by E. B. Brown
It was enough of a victory. Benjamin had standing with the English, so it would be foolish to decline his offer of assistance. She followed him through the courtyard, tugging her hood up as she tucked her hair back.
A convenient person to follow in a crowd, Benjamin stood a head taller than most men stand and he was able to navigate easily between the English. Although she was shouldered several times by those seeking a glimpse of the captured Weroance, she found herself mesmerized by the sight before them. It was too warm beneath her cloak, her skin sticky with sweat before they had traveled very far, her scent nothing compared to the stench of hundreds of Englishmen in the town common. Men and women huddled in every spot imaginable, each one endeavoring to see the display.
Even the English children were there to share in the joy. The chants of gleeful rhymes sent shivers through her bones.
“Three blind mice, three blind mice
See how they run, see how they run
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife
Did you ever see such a thing in your life
As three blind mice”
A boy with a sash covering his eyes stumbled into her, his outstretched arms hitting her at the waist as she walked through a game of blind man’s bluff. The child lifted the edge of the sash and peered up at her with a grin, his missing front teeth reminding her of a malevolent jack-o-lantern. Maggie pushed past the little beast.
Opechcanough was held in a makeshift cell by the church. There was a prison nearby but it held only twelve spaces. From snippets of conversation around her, she realized the prison was full, so a temporary holding area had been constructed to house the captured braves. If Winn were inside, it would be dangerous to retrieve him. She prayed they would find him outside, where she could see a group of warriors held with the old Weroance.
“They treat him like an animal,” she whispered to Benjamin.
“He’s killed five hundred English this time, I’d expect no less.”
“The English are not innocent in this,” she snapped. How dare he defend them!
He pulled her to a stop, bending his head to her ear.
“I know that verra well. But this is something they never thought to see, and they shall make it a merry event. The Governor takes great pains to show us the threat is over.”
He was correct. The English had Opechcanough positioned in a temporary cell, a long two-sided structure with a thatched roof. The weather was warm and his head was protected, so he would not suffer from cold or rain, but she could not help but think of how degrading it must be for the proud man. The construction was meant to put him on display to the English, not for privacy or protection from the elements.
Benjamin shouldered through the crowd until they found the soldiers guarding Opechcanough. Four English soldiers stood watch, with at least a dozen more scattered throughout the courtyard on patrol.
“I believe this lady’s servant has been mistakenly detained. If ye please, we would like to look at the prisoners,” Benjamin said.
“Oh? And who are ye?” the soldier replied. He was a tow-headed young man, barely out of puberty if she were to guess, his face dotted with the shadow of what might someday be a beard.
“Partner to Master Sturlsson, Inspector for Elizabeth City,” Benjamin said.
The soldier’s mouth dropped open and he nodded vigorously in a more congenial manner. “Ye can look just like the rest, but ye canna have any man released. Say farewell should ye see him, for he shall be dead soon enough.”
Maggie felt the flush rise to her cheeks. Benjamin put a hand on her arm and held her lightly back.
“This lady is an apothecary, and I assure ye she has means to secure her servant’s release.”
An apothecary? Fine, she would play along.
“An apothecary…” the soldier mused. She could nearly see the smoke burning with the intensity of his thoughts. “I will release yer servant, if ye tend a sick man in return,” the man said. Benjamin raised a brow in question.
“What sick man?” Benjamin asked.
“The old savage. Ye see, I think he’s ailing, and I canna have him die before he stands trial. The Gov’ner willna be pleased, not at all. Mayhap ye have some cure for what ails him? So if yer wench – yer lady – will tend him, I shall let her servant go with ye.”
“Fine. I agree,” Maggie said quickly. “Take me to him.”
Benjamin clamped his mouth shut from what he meant to say and mutely followed them. She was too focused on finding Winn to worry over anything else. As they passed by the barred side of the long holding cell to find the Weroance, her prayers were answered.
Winn sat against the wall in the back, but when he saw her he quickly stood up. She wanted him to come forward so she might touch him, and when he paused, she realized yet again that she let her emotions run rampant. She needed to convince the English that Winn was her servant, and it certainly would not help matters if she reached through the bars and kissed him.
“My servant is here. I have your word you will release him?” Maggie demanded, turning to the soldier. The young man scowled, but nodded curtly.
“Yes. Tell me what ails the old man and what ye may give ‘im to fix it, and I shall release yer servant.”
She hoped Winn did not hear the exchange, but he stood closer to the bars now and from the tight stare upon his face she determined he had. Pride be damned, he would just have to abide being referred to as her servant. She could explain later. All that mattered was getting him out alive.
Two guards accompanied her, standing with weapons drawn between her and the other captive men. Benjamin stood warily at the door with another guard, resting his hand on his weapon as he watched her.
Opechcanough lay on a pallet away from the others. He was not the man she recalled who had once threatened to shatter her skull with a bloody mallet, nor was he the strong warrior who commanded thousands of Powhatan braves. As he opened his heavy-lidded eyes, she kneeled down beside him and waited. It was all the respect she could give him in that moment.
“Sit, Red Woman,” he said gruffly. The Weroance lifted his head, pushing himself up on unsteady arms. As unwell as he appeared, she wondered how he had led the warriors, until she recalled from her history lessons the details of his capture.
He was carried by litter to Jamestown, where he was treated with kindness by the Governor.
The skewed record of history was far from accurate.
“They asked me to see you. Are you wounded?” she replied.
He managed into a sitting position, his dark eyes mere slits across his weathered face under his drooping lids. His hands shook as he placed them in his lap.
“No, they came upon me whilst I slept. My guards cannot say the same, as they are all dead.”
She bit down on her lower lip at his display of sadness, a rare emotion for the Weroance to show.
“Is there – is there something I can do to ease you? Some water, or food?” she asked. She was no healer, and for lack of an obvious malady she was uncertain how to help him. “They asked me to see to your comfort.”
He uttered a coarse sigh.
“They ask ye to keep me alive, it is.”
They both knew it to be true, so she did not attempt to deceive him.
“I can buy Winn’s freedom. I will do what I can for the others –”
“Ah, ye know what is to come. Speak no untruth to me.”
She glanced at Winn, who stood behind the guards. His eyes were fixed on her, his tension evident.
Opechcanough crooked his fingers and waved her to come closer, so she bent her head to his. The scent of the earth emanated from him, a wholeness that tied him to the place he so loved. It reminded her of the day she met Winn, when she rode with him and slept with her head on his chest.
Evergreens. Sunshine. Life. It belonged to those like him, and no matter what English did, they could never capture that spirit.
“Is it my time, Red Woman?” he asked.
She nodded, fighting the swell of tears.
“Yes. But it will not be by my hand,” she said softly. He smiled and reached for her, taking her hand in his. He recalled the prediction made so long ago, just as she did.
“No. Not by this hand,” he agreed. She feared to speak, unwilling to break down when she needed to be much stronger than that.
“Tell me, do they speak great stories of me, in your time?”
“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “The greatest stories. Legends.”
He seemed satisfied with that. Stunned when he straightened his legs and placed them on the floor, she heard the guards behind her react.
Opechcanough stood up, his dark eyes leveled on the one guard who stood between him and gate.
“I wish to speak to your Governor,” he announced.
The young soldier shook his head furiously, pointing to the cot the Weroance vacated.
“Ye shall sit back down, savage, nothing more!”
Opechcanough did not falter. He stood up straight, extending his hands slowly from his sides, until he held them spread wide and palms up in apparent surrender.
“If it had been my fortune to take Sir William Berkeley prisoner, I would not have meanly exposed him as a show to my people,” he said.
The soldier backed up a pace, then continued to retreat as the old Weroance approached. The cell was not wide and it was only a few steps before Opechcanough was out the door, still advancing on the soldier who screamed at him to stop.
Maggie cried out as she was shoved, bedlam exploding behind her. One of the two men tasked with guarding the warriors landed at her feet with a thud, his neck cocked at an unnatural angle. Another guard screamed from the middle of the cell floor, his shouts swallowed by the triumphant cries of the warriors who subdued him. With her head spinning in panic, she struck out when she felt a hand on her wrist.
It was Benjamin. She tried to pull her hand away as he dragged her from the cell but he would not relent. Screams littered the air, with English scattering in all directions as the soldier ordered Opechcanough to stop.
Unfolding as if she watched an old movie, her blood rushed cold as the soldier aimed his musket. Sounds ceased to be, the silence deafening to her ears while she struggled with Benjamin.
The Weroance shuffled his feet, a cloud of dust billowing up to frame him as if heavenly wings sprouted from his back. The shot struck him in the chest and she cried out as he fell. 65
“No!” she screamed.
Benjamin held her tight while the crowd surged. Women were trampled as they fell and children screamed in fear as the English ran from the shot. The imprisoned braves erupted in what seemed a single mass from the prison, and as Benjamin deflected panicking people around them, Maggie searched frantically for Winn.
A man struck her hard in the belly and her breath left her lungs in a single whoosh, sending her head to spinning at a time she needed her wits the most. Gasping for air, she clutched Benjamin as he swept her up into his arms. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw Winn, standing a few feet away.
Legs braced apart and bereft of a tunic, the dark skin of his chest was dappled with English blood. Men scurried between them, fighting and falling as screams echoed through the air. Another warrior called his name but he did not answer, his eyes fixed on hers.
“Keep her safe. I will come for her,” he said.
Benjamin gripped her tighter, his voice hoarse as he answered his brother.
“I will,” Benjamin replied.
Winn turned and left. In only a moment, she could no longer see him through the throng of bodies, his outline disappearing in the crowd.
Benjamin resumed pushing others out of the way until he found a spot they could recover. She wanted to tell him to put her down, to go after Winn. Too numb to speak, she heard Benjamin say something to her that she could not make out.
“Say nothing! I will tell ye who he is when we are alone!”
She shook her head, his words meaning nothing to her. It was then she saw the man who approached them, and she knew her dangerous situation was suddenly worse.
“I know who he is,” she said. “He’s my father.”
CHAPTER 29
Benjamin
WHILE HE TRIED to help Maggie secure Winn’s release, he knew Agnarr was nearby. Every Englishman in the city wished to get a glimpse of the captured Weroance, and Agnarr was no exception. Although the thought of gawking at the prisoner was distasteful to Benjamin, he decided to accompany Agnarr on the trip that day, hoping he might hear word of what happened to the other tribes. No Englishman would know the name of a single savage, but if there were any news he could gather of Makedewa’s whereabouts, he would consider it a trip not wasted.
When he spotted Maggie in the crowd he presumed he was not the only one who noticed her. The way she carried herself, the confidence in her gait – she was unlike any other. No good Englishwoman would push men aside and glare at them as if she meant to throttle them. Yes, the mane of bright red hair streaming down her back immediately captured the attention of others, but it was her manner that kept one captivated, and he was no exception. No, Agnarr would see her in the crowd, and since Maggie ended up squarely in the middle of chaos, it did not take him long to spot her.
He watched Agnarr stare at Maggie as if the man had suddenly noticed the sunshine above. Once before, Kyra stood in front of Agnarr, and Benjamin was sure the man recognized his own granddaughter. Yet Agnarr never made mention of the girl again after the scout was found dead, leaving Benjamin to believe Agnarr accepted the notion she was the simple half-English daughter of a Paspahegh man. Kyra favored Winn with her dark hair and tanned complexion. Maggie, however, was said to look just like her dead mother.
Benjamin recalled his father speaking of how striking Maggie’s mother, Esa, had been, and how Maggie was her mirror image. The way Marcus spoke of Esa made Benjamin wonder of his father’s true feelings for the woman. He could hardly blame Marcus if he harbored a love for Esa; wanting a woman he could not have was something Benjamin understood quite well.
They managed to weave through the crowd and make their way to the port, where a small dual masted schooner was docked waiting for them. It was the vessel they used for most of their business on the river, an efficient means of travel when they wished to avoid the deplorable roadway conditions.
Benjamin hesitated. He did not wish to bring Maggie aboard, but no polite Englishman would allow a woman to stay unaccompanied in Jamestown. At best, he would look like a cad if he sent her on her way; at worst, Agnarr would suspect Benjamin knew exactly who Maggie was.
“’Tis fortunate Benjamin secured your safety, my dear. Nasty business, with those savages escaping. Ye might have been injured.”
“Yes, I know. He has been most helpful,” Maggie agreed. She stared at Agnarr for a long moment. Benjamin feared her reaction if they did not speak privately soon. With Winn on the run and her being separated from her children, Benjamin doubted his brother’s wife could maintain a calm façade for very long.
“Yer speech, it is quite odd. I mean no insult, be assured. May I ask where ye hail from?” Agnarr asked. “And how ye might know Master Dixon?”
“I – I was born here. In Jamestown,” Maggie stammered. “I don’t know Benjamin, he was only kind enough to assist me.”
As the ship sailed smoothly toward Wakehill, Agnarr plucked his white gloves from his hands. Finger by finger, in the methodical manner he so enjoyed, he removed the gloves and set them aside. He pressed his hand lightly beneath his chin as he considered her, his green eyes narrowed.
“Reinn?” he called. Benjamin scowled as Reinn left the bow to join Agnarr. Reinn disliked his secondary status since Benjamin’s arrival, so if ever Agnarr requested his presence the man was more than happy to oblige.
“So, my dear,” Agnarr said slowly. “Tell me again, how ye know Master Dixon.”
With that demand, Agnarr backhanded a crush
ing blow across Maggie’s face, his assault sending her to the ground at his feet. As Benjamin leapt at Agnarr, Reinn and two others grabbed him from behind. Something solid struck him in the head, sending a blur of darkness through his vision, and he felt the sting of a heavy boot as he was kicked in the ribs.
He must stay awake. Agnarr knew her. He knew the truth.
He spit a stream of blood onto the deck as they held him down, his head hanging low as he tried to stand. Maggie writhed on the floor beside him, letting out a muffled cry as Reinn kicked her once more.
“Stop it,” he demanded, as loudly as he could with a mouth full of blood. “Leave her.”
Agnarr kneeled down on one knee in front of Benjamin. Benjamin had no strength to aid his partner when the man tucked his hand under Benjamin’s chin. Agnarr lifted his head until he could look Benjamin straight in his swollen eyes.
“Tell me, then, friend,” Agnarr said. “Who is she?”
Benjamin had no other hope. The words spilled out.
“She is my wife,” he said.
Agnarr grinned. He nodded and the two men dropped Benjamin face down to the deck. As Agnarr walked away, Benjamin reached for Maggie.
He caught the tips of her fingertips in his hand. She did not stir. For that, he was most grateful.
*****
Benjamin watched as Reinn carried Maggie up the wide staircase. A serving woman brought Benjamin a wet cloth, which he used to wipe the caked blood from his mouth and nose. Although he was not bound he had no illusions as to his status. With several armed men standing by, Benjamin knew he was just as much a prisoner as Maggie was.
“You said she was dead,” Agnarr commented.
“I said my wife was lost in the massacre,” Benjamin replied. Possibilities surged through his mind, any number of stories he might concoct to save them both. Without the guise of Agnarr’s trust, Benjamin had no power – and no means to save the woman he vowed to protect so long ago.
Agnarr poured two glasses of dark malmsey wine, handing one to Benjamin.