Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (54 page)

“Mother,” Regina called as she lifted an armful of the dried shucks, “William has gone fishing in the shallop. Will he be all right?”

“He’s a grown man,” Jocelyn answered as the wind blew harder. She found herself repeating Thomas’ favorite phrase. “It will be as God wills.”

Jocelyn paused to murmur a quick prayer for Thomas
’ safety, and when she opened her eyes, Regina was smiling and pointing toward the riverbank. “‘Tis okay, I see William now,” she said, her love for the boy shining clearly on her face. “He’s tying up the shallop.”

“Welladay, let
’s hurry then,” Jocelyn said, teasing her daughter. “William is safe, so surely all is right in the world.”

The rising wind pressed upon the small pinnace like a mighty hand as the men climbed like monkeys over the worn cables. Ananias stared in horror when one cable snapped and Richard Arthur screamed as wind and momentum thrust him into the churning sea. All hands rushed to the bulwark to search the waters, but they could see nothing but storm-tossed waves.

“Eleven men,” Ananias whispered, trying not to think about poor Richard Arthur and his family back at Ocanahonan. “Can a ship be sailed with only eleven men?”

‘
Twas impossible to walk on the deck without slipping on the wet surface, so Ananias sent all but one other man below deck to ride out the storm. He and Morris Allen lashed their bodies to the main mast with stout cable, and steeled themselves to endure the rain, sharp as a lance against their skin. The wind slashed and shoved the pinnace against the surface of the deep while the men prayed.

Suddenly Morris Allen began to shout the words of a psalm: “God is our refuge and strength,” he called, his reedy voice cutting through the roar of the gale, “a very present help in time of trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.”

The main mast cracked above their heads; the splintering sound spiraled down around them as the crow’s nest snapped off and tumbled into the sea. The pinnace listed severely, then righted itself as the broken beam groaned and slid from the ship.

“Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof,” Allen continued to shout, “there is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High.”

A crumpled sheet of canvas on the deck ballooned into life and covered the men like a second skin, threatening to suffocate them. But another gust blew the canvas free, and Morris Allen continued his praise as the wind shrieked in fury around them: “The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he has made in the earth.”

Ananias let his head fall back upon the splintered wood of the mainmast. In that moment he knew
‘twas not important that he reach England. All that mattered was that he stand before his maker with a clear conscience. He would come to God as a child with dirty hands, mayhap, but ‘twas enough to know that God was a father whose love would wipe away every stain.

“Be still, and know that I am God,” Morris Allen continued. Ananias wondered where the man found the strength. “I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.”

Then Ananias saw the rogue wave that would spell the end of the pinnace and all aboard, and his last thought was It is enough.

The hurricane
’s gale force winds moved inland, snapping trees along the Virginian coast like kindling, and wrecking havoc among the inhabitants of Ocanahonan. Many of the English houses were knocked from their foundations; the few grass houses were obliterated as easily as a child blows a dandelion into the sky. Rising river waters carried the dock away. Winds lifted the sturdy shallop and smashed it against the toughened and gnarled oaks on shore.

After the storm, the villagers ventured out to assess the damage and salvage what they could. Much of the stored corn had been spoiled and not a single family had a dry mattress upon which to sleep. The shallop was a broken mess far beyond repair, and Jocelyn knew that from this day forward the colonists would build and use the portable canoes favored by the Indians.

But she breathed a prayer of thanks that no one had been killed. And despite the loss of the corn, they could always eat fish from the sea and wildlife from the forest. And perhaps ‘twas a blessing that the pinnace, the shallop, and the dock were gone from the riverbank. The colony’s last links to England and painful memories had vanished as utterly as shadows at noonday.

Fifty-two

N
orth of the hurricane’s path, Thomas and his band of missionary men walked boldly from the forest to a clearing before the high palisade from which the column of smoke had come. A double line of savages stood at the gate as if they had expected visitors, but Chogan pointed to the west where another band of savages approached. These warriors, dressed only in breechcloths despite the cool of autumn, had painted their faces and chests bright with the red tints of war. They carried stone axes and clubs and wore embroidered quivers of arrows over their shoulders.

Thomas held up his hand, signaling his men to stop. The leader of the approaching war party spied the English and stopped, too, though the double line of savages outside the village howled in impatience.

“What are they doing?” Thomas asked Chogan.

Chogan stepped forward and crossed his arms. “A victorious war party returns home,” he said, nodding gravely toward the approaching warriors. “See? They carry the heads of their enemies and have a captive.”

Thomas squinted. Bloodied heads hung from the hands of several warriors and a young girl in buckskin walked between them, her hands bound behind her. An ugly purple bruise lay upon her cheek, and a bloodstain ran down the length of her tunic.

“What will they do to her?” Thomas asked quietly.

Chogan nodded to the double line outside the village. “She will walk the gauntlet,” he said. “See the clubs they carry? They will force her to walk between the lines and receive their blows. When she reaches the village, she will be tortured until she dies.”

Thomas felt his gorge rise. “I had heard of such barbarism,” he said, shaking his head, “but I never thought to see it.”

From fifty paces away, the leader of the war party studied the missionaries intently. He was a tall and thick man of about forty summers, with long black hair plaited with many feathers. His features were handsomely sculpted of straight lines at his mouth, eyebrows, and nose, and his eyes shone dark and wary. After a moment, the warrior lifted his bow and notched an arrow, and Chogan stepped forward and held up a restraining hand.

“What will you do, Reverend?” Chogan called over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the approaching warrior
’s face. “You must do something.”

Thomas gave a nervous jerk on his doublet and stepped forward to meet the warrior. “We will talk to him,” he said, grateful that Chogan walked by his side as he advanced to meet the war party.

The savages in the lines of the gauntlet quieted to watch the confrontation. Too bewildered to pray, Thomas looked to Chogan. “Tell him we have come to trade,” he said, remembering the savages’ love of gifts. “Tell him we have much to offer.”

Chogan spoke easily in a tongue Thomas had never heard, and the warrior lowered his bow. Interest flickered in his eye, and he gestured to the men behind Thomas.

“He wants to know if the men behind you are for trade,” Chogan said.

“No,” Thomas answered, nervously raking his fingers through his hair. “Tell him—I
’ faith, Chogan, what do we have that these savages would want?” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “Muskets?”

“You have no powder and the long guns are broken. You would offend his honor if you gave him a worthless musket.”

“Then what?” Thomas asked.

Chogan briefly considered. “The boat.”

“The pinnace?” Thomas shook his head. “Ananias and the others—”

“The shallop,” Chogan corrected. “I will tell him you have a big wooden boat for fishing, a boat that can sail the sea more easily than a bark canoe.”

Thomas nodded while Chogan interpreted. When he had finished speaking, the savage warrior gave Thomas a look of bright eagerness mixed with strong indecision.

“He will want to know what you want in exchange,” Chogan said, his eyes darting to Thomas.

“Why, the girl, of course,” Thomas said. Chogan gave him a quick, half-accusing look, and Thomas quickly amended his statement. “We will give her freedom, Chogan. Surely you don’t think God would have us leave her here to die.”

Chogan shrugged, considering, and proposed a trade of the boat for the girl. The warrior lifted a finger to his face as he thought, then angrily slammed his fist into his hand.

“Why is he angry?” Thomas asked.

“He wants to know who you will leave as hostage until you return with the boat,” Chogan interpreted. “If you take the girl, he will have
nothing.”

Thomas sighed. “Tell him we can
’t bring the boat, he’ll have to come get it himself. But the boat will be ready, and if ‘tis not, well then—”

“A life for a life,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “One life must be forfeit if you do not give the boat.”

Thomas hesitated, then studied the young captive. Surely she was not more than thirteen or fourteen, Regina’s age. God would want him to love this girl as much as he loved his own daughter, and if a life must be forfeit, ‘twould be his own.

“Tell him we agree to the exchange,” Thomas said, nodding toward Chogan. “He may come for the boat at our village on the river, and if we do not surrender it as promised, a life will be forfeit. But he must give us this girl now.”

Chogan translated, and the war chief nodded toward his warriors, who thrust the girl forward so roughly that she fell onto her knees. Thomas advanced and gingerly lifted her.

The savages in the gauntlet wailed in disappointment as Chogan and the party of Englishmen turned and walked back into the wilderness.

In the storm-tossed village of Ocanahonan a fortnight later, Thomas told Jocelyn and Regina the story. “‘Twas necessary to keep the girl bound for two days,” Thomas said, eating supper with his family in their newly repaired home. “She would have run into the woods had we not. Chogan said ‘twas likely her entire village had been slaughtered, so she had no where to go. In time, she came to trust us.”

“Poor dear,” Jocelyn murmured, remembering how surprised she had been to see the missionaries return with a teenage girl. “But Hurit will know how to take care of her. Hurit is a great comforter.”

“Aye,” Thomas said, his eyes resting affectionately upon Regina. “And on the way home, Chogan told me that the war chief we met was none other than Opechancanough, brother to the great chief Powhatan.”

“I have heard much of this Powhatan,” Jocelyn said, refilling Thomas
’ bowl with corn mush. “The Indians say he is wise and brave.”

Thomas made a face. “He
’s a pagan, Jocelyn, and no doubt. When I heard what they were planning to do with that girl—” His eyes darkened, and he stared morosely into his bowl. “I thought of Regina, and I knew I could never allow her to remain behind. She was the reason God sent us to that place. And then we encountered the rainstorm, and wondered if we would ever see this place again—”

He paused to playfully stroke Regina
’s cheek, and she rolled her eyes and looked away. “Papa!”

Thomas laughed, then took a bite of mush and swallowed. “All we must do now is give Opechancanough the shallop when he comes—if he
comes at all. Mayhap he will never find our village.”

“The shallop?” Jocelyn
’s hand froze at her throat. “Thomas, you promised him the shallop?”

“Why not?” he said, then a sudden, cold, lucid thought struck him. “I
’faith, Jocelyn, the storm did not take the shallop—”

“Yes,” she whispered, sinking onto the bench across from him. “There is no shallop. What will you do with this war chief if he comes?”

Thomas’ eyes filled with dread, but he would not answer her. Abruptly, he rose from the table and went out into the night, slamming the door behind him.

For seven days Thomas prayed that Opechancanough would not find his way to Ocanahonan, but on the wind-whipped morning when he saw villagers scurrying through the clearing like birds before a cat, he knew the war chief had come for his prize.

With the Indian girl safely hidden away, Thomas slipped alone out of his church to face the formidable Opechancanough. Chogan surprised Thomas by smoothly stepping out of the shadows—had he known the war chief was coming? But there was no time for conjecture.

Opechancanough had not come alone. With him were at least thirty fiercely painted warriors armed with battle clubs, and Thomas suspected that probably at least that many were hiding in the woods around the village.