by Paul Clayton
Powhatan reclined on his bedstead of mats covered with skins and pillows of soft doe skin. He was flanked on either side by his two youngest wives, the sisters, White Pearl and Turns From The Sun. Behind Powhatan a half-dozen more of his wives reclined languidly, watching Wanchese curiously. Their faces were painted a pleasing red and they wore necklaces of pearls around their necks. Wanchese was careful not to look too long upon White Pearl. White Pearl was the woman at the village he desired most. He had wanted her from the moment he had first arrived here and laid eyes upon her, but shortly after that Powhatan had taken her and her sister for himself. For a while Wanchese had hoped that Powhatan would give her to him, but in time he realized it was a false hope. Although Powhatan often gave away wives to his most important supporters, he would never give away one as desirable as White Pearl.
Wanchese said nothing, waiting for the great king to speak first.
“Why have you interrupted us?” said Powhatan. “Two other villages have yet to present their gifts.”
Wanchese nodded. “The white tribe has returned.”
Powhatan sat up. “The Coat-Wearing People?”
Wanchese nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you think they will stay?”
“Perhaps. One of their Floating Houses went away, but two of them are still sitting off the islands.”
Powhatan frowned thoughtfully. “Is Manteo with them?”
Wanchese smiled as he nodded in the affirmative. He had a score to settle with the Croatoan.
Powhatan turned to White Pearl. “Bring Wanchese something to drink, some nice, cool walnut milk.”
Wanchese’s pulse rose slightly as White Pearl’s brown body drew close. He took the gourd cup from her and they exchanged a look. He was not worried about Powhatan noticing a quick glance. The great old man could not see much of what was up close before him. Occasionally he would tell people to stand back from him so he could see them properly.
“Tomorrow,” said Powhatan, “you will go back. You lived with the Coat-Wearing People and learned much about them. You will be my eyes at Roanoke until I decide what to do with them.”
Wanchese smacked his lips after taking a drink of the cool milk. “Yes, it is good. I go tomorrow.”
Chapter 11
July 26, 1587. Roanoke
Maggie’s heart beat briskly at having been chosen to be a part of the expedition. Today they would sail down the sound to Croatoan Island so that Parson Lambert could perform Baptisms there. The Croatoan were Manteo’s tribe. Governor White had told Maggie that the Croatoan were too far away to come under Powhatan’s sway, and of all the savages in these parts, they were the only ones still friendly toward the English. Governor White had said, their distance had something to do with that also.
Twelve soldiers wearing breastplate and morian helmets of Spanish design, and armed with muskets, crossbows, and pikes, led the way out of the palisade of Fort Raleigh. Governor White, Ananias Dare, and Parson Lambert walked behind them; Maggie, Elizabeth, Ol’ Jack, Lionel and other common folk, brought up the rear. The path to the beach and shallop took a turn and Maggie felt reassured at the sight of the soldiers marching ahead. Back in the big house, Eleanor Dare now slept peacefully after having spent a terrible night. They had thought the baby would come then, but Eleanor had finally quieted. Then Governor White arranged to have Paulina, who had delivered several children herself, stay with Eleanor so Maggie could get away and go with them to Croatoan.
The sky was a beautiful blue with hardly a cloud, and the day was warming. So were Maggie’s thoughts. She was happier now than she had been in a long time. Ananias and Eleanor were good masters, and so was Governor White. He was kind to her, but had an interest in her too, and that gave her pause. He was no brute, however, and she had always been able to put him off. She did not want to be seen as a bad girl of low station. She wanted a respectable life, marriage and children. After all, more Planters would be coming to Chesapeake and perhaps she would find a good man among them. Until then she would work hard and pay off her indenture. And she would never allow herself to be used as some kind of gutter wench.
They came out of the shelter of the trees and Maggie was suddenly confronted with the sight of the masts and yards of a ship anchored in the ocean. Her heart raced momentarily, for they all feared sight of a Spanish ship, knowing how harshly the Spaniards dealt with those they captured in their territory. There had probably been a few Irish serving girls and serving men among the Protestants slaughtered by the Spaniards at Fort Caroline. Then, with a sigh of relief, Maggie realized the ship was the Hound, still unloading provisions. They walked down the beach. The breeze coming off the sound washed past them, wafting the smells of sea creatures and seaweed. Maggie looked back at the woods warily. For two days now they had seen no evidence of the hostile Roanoke savages that lived across the sound in the village of Dasamankpeuc. And a good thing it was, for John White had told her of his last days here and of the massacre. ‘Twas God’s mercy that Sir Francis Drake and his ships had called here and were able to take all the people back to England.
When they came to the shallop, the sailors stepped the mast and prepared to hoist sail. Maggie gathered up her skirts and waded into the water. Governor White lifted her into the boat. As Maggie looked across the water she felt a slight sense of foreboding about the trip. She heard a cry of fear and turned. Ol’ Jack held Elizabeth in his arms. He had lost his footing and was staggering about in the water. Lionel came to his aid before he dropped Elizabeth, and the two of them lifted her aboard. Elizabeth laughed raucously and Maggie was caught up in it, forgetting her worry over the trip. Elizabeth took a seat next to Maggie as the others boarded. Lastly, Manteo the Croatoan waded out. Holding his precious musket high over his head, he climbed aboard, then walked the length of the bobbing vessel as nimbly as a squirrel on a tree branch.
“He’s a sight, ain’t he,” said Elizabeth, “wearin’ those proper gentleman’s clothes?”
Maggie nodded in agreement. She was still fascinated by the savage’s handsome, yet wild appearance. John White settled down beside her. “His father was killed by Powhatan,” White said, “and his mother rules his village.”
“Then she is their queen?” asked Maggie.
“Aye.”
Elizabeth laughingly said into Maggie’s ear, “That makes Manteo a perfect prince, does it not?”
The sail down the sound took the better part of the day, but the day was beautiful. Maggie found the calm waters of the sound pleasant, especially after their long, frightening ordeal on the high seas. As the sun began its slow descent to the forest, the long, low expanse of Croatoan Island came in sight. The helmsman steered the boat toward a white stretch of beach. Then two sailors quickly struck the sail as others jumped into the gentle surf, pulling the shallop up onto the sandy beach. John White and Parson Lambert helped Maggie and Elizabeth ashore.
Maggie shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun with her hand while she waited with Elizabeth. Lionel, Ol’ Jack and the other men unloaded several chests of trade goods as Governor White talked quietly with Ananias and Parson Lambert. Maggie was struck by the frail appearance of the parson. Quiet and soft of voice, she found him a little pitiful, as if he had taken the weight of all the world’s sins upon his little shoulders and was bowed down by it. Although she was a Catholic and could not practice that faith openly, she felt intuitively that Parson Lambert was a good and holy man, doing his best to be Christ-like.
When their things were unloaded, they started up the rise of the beach. Manteo walked at the head of a group of soldiers. As they came out of the trees they saw the village in the distance. A dozen or so savage boys playing in the field before the village stopped in their tracks, watching the intruders warily. They turned suddenly and ran, disappearing behind some huts.
“Like we was the devil, himself,” said Elizabeth. “I thought they was used to seeing white people?”
“So was I told,” said Maggie. The savages’ fe
ar made Maggie’s own apprehension flare anew. She looked at Governor White but he appeared unperturbed. They walked on, passing the little houses scattered haphazardly about. The houses were rectangular in shape, with curved roofs like half-barrels. They were constructed of bent poles, covered and enclosed with mats of bark. Maggie looked into the darkened interior of one. Baskets and bundles of dried leaves and sticks hung from pegs in the wall and from the rafters. No one was inside.
“Look!” shouted a soldier. “They are running away.”
Maggie saw several children and women running across the field that separated the village from the forest. The feeling of impending doom made Maggie want to take flight too. Two more women started across the field, helping an old man hobble along between them.
“Stop!” shouted Governor White. “We mean you no harm.”
“Stop!” Manteo commanded.
The people continued to run, more of them darting out from behind huts like startled rabbits.
Maggie watched in disbelief as Manteo lowered his musket and fired over their heads. A puff of smoke engulfed him, the thunder of the musket echoing back from the forest. The Croatoans froze in their tracks. In the hot stillness, Manteo harangued them in the language of Powhatan, waving his arms for them to come back. Slowly they returned, gathering in a large, frightened group before Governor White and the soldiers.
An old man wearing a fringed apron of skin over his privities knelt before Governor White, murmuring in his language. Manteo interpreted. “He say, ‘please no spill our corn.’“
White shook his head. “Tell him he need not worry. Tell him to fetch the others who have fled into the woods. We will not hurt them, nor will we take their corn.”
Manteo spoke rapidly to the man and he nodded hopefully.
Three more old men arrived. Each wore a fist-sized medallion of copper about his neck, suspended from chains of pearls. The other Indians gave them wide berth, out of respect or fear; Maggie was not sure which.
John White greeted the old men warmly, then led them and the others over to the shade cast by a large tree. With gestures, he bade them sit. The old men and their women attendants sat on the grass beneath the tree and the other people arranged themselves behind them. A boy ran off to the forest to fetch the others. Dare, Lionel and the other men put the chests they’d been carrying on the ground at Governor White’s feet. Maggie saw a large group of Croatoans coming across the field and estimated their numbers at close to a hundred. She figured that they must have run off the moment their sail was spied.
As the Croatoans came up, they gathered in a large group. Though they were all in varying stages of nakedness, Maggie thought them healthy-looking and well formed. The men wore fringed aprons of skins over their privities and the women, wrap-around skirts of the same. Many sat and waited silently, while others remained standing, their fear slow to leave them. Tensions waned and they found their tongues, the noise of their talk swelling. Two women gestured and stared at Maggie as they talked excitedly. Naked children darted here and there, laughing and playing.
Elizabeth leaned close to Maggie. “I’ll wager you wouldn’t see more skin if you found yerself in a house of harlotry.”
Maggie nodded, blushing slightly. The two women continued to eye her, talking quietly, and it made her nervous. Another woman Maggie’s own age walked past, a child clinging tightly to her back.
“Look at her boy,” said Elizabeth, “holdin’ on like a little monkey.”
Maggie marveled at the geometric designs on the young woman’s legs. Colored black and blue, they looked almost like a tight-fitting garment. “See how she has painted herself?” she said.
“That’s not paint,” said Elizabeth, “they cut the design in. Then color it with a dye.”
Maggie cringed at the thought of it.
“They do not feel pain like we do,” Elizabeth went on. “I’ve heard tell they’re back in the fields hoeing their corn moments after birthing their young.”
Maggie felt something at her feet and turned. A small, naked girl looked up at her with wide eyes. Maggie reached down and the girl screamed with mock horror and ran off. Maggie laughed nervously. Two young native bowmen, their bows slung over their shoulders, talked animatedly to Manteo. Their eyes never left the musket in Manteo’s arms. Manteo stood tall and haughty. Maggie listened to him speak to the young men in their language and thought she recognized a word repeated several times. She touched Manteo’s sleeve, surprised at her boldness. “What have you said to them?”
“I tell them this musket German. German best musket. But they know not of German. Ignorant savages!”
Murmuring escalated to shouting and Maggie and Elizabeth turned. Governor White and Master Dare were handing out iron knives, hawks bells, scissors, glass beads and other small truk. People shoved and pushed to get close. Maggie spotted the little waif that had tugged at her earlier, trying to get to the fore of the group, to no avail. She went over to John White, pointing at the little girl. “What do you have for the likes of her?” she said loudly over the din.
John White bent and pulled a small doll from one of the chests. Its face and hair were painted and simple, but it wore a colorful imitation of a Lady’s gown, complete with tiny sash and bow. Maggie took it over to the little girl. She was about to present it to her when another, older girl snatched it out of her hand and ran off. The little girl was pointing at the runaway thief when a great commotion broke forth.
One of the elder savage priests pushed into the crowd, shouting at the people angrily.
Maggie looked over at Governor White. “What is he saying?”
White frowned. “I’m not sure.”
As the people turned to face the elders, their levity left them. The old man continued his harangue, pointing in John White’s direction. One of the young bowmen approached John White, taking the iron knife he’d just received from his belt. Two of the soldiers moved in his direction. The young man dropped the knife at White’s feet, turned and walked off. Another young man did the same. Then a woman threw down a bracelet of red glass beads. Others followed suit, raising a great clatter. Still the old man kept up his shouting. When the gifts of truk lay in a colorful heap at White’s feet, the people moved back, staring sullenly at the ground.
“What happened?” Maggie asked.
White shook his head. “I have no idea, child.” He looked around. “Where is Manteo?”
Maggie shook her head. “I did not see him go off.”
John White turned to a soldier standing nearby. “Go find Manteo and bring him here.”
The man nodded and left with another soldier.
Maggie felt a tug at her skirts -- the waif again. She had been crying; tear tracks ran down her pretty, but dusty, brown face. She hurried away. Maggie caught up with the girl and took her hand.
The woman caught Lionel’s eye as the crowd of savages argued raucously amongst themselves over the truk Governor White had heaped at their feet. She smiled at him and walked toward the huts. He found her outside of one of them, inspecting an assortment of baskets. She picked three of them and handed one to him. He took it from her as she earnestly told him something in her language, as if he could understand. Lionel’s normal response would have been laughter, but he was in awe of her beauty -- brown skin, a healthy plumpness to her figure. But it was her eyes that attracted him most, beautiful brown eyes that bespoke only warmth.
She said a few more sentences and then laughed at him, for his ignorance of her ways, he supposed. She gestured to the forests. “Misko-min,” she said. “Misko-min.”
She wanted him to go in there. For a moment he wondered if there might be others in there in hiding. Neither the Governor nor the parson, nor anyone else was in sight. But the look in her eye caused him no fear. “Aye,” he said. He followed her across the field and into the woods.
In the shade of the forest, the taller trees creaked as they moved to a breeze high overhead. The distant laughter and shouting of the child
ren receded from Lionel’s ears. They came to a clearing full of low-lying bushes lit by dappled sunlight. She knelt and began pulling tiny red fruits off the bushes. She put one in her mouth, indicating that he should do the same. The little fruits had a delicious sweet and tart flavor.
As Lionel picked berries he glanced over at her frequently. She was beautiful, her breasts and curves evident under her skin skirt, her eyes smiling with a warm light. When his basket was full he brought it to her and set it at her feet. His heart was pounding and he knelt beside her. He reached for her and she laughed pleasingly, said something in her tongue, and gave him another basket to fill. He went back to his picking, looking over at her from time to time. When she finished they went back to her little cottage and she made him a dish of the berries in a milk she made of nuts she crushed.
He ate slowly, watching her. He saw no evidence that she had a man and he wanted her and wished he could tell her so in her own tongue. As he stared at her he realized that she knew. He touched himself on the chest. “Lionel. Lionel.”
“Li-nel,” she ventured, laughing sweetly. She placed her forefinger in the trough between her breasts. “Peenaysheesh-wemah. Peenaysheesh-wemah.”
He laughed. “‘Tis a mouthful, girl.” He tried to say her name. “Peenay…shemah…”
She shook her head and laughed. “Peenaysheesh-wemah…”
The girl led Maggie down a crooked dirt lane past several ramshackle huts. Maggie could no longer hear the others and began to grow fearful. She knelt down to look the girl in the eye. “Come. We will go back. I will get you something else, something pretty.”