Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (33 page)

The pinnace sailed westward until the land locked before her, then she turned northward and followed a narrow river.
“The Chowan,” Thomas said, coming to stand beside Jocelyn. His dark eyes scanned the riverbank ahead. “The river narrows and turns ahead of us, and a friendly tribe of Chawanoac Indians have established a town called Ohanoak on the river. They have bid us welcome at a place nearby, and there we will establish our City of Raleigh.”

“
Is it truly safe?” Jocelyn asked, disturbed by movements in the dense undergrowth that lined the riverbanks.

“
We are as safe as God would have us be,” Thomas answered, the grooves beside his mouth deepening into a smile. He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “And if we are in the center of God’s will, we are invincible.”

The ship dropped her anchor at a small clearing west of the river, and Jocelyn could see that the scouting party had already done substantial work.
A sturdy wall of felled logs created a rounded palisade, and the area inside had already been burned and cleared of brush. “We were busy while we were gone,” Thomas said, grinning as he offered his hand and helped her down the gangplank from the ship to the shallop. “But now the real work begins.”

For the rest of the day the men unloaded the pinnace while the women prepared cooking fires inside the palisade.
Mindful that savages occupied the area, Jocelyn walked with Audrey outside the enclosure to collect kindling for the fires. Audrey babbled happily about her upcoming marriage and the virtues of William Clement, and Jocelyn listened half-heartedly, her mind on other things.

As she struggled to bend over her thickened belly and pick up a twig, a pensive face in the nearby greenery startled her.
She stifled her scream, remembering the innocent curiosity of the Indian boy she had met earlier, and the ebony eyes of the savage blinked rapidly at her. “Hau,” she whispered, lifting her empty hand, but at the sound of her voice the savage fled through the brush.

Audrey whirled around at the sound, ready to scream in earnest, and Jocelyn shushed her.
“‘Twas nothing to worry us,” she said, forcing a lighthearted smile. “But perhaps we should go back.”

Little Virginia Dare lay dozing on a blanket under a tree while Agnes and Eleanor worked at a fire pit, and Jocelyn dumped her bundle of wood next to Eleanor
’s fire. “They’re watching us,” Jocelyn whispered, feeling inquisitive eyes burn her skin. She glanced upward at the trees that loomed over the high fence of the palisade.

“
Where?” Eleanor looked up, alarmed.

“
I don’t know,” Jocelyn answered, searching the leafy branches beyond them. “But I saw someone in the brush—I couldn’t tell if ‘twas a man or woman. But when I spoke, the Indian ran away.”

“
Good.” Eleanor hoisted her heavy iron pot onto the fire. “Let them stay away. When Papa comes back, then we’ll entertain them.”

The colony feasted that night on a thick soup of fish and pine nuggets, then the men barricaded the gate of the palisade while the women spread their blankets inside the only structure that had been erected.
Jocelyn spread her sleeping quilt between Audrey and Eleanor and, after lying down between them, she fell instantly asleep.

At sunrise the next morning, a crew of men took the pinnace for its second trip to fetch the remaining supplies while the colonists set to work in earnest.
Tall poles were sunk into the sandy ground, then the prefabricated walls of timber and clay were lashed to the supporting poles. The simple, one-story storehouses rose quickly; the two-story houses were more difficult to raise.

A scouting party of children found a wild shrub with leaves nearly two feet across.
Jocelyn recalled seeing a similar plant used to roof native huts in the Caribbean Islands, so she sent the children out to gather more of the broad leaves while the women tied them onto branches.

The pinnace returned just before sunset, and the men aboard hurried into the palisade before night fell.
Too tired to eat the supper several women had prepared, Jocelyn went straight to the newly erected house she and Thomas would share and spread her blanket on the earthen floor. Though the wind whistled through the green roof and the house still smelled of soil and crawling things, she closed her eyes and slept, too exhausted to care.

As invading daylight streamed through the open doorway the next morning, Jocelyn groaned and pulled her blanket over her eyes.
Eight months of pregnancy and several days of difficult physical exertion had left her sore and tired. Sleep brought her but little rest, for she could not sleep on her stomach, and the hard earth beneath her brought no ease to her tired muscles.

“
Good morrow, Mistress Colman.” She lowered the blanket—Thomas sat on the ground next to her, his hands casually resting on his knees. He still wore the white work shirt he had worn the previous day, and his tired face made him look older than his years.

“
Good morrow.” Her voice cracked.

“
William Clement has asked to marry our Audrey,” he said, smiling more from habitual civility than honest pleasure. “I told him the girl was your maid and that I must needs speak with you.”

She lifted her head, and Thomas thoughtfully extended his hand to help her sit up.
“I have already given Audrey my permission,” she said, pushing her disheveled hair from her eyes. “She is in love with the man.”

“
So I hear,” Thomas answered, his voice flat. Was that sarcasm in his voice? Jocelyn could not tell.

“
Of course the happy couple will have to ask the council’s permission to wed,” Thomas added.

“
Why should they? We did not ask anyone’s permission to marry.”

“
We had your uncle’s blessing,” Thomas answered, wearily studying his blistered hands. “We were both—free. We had no masters to object.” He dropped his hands suddenly into his lap. “Except God.”

A sudden shaft of morning light from the doorway focused itself upon Thomas, haloing him in an unearthly light.
Layers of dark wrinkles lined his coal-black eyes, etched by the travail of suffering. But though the death of his wife and the separation from his son were a part of his past, why couldn’t he rejoice in this new city, in their new life?

“
Thomas,” she began, hoping that this rare privacy might enable him to speak freely, “why should God object to our marriage? Surely if a man and woman wish to join together and there is no impediment between them—”

“
They say I was wrong to take a second wife. The Scripture itself says a spiritual leader should be the husband of one wife, and I cannot argue against God’s Word.”

“
But mayhap the Scripture means you should be the husband of one wife
at a time
! Does not the Word of God allow widows to remarry? You are a widower—”

“
You do not understand.”

“
In truth, I do not.” Her anger of weeks past had dissipated; when she looked at him now she felt only love and an overwhelming sense of despair. Inside her, the baby woke and kicked vigorously at the sound of Thomas’ voice.

They sat for a moment in silence, then Thomas raised his eyes to her face in an oddly keen, swift look.
“I never meant to hurt you. Upon my soul, I never did.”

She shook her head.
“I do not blame you for our loveless marriage, for I know you cannot give what you do not have. I only hoped that you would—”

He continued as if he hadn
’t heard her. “I know I have hurt you, Jocelyn, and I would as lief cut off my arm as bring you pain. During the weeks I was away, I realized how hard you have worked to make a home for us.” His voice softened. “‘Tis nice to wake up next to you. ‘Tis nice to come home from a busy day and see you stirring supper by the fire. A cozy house, mended clothes, an honest and frank discussion—”

He looked up at her.
“I found that I have come to depend upon those things. And God has shown me, very clearly, that I have wronged you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, but Jocelyn blinked them away.
Thomas stared again at his hands. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to have a child. You are my sister in Christ, and as such I will hold you in great esteem.”

Jocelyn ran her hand over her belly to
soothe the active child. So his increased affection resulted from missing the comforts of home! And while affection was better than indifference, still, ‘twas not what she had been hoping for. But ‘twas a start. And if God proved willing, perchance love would come later . . .

“
Thank you, Reverend Colman,” she whispered. She leaned over to kiss his cheek, and though he instinctively pulled away, she persisted until he relented and she felt the smoothness of his skin under her lips.

She gave him a slow smile.
“Thank you very much.”

Thirty-two

I
must speak to the Queen, I tell you. It is a most urgent matter of life and death!”

The sour-faced courtier who stood entrance to the Queen
’s private chambers only shook his head and glared at John White. “I am sorry, but Her Majesty the Queen cannot see you. She has expressly requested that you go away until she calls for you, Mister White.”

White closed his eyes and took a deep breath, torn between ranting like a madman or leaving to try another diplomatic route.
During his time in England, none of his attempts at political posturing had been successful, and few would even listen to his concerns about the deserted colonists. The Queen flatly refused to grant him an audience; he even found himself banned from mingling at the royal court. ‘Twas obvious that Elizabeth considered John White a noisome and pesky fly, and she would give audiences to none but a preferred handful of advisors, chief among whom was Sir Walter Raleigh.

In any other time Raleigh would have been White
’s savior and swiftest route to the queen, but a more pressing problem than Virginian colonization loomed before England in the person of Philip II of Spain. For years Philip had borne the occasional piracy of his treasure ships, but now that his empire had come to depend heavily upon the gold and silver from Spanish conquests in America, England’s persistent meddling propelled the Spanish king toward war. As a rigid and devout Catholic, Philip found it particularly galling that Elizabeth’s England, the leader of the Protestant nations, could cause him such difficulties.

Philip decided that the path to victory lay in the open sea.
He would assemble the mightiest fleet of warships ever seen on the surface of the earth, one hundred thirty ships manned with eight thousand sailors and nineteen thousand soldiers. With high wooden castles fore and aft and powerful cannons below decks, the Spanish vessels were designed for battle. His growing armada had only one purpose: to thrust his soldiers alongside enemy galleons so the men could board and take the blood of battlefields to the open sea.

Elizabeth
’s spies had been reporting news of this great and terrible armada for months. The Spanish fleet had been poised and ready to sail in 1587 but was prevented by a stroke of God, and Elizabeth and her councilors waited uneasily to see what Philip might do next.

As a defensive measure, Elizabeth appointed Ralph Lane, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir Richard Grenville to a committee to plan the overall protection of England.
Raleigh and Grenville were given the job of organizing the defense of England’s western shore should the Spanish attempt an attack there, therefore neither man had much time to devote to John White when he made his precarious way back to England in November, 1587.

White was particularly horrified to learn that one reason for Raleigh
’s reluctance to aid the colonists was the tremendous profit he and Grenville had earned from their recent service to queen and country. As part of the government’s strategy for controlling Ireland, Raleigh and Grenville were given large tracts of Irish land that had been confiscated from rebels. They were chartered to colonize these lands and create happy English citizens in Ireland, so both Raleigh and Grenville had diverted their attention from distant Virginia toward the more visible and profitable shores of the Emerald Isle.

As months passed and the political truth gradually revealed itself, John White felt fear rising like the quick, hot touch of the devil in his veins.
To all appearances, the colonists’ worst fears had come to pass: the people of Roanoke had slipped to the bottom of a long list of English priorities. By the spring of 1588, his was the sole voice speaking in their behalf.

For the sake of his daughter and infant granddaughter, White did not give up after the queen
’s Privy Council forbade him to sail. He wrote countless letters and spent endless days pacing the drawing room of Raleigh’s house until he was finally granted permission to detach two of the smaller ships from Sir Richard Grenville’s fleet for a journey back to Roanoke.