He was smoking a long-stemmed pipe, and he totally ignored the prisoners as they were shepherded to a spot nearby and told to sit down. With a half dozen Indians standing behind them armed with hatchets they could do little but obey, and they watched the scene before them in some apprehension. For a considerable time nothing appeared to happen. Then the food was distributed in carved wooden bowls and meat, broth and fish eaten. The captives were offered nothing. Suddenly they heard an unearthly howling from one of the longhouses and several men, painted red, emerged with quivers of arrows and clubs on their backs, and began to dance. It was unlike any dance Bella had ever seen. They shouted and howled continuously, and banged their feet on the ground, stamping and shrieking as they twirled about.
After a while the men fell back and girls took their places about the fire, dancing in an even more abandoned fashion. Their bodies, covered only with girdles of leaves, were also painted, and they wore headdresses made out of the horns of deer. Swaying, crying, working themselves up into a frenzy, they spun round and round and eventually cast themselves down before the old man who stared past them, oblivious.
Eventually he gestured with the hand which held his pipe, and they rose and fled towards the fire, mingling with the others sitting on the ground. A man who had been sitting quietly in the shadows rose and came forward. As he stepped to the side of the old chieftain, Bella realized with a shock that he was a European. His hair was light brown and curly and his skin, although burnt with the sun and wind, was much fairer than that of any Indian she had ever seen.
The chief spoke to him for a while, and the man turned towards the group of prisoners.
'I am ordered to say to you,' he began, in a clipped fashion that seemed too precise and yet hesitant, as though, Bella suddenly thought, he had not spoken his own tongue for many years, 'that you are here to pay for what was done to Nenemettanan.'
'They killed Morgan first,' a man beside Bella muttered, and the interpreter's eyes flickered over him. The chief spoke again, at some length.
'The Werowance says that for many years the Indian has lived at peace with the white men who had invaded his country and taken his best fields and fishing grounds, and used the forest clearings that he had made. They have suffered killings and injuries, but will do so no more. He proposes to make of you, each day, an example, until your leaders promise restitution.'
'Who are you? What are you doing here with these savages?' demanded the man who spoke before.
The interpreter ignored him, although his lips tightened and he blinked nervously. The chief suddenly pointed and two Indians stepped forward in front of the interpreter, who retired to the far end of the longhouse. The man who had been sitting beside Bella was hauled to his feet and marched off between the two Indians, towards a pole which was driven into the ground near the fire. Turning him round roughly his guards tied him against it and then stood back. The chief gestured again, and a younger man who had been sitting beside him rose lithely to his feet. He was painted more elaborately than the others, and adorned with many ropes of beads. In his hair he sported a bird's wing, spread and stiffened somehow so that it rose proudly from the crown of his head.
He strolled languidly across to the bound man, spoke a few words to the guards, and then proceeded to walk round the captive several times, bending down frequently as though he were placing something on the ground, all the while chanting in a monotonous tone. Two other Indians, painted black, silently joined him in this ritual, and the other prisoners watched nervously.
'The black ones are their priests,' one of the men whispered. 'It looks horribly like a sacrifice!'
Bella heard him and turned her head round.
'Can't we do something?' she demanded. 'Have none of you guns?'
'They took them when we were caught. Best not interfere, or we'll all suffer. As it is help might come before they get around to us.'
She slumped down again, and in horrified fascination watched the perambulations of the Indians. After what seemed hours, when the last of the daylight had gone and the scene was lit only by the glare of the fire, the three of them halted before the victim.
One of the priests stretched out a hand and forced the prisoner to spread out his foot, splaying it against a carved piece of wood held by a second priest. The young man had produced a knife and as Bella watched, rigid with shock, he slowly brought down the knife and chopped off one of the prisoners's toes.
The man jerked convulsively and an agonized scream burst from his lips. Bella clutched at her throat to prevent herself from crying out, and watched, horrified, as the prisoner struggled against shock and pain, his pale lips drawn back in a parody of a grimace. His leg, although tied at the ankles to the post behind him, twitched and twisted, but he could find no ease for the mutilated limb.
It was several minutes before Bella realized that the Indian priests had moved away from their prisoner. She looked for them and saw that they had placed the severed toe on a small carved wooden platter, and were carrying it in procession towards the chief. When they reached him the priest carrying the grisly object bowed low, then took another pace forward and knelt, holding the platter towards the chief as he reclined, his eyes half-closed, in an attitude of boredom.
The chief glanced at the priest, and languidly stretched out his hand, contemptuously flicking the toe with a long bony finger before dismissing the priest and his acolytes, who then moved ceremoniously across to the prisoners and held the platter with its hideous burden before them. Bella closed her eyes and turned away her head to ward off the nausea that attacked her, and glanced towards the prisoner again. He was totally neglected, no one had attempted to bind the wound or come to his relief in any way, and even at the distance which separated them she could discern his trembling, and the efforts he was making not to give way to the terror which gripped him.
The priest moved back to the victim, laid the severed toe to one side and began the ritual once more. Realizing their intention, Bella gasped out a protest, staggered to her feet and tried to run towards the chieftain, crying out to him for mercy. She had moved only a couple of yards before his servants had seized her, and thrown her back amongst her fellow prisoners.
The chief had taken no notice of the slight disturbance, and neither had the celebrants of the ghastly sacrifice, who had continued with their monotonous circling of the victim. Again a toe was chopped off, this time from the other foot, and again presented solemnly to the chief.The unfortunate victim could no longer control his screams of agony, and tears ran unheeded down Bella's cheeks as she watched, unable to turn away from the horrid spectacle.
The mutilation went on, toe by toe, alternating with a grim harmony from one foot to the other. A pool of blood had formed on the ground below the victim and was continuously replenished by the drips from his crippled feet. Long before all his toes had been rent from him he had succumbed to the shock, and now hung unconscious and helpless against the ropes which bound him to the stake.
*
When all was done there was no relief, for after a more prolonged spell of chanting and circling, the priests began to hack away at his fingers. Two of his fellow captives had succumbed to the fear and nausea which had gripped them, and were retching miserably, hiding their faces. Bella tried to force her eyes shut, realizing there was no help they could give to the sufferer apart from praying for a speedy death for him, but again and again she found her gaze reverting to the stake where he was undergoing the torture.
Then there was a change in the chanting which had all the time been going on softly in the background, and another priest, taller than the others, stepped forward. Bella's stomach heaved as she realized that, with a knife he held ceremoniously before him as he in turn circled round the pole several times, he was cutting the skin of the victim's shoulders and peeling it from him.
'God save us! They're skinning him alive!' someone muttered, and Bella found herself pulled roughly round and her face pressed against a serge doublet.
/> 'Don't look!' Ned ordered.
Bella shuddered as she clung to him. The cries and chants of the Indians gradually increased, and erupted in a crescendo of triumph, all the spectators rising to their feet and howling their glee as, with a final flourish, the sacrifice was concluded. The head of the man was severed from his body and hoisted onto a pole which had been waiting.
'I am ordered to tell you,' the shaking voice of the interpreter spoke as the howls died away, 'that each day one of you will suffer that fate and his head shall be sent to the Governor until reparation is made for the death of our brother.'
The captives were hauled to their feet and Ned's arms, which he had somehow contrived to release from his bonds, were tied again behind his back. They were all forced to follow their late companion's head as it was borne in a shambling procession round the perimeter of the village. At last they were led back to the lodge where they had previously been held, and the men were pushed inside. Bella, to her dismay, found herself held back, and when the men had all been disposed of she was taken back to the chieftain's longhouse.
The old man gestured to her to come closer, and shivering, she obeyed. The interpreter was standing a short distance away, and he averted his eyes as the chief looked Bella up and down, then stretched out his hand to prod. She flinched away from his touch, which was more like that of a cattle dealer than a man seeking lascivious satisfaction, but as soon as she did so her arms were held firmly and she was forced to stand still.
The young man who had taken part in the sacrificial ceremony was once more reclining at the chief's side, and his lecherous gaze embarrassed Bella far more than the chief's examination. When he spoke, gesturing to the longhouse behind them, Bella stiffened. Was she to be handed over to him for his enjoyment?
An argument ensued between the young man and the chief, and to Bella's relief the young man eventually stormed off into the longhouse, plainly angry and thwarted. Bella breathed a sigh of relief, but then the chief spoke to the interpreter, and he turned to her. She thought she saw a look of sympathy in his blue eyes, but he swiftly lowered them and translated what the chief said in a low monotone.
'The chief's favourite son wants you, but it is not allowed. The chief will spare you the punishment of the others, for he wishes to keep you to entertain important visitors, other chieftains or their envoys. He says they do not often have the opportunity of sampling a white woman, and you will be a great asset to him. You are to be housed alone until he needs you, which will be tomorrow night when a minor chief of the Pamunkey tribe is expected. I am ordered to tell you that he is reckoned a lusty man, and regularly satisfies ten or more of his concubines each night. If the Pamunkey chieftain is pleased with the entertainment you offer him, you will be treated honourably here, and given only to the most esteemed visitors. If you are uncooperative, then the son of the chief will be permitted to do as he wishes with you, and afterwards the men of the village can have their turn.'
He glanced once more at her, then swiftly away. Bella shivered. His words painted a dire picture. She thought she might even prefer the painful but certain death which awaited her fellow prisoners.
She was dismissed and the guards holding her arms led her away to a small lodge nearby. They pushed her inside, and she heard them making themselves comfortable against the doorway, chatting and laughing quietly together. At least it was empty, Bella thought numbly, as she felt her way to the woven mat which served as a bed, and sank down on it to rest her head against the embroidered leather pillow. After a while the cold penetrated her awareness sufficiently for her to reach out and pull a covering of furs over her, but she could not sleep. The horrors she had been forced to witness made sure of that.
*
Some hours later, rousing from her torpor, she became aware of a scratching sound on the wall behind her head. She thought of rats, recalling the many she had seen running about the streets of Jamestown, and shivered, but then a whisper came to her.
'Mistress, are you awake?'
'Who is it?' she responded after a moment of stunned surprise.
'Quietly. There are guards at the door. My name is Walter, I was the interpreter. I came to warn you. Be ready to escape in a few minutes. I am going to set fire to the chief's longhouse and in the confusion you should be able to escape. When you come out of the door turn left, and the opening of the stockade is straight ahead. Your friends will be going there too and I will join you. I can lead you to safety. Do you understand?'
'Yes, but how – '
'No more, it is not safe. Be ready.'
He was gone and Bella rose to her feet, her blood racing with renewed hope. It seemed hours before anything moved, then she heard one of the guards outside her lodge shout, and an answering call came from further away. The sound of running feet went past, then more shouts, and a scream from a woman.
Cautiously Bella lifted the skin which hung down in the doorway and peered out. Some distance away one of the longhouses was already ablaze, and another had flames licking up the walls. Her guards had disappeared.
Trying to keep in the shadows Bella slipped out and turned left as she had been instructed. Everyone else appeared to be running towards the flames, and she quickly reached the stockade.
'This way!' a voice called softly, and she saw an arm waving to her round the edge of the fence where the opening was now visible.
As she approached Ned ran up behind her and swept her onwards, his arm about her waist. Outside the other captives waited, and Walter their rescuer, who came up after Ned, nodded swiftly and led the way across the fields, into the shelter of the trees.
They did not halt for some time until Walter held up his hand. As they crowded round him with thanks and questions, he had difficulty in making himself heard, but they soon quietened.
'There is no time for explanations. We must go silently, for the Indians have ways of tracking unknown to us. I am making for a small river which leads to the Chickahominy, and there we might find canoes. Follow me, but in silence, if you please.'
He turned and led the way, and they fell into step behind him. It was difficult to match the pace he set, for they were tired after their ordeal and the forced march earlier that day, but none wanted to pause.
The dark forest appeared trackless, but Walter, helped only by the faintest gleams of starlight, went unhesitatingly forwards, leading them round obstacles, warning them of patches of swampy ground, or shallow streams, and somehow negotiating the thick undergrowth so that they followed without stumbling into barriers or pitfalls they would never have been able to avoid on their own.
At intervals Walter stopped and permitted them a brief respite while he himself lay with his ear to the ground listening for the sounds of pursuit. He warned them not to talk and they obeyed unquestioningly.
Bella found that her petticoats hampered her, and very soon she kilted them about her waist, leaving her legs free to the knees. The air was cold but the exercise warmed her, and she found she did not need Ned's proffered help very often in order to keep pace with the others.
Dawn came, but the light merely spurred Walter to go faster and pauses he permitted became less frequent. When they stopped beside a small stream to drink thirstily, he urged them on again almost at once.
'You look worried, man. Have we lost our way?' Ned asked softly.
Walter shook his head.
'No fear of that. I've travelled this road many times in the past few years.'
'How do you come to be living with the Indians?' one of the others asked.
'I ran away,' was the laconic reply. 'Seven years ago, living in Jamestown was worse than being imprisoned. We were marched out to work in the fields, marched back to pray, and never permitted a moment's peace and solitude. That was not what I had come across the ocean for. I found a place with the Indians – until last night.'
'But surely there must previously have been sacrifices?'
'Not of fellow Englishmen, and not with such cruelty,' Walter said slo
wly. 'We have been used to peace for some years. I enjoyed the freedom of their ways of hunting. I had a woman, she was very beautiful. But last night, no! I could not watch that happen again, but there was nought I could do to save him then.'
They went on again in silence, dragging their feet, for it was now four and twenty hours since they had slept and the fear and exertion were beginning to slow them down. Every few minutes Walter put his ear to the ground, and at last he confessed they were being pursued.
'I have been uncertain, but now am sure. A large band of men are only a short way behind us.'
'How far is it to the Chickahominy?'
'Too far. A march of several hours. Have you any weapons?'
'No, they took them all. But we could fashion clubs from tree branches,' Ned suggested.
*
Recognizing that the Indians would be fleeter than they, and that the only chance was to wait and fight them off, the men swiftly organized themselves and broke off stout branches. Walter found a place well amongst the trees where the Indians would not be able to use their bows effectively, and where only a few at a time could approach. There they erected a makeshift barrier with swiftly interwoven branches, and made themselves a small triangular fort.
Bella worked alongside the men, refusing to think of what would be her fate if she were recaptured, until Walter ordered them all behind the barrier, saying their pursuers were only five minutes away.
In the silence following there was nothing to be heard apart from the rustling of the branches and the fluttering of the occasional bird. Bella was just beginning to hope Walter had been mistaken when she saw an Indian appear, speedily but utterly soundlessly, from behind a tree some yards distant. Then another, and a third, and yet more, until the small group of fugitives seemed surrounded.
'Keep your heads down!' Walter ordered softly, and Bella crouched behind the pitifully sparse barrier, peering through a gap as the savages approached.
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