Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  The three sergeants nodded slowly, glanced solemnly at one another.

  Waters looked back at them. “But perchance more imminent—and ultimately more dangerous than the Powhatans—is the threat from within.” He frowned, shook his head. “Tayler and his conspiracy.” He again paused. “While that threat is direct and serious in itself, it also aggravates the Powhatan threat, and my meaning will be clear in a moment. For now let us hope Newton provides information we can act upon to thwart these traitors.” He paused, took a sip of water. “What worries me is that even if Newton spills his guts with valuable, damning information, unless we’ve enough loyal forces to prosecute the conspirators, it will matter not. So let us now identify each civilian and soldier we know is a conspirator.”

  They quickly identified five soldiers besides Taverner: Tydway, Butler, Farre, Dutton, and Allen, and five civilians besides Tayler: Willes, Stevens, Sampson, Newton, and Gramme. They also identified two additional soldiers and one additional civilian as possible conspirators. Waters then said, “That’s more than a trifling proportion of our total strength, which returns me to the statement I said I’d clarify a moment ago. Whether the conspirators are hanged, jailed, or alive and free is immaterial, for we cannot depend on their help in defending the colony under any circumstance, and that is equivalent to the lot of them dying in the opening volley of the attack. Therefore . . . somehow . . . we must convince them to fight with us and settle other matters later; for ’tis certain the Powhatans will not care who fought and who didn’t, once they’ve overrun us. They’ll torture and kill everyone”—he stared briefly, resolutely into each man’s eyes as he spoke—“ but no matter what happens . . . how bad or hopeless the situation becomes . . . we four must do our duty and lead by example . . . until we breathe our last.” He paused, again glanced from man to man, nodded once at each. “I know for certain you three will stay the course.”

  The three spoke simultaneously. “Aye, sir.”

  “Very well. By the bye, we will immediately execute any soldier who refuses to fight, whether before or during the fight . . . without discussion or trial. We’ve no room for leniency in this regard. Understood?”

  The three again replied in unison, “Aye, sir.”

  “Good. Now, in order that you know what we face . . .” He coughed, smiled, shook his head. “Excuse the smile, but there’s naught else one can do about this situation. I’ve heard the Powhatans can muster over four hundred warriors, not counting the Chesapeakes. So we, with less than sixty fighters—most of them untrained, and most unskilled—are outnumbered between seven and fourteen to one.” He again shook his head, held his sheepish smile. “Encouraging, eh?”

  The sergeants chuckled, smirked at one another and at Waters. Myllet shrugged. “Only seven or fourteen to one? Come now, Sir, that be a Sunday parade for Her Majesty’s troopers. We thrive on the impossible. Bring ’em on.” The others shouted ayes and huzzahs.

  Waters smiled. “You’re right, Michael, yet ’twould be better if the palisades were complete. Since they are not, next best is for us to find ways to compensate for that deficiency. So as a start, we mobilize and train every untrained civilian in some form of weaponry—matchlock, sword, bow, pike, pistol, spear . . . even slingshot; and we preposition powder and shot at each barricade, so we’re not faced with shortages or delays during the fight. We also preposition water buckets, deer bladders and stomachs, and anything else that will hold water, at the barricades to cool our barrels if they overheat, at the cottages in case the Savages use fire arrows, and for drinking water in the event of a siege. We also keep candles lit, so we can quickly ignite our gun matches when the fight begins. And we enlist the women to make bandages . . . now . . . be before the fight . . . and instruct them in the care of wounded. That brings me to the most distressing part of this . . . and that is what becomes of the women if we are overrun.” He again studied each man, noted Gibbes’ suddenly fearful look. “ ’Tis with great difficulty that I say what I shall now say. Every man must know that when only a few men or the last of the ammunition remains, those few must immediately, and mercifully, dispatch our women and children in whatever manner they can . . . before they’re taken by the Savages and suffer Mistress Chapman’s fate.” He paused, watched revulsion creep over each man’s face like the shadow of an approaching storm cloud. “Have any of you heard of Masada?”

  Smith said, “No, sir.” The other two shook their heads.

  “ ’Twas a Jewish fortress atop a tall, sheer mountain, fortified in 73 AD by about a thousand fanatical Jews called the Sciarii. The Sciarii held off a Roman army of fifteen thousand for many weeks before the Romans finally built a very high ramp, which allowed them to reach the fortress walls on the mountaintop. They then fired the gate and waited for it to burn through. But on the night before it did so, the Sciarii decided to take their own lives, by suicide and killing one another, to preclude the Romans torturing and enslaving the men and children, and ravishing the women. ’Tis believed they used a simple slice of the knife across the throat to do the deed—like we do to kill a pig or cow for butchering. ’Tis quick and painless, and I think we should consider it the preferred method of dispatch . . . should such a grim moment overtake us.” He waited for responses; but all three stared blankly through him, mouths agape. Finally, he sighed, said, “Since according to the Church, suicide and murder are grave sins, each person must choose for himself to either do this . . . or suffer whatever the Powhatans deliver upon us. And unfortunately, we must make this horrible decision soon . . . so we can be at peace with ourselves . . . and so all who may have to accomplish the task know what to do and who to do it to. There will be no time for decisions when the moment arrives.”

  The inescapable, hideous wisdom of his words reflected silently, odiously on all four faces. Gibbes faced the fire, stared into it, lips agape. The others looked hollowly at the floor and one another. Finally, Waters said, “Gentlemen, distasteful though they be, we must make these preparations with haste. Therefore, on the morrow I would like each of you to present me your thoughts on bolstering the barricades. Barring more creative inspirations, angled, sharp poles, pointing outward from the barricades across the palisade gaps, would make it more difficult for the Savages to scale the barricades. We could also dig wide pits behind the barricades, like Robert the Bruce and the Scots did at the battle of Bannockburn in 1314 to help defeat the vastly superior army of our King Edward the second. We obviously don’t have metal caltrops to place in the pits; but we can drive sharpened, vertical stakes into the bottoms to impale any Savages who fall in.” He took a deep breath. “But before we do anything else, we must convince our disbelieving populace of the dire need to undertake these preparations.” He paused. “I expect considerable denial of the threat, and denial may translate into outright resistance to the proposed measures. Yet we’ve no choice in this, men . . . and we must begin now.”

  An onerous feeling like hot, humid, pregnant air moments before a summer cloudburst, infiltrated the room. After a long silence, Smith said, “Sir, what of Governor White?”

  Waters pressed his lips together, contemplated his response. “Perchance he’ll arrive in the next several days, but these preparations will stand us in fair stead even then . . . until we complete the palisades.” He studied the floor for a moment, again squeezed his lips together. “There’s another, rather unthinkable possibility I have not mentioned . . . because it just occurred to me . . . and that is the possibility that some event at sea, or in England, precludes Governor White’s return.” He took a deep breath, smiled feebly. “Bloody hell, men, we don’t even know if Governor White reached England in the first place . . . or that he’ll find our carvings at Roanoke and go to Croatan Island . . . or that our people at Croatan are still alive to tell him where we are.” He shook his head. “Too damned many uncertainties and unknowns . . . and as if we’ve not enough bad news, I also expect the Powhatans to force the Chesapeakes to fight against us.” He smiled philosophically
. “But these are worst-case possibilities, some of which, hopefully, will not transpire. Yet if they do, ’tis a fact that some or all of us in this room will fall.” He again surveyed their faces. “And if so, command will pass according to seniority. If I am killed or unable to command, Michael Myllet will assume command . . . then Thomas Smith, then Johnny Gibbes. Understood?”

  All three nodded.

  “Now the last thing I want to say . . . and I want to say it now, before whatever happens, happens . . . you three are the finest non-commissioned officers I’ve encountered in my admittedly short army career. I cannot imagine any with greater professional commitment and dedication to duty, and I want you to know that it has been a great honor to serve with you . . . all three of you. Thank you . . . and may our association not end here, now, in this land, but continue for many years to come.” He blinked repeatedly, fought the urge to rub his misty eyes.

  Myllet said, “Thank you, Sir. I’ve nurtured many a green lieutenant and supported many a senior officer, but never one with the God-given judgment and maturity you’ve shown in this command. God willing, we’ll survive this; and if we do, I’ve no doubt you’ll one day be a senior leader in Her Majesty’s army. It has been an unequaled honor to support you, Lieutenant.”

  Smith said, “I, as well, Sir. Same thoughts.”

  “And I,” said Gibbes. “You gave me an opportunity I might never otherwise have had; and I am most grateful for that, Sir.” He saluted.

  Waters returned the salute, started to speak, quavered, coughed twice, blinked. “Thank you, men.” The four then stared awkwardly at one another for several moments before Waters smiled. “So . . . let us assume for a moment that Governor White returns on the morrow with more troops and planters, and we all survive the coming weeks; what are you three going to do with yourselves? Stay here? Return to England? What will you do without Savages and conspirators trying to kill you?”

  The three gawked sheepishly at one another for a moment before Myllet pointed at Gibbes, who replied with a nod. “Well, Sir, I like the army, so Emme and I thought we’d return to England on the governor’s ship, so I can see what other assignments are available. But if none capture my fancy, and I have a choice, we may return here and be part of the permanent settlement. Emme likes this new world . . . and Mistress Dare and Mistress Colman . . .very much and would like to stay; so returning is a very strong possibility, if the army agrees.” He nodded at Smith.

  Smith cleared his throat, looked at the floor. “Before she died in childbirth, my wife and I had two sons. But with the army and being gone most of the time, I couldn’t raise them, so I gave them to my sister. They’re now nearly grown, and I plan to talk to them about coming back here with me on a later voyage. Neither is interested in the army; but both have good journeyman skills, which should be useful as the colony grows. And our garrison here will always need experienced sergeants, so . . .”

  Waters nodded. “And you, Michael?”

  “Well, Sir, as you know, I’ve a wife and three grown children back home; but I cannot say I know them well, for soldiering has had me out of the country most of their lives.” He smiled a broad smile. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the army more than anything in this world. ’Tis in me blood, and always will be, and I dearly enjoy and respect most of the fine men I’ve had the honor to serve with. But I suppose I shall return to England when we’re relieved, and go see my family . . . get to know them again.” He glanced at Gibbes. “Then, like Johnny, I shall see what assignments are out there; and if none of ’em capture me fancy, and I can persuade the assignors, I’ll return here with the rest of you varlets.” He smiled at Smith and Gibbes, punched both on the arm. “I always miss the danger and excitement of battle when I’m home. So I reckon I’m trapped into soldiering for as long they’ll have me.” He paused, looked at Waters. “What about you, Sir?”

  Waters smiled serenely, looked vacantly past the men as if his mind were suddenly elsewhere. “There is a pretty young maiden in England . . . waiting for Lieutenant William Waters to return and marry her. He misses her dearly and would loathe being separated from her again. So though she does not yet know it, Lieutenant Waters may also volunteer to return here, as part of a permanent garrison.” His smile suddenly deepened; his eyes lost their vacancy, focused on the three. “In time, I see a bright future for anyone with the courage to make a place for themselves here; and I would like to be part of that, while enjoying the equal pleasure of remaining an officer in the army.” He smirked. “Of course, you realize the army may have altogether different plans for all of us . . . may even tell us our reward for exemplary performance is to remain here and school the new troops in New World battle tactics and strategy.”

  The sergeants groaned, grimaced, shook their heads, then slowly lapsed into silence. A moment later, all four stared reflectively at the fire, oblivious to the shadows and flickering firelight that danced hauntingly, forebodingly on their ruddy faces.

  Waters wondered about the others—who would survive, what would they really do, what were they thinking at that moment? Were they digesting his grim expectations, thinking of home, the loves in their lives? No matter . . . to each his own thoughts. He stared into the blue of the flames. I miss you, Rebecca Roberts. And I pray God one day returns me to your loving arms.

  Emily knelt sobbing at Elyoner’s feet, grasped her skirt with a desperate grip. “I’m so sorry, Ellie . . . so ashamed . . . I was a coward . . . selfish.” She looked up at Elyoner’s face. “He strangled her, Ellie . . . while I held her in my arms . . . choked her until she turned red . . . would have killed her if I hadn’t said yes.” She again buried her face in Elyoner’s skirt, wailed. “But . . . but I lost my courage . . . even as he undressed me . . . and . . . and now we’re all at great risk . . . oh, Ellie, I should have done as he wanted. I know he’ll come now and do what he said. Please forgive me . . . I’m so sorry. My Virginia . . . my Isna . . . I cannot bear it . . . my fault . . . all my fault.”

  Elyoner glanced distraughtly at Virginia, asleep in her crib, then at the loaded pistol lying on the table. Tears ran down her cheeks. She touched Emily’s chin, gently pulled her up. “Em, please stand. You’ve nothing to apologize for, nothing to be ashamed of. ’Tis not your doing . . . only that foul, wretched, runagate is at fault . . . he alone. God, forgive me, but prithee deliver a pox upon him!”

  Emily stood slowly, laid her head on Elyoner’s chest, held her close, shuddered as she sobbed.

  Elyoner stroked the back of her head and neck. “You poor, brave lass . . . all this time . . . this terrible burden . . . all alone . . . kept it to yourself, gave yourself . . . to save Virginia. God’s blood! It enrages me! I knew he compelled you in some evil manner, but . . . but never did I suspect this . . . deserves to be drawn and quartered . . . filthy scum.” She squeezed Emily close. “Em . . . you’re such a noble lass! Cry . . . let it loose . . . then we shall—”

  The door opened. Ananias stepped inside. “What ho? Ellie, what’s happened? Should . . . should I leave?”

  “No. Sit! We must talk.”

  While Emily whimpered in her arms, Elyoner told Ananias of Tayler’s threat, that he’d strangled Virginia until Emily agreed to go to him, that Emily had been unable to go through with it, stabbed him in the side, escaped to their cottage. “So we must decide what to do; for Virginia, Em, and Isna are now all at grave risk . . . perchance you and I, as well . . . and this mad man runs free to do as he pleases.”

  “Lord in heaven!” Ananias looked at the fire, shook his head. “This is horrible . . . but . . . but the man’s also a scoundrel in other ways you do not yet know of, my love.”

  “His conspiracy with Walsingham?”

  Ananias blanched. “How . . . how do you know of that?”

  Elyoner smiled. “I deduced it from what you’ve said . . . and from what Father told me. So what do we do?”

  After a lengthy discussion of possibilities, during which Emily gradually composed her
self, Ananias said, “Ladies, this is more complex than it appears. To begin with, until John returns, the colony’s authority—Roger Baylye, the Assistants, and Lieutenant Waters—is gravely diminished by defections of soldiers and civilians to Tayler’s conspiracy. And sadly, an event such as the hasty, premature arrest of Hugh Tayler could spark an outright mutiny, and—”

  Elyoner glared at him, turned red in the face. “What do you mean hasty and premature? By the saints, what is premature about rape and extortion of venereal favors by threat of murder . . . murder of your own child?”

  Ananias frowned, looked at the floor, swallowed hard. “Nothing, my dear. But what could be premature, with our fragile circumstances, is an accusation of rape that has not yet been committed . . . you know how rape trials go, and how difficult it is to—”

  Emily burst into tears, buried her face in her hands.

  Elyoner leaned her furious face an inch from Ananias’. “Ananias Dare, are you totally insensitive? By the Lord Jesus Christ himself”—she crossed herself, swiped blindly at the tears rolling down her cheeks—“ how can you say that?”

  “Lord help me! I’m only trying to be logical, Ellie. We cannot simply make an accusation and expect—”

  Emily whispered, “Ananias”—she rubbed the tears from her eyes, sniffled twice, faced him—“ ’twas not the first time.”

  Ananias stared at her, mouth agape, eyes glazed.

  She then spoke casually, as if talking about the morning meal. “He raped me in the forest weeks ago . . . forced me to submit by threatening to kill Virginia if I did not . . . and I now carry his child . . . and he insists I be his mistress . . . and . . . and as Ellie said, this afternoon he choked Virginia while I held her in my arms. He’ll stop at nothing to have his way with me . . . yet I cannot submit again . . . but I know not what to do . . . or what will become of me and my child. I’m so sorry, Ananias . . . Ellie . . . so ashamed.” She again buried her face in her hands, sobbed. “All my fault.”