Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (85 page)

Baylye said, “A fine point, Lieutenant. So, Roger, see what you can do. Any more thoughts on this subject . . . anyone?”

No one spoke. “Good. Now to the next subject.” Baylye cleared his throat, glanced furtively at Waters. “With great sorrow, I announce that Thomas Colman appears close to death. I know we shall all miss him, not only as a friend but also as a sound-thinking contributor to this council. Thus, we arrive yet again at the need to elect a new Assistant, and I now ask you for up to three nominations.”

Roger Prat raised his hand. “I nominate John Stilman, a man of fine character and judgment.”

Christopher Cooper said, “Second.”

Thomas Hewet raised his hand. “I nominate Brian Wyles.”

No one spoke.

Baylye said, “Is there a second?”

Cuthbert White said, “I’ll second.”

Baylye said, “ Stilman and Wyles, both good men. Is there a third?”

William Willes said, “I nominate Hugh Tayler.”

Thomas Stevens immediately seconded.

Baylye and Waters glanced at one another, then Baylye took a deep breath, looked at each man. “The Assistants shall now vote, treating Thomas Colman as an abstention, which gives us a total of eleven voters. I shall log each vote with a charred stick on this tablet of tree bark.” He scratched an
S
, a
W
, and a
T
on a piece of white birch bark, turned to John Brooke, who stood to his immediate left. “John, you’re first.”

“I vote for Stilman.”

After each Assistant had voted, the tally was three for Wyles, four for Stilman, and four for Tayler.

Baylye gave Waters another stoical look, studied the others, in turn, searched their eyes. “As you know, our procedures now call for a second vote, between Hugh Tayler and John Stilman. Since it appears we could have a close vote, ’twould be a good time for anyone with anything to say to do so.”

Waters raised his hand. “Sir, I should like to repeat the caution I gave when we last voted on Master Tayler to be an Assistant. I have unfavorable information about him, which unfortunately, I remain unable to disclose. I also have persuasions from two impeccable sources against Master Tayler’s character, persuasions that would cause any righteous man to vote nay. I apologize for my lack of presentable evidence, but I’m bound by duty at this time to say no more, so I ask that you place your faith in my judgment.

Willes and Stevens grumbled quietly, shook their heads.

Baylye said, “Do you gentleman wish to speak?”

Willes said, “Only to say that such unsupported allegations should not be permitted, and the lieutenant’s words should be disregarded.”

Baylye said, “Well, we shall leave that to the conscience of each man. Does anyone else wish to speak?” After a brief, uneasy silence, he said, “Then let us vote. I shall start to the right this time. He nodded at Christopher Cooper.

“I vote for Stilman.”

Roger Prat said, “ Stilman.”

Thomas Stevens said, “Tayler.”

With one vote remaining, the tally was five for Stilman and five for Tayler.

Baylye faced John Brooke for the deciding vote.

Waters’ mind danced on the edge of panic. No surprise with Willes, Stevens, and Sampson, but White and Bright? Good men who’d never vote for Tayler unless . . . unless bribed or threatened. He looked at the pair, adjudged both faces wallowing in guilt. We’ve trickery at play here.

John Brooke hesitated, looked at Baylye, who looked back with desperate, pleading eyes. “I vote for”—he then glanced at Willes, who glared threateningly at him—“ for Hugh Tayler.”

Willes, Sampson, and Stevens smiled, slapped each other on the shoulder while White, Bright, and Brooke stared at the floor, seemed afraid to look at Baylye or anyone else.

Willes said, “So Hugh Tayler it shall be.”

Baylye’s face was red, his lips pressed firmly together. He raised his hand. “Wait a moment. As governor, I retain the ultimate decision-making authority, and I . . . I will
not
have Hugh Tayler as an Assistant.”

Willes said, “But, Governor, a few weeks ago you promised you’d abide by the Assistants’ vote on grave matters. You used the election of future Assistants as an example of such matters. Did you not say this? Do you now go back on your word?”

Baylye paled, looked flatly at Willes then hopelessly at Waters. He swallowed hard, looked back to Willes, hesitated. “No, I shall not go back on my word. Hugh Tayler will be our new Assistant.”

The Panther stood to Wahunsunacock’s right, faced the council, and held up James Lassie’s scalp, which held Lassie’s pierced fingernails and toenails dangling like ornaments around its perimeter. “You watched this man die poorly—a screaming, begging coward unworthy of manhood, weaker than a young child of our people, unworthy of a warrior’s piss. I say to you that this is the nature of these people. They lack courage; they lack honor; they are soft, filthy; they do not know how to fight; but above all, they fear us. And because they fear us, we will defeat them—defeat them in a way that discourages all whites from coming to our land again.” Amid the council’s nods and words of agreement, the Panther’s mind drifted to Isna, imagined him bound to a tree and stripped as Lassie had been, women cutting his flesh with shells, his body burned with torches, his skin then stripped away, his guts spilled to the ground as he watched them fall, his limbs yanked from their sockets and burned on the fire before him, his eyes gouged out, and the head and torso roasted on the fire—all without screams of agony or fear, nothing but one piercing war cry. I know this man’s courage, he thought. I shall give him the death he deserves, a brave warrior’s death, and his courage will show all of the people that Kills-Like-the-Panther faces none but the greatest of enemies. And we will then honor this man’s courage with a dance. His mind drifted to his young wife; but as he began to mentally caress her now-large belly, Wahunsunacock spoke.

“And does Kills-Like-the-Panther still believe we should attack these people in small bites and reduce them to a size we can destroy in force?”

He met the chief’s gaze, nodded. “Yes, Great Leader.” He turned and looked into the eyes of each man before him. “We should capture and kill any other foolish ones who stray from protection, and at the same time, watch the movements and behavior of those who gather their water and wood, and those who hunt our deer and take our fish. They do not know how to defend themselves; for they rely on the big sticks that bark, which take too much time to ready for a shot. So at the right time, when they again become lazy in their vigilance, we shall ambush one of these groups by showing ourselves and tempting them to shoot at us. We will then hide
ourselves while their stones fly through the air; and when they’ve passed, and while they put new stones in their sticks, we shall attack them with bows, shooting them in the legs, arms, and face if they wear their hard shirts. We will finish them with clubs, hatchets, and knives, capture the ones they seek to protect, and bring them here for their deaths.” He again drifted his eyes around the lodge, listened to the cries of assent. “But to make them fear us more, we will do this to a party of their women collecting water; and after we’ve killed their guards, we will bring them here to use for our pleasure and to produce our children, for as long as they remain alive. We will also place some of their clothes and light-colored hair outside the fort, so the whites will know we use their women. And this knowledge will fill them with anger toward us, but their anger will remain inside them and further demoralize them, for they know they cannot attack us.” He restrained a smile as the council voiced enthusiasm.

Wahunsunacock nodded, then raised his hands for silence. “And when would Kills-Like-the-Panther make such an attack?”

“Before the half-moon of the cycle just begun, Great Leader.”

The chief looked uncertain.

“I propose this because we are in the cold-air moons, and the white men will not expect an attack.”

Wahunsunacock nodded, stood, raised his hands. “It shall be so.”

The Panther nodded at the leader then turned and started to follow the others from the lodge. He had gone but a few steps when Wahunsunacock spoke his name. He stopped, looked back.

“Kills-Like-the-Panther, my trusted friend and advisor, I fear that more and more of these people will come to our land even as we kill them.” He held his gaze on the Panther, but his eyes showed his mind to be deep within his thoughts. After a few seconds, he blinked, refocused his eyes on the Panther, and sighed. “The prophecy says that a people from the land of the Chesapeakes will destroy us.”

“Yes, Great Leader.”

“When the time comes to attack these white men in force, we must spare no one . . . including the Chesapeakes, who befriend them. And after we have rubbed
all
of them out, we will destroy every sign that they were
ever here. For when the next white men come, they will look for these people and surely blame
us
if they find any trace of them in our territory. Even then, we must be prepared to fight them each time they invade us, until we finally convince them to stay away forever.”

“You are wise, my chief. I will do as you say. And you are right; the Chesapeakes should also die, for they are unworthy allies. But I shall first use them to gain information about the whites. I shall be in their village, so I can watch the Whites, know their numbers and habits, even until the moment we turn on them.” The Panther made a slight bow then turned, left the lodge.

As he walked across the village, each step found him more troubled about his plan, for
his
plan did not include killing
all
the white people. There was one he’d planned to spare, so she could be his second wife— she, the brave, young white girl he’d dreamed of and desired every day since the Roanoke attack, the one who’d aroused wild, new passions in him. So he would now have to devise a way to obey Wahunsunacock while somehow saving the girl for himself. A few steps later, a smile creased his lips. Wahunsunacock will honor my victory by giving me the girl to use as I wish; and then in respect for his great wisdom, I shall promise to kill her and burn her body if white men ever again come to our land. And though I will not wish this, I will do it.

Emily wore a heavy wool shawl and Shines a fur cape as the two sat silently on a mat beside the fire outside Shines’ lodge, weaving baskets. The bases of the baskets were eight-inch-wide circles of thick, interwoven strips of corn stalk. Multiple rod-like pieces of vine were woven two inches apart into the bases, like spokes of a wheel, then bent upward into the desired vertical shape for their intended use and held in the proper form by succeeding layers of weaving material. Shines wove with thin strips of cornstalk, while Emily used long, thin sections of vine thinner than the rods. Emily stared intently, yet emptily, at her work; Shines regularly rotated her concerned gaze back and forth between her basket and Emily, as if
waiting for her to speak. Suddenly, she took a deep breathe, set her basket on the mat, stared at Emily with a look that invited a response. After several seconds with no response, Shines said in English, “ Em’ly makes no talk.”

Emily continued working for a moment, finally looked up at Shines with a strained, fragile look that seemed ready to erupt into tears. She hesitated then spoke with her hands and a few English words. “I’m sorry, Shines. I worry about my father. I must return to him soon.”

Shines replied with hand signs and a few English and Chesapeake words. “Em’ly thinks too much these days. Something else troubles her.” She patted her heart. “Something hurts her here. Perhaps Em’ly will tell Shines, so Shines can help her be happy again.”

Emily half smiled. “No, Shines. Shines cannot help Emily . . . no one can help her.”

Shines shook her head. “Let Shines try.”

Emily paused for a deep breath. “I can’t . . . ’tis really nothing. I—” She saw Shines look at something behind her, glanced over her shoulder, saw Hugh Tayler approaching. A jolt of panic addled her mind. She whispered, “Shines, you should—”

“Good day, Emily,” Tayler said.

She stood, whirled around to face Tayler. “Go away, Tayler. I’ve nothing to say to you.”