by Paul Clayton
Someone knocked softly at the door. Maggie and Ananias exchanged looks. “Open it,” Ananias mouthed. Parson Lambert entered. Maggie curtsied and Ananias bade the parson to sit.
“Are there many soldiers about?” Master Robert asked him.
Lambert shook his head. “Just the two on the east wall talking to Paulina. All the others are either in the storehouse or the big house.”
Lionel looked over at Master Robert. “We should get ready,” said Robert.
Lionel nodded, eager to go.
A knock came at the door. Eleanor came down the stairs and stood worriedly beside Ananias. Lionel frowned. If it were soldiers, he was all for fighting them. There was no other course anymore. He got to his feet and started for the door.
Ananias called to him, “I will open it.”
Ananias opened the door and Sir Mortimer Reed entered. His eyes were wild-looking as he stared round at them. Spotting Master Robert, he said, “I want to go with you.”
“Nay,” said Robert, “Lionel and I are going. We have already decided this.”
Mortimer Reed scowled at Lionel. “I will go instead. I can steer, and I know more about sailing than he.”
“God’s truth!” said Lionel, “Ye’ll do nothing of the sort.”
Master Robert stepped in front of Lionel, blocking his view of this demander.
“Nay, Mortimer,” said Robert, “you know that we have already agreed to this. Lionel goes.”
Parson Lambert spoke soothingly to Mortimer as if to a child. “Robert is right, Mortimer. You were there when we planned this and we only have provisions in the boat for two.”
Sir Mortimer’s eyes slid rapidly about the room. He backed up and slowly opened the door. Pausing, he said in a cold voice, “I will tell them. Take me with you or I will tell them everything.”
Anger boiled over in Lionel. The fool would ruin everything! He leapt to his feet and rushed at Sir Mortimer. Ananias and Master Robert grabbed him from behind. As they pulled him backward, Lionel realized vaguely that he had been about to strike a gentlemen with not one thought for the consequences. Of course, he realized. That world had come to an end. This was the New World.
Master Robert looked over at Lionel and the others nervously. “Very well, Mortimer,” he said, “we will make do with the rations we have.”
Ananias nodded nervously in agreement. “Well, we had better be off.”
Lionel glared at Sir Mortimer and privately swore he would toss him overboard at the first opportunity.
Mortimer slowly closed the door and waited wordlessly.
Master Robert turned to Parson Lambert. “Make sure that Paulina and the others are ready.”
Lambert went out. No one spoke as they waited. Lionel eyed Mortimer angrily but kept his tongue. A few moments later Lambert returned. “Paulina and soldiers have gone off already. We should go now.”
“Aye,” said Robert. He glanced at Lionel. “We must move quickly.” He looked worriedly at Mortimer, then went out the door, Lionel and the others following him.
***
Robert threw the rope ladder they had fashioned over the side of the palisade wall and secured it. Ananias went over first, quickly climbing down into the darkness. Mortimer rudely pushed past Robert, wanting to be next. Robert had to resist the urge to push him off the edge and send him tumbling downward. Robert waited in the dark on the fighting platform with Parson Lambert and Lionel. He despaired at leaving Margary and John behind. But he must. If he did nothing, so would the others, and all here would die.
The ladder went slack, indicating that Mortimer was on the ground, and Lionel started down. After he had gone, Robert looked briefly into Lambert’s face.
“Godspeed,” the little man mouthed.
Robert nodded and started down the ladder. Upon reaching the ground, he gave the ladder a shake and Lambert pulled it up. They hurried toward the woods, stopping just inside the trees. They were to wait here until Manteo started his fire. Then they would continue on to the shallop.
Robert whispered to the others. “Remember. After Manteo lights his fire, we must wait until it draws the soldiers from the shallop. Then we go.”
The four men huddled close together as they watched the fort. Robert thought he saw movement toward the rear, but nothing materialized. As they waited, Robert wondered where Manteo was. Overhead the limbs of the trees groaned and squeaked as they moved in a stiff breeze. Robert thought about what Ananias had told him about Maggie’s having gone into the woods with Manteo. By everything Robert knew and felt, it was wrong. But it paled now, like the moon in the sun’s rays, compared to everything that had happened here and everything that could happen. He had advised them to do nothing about it. They all had larger things to worry about now.
“There’s the light!” said Lionel softly.
Robert spotted the glow of the fire near the palisade wall, but saw no evidence of Manteo. Again he thought about Maggie going into the woods with Manteo. He had advised Ananias and Eleanor to release her from her contract. Let her run away with Manteo if that is what she wanted. What difference did it make now?
Ananias grabbed Robert’s arm and pointed to the two soldiers who had earlier left the shallop and were now cautiously approaching the fire along the wall of the palisade.
“Let us go,” Robert whispered.
A few minutes later they were on the beach, their backs straining against the black bulk of the shallop as they slowly pushed it toward the water. Robert cursed his weakness as he put his back against the hard mass of the craft. “Heave,” he called softly to the others, feeling the shallop move a few inches. It seemed to have doubled in weight since last he had helped them put it in the water. Manteo silently appeared beside him, putting his back against the ship. “Heave,” Robert called to them. Again the boat moved only a few inches.
“Hurry!” Mortimer hissed from somewhere in the blackness as the wind whistled about them.
The pain in Stafford’s bladder woke him. He pushed himself drunkenly to his knees. He considered pissin’ right where he was but there were too many of his men lying about. He was closer to the door than to the hearth and so he headed for the door, picking his way over the many bodies sprawled about. He lost his footing and stepped on a man, causing him to groan in pain. The man was so drunk he immediately went back to sleep. Stafford cursed and pushed open the heavy door. He sighed with relief as he pissed hard against the wall. Something in the distance drew his eye, a glow over the eastern palisade wall. He stared at it vaguely, then suspicion started his heart to beating. He walked quickly toward the gate. Looking up at the ramparts, he saw no guards, nor were any of his own men about. His anger rising, he ran back to the big house and threw open the door.
“Get up, ye laggards!” he shouted. “On yer feet!”
In the torchlight, Stafford recognized the familiar blond locks on a figure lying on the floor nearby and kicked him hard. “Hawkins! Get up! Something be amiss. Come with me.”
As the men came awake, Stafford walked about shouting and kicking at them. “On yer feet! Get up on the ramparts. Ye two, take the west side. Ye others come with me.”
Stafford and four of his men, two bearing torches, ran out the gate. Stafford saw the two men who had been guarding the shallop kicking at a fire burning about ten feet from the palisade. He ran over to them.
“What are ye doing here?” he demanded.
“We saw the light,” said Thomas Shande nervously. “We thought the fort was under attack from the savages.”
“Idle-headed fools!” Stafford waved his other men over. “They be taking the shallop! Let’s go!”
Robert cursed himself for not having had Slade or Smith come with them to help push the shallop into the surf. “How much further?” he called to Lionel, who was now standing in the surf up to his waist, pulling on the mooring line.
“Another few feet and we will have her,” Lionel called back.
Robert’s legs were about to give out when he f
elt the shallop swing like a dancer to the right as a wave lifted it. “Thank God,” he said aloud. They were almost afloat. He turned to look toward the fort and saw two torches moving through the blackness.
“The soldiers are coming,” he called to the others, “hurry!”
Ananias’s back pained him terribly. He took a deep breath and pushed as hard as he could, feeling the shallop float free. “Thank God,” he cried, as Robert and the others scrambled aboard. Ananias heard them fumbling inside as they struggled to step the mast and set the oars in their locks in the darkness.
“Hurry,” Ananias shouted, as he continued to push the shallop further out into the water. He heard a thump as someone dropped the mast into its socket.
Robert’s voice called out, “Haul on that line.”
Ananias pushed hard against the stern, moving the boat further out. He stood and watched as Lionel began hoisting the sail. Robert sat down at the tiller and Ananias praised God as the wind began to move the little boat slowly. “Godspeed!” he called, and then men were splashing into the water all around him. Four of them pushed toward the shallop. As they seized the stern Ananias turned around and someone struck him hard on the head. Seawater burned his throat and lungs as he lost his footing and sank in the water. Someone seized him by the hair and dragged him up onto the sand where he passed out.
A noisy mob of soldiers milled about in the common under torchlight. From the cottages, women and children watched them worriedly, their faces dimly lit by the soft light of their hearths. Captain Stafford stepped before the gallows and turned to Lieutenant Hawkins. “Where be Manteo the savage?”
Hawkins shook his head. “He slipped away.”
Stafford scowled. “Tell the men to throw him in the gaol the moment they set eyes upon him.” Stafford pointed over at the prisoners. “Hold them here!”
The soldiers formed a tight circle around Robert, Ananias, Mortimer and Lionel. Stafford walked up to one of the soldiers. “You were on duty up on the palisade with Rogers. Where be he?”
The soldier frowned. “Lying with his wench, methinks.”
Stafford turned to Hawkins. “Find Rogers and his wench and bring them here!” Stafford turned back to the soldier who was quickly regaining his senses, fear replacing drunkenness. “Why did yeh leave yer post?”
The man frowned as if remembering caused him pain. “She come up here… with some boose for us.”
Stafford struck him. “Fool!” He turned to the others. “Take him to the gaol. You others, bring up some hogsheads for them to stand upon and get some ropes round their necks.”
Stafford looked over at Robert and the others. “But not Sir Robert’s footman. He was only doing his Master’s bidding. Give him ten lashes.” Stafford pointed at a knot of nearby soldiers. “Round everyone up and bring ‘em here to witness the punishment.”
Stafford turned as Hawkins and another soldier led Rogers and Paulina over.
“Why did yeh leave yer post?” Stafford asked Rogers. “Do yeh know that they tried to take the shallop tonight?”
Rogers shook his head worriedly. “Nay.”
Stafford slapped him hard across the face. “Why did yeh come down off that wall?”
“We ran out of boose.” Rogers turned to Paulina. “Paulina brought a gourd full of boose and she knew where to get more.”
“Fool! Did yeh know she was plotting with them?”
Rogers looked at Paulina dumbly. “Nay.”
“Get a rope around her,” Stafford said to Hawkins, “and put him in the gaol.”
The soldiers pushed the women and their children closer to the gallows where the condemned stood. A soldier had climbed up onto the crosspiece and was busy tying ropes to the rings. He slid down and another soldier placed the hogsheads for the condemned to stand upon. Then, Paulina, Mortimer, Ananias and Robert, their hands bound behind them, were helped up onto the hogsheads and the ropes placed about their necks. Captain Stafford approached them and silence fell over the soldiers. Several children cried plaintively.
“Ladies first,” said Stafford, putting his foot upon Paulina’s hogshead. “Any last words?”
Too frightened to speak, Paulina’s mouth hung open. Stafford pushed the hogshead out from under her and she swung free, her legs kicking wildly. Stafford moved along to stand before Ananias Dare. He put his foot on the hogshead as the soldiers laughed and hooted. The cries of the women and children mingled with the soldiers’ merry-making. Stafford rocked the hogshead slightly, causing Ananias to struggle to keep his balance. The soldiers howled and laughed anew.
“Are yeh ready for that final dance, lad?” Stafford’s voice boomed as he played to the crowd.
Ananias’s eyes were wide with fear and he said nothing.
Captain Stafford stepped back and turned to the soldiers. “I need a proper Governor’s house, men. Ain’t that so?”
“Aye,” called a man, “yeh be the Governor now.”
“Aye,” said Stafford, “and a proper Governor’s house needs be made of brick.”
Ananias’s eyes fixed on Stafford, but he said nothing.
Stafford turned back to Ananias. “Brickmaker. Methinks I will let yeh live. Henceforth ye’ll make bricks. And ye’ll do it under guard.”
“Aye,” said Ananias in a croak.
Stafford walked over to Robert. “And what about yeh, sir? What kind of work can yeh do for me?”
Robert’s face was grim. He stared straight ahead without speaking.
“The brickmaker needs a helper,” said Stafford, “would yeh like to help him?”
As if in a trance, Robert stared through Stafford, saying nothing.
“I will work on your house, Governor,” Mortimer Reed called out hopefully.
Stafford ignored him, continuing to stare at Robert Harvey. “Yeh will fetch and carry for the brickmaker, sir, at the urging of a whip if yeh want it that way.”
Stafford left Robert and moved to stand before Mortimer Reed. “Yeh say yeh can make bricks, sir?”
“Nay,” Mortimer stammered nervously, “but I can help Ananias Dare.”
“He already has Sir Robert to help him,” said Stafford. “Can yeh lay bricks?”
Mortimer shook his head. “Nay.”
The soldiers, seeing where the questioning was going, began laughing.
“Can yeh thatch, then?”
Again Mortimer shook his head.
Stafford turned around theatrically to his men and shook his head. He turned back to Mortimer. “Yeh ain’t good for much, are yeh?” He put his foot upon the hogshead.
“Please, Governor,” said Mortimer, “they made me to go with them. I was going to tell you what they had planned but they made me…”
Stafford kicked the hogshead out from under Mortimer, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
The hogshead rolled away as Sir Mortimer kicked and thrashed furiously. After a few moments he hung limply, swinging slightly to and fro. Stafford turned to Lieutenant Hawkins. “Get Dare and his apprentice down and bury the other two. The priest can pray over them if he’s a mind to.”
Chapter 40
At full night in Powhatan town, darkness swallowed everything. None of the longhouses were visible where they lay between the trees. All the dogs had long since stopped their barking and all the men had turned away from their women and embraced the night. The sun would not rise from the sea for some time to start the morning birds to singing. All but the sentries around Powhatan’s longhouse slept deeply and an almost-deathly peace reigned everywhere except in the House of the Dead. Deep inside the long, spacious, many-chambered building, below the bier on which lay the fourteen desiccated and stuffed corpses of the village’s most honorable men, the kweeyusuk, Kiskiak, squirmed and groaned as he lay on his pallet of bear skin. Finally he was swept away by the winds of a dream. His lips moved, mouthing words that no one but his soul could hear and his eyelids fluttered rapidly as his eyes beheld things no other of his people would see. He found himself walking the p
ath to the sea. He felt a great reluctance to go there, an inexplicable fear, but he was powerless to turn back. Coming to the edge of the forest, he peered out. Pale moonlight lit the sea, and upon its surface sat a mass of floating houses. Much noise issued from them along with the many, many small boats that made their way to shore. On the beaches, the white people disembarked, tens of tens of tens of them, too many for him to count, and still more and more of them came. He turned and ran back into the forest and hid. They slowly approached, making a great noise as of a cloud of winged insects. Trees groaned and fell crashing to the forest floor. He ran as many fires crackled hungrily, sending a great pall of smoke high into the sky. Behind the flames and smoke he saw masses of white people advancing across the forest, destroying everything.
Kiskiak awoke with a cry of fear. He knew what the dream meant. He must immediately tell Powhatan. The advance party of white Coat-Wearing People at Roanoke must be rubbed out. A few should be left alive to carry back the tale. Powhatan must do this, and immediately!
Kiskiak left the darkened house and walked quickly along the smoothed-dirt street to Powhatan’s longhouse. A rough hand grabbed him by the hair and flung him down on the ground. A knife was at his throat.
The sentry knelt over Kiskiak, ready to kill him, then realized his mistake. “Aieyee! Please forgive me, exalted one.”
Kiskiak cut him off. “Enough of your blubbering. Help me up and go tell Powhatan that I must speak to him. Now!”
May 29, 1590
Maggie stirred the pot hanging in the hearth, her nostrils teased by the anemic steam emanating from it. There had been no meat since the aborted theft of the shallop when Manteo had disappeared into the woods. Now all they had was their meager ration of corn and the few roots they could dig up in the gardens and the common.
A giggle came from the loft where little John Harvey and Virginia Dare played together. Maggie glanced over at Margary Harvey and Eleanor Dare who sat silently at the table. Neither woman reacted to the unusual outburst of their children, but instead stared vaguely into the flames.