Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (57 page)

Jocelyn stood and drew her shawl closer about her as a cool breeze caressed her cheek. Another daughter would inhabit their house in the years to come, born of the union between Jocelyn and Thomas and the barbaric world in which they had hoped to make a difference.

“Our Gilda will certainly fare better than we,” she whispered, suddenly feeling much older than her thirty-four years. “For we, Father God, are yet aliens in the untamed world outside our palisade. But mayhap children like Noshi and Gilda will be able to bridge the sea of difference that lies between us and the savages.”

Finding comfort in that thought, Jocelyn murmured one last farewell to her daughter and began the long walk home.

Fifty-five

F
or over thirteen years Sir Walter Raleigh received impassioned letters from John White, begging that another ship be sent to search for the planters in Virginia. But Raleigh’s fortunes as well as his favor in the eyes of Queen Elizabeth had dwindled considerably. He had invested heavily in the exploration of Guiana and Cadiz, and most of his investment had disappeared.

Nevertheless, in the early months of 1603, Raleigh was able to dispatch two ships to explore the vicinity of Chesapeake Bay in hopes that the lost colony of planters might be found. But when Elizabeth breathed her last and James of Scotland assumed the English throne, Raleigh, who had never wooed James
’ favor, was arrested and charged with treason.

At the end of September, Raleigh sat in his cell in the king
’s Tower of London and heard a report from Henry Shute, a sailor who had been aboard the fifty-ton ship the
Elizabeth.
Under the command of Bartholomew Gilbert, the vessel had failed to find the entrance to Chesapeake Bay. Shute reported that the captain and many of the crew went ashore north of the bay and stumbled upon an Indian war party.

“We found
‘em the next day,” Shute said, a grayish pallor under his skin as he told the tale. “All of ‘em dead, sir, not a one left alive. Me and the boys ran for the ship, and the eleven of us brought her home to the Thames.”

Raleigh thanked the man for coming, and nodded silently as Shute wished him well. The gaoler led his visitor away, and Raleigh pondered a rumor he had heard earlier. Samuel Mace, the captain of the second ship, had apparently kidnapped Indians from the Virginian shore before his return to England, for the tower buzzed with the story of a Thames wherry towing an Indian canoe and savages to the landing place leading to Lord Cecil
’s house in the Strand. ‘Twas said that the savages willingly gave demonstrations in canoe handling for the gentlemen and the king’s court in Hampshire.

Raleigh rubbed his hand over his beard and picked up a pen. He had reached the end of his abilities. As a prisoner condemned to die, there was nothing else he could do for John White except report that his two ships had brought back much news of Indians, but no news of the colonists.

Fifty-six

I
n a vast Indian camp northwest of the river Chowan, the great chief Powhatan sat in council with the elders of his tribe.

The fierce chief had a lean face, pitted and scarred from his youth, with thick eyebrows and carbon-black eyes which never failed to awe his followers. His sinewy arms and chest had been tattooed into emblems that signified his bravery and his office, and he wore his long black hair loosely tied at his neck.

For twenty summers Powhatan had been building his authority in the lands along the two mighty rivers that flowed to the great sea, and tribe after tribe had either submitted to his power or had been massacred. To date only the Chickahominy, a tribe on the north bank of the southern river, had successfully resisted paying him tribute, and he had heard rumors that the Chickahominy tribe had sent certain of its clans to trade with a group of clothed people who lived on the bank of the river Chowan and spoke in a strange tongue. He had also heard disturbing reports that clothed people in a large ship had taken several of his warriors aboard their boat and sailed away across the sea. “Clothed people,” Powhatan said, speaking to the group of werowances who led his subordinate tribes. “What have they to do with us?”

Matchitehew, Powhatan
’s chief priest, inhaled deeply on his pipe and offered his thoughts: “A prophecy has come to us, great Powhatan, in dreams. From the mouth of the Chesapeake waters a nation will arise which will give end to your empire. We have dreamed this three nights in succession. A great bear will rise from the sea to devour Powhatan and his people.”

The chief stiffened. Into the flames of the fire before them, Matchitehew threw a powder that produced red smoke. Then the aged priest drew deeply on his pipe and passed it to Powhatan.

The chief inhaled and kept his eyes thoughtfully on the fire.

Fifty-seven

I
n the town of Ocanahonan, Jocelyn relished her new role as mother. At Regina’s birth she had subdued her maternal instincts under Thomas’ stony disapproval, but now that Thomas had completely shut himself away, Jocelyn determined to love Regina’s baby so fiercely that the girl would not miss the love of a father.

She knew she had incurred the wrath not only of her husband, but of certain devout men and women in the colony who thought it unsuitable for a minister
’s wife to raise the illegitimate half-breed daughter of a savage. One afternoon Beth Glane and Rose Payne made a point of stopping Jocelyn at the well and pointedly suggested that Jocelyn give the baby to one of the Indian women to raise.

“We know it grieves the minister to have such an emblem of sin in his house,” Beth said, her eyes narrowing in pious concern. She held her arms out for Gilda. “
‘Tis affecting his ministry, which affects the entire town.”

“If you love God and if you love your husband,” Rose inserted, “you
’ll want to set things to right. So if you will just give the child to us—”

“Good ladies,” Jocelyn said, turning so that Gilda lay out of the women
’s reach, “I decided long ago that I must live to please God, without regard to whether my life pleases you or my husband or the town. And since God has brought this child into my life, Mistresses, until he tells me to surrender this child, you must forgive me if I continue to raise her myself.”

She painted on a smile and walked away, but Beth
’s harsh parting words gave her pause. “Can ye say that ye are
proud
of that child of sin?”

Jocelyn thought a moment, then turned to face the pair of women. “I
’m not proud of her conception, or the sorrow we bore the day she came into the world,” she said, her eyes misting despite her resolve. “But I accept what falls into my life, provided it comes at the hand of God. And of this beautiful creation of God’s, yes, ladies, I am proud.”

Turning on her heel, Jocelyn left them in the dust and took Gilda home, muttering as she went: “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

As months passed, Gilda grew to be a favorite in the village. She and Noshi seemed to symbolize the best of the English and Indian cultures, and Jocelyn and Audrey often took Fallon and the babies down to the river to play. Like the Indian mothers, they indulged the children whenever possible, but began training them at age three for life in the wilderness. In the spring of 1606, Rowtag proudly gave Noshi his first bow and arrow, and Jocelyn bit her lip and said nothing while Rowtag took a long bone needle and tattooed the arms of both his sons with the mark of the Mangoak tribe.

Rowtag took a firm hand in the raising of his children, and since Thomas steadfastly refused to acknowledge Gilda
’s presence, Rowtag stepped in as a substitute father for her. Jocelyn and Audrey did not object when he bade the children to run from one end of the village to the other with a mouthful of water they were forbidden to swallow. Jocelyn did protest once, albeit feebly, when Rowtag took Fallon, Noshi, and Gilda to the river on a chilly spring morning and bade the children swim to the other side and back, but the warrior merely shrugged and said that children must be strong and unafraid if they were to survive in the forest.

To illustrate the importance of bearing pain without complaint, one afternoon Rowtag bade the children watch while he stood with crossed arms for the space of an hour upon a bed of stinging ants. As impassive and solid as stone, he neither moved nor flinched as the insects covered his legs and trunk.

What would the people of London say if they saw this?
Jocelyn wondered, watching from the window of her house.
How could I make them understand? The Virginian wilderness will demand more than iron guns and mighty ships if we are to survive here. ‘Twill demand strength of heart, body, and—

Her eyes fell upon her husband, who stopped to upbraid the silent Rowtag for indulging in yet another heathen practice.

—strength of spirit.

Miles away, Powhatan nodded a greeting to his brother, Opechancanough, who followed a string of captives into the village. Forced to run the gauntlet, the bruised and bloodied captives bolted haphazardly from one side of the camp to the other until Powhatan
’s warriors rounded them up. As women and children sang songs of victory, the captives were tied to stakes in the center of the camp while the serious art of torture began.

Powhatan pulled Opechancanough from the sight and led him into his hut. Grunting, the great chief seated himself upon a mat and took up his pipe. Inhaling deeply, he fanned the smoke into his face, then passed the pipe to his brother. Opechancanough inhaled as well, then released the smoke in a steady stream through his nose and mouth and waited for his brother to speak.

“Matchitehew dreamed again last night of the great bear from the sea,” Powhatan said, taking the pipe from Opechancanough. He paused to inhale.

“Is the great chief worried about this bear?” Opechancanough asked, knowing full well that Powhatan had been enraged by the priests
’ persistent prophecy.

“I do not worry,” the chief answered, passing the pipe again. “But I would be rid of this bear.” He took a deep breath, inhaling the smoke in the hut, allowing the magic of the pipe to calm his fury. Closing his eyes, he spoke again to his brother. “What do you know of the clothed people?”

Opechancanough resisted the urge to smile. His great brother rarely asked his opinion, but Powhatan knew little of the clothed people, whereas Opechancanough had been to their village and brought one of their own women to Powhatan’s son. It mattered little that the girl had run away, for one of the clothed men had remained behind in exchange for the life that was owed. The clothed man had survived the night of torture, and died at sunrise.

“It is said that Ocanahonan, the city of Guater Ralie, is mighty,” Opechancanough said, speaking slowly as if reluctant to part with such valuable knowledge. “Their village is rich in hard goods and stores. But their men are weak. One gave himself up to me freely, so I did not take him. The girl screamed like a baby. The one who came for her defied us to the end, though he did not sing a death song. We ate his heart to do him honor.”

Powhatan rested his hands upon his knees. “I have posted warriors along the sands of the great sea to watch for the ships which bring the men with long guns. If they come near, we will destroy the clothed men at Ocanahonan.”

Opechancanough nodded. “You have spoken well, but why not destroy them now?”

“There is time,” Powhatan answered, enjoying his pipe. “I will know when the time has come.”

The sky darkened with restless thunderclouds one hot afternoon in early April 1607, and Jocelyn left the cornfields where she had been planting and made her way to the river. The village canoes lay neatly
upturned on the bank. Three men who were busy stretching bark across a wooden frame greeted her politely as she splashed her arms and face with the cool river water. She was about to turn for the village when she spied a trio of familiar childish bodies further down the bank.

“Fallon, Noshi, and Gilda!” she called, half-scolding. “How did you get out here? I thought we told you not to go past the guard at the gate!”

“We didn’t,” Gilda answered, her thumb in her mouth. Wordlessly, she pointed to a section of the palisade near the water’s edge and Jocelyn could see that the ground had eroded underneath the wall. “Ah, I see a hole just big enough for three children,” Jocelyn said, teasing. “But did you think we would not see the mud on your arms and faces?”

Gilda responded to her mother
’s gentle scolding by throwing her filthy arms around Jocelyn’s neck, and Jocelyn returned the muddy hug without complaint. Fallon and Noshi stood nearby, their faces dark with guilt, until Jocelyn held her arms open to them, too, and Noshi giggled and joined in her embrace. Thirteen-year-old Fallon hung back, smiling shyly.