear spread over Newton’s face.
Waters, Baylye, and Ananias re-entered. Waters walked to Newton, glared down at him. “Master Newton, as a witness to your crime, I charge you with assault with the intent to kill; and since we are now under martial rule, we’ve no need of further discourse. Accordingly, the tribunal, composed of myself, Governor Baylye, and Master Dare, has judged you guilty and hereby sentences you to be immediately hanged or beheaded, as you choose. We’ll not waste good shot and powder on such as you.” He looked at the sergeants.
Newton looked shocked; he panicked then scowled. “You can’t do this, Waters.”
“No?” He looked at Myllet and Smith. “Very well. Hanging it shall be . . . cleaner than the axe. Lead him outside to the tree where we hanged Clement. I shall meet you there with the rope in a moment. Have the guards accompany you, and tell one to bring a tall stump to stand him on while we adjust and tighten the noose. We’ll then draw straws to see who kicks the stump over. Meanwhile, Master Dare and Governor Baylye will summon the colony.”
“Aye, sir.” The sergeants seized Newton’s shoulders, stood him up while Myllet tightened the lead rope around his neck, tugged him toward the door behind Waters.
“Wait, wait! I wasn’t trying to kill him. I only wanted his food. I’m hungry, starving.”
Waters looked back. “So are we all.”
“But, Lieutenant. This ain’t fair. ’Tis not right.”
“Was it right for you to stab Master White?”
Pause. “No. No, sir. I . . . I was angry, lost my senses for a moment. Please . . . please don’t hang me. I didn’t mean to hurt him. Please! I’ll do anything. Don’t hang me!”
Waters stopped, faced Newton, stared at him for a long moment, then looked at the sergeants. “Sit him down.”
The sergeants led Newton back to the stool, pushed him roughly onto it. Waters stared at him intimidatingly until he began to fidget, then said, “We know Tayler’s plan and who’s behind it. We also know about the ship Walsingham is sending to rescue all you conspirators. But your rescue is overdue . . . is it not, Newton?”
Newton blinked, swallowed hard, shifted himself around on the stool, avoiding Waters’ eyes. “How could you know such things?”
“Not for you to know, Newton; but I tell you now, your rescue ship will never arrive, and all of you will hang from that big oak tree out there when Governor White returns.” As he extended his arm and index finger to the left, he held his gaze rigidly on Newton’s eyes, watched his anxious face contort while he digested the words. “That is, all will hang except you, Newton, for you’ll already be hanged . . . if you do not do as we tell you. But if you cooperate and help us thwart Tayler’s plot, you will live and receive a pardon from Governor White.”
Newton’s face immediately brightened with hope; he almost smiled. “Can you guarantee my safety? They’ll kill me if they learn of this.”
Waters glanced at Baylye then back at Newton. “We will do all in our power to do so, but you must keep your wits and not do anything stupid to betray yourself.”
He took two deep breaths. “Very well. I shall do as you ask . . . but they’ll be wonderin’ why I’m free without even a flogging. What do I tell them?”
Waters nodded. “Good point.” After a brief contemplation, he said, “If they ask, tell them we discovered White had stolen food from you yesterday, and we therefore ruled that your action was partially justified and required naught but a warning. Now, tell me what Tayler promises the men he recruits.”
Newton stared blankly for a moment then swallowed. “Money . . . and land . . . when we come back to start Walsingham’s colony.”
Waters glanced at Baylye then back at Newton. “Tell me about Tayler and Mistress Colman.”
Newton shook his head minutely, blinked several times. “I know nothing of that.”
“Come now, Newton, this is not my first interrogation. Tell us what you know . . . now! Or the bargain’s off.”
Newton glanced around the room. “Truly, I know nothing of it.”
Waters grabbed Newton’s shirt with both hands at the chest, yanked him from the stool to within an inch of his face. “Newton, you tell me now, or you’re a dead man.”
Newton trembled; his breath quickened to a near pant. “He . . . he wants . . . wants to marry her but knows he can’t while he’s here . . . so he’ll take her any way he can, if you know what I mean. But I think he truly loves her . . . for he plans to take her back to England . . . marry her there when his other marriage is annulled . . . with Walsingham’s help.”
Waters relaxed his grip. “She hates him. How does he force her to do his bidding?”
“I . . . I know not, but . . . but . . .”
Waters grabbed his shirt, again yanked him off the stool. “But what?”
“He . . . he holds something grave over her . . . but again, I know not what.”
“Hell’s fire, you don’t. Tell me! Now!”
Newton swallowed. “He . . . he’s threatened to kill people . . . people she loves . . . if she doesn’t do as he says.”
“Which people?”
“I know not.”
Waters shook him twice, again held him an inch from his face, hissed softly, “Yes, you do, Newton; now tell me!”
“I promise you, Sir. I know not.”
Waters dropped him back on the stump, glanced at Baylye, Ananias, and his sergeants, then back at Newto
n. “Find out. I want to know by this time tomorrow. Understand?”
Newton shook his head. “How can I do that, Lieutenant? No one but Tayler knows.”
“Find a way! And for encouragement, imagine yourself hanging from that tree, slowly strangling, kicking your legs and pissing your pants while your sorry life slips away.” He paused, leaned over Newton, glared down at him with beady eyes. “Now, this is what you must do.”
The Panther wore a gloomy frown as he stepped briskly across the village toward Wahunsunacock’s lodge. Most unusual for the leader to summon him in advance of a council meeting; and that fact, combined with the disappointing engagement with the white men, had caused his mind to swirl with discomforting anticipation. Still, their losses, while greater than anticipated, had not been unacceptable . . . and they’d killed one white man, wounded three, and taken one woman captive; and she now pleased many warriors and worked hard, though she sometimes had to be beaten. We will keep her, he thought, until the warriors tire of her, then kill her and return her body to the whites to taunt and terrify them . . . or perhaps we’ll kill her while they watch, then quickly escape into the forest.
He stopped in front of the great chief’s lodge, scratched on the hide that covered the entry. One of Wahunsunacock’s wives opened the flap, nodded toward the chief, who sat by the fire, staring into the flames. The Panther walked to the fire. “Great Chief, you summoned Kills-Like-the-Panther.”
Wahunsunacock looked up, nodded, pointed to the other side of the fire. When the Panther had seated himself cross legged, Wahunsunacock handed him a white pipe with several shark’s teeth embedded in the side. “Let us smoke, my friend.”
Though the paramount chief’s easy manner tempted the Panther to relax his stiff tension, he could not do so, retained his anxious, cautious edge. He nodded, received the pipe, took several deep draws; nodded again, handed it back to Wahunsunacock; waited respectfully for him to speak.
Wahunsunacock seemed in no hurry, took three lengthy draws, blew a large, lazy cloud of smoke over the nearly smokeless fire, then watched it float lazily upward toward the smoke hole. Finally, after a lengthy, reflective silence that heightened the Panther’s discomfort, he set the pipe aside, looked stoically at the Panther. “As you know, before the sun sets tonight, a council of not only our people but of all the tribes of the chiefdom, except the Chesapeakes, will meet here to plan the destruction of the white men.”
The Panther nodded.
Wahunsunacock again studied the fire with an indiscernible expression until finally, he looked back at the Panther, his thoughts and mouth apparently united. “What lessons did Kills-Like-the-Panther learn from his fight with these people?”
The Panther had planned to address this over-ripe question, though like all good leaders, he’d planned to state the lessons of the last fight as part of the strategy for the next. So Wahunsunacock’s surprising bluntness dismayed him, further aggravated his concerns; for the great chief never asked a question without an important reason behind it and a serious, unspoken message within. And the Panther read this message as Wahunsunacock’s displeasure at the outcome of the fight. “Great Chief, we found them better prepared than before and”—it pained him to say it—“ better warriors than we expected to meet.” He watched for a reaction, saw none. “They used not only their big sticks that bark but also very long bows . . . longer than our own, and their arrows came rapidly and accurately from greater range than ours.” His stomach churned with embarrassment then burned with anger, lust for revenge. “As you know, we lost two warriors killed and two wounded. This was because Kills-Like-the-Panther failed to anticipate the white men fighting this way, but we have now learned what they are capable of. When we next fight them, we will remember these lessons and engage them with enough force to overwhelm and rub them out without excessive losses.”
Wahunsunacock nodded, spoke in a subdued tone. “No warrior wins every fight, my friend, and all great warriors suffer defeats, and these defeats make them wiser and better leaders. Kills-Like-the-Panther is one of these great warriors and leaders, and he has learned well from that which did not go as planned.” He paused, stared into the Panther’s dark eyes. “How will he use these lessons in the final attack?”
The Panther said, “Great Leader, we must first watch the effects of hunger on the white men’s behavior. We must wait for them to argue with one another, challenge their leaders.” He paused, anticipated Wahunsunacock’s next question. “We will watch them from the forest and from the Chesapeake village.”
Wahunsunacock again gazed thoughtfully into the fire. “Will not the white men notice us among the Chesapeakes? And will not the Chesapeakes themselves be suspicious?”
“Any white men who see us will not know us from the Chesapeakes, and so, will not be suspicious, and the Chesapeakes are used to seeing us among them for trade and to collect tribute, and will not be alarmed.” He started to tell the chief that he himself would sometimes watch the white men but thought better of it, knew the wise leader would counsel against it. Yet he knew, in spite of such counsel and the inherent risk of recognition, he would not be able to resist the temptation to glimpse the beautiful, young, dark-haired girl with eyes like the sky, convinced himself that he could watch her for days without her seeing or recognizing him. Still, he admitted as he unconsciously touched her knife scar in his side, there was that chance. But is not life built upon chance?
“And what of the warriors from the far north?”
“We are told they have no wish to be our enemies and that they return to their own people during the planting moon, which starts in a few days.” He saw from Wahunsunacock’s expression that he was less dismissive of these warriors, so he spoke quickly to preempt another question. “We also know that the white men again cut trees to close the seven gaps in their fort. If they do this before we attack, we will lose many more warriors. While it is important to let them grow weak from hunger and fight among themselves, it is more important that we attack before they close these gaps . . . and that time may be closer than we now expect.”
Wahunsunacock sucked on his pipe, got no smoke, inspected the bowl. “Poor pipe. Won’t stay lit.” He picked up a small burning branch, held it on the bowl, and took several deep draws. “And what sort of attack does Kills-Like-the-Panther plan?”
The Panther looked stoically at Wahunsunacock. “We will approach the fort in darkness from four directions while all but the sentries sleep, though their sentries often sleep while they’re on guard. We will carry eight concealed live embers; and when we near the edge of the forest, we will shield them with deerskins while we quickly make small fires and light arrows, which we will immediately shoot into their lodges to begin the attack. All of their lodges are grass and will burn quickly, perhaps trapping some inside. The whites will panic and be unable to mount a defense as we quickly enter the fort and begin killing them . . . all of them . . . except perhaps some women, who we can capture, bring here, and use for a time . . . if such is the wish of Wahunsunacock and the council.”
Wahunsunacock nodded. “We will use these women then burn them so no trace of white people remains.”
The Panther nodded, thought again of the dark-haired one; he knew he would never tire of her, would have to find a way keep her alive . . . at least until more white men came.
“And the Chesapeakes?”
“With warriors from seventeen tribes of the chiefdom, we will have as many as four hundred warriors . . . enough to surround and attack both villages at the same time. But we will tell only the Nansemond and Warraskoyack, the Chesapeakes’ neighbors, that we plan to attack the Chesapeakes and rub them out. They will attack the Chesapeakes with us and later divide their hunting and farming grounds between them . . . so we must take care that the Chesapeakes not learn of our council meeting tonight.” He watched Wahunsunacock’s face for a glimpse of his thoughts, saw none.
Wahunsunacock nodded, studied the fire for a moment, then looked at the Panther.
“Kills-Like-the-Panther makes a good plan. Let it be done as he says . . . before the planting moon has passed.”
Emily, in her doeskin dress, knelt with Shines as they scraped the last bit of flesh from the two deer hides staked out in front of Shines’ lodge. They’d seldom spoken but had occasionally glanced at one another—Emily’s face saturated with fermenting anxiety and Shines’ with painful empathy. Emily had repeatedly blocked thoughts of Isna’s approaching departure; but each time, they quickly reappeared, saddened her to the point of tears. She knew he had to lead his men back to the Lakota, knew with equal certainty, she could not prevent it even if she were selfish enough to try, so she grudgingly accepted both realities though they pressed her heart like an ever-tightening thumbscrew. ’Tis a cruel yet inescapable truth, she reasoned, that Isna, the man I love with every grain of my being, will leave, and no less cruel and inescapable that I am to have a child by an evil man I hate yet must rely on for whatever future awaits me—a man I must, today or tomorrow, again lie with and surrender my body to. So would it not be nobler, and less painful to both Isna and me, if I confronted reality and parted with him now before he tries to kill Tayler and loses his life on my behalf? I could not bear such . . . forsooth, I would kill myself. And regardless of what I do, my condition will soon be evident to all; and I’ll be branded an adulterous whore, shunned, without friends, banished from the colony . . . in spite of what Tayler wants. Where will I go? What will I do? How will my child and I live? Oh, God, how will I care for my child?
She stopped scraping, sat up, stared into oblivion. Will it be a boy or a girl . . . like me or like Tayler? Who will it look like? She shook her head, forced the thoughts from her mind, resumed scraping, again thought of Isna’s departure. She then visualized herself in Isna’s arms two days before, a hair’s width from abandoning restraint, wished now she’d yielded to her heart, knew her surrender would have melted Isna’s iron will like butter in a hot cook pan. Damned inescapable morality . . . Mother’s doing . . . Isna’s, too . . . and how can I ignore God’s commandments then ask for his help?