The Lost Duchess

by Jenny Barden

  ‘What does the map show you?’ she asked.

  He put his arm around her, and the gesture set her blood racing again because it mirrored the way she wished she could have touched him, but still he did not look up. He swept his hand over the map and pointed at areas as he referred to them.

  ‘We have friends to the southeast, enemies to the southwest, and tribes of uncertain allegiance to the north.’

  She frowned, sensing the precariousness of their situation; it was probably much worse than she had previously supposed. In truth, she realised, she had been living in a bubble, concentrating on Kit and those who depended on her, rarely thinking further than the limits of their city, a city that seemed more established with each day that passed. But beyond was the unknown and enemies were not far away. She struggled to comprehend what they faced.

  ‘Let me try to understand this better, if you don’t mind explaining.’

  Kit turned to her with his ageless perfect face, fair and earnest, his eyes the blue of untroubled skies, and she felt utterly helpless because the burden of protecting the colony was now his, and she knew he would lay down his life for that, yet she did not want him dead. She wanted him alive and with her always. Could that ever happen? He looked at her sagely and she felt like weeping when she should have been most happy.

  He placed his hand over hers on the map.

  ‘I don’t mind, Emme; it will help me to talk things through.’

  She shuddered, desperate to believe that he would find some hope for her, something in the map that would assure her they would survive together.

  ‘Begin with the Croatans,’ she said. ‘They control the string of outer islands to the east, don’t they? All these – including Hatarask and Croatoan?’ She drew her finger along the ribbon of sand banks.

  ‘That’s right. Then the Secotans are here, to the southwest; this is their principal settlement, also called Secotan.’

  He pointed to a place way to the south, below a huge lake. The distances were so vast that it was probably as far removed from Roanoke as Northampton was from London. He carried on talking and she did not interrupt.

  ‘There are at least three other villages allied with the tribe, one of which is Dasemonkepeuc which was, until recently, inhabited by the Roanokes led by Wanchese. But, as you know, when we went there nearly three weeks ago, that village was deserted.’

  Where had Wanchese gone? Was he now with other tribes trying to incite them to attack? She looked at the mainland coastline to the west of Roanoke.

  ‘This is shaded a muddy purple.’ She pointed to the indented shore. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that my skills as a mapmaker are not very good.’ He gave her a wry grin and she sensed he was trying to keep her confident and lighten her mood. ‘It was pink,’ he said. ‘I used some of Manteo’s plant dye and washed over it in blue.’

  ‘I suppose that signifies it may now be hostile?’

  He gave a nod.

  ‘The areas washed red belong to us or our allies. The regions edged blue may be opposed to us.’

  She turned back to the map feeling drained by a rush of despair. The whole of the mainland coast was edged blue or purple. What could they do?

  ‘Tell me about the Roanokes,’ she asked, still searching for a ray of hope though she was sure that, if there was one, then Kit would find it first. Perhaps the Secotans could be persuaded to talk even if the Roanokes were intent on enmity. ‘Are they vassals of the Secotans?’

  He tapped the paper.

  ‘That’s difficult to be sure about. Even Manteo is uncertain about the balance of power between them now. The Roanokes may rule the Secotans, though they are smaller in number. All we can say for certain is that the Secotans and the Roanokes are very much in league. An enemy of one will be the enemy of the other.’

  A shiver of apprehension ran through her. The Secotans were their closest neighbours and far greater in number than they were, even with the Croatans. The City of Raleigh could be overpowered despite their firearms and artillery and defences and learning; Kit didn’t need to tell her that.

  She gazed back at the map and noticed the way the sunshine caught it, raking across from a small window and bathing the upper part in honeyed brilliance, the kind of intense brightness she’d sometimes observed before a thunderstorm. For a moment everything was motionless. The map was captured in light. Kit’s hand rested in shadow beneath the tiny image of a small sailing vessel, a craft like the pinnace approaching the confluence of two river mouths. This was a sight she would not forget, she knew it as she watched. They were details to look back upon for what they symbolised and where they might lead. She sensed everything imprint on her memory. She and Kit were together in the New World: a good man and a lady of unremarkable birth, part of the first English colony founded to last and perpetuate. Perhaps, in her dreams, they’d be the first English couple to be married in the New World. Whatever they did next would set the wheels of fortune turning, not just for themselves, but for their companions, for England and the new America. It was a moment to treasure, a moment of peace, a moment for reflection: the quiet before the storm. But it could not last. The ship on the map faced a choice of two rivers, to go forwards or go back. They, too, would soon have to decide. Nothing stood still. The thunderclouds were gathering and the chill wind of fear was blowing outside. Should they try to find shelter where they were, or go somewhere else?

  Above the ship were two names, the only names she could read: ‘Weapemeoc’ and ‘Choanoke’. She pointed to them.

  ‘So which tribes are to the north? Would it help to know whether they might support us?’

  He pointed to the same names then described areas far around them.

  ‘Indeed it would, and I believe that somehow we need to find out. The Weapemeocs and the Choanokes occupy these regions. They offered allegiance to the Queen when Lane was in command here.’ He turned and smiled at her, giving her hope at last. ‘If the northern tribes are willing to accept our friendship then our position may not be so desperate.’

  She looked from the north to the southwest of the sound.

  ‘Are they stronger than the Secotans?’

  ‘They would be if they joined forces, and the support of the Choanokes alone would probably be enough to deter the Secotans from troubling us any further. From all that I’ve heard, the Choanokes are the mightiest tribe in this region with as many as three thousand warriors paying homage to their chief.’

  Three thousand. Allied with that number they would be a force too great for the Secotans to overwhelm. She smiled back at him.

  Kit squeezed her hand and she did not pull away.

  ‘When Lane was Governor, that chief was Menatonon.’

  ‘Menatonon offered Queen Elizabeth allegiance?’

  ‘He did, but of course that was at a time when his son was held hostage by Lane. As an honourable soldier, Lane should have restored the boy to his people before he left, but we’ve no idea whether he did, whether Menatonon is still alive, or whether the Choanokes would now wish to befriend us despite Lane’s earlier coercion.’

  ‘But if there is a chance of fostering friendship with the Choanokes, we must take it, surely? What alternative do we have?’

  Kit looked at her steadily with blue eyes that questioned her. ‘We could move to Chesapeake.’

  She shook her head. ‘You know we’d be at risk of attack while we left in our boats and, even if we arrived, we’d have to start all over again with building houses and tilling the land.’

  He pointed back to their island. ‘We could remain here behind our defences, reinforce them and venture nowhere except with strong force of arms.’

  She looked down sadly and again shook her head. ‘We would be destroyed slowly as we ran out of food.’

  He turned away. She heard him and raised her head to see him standing with his back to her, hands on his hips, looking out of the little window. His shadow fell over the map. His voice was soft. ‘We could hope
that the Secotans now leave us alone.’

  ‘Do you really believe that’s likely?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Not in view of what they did to Howe and Grenville’s men.’

  That horror; she had tried not to dwell on it but it was locked in her mind. That horror could be theirs.

  ‘They hate us, don’t they?’

  He faced her, silhouetted against the light; the sun burnished his golden head.

  ‘With justification, considering that Lane murdered Wingina and many of the Roanokes without warning, and under the guise of friendship.’

  She clutched at another straw. ‘Would they listen if we approached them directly?’

  ‘I doubt we would ever have that chance. The cycle of revenge has become too entrenched. The violence and mistrust between us and the Secotans has been so great it will take more than a lifetime to heal.’

  She looked at him but his face was lost in shadow. ‘So the Secotans will attack?’

  He answered without expression. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The only question is when?’

  ‘It is. They may pick us off slowly, one by one as we search for food, or they may attempt to overpower us quickly in one concerted assault. I’m sure they will not simply ignore us, not as we are: patently isolated.’

  He was telling her they were doomed, but doing so with such calm that she did not scream or wail or cling to him in desperation. He was Gabriel the messenger, showing her the truth and filling her with the strength to face it. She rose and moved over to him, feeling both his warmth and the heat of the sun.

  ‘Friendship with the Croatans will not be enough to save us?’

  He put his arm gently around her shoulders and she felt no urge to pull away. She welcomed the reassurance he gave her.

  ‘That did not stop the Secotans before; why should it now?’

  She rested her head against his chest. There was only one course that seemed open to them. ‘Then shouldn’t we try and forge another alliance – one that will make the Secotans wary of upsetting us?’

  ‘Yes.’ He stroked her hair. ‘If that’s possible. But remember that White’s invitation to all the tribes to come to Roanoake and agree to peace passed completely unanswered.’

  She wrapped her arms around him as she had wanted to do all along. ‘Maybe we must go to them. We could send a delegation to the Choanokes.’

  Then she realised what he had done: he had got her to suggest what he had already decided upon. He planned to leave her on this mission and she felt suddenly queasy. She turned away from him, her thoughts clouding over. He had said he would stay with her and straightaway he meant to go. He might not come back. All their promises would be for nothing. She tried to swallow her hurt, reason clearly and not selfishly. They both had to do what was best, not for each other but the colony. She looked back at the map and saw the word ‘Choanoke’ in a patch of sunlight. She pointed to it. ‘Is this where they are based?’

  ‘Yes.’ He slipped beside her, circling her waist with one arm and indicating the river by the settlement with the other hand, tracing a course to it from their island.

  ‘The city of Choanoke is on the Chowan river. The way to reach it would be by boat, travelling north and then west to the head of the sound, here.’

  She looked hard at the map and knew it was based on one she’d seen before: a map of White’s that he’d examined, several times, spread over the table in the Dares’ house. But something was different; she tried to identify what had changed. She stared at the divide between the two rivers, the place where Kit’s fingertip had come to rest.

  ‘I remember seeing the symbol of a fort there on a chart that White consulted not long after we arrived. I’m sure it was about where you are pointing. The fort stood out to me because it seemed so odd. There’s only one fort here, isn’t there? The fort we’re in now. Why would White have marked another fort where none existed?’

  Kit kissed her lightly on the cheek, then held her from him just enough to look her in the eye.

  ‘Perhaps there was once a plan to build a fort there. Think hard. Was the fort you saw shown here, between the mouths of the Chowan and the Moratico?’

  She glanced back to check where he was pointing. ‘Yes. I think it was.’

  Kit gave a nod. ‘There was a patch on the chart I copied in roughly this area. It may well have masked a similar symbol. So we may suppose that both Lane and White once thought that the construction of a fort there would be feasible. That must have meant their relations with the Choanokes were good at one time.’

  She appreciated why Kit would want to believe that; she wanted to believe it too, and that friendship with the Choanokes could be resumed. But the altering of Harriot’s map she could not understand.

  ‘But why hide what they had planned?’

  ‘Because they didn’t have time to carry the plan out. Drake arrived unexpectedly when Lane’s garrison got into difficulties. Lane and his men left, and the mainland fort was never established. The charts were later altered to keep them accurate, all except for the one that White kept for his own personal use, and there was no need for him to change his own map; he knew the fort had never been built.’

  ‘If that is right, there must still be a good chance that the Choanokes could accept our friendship.’

  He smiled at her but she saw sadness in his eyes. He wanted her to believe that there was hope, but perhaps, in his heart, he knew there was none.

  ‘A chance,’ he said, ‘but maybe not a good one. If Menatonon’s son was not given back, the Choanokes could now be determined on vengeance against us.’

  She sought to shore up his spirits just as he was trying to bolster hers. ‘But they have not attacked us yet, not like the Secotans.’

  ‘No – which suggests that the chance is still worth pursuing.’ He pulled her closer to him. This was where he would tell her he was leaving; she braced herself for it.

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘I am considering asking Dare and Harvie to strengthen the defences here; we should at least have a wall of tree trunks around the houses. I could go to Choanoke and sue for peace. I’d only need a few men: Manteo to interpret, maybe Jim Lacy and Jack Tydway – strong fit men willing to risk their lives for this chance – not so many as to appear threatening to the savages. We might return with an alliance that will ensure the safety of our city, and if we fail then our prospects will be no worse than they are now. I’ll advise Dare and Harvie to lead everyone to Chesapeake if I’m not back in a week.’ He looked at her and she knew he was asking for her approval. ‘The mission would be risky, but it would be better than doing nothing and waiting to be attacked.’

  She met his eye. He must understand that she meant what she was about to say. ‘I will come with you.’

  A flicker of worry passed over his face.

  ‘No. No,’ he said again, shaking his head. ‘You must stay here to look after Georgie and the Dares’ baby. They will need you if the colony has to move.’

  She raised her hands to his shoulders and gripped them firmly. ‘The baby has her parents, and Master Harvie will keep an eye on Georgie. Remember what you told me: “Whatever happens, we will be together.” If I go too, the Choanokes will be assured that you are not leading a war party; the sight of a woman should stay their hostility. If I remain, I could be killed if the city falls while you are gone.’

  That point meant much to him, she could tell. He flinched and closed his eyes. ‘Emme. Emme …’

  ‘I would be safest with you. I have decided, Kit. If I am to die here, I will die with you.’

  A look of pain creased his face.

  ‘You will be in jeopardy either way; that is true …’ He pressed her to him and whispered against her neck, his voice close to breaking. ‘I wish it were not so.’

  ‘But it is, and I will not leave you.’

  He held her tight and she could feel his longing as strong as hers was for him, but a thread of uncertainty kept them apart, perhaps hers alone
, but maybe he had doubts as well. They were like two strands of a cable not yet twined fast together.

  He released her gradually.

  ‘If you come then so will Rob.’

  ‘Very well, he is your son. A woman and a boy together should give the Choanokes cause for reflection before they shoot anyone down.’

  He winced and bowed his head, then turned suddenly in response to a commotion at the door.

  She had already seen the hats of some of the Assistants passing by the window, and she knew they were arriving for the meeting. She touched Kit’s hand.

  ‘Now you must say what you will do. They are here.’

  He kissed her quickly.

  ‘I am ready.’

  She kissed him back on the cheek.

  ‘So am I.’

  12

  Dead Men Returned

  ‘… We had taken Menatonon prisoner, and brought his son that he best loved to Roanoke … it made Ensenor’s opinion to be received again with greater respect. For he had often before told them … that we were the servants of God, and that … they amongst them that sought our destruction should find their own, and not be able to work ours, and we being dead men were able to do them more hurt … and many of them hold opinion, that we be dead men returned …’

  —From Ralph Lane’s Narrative of the Settlement of Roanoke Island 1585–6

  The wind had dropped and the talking was over. Emme looked from the prow of the pinnace to the six men rowing at the limits of their strength, sweat-streaked faces glowing in the last rays of the sun, expressions dead with exhaustion. The breath whistled from them as they bent to haul again, their oars creaked in the tholes, the water rippled by, but in the lull before the next stroke she heard something she could not place, a sound that might have been the breeze in the rigging or sighing through forest leaves, except there was no breeze, and the nearest forest was over a bowshot away. The sound was more like singing than anything else, haunting and ethereal, a melancholic wave that endlessly rose and fell, though there was no one to be seen, and the nearest shore was so distant she could only just make out the trees at the water’s edge, rising straight from a haze of river mist, their roots bulging in mounds as if they had grown out from graves, their branches trailing moss like tattered shrouds. How could voices travel so far? Perhaps all she was hearing was some trick of memory, a singularity filling the quietness with noise from inside her head: singing and chanting, prayer and laughter; voices from the past, some recent, some long gone; sounds of all kinds that formed part of her history. But mostly she heard the voices of those who meant much to her, voices from palaces and places she’d once thought of as home. She heard her father and the Queen, and she heard Kit speaking again, just as he’d done that afternoon, when the wind had filled the sails and carried the pinnace effortlessly north and west, and they’d travelled past the drums of the Weapemeocs, almost to the head of the sound, making for the region where two rivers met. Their journey had been fast until the wind had failed, and the need to row had put an end to talk, and the sun started to sink, and they’d begun to doubt whether they’d reach Choanoke before night engulfed them.