‘A turtle shell?’
‘Yes. You are right. Here is a leg.’ He flourished a little white bone and they found more as they searched.
‘Another turtle,’ Kit said, brushing sand and dirt from a discovery which he could feel was domed, though broken, even more than the first. He passed it to Manteo along with another piece that seemed to fit by its side. He rooted around and found something else that was small and hard, shiny and ridged. He held it up in the fading light.
Manteo was quiet.
It was a tooth – unmistakably; a human tooth.
Manteo hunched down beside Kit and dug with him. They exhumed part of a jaw in which three teeth were embedded. There was no doubt.
‘This is a man,’ Manteo said. ‘This is his skull.’
Kit scraped in the sand. The limbs, when he found them, were
far less damaged. He unearthed whole leg and arm bones, ribs and pelvis. But the skull was smashed to fragments.
He made a neat pile of the teeth.
‘Whoever this was, he didn’t die a natural death. Beasts wouldn’t pulverise a skull and leave the rest intact.’
Manteo nodded, scrutinising a femur. ‘There are no teeth marks. A bear would have chewed the bones, so would a wolf. They would have broken them for the marrow, probably eaten them.’
‘So the man’s head was crushed by the people who killed him?’
‘Yes, so I think.’
‘Beaten to a pulp – as if they wanted to destroy his face.’
‘Yes, beaten in that way.’
‘Can you tell how long ago this happened?’
Manteo fished around the grave site and Kit did the same. They both looked for other clues: a trace of fabric or metal, some relic of weaponry or clothing, anything other than bone.
‘A long time,’ Manteo answered. ‘Maybe a year, not much more; the bones are not decayed. But not recently. There is no flesh or hair …’
‘There are no clothes either.’
‘They could have been taken.’
Kit nodded. The Indians prized the clothes of foreigners, so if Indians had murdered the man they probably would have stripped him. Suppose the bones were those of one of Coffin’s men. But was that likely? Was he jumping to the worst conclusion? The body could have been that of a savage killed in some tribal skirmish, or any one of those left marooned on the coast of Virginia over the years; he’d heard talk of slaves abandoned along this shore, both African and Indian, even of a few men left behind when
Lane’s garrison was evacuated. He rummaged in the dirt, feeling the grains of grit between the pads of his fingers. He came across another tooth, a smooth enamelled molar broken off from its root. Was there a way of distinguishing English teeth from savage? He supposed there wouldn’t be.
He delved again and touched a thin strip of something metallic. He held it up to the vestiges of light. It was brass, a tiny elongated cylinder, fatter at one end than the other: an aiglette of the kind that a man would have at the end of the laces on his doublet or sleeves.
He passed the find to Manteo. ‘It’s an aiglette, like this.’ He held out one of his own laces.
It wasn’t fancy or very valuable, not gilded or jewelled, but the sort of tag that a soldier might use. He imagined the man brought down, perhaps clubbed or struck by an arrow, the clothes ripped off him as he lay dying, the lace torn away and lost in the dirt to later rot and leave just its capping behind. He watched Manteo push the aiglette over his palm.
‘This was no Indian,’ Kit said. ‘I think he was English, most probably one of Coffin’s men, murdered not long after being left here.’
Manteo nodded. ‘Yes. I think so too.’
‘We must warn the Governor.’ He stood and looked down at the remains. ‘We’ll show him what’s left and I’ll give him the aiglette.’ He held out his hand and Manteo pressed it into his safekeeping.
‘The Secotans will have done this,’ Manteo said.
‘The Secotans.’ Kit looked up at the black woodland. ‘I wonder where they are now.’
‘Their manner of wars … is either by sudden surprising … most commonly about the dawning of the day, or moon light, or else by ambushes, or some subtle devises …’
—From an account of the ‘natural inhabitants’ in Thomas Harriot’s
Brief and True Report of the new found land of Virginia first
published in 1588
July 1587
‘You need not go.’
The wind thrummed through the
Lion
’s rigging, and drove rolling waves against her hull, making the ship strain against her anchor lines, rocking with a sickening motion. But Master Ferdinando smiled.
Emme regarded him askance. ‘Of course I must go. Mistress Dare will require help in establishing her new home on Roanoke, and her time is almost come. She needs me now more than ever.’
‘Is her comfort so important to you?’ Ferdinando took hold of the main halyard and leant over her. ‘I think, considering your friends, that probably it is not.’
What was he getting at? She supposed he meant to unsettle her by inferring that he knew more than he did. She would not rise to him.
She turned aside and looked down at the pinnace she was meant to board. It bobbed up and down, knocking against the side of the ship, already fully loaded with the last of the Planters to be taken ashore: the old men, women and boys. She saw the anxiety in their wan faces. They were waiting for her.
Ferdinando took her arm as if to help her to the rail, and she tried to wrench away from him but to no avail. His hold meant she could not easily proceed further and the constraint made her flesh creep. He stood in front of the boxes placed to form steps over the bulwarks, released her and gave her a sly look.
‘I mean those who are concerned about your safe return to England. They would not want you lost on this island.’
‘I do not intend to be lost.’ She took a few steps to skirt past him. ‘I shall serve the Dares and Governor White in the new City of Raleigh. I will not be difficult to find.’
He took hold of her again and she shot him a fiery glance, standing rigid until he let go of her.
His lips twisted into another subtle smile.
‘But you will not stay on Roanoke for long. When I am ready, you will leave.’
‘Most generous of you, considering that you have told all the other Planters that they are not to be allowed back aboard this ship.’
He stood by the rail, speaking in an undertone that followed her, low and unhurried as she negotiated the steps.
‘I shall allow Governor White back and possibly one or two others. Someone must return to England to report to the venture’s patrons. I would rather not have that responsibility – or need to explain your absence.’ He inclined his head, confident now of her attention. ‘So do not expect to remain here for more than a few days.’
She turned to him before climbing down. ‘I expect nothing, Master Ferdinando, least of all anything from you.’
She did not look back at the ship; she had no wish to ever see it again. She fixed her attention on the line of white dunes and the turbulent channel that led to the lagoon. The pinnace was crowded, and everyone was thrown together in the rough passage through the inlet, tossed from side to side, soaked through with spray, and bounced to bruising against boards and netting. But the water calmed to blue serenity once they were through to the other side, gently rippled by a soft breeze, and she caught her first glimpse of the island that would be her home in Virginia. There it was – Roanoke: a low band of hazy green that gradually spread over the horizon during the long hours of their approach, and rose to give the promise of gentle wooded hills and land fit for farming. The whole island was less than twelve miles from north to south, and four miles from west to east, so Captain Stafford told her, but to circle it almost completely, as they did to avoid the shallowest water, took most of the sultry morning.
When they arrived the sun was high, and the distant line of dunes fringing the sea shimmered as if melting into the heavens. She was wilting in the heat and concerned for her mistress, but
they were soon led into the shade of trees, and offered water by those sent to greet them. Kit’s page welcomed her with a bunch of sweet grapes, then escorted her and Mistress Dare along a trail fragrant with juniper. The lady walked slowly, but Emme was happy to savour the delight of everything around her: the sunlight filtering through moss-draped branches that made the trees look as if they were trailing long beards, the antlered deer feeding in sheltered glades, and the flowers that grew wherever the canopy thinned out, climbing over the undergrowth in glorious abundance – blush pink briar roses and bindweed with blooms like purple trumpets; passion flowers and red columbine; dainty plants covering the ground that sported florets like horn-shaped jewels. She lost sight of the sea but could still smell its freshness mingled with the tang of the pines. And almost everywhere she looked there were great oak and walnut trees; fruits and nuts that were ripe or growing; grapes on vines in patches of sunshine; small plums and orange fruits that Rob assured her were safe to eat. They proved to be delicious, like medlars wrapped in mantles of paper.
How to marvel at wonders without name? She could only relish through her senses like a child before mastering language: enjoying the sight of a bird like a flame in the trees, a vivid flash of vermilion; see gourds like luscious melons, and flowers taller than she was with heads like radiant suns; touch the little leaves of the creeper that moved when she brushed by, feel them closing under her fingers; smell the bark scented of cherries; and hear the song of a sparrow that would have delighted the Queen.
What would the place be like in winter? She tried to picture that, reminding herself of the season and that now, in the height of summer, she was probably seeing the island at its best. Come the
winter it would be colder and everything would die back. In the autumn there might be hurricanes, the wrecking storms that Kit had told her about. But Roanoke was sheltered by the ribbon of dunes; some of the oaks must have stood for a century or more. The island was further south than England and surely the winters could not be any worse. She doubted that snow ever settled or water thickly froze.
It was not that she saw only good as she walked, because she recognised things that could hurt and prove a danger: stems and fruits covered in spines; the webs of spiders, some of monstrous size; ant trails leading up tree trunks to giant nests hanging from high branches; a black snake like a whip that slithered into the shadows. But these were dangers she could understand and they did not frighten her. They only reinforced her perception of manifold variety, a land as fascinating as a gem splitting light, revealing more and more the closer she looked.
At the settlement, when they reached it, her delight was compounded for there were houses intact: good timber-framed cottages built on two storeys, brick walled on the lower level with lath and daub up above, better than many she had seen around London. They had chimneys and tiled roofs, wooden shutters and solid doors. There were not enough houses for everyone, but at least the families would have a roof over their heads, and more cottages were being built; she could see the studding posts in place. Creepers and ivy had grown over the houses still standing, but the Planters who had gone ahead had already cleared away the worst. Repairs were well underway. Men were up ladders, nailing back timbers, plugging with mud and patching with lead. Sounds of sawing and hammering rang round the clearing. There was a well with a winch at which the women gathered to draw water for themselves, the
men and boys. They cut up calico for partitions and made rush pallets to serve as beds. Emme saw a kiln trailing smoke, and a forge with a roaring furnace. A smith was at the anvil, stripped to his waist, pounding iron and dripping sweat. Men were felling trees and hewing wood, heaping up dirt from a collapsed earthwork and dismantling the ruin of a burnt building inside.
‘This is the fort,’ Rob announced to both Emme and Mistress Dare. ‘The Governor has ordered it rebuilt.’ Then he pointed to the cottage nearest the broken wall of earth. ‘This is your house for now. It will be shared by the Governor and Master Dare.’
‘Thank you, Rob,’ said Mistress Dare. ‘It looks perfect.’
She leant on Emme’s arm and walked over to her new home, pausing by the well for a drink on the way. Emme could see the Governor with Kit deep in conversation outside the cottage and Ananias Dare looking on. All three had their backs to her. She could hear them talking while her mistress refreshed herself, taking a ladle from the bucket.
‘I think they should be told,’ Kit said, his words just discernible from where Emme stood.
‘Not the women,’ muttered Governor White as he scrutinised a curling document. ‘There’s no need to alarm them. Whatever happened, it was nearly a year ago.’
‘You will say nothing?’ Kit seemed surprised; his tone was incredulous.
‘Keep quiet about it,’ Ananias cut in.
White mopped his brow.
‘What would be gained?’
Mistress Dare finished drinking and waddled eagerly towards them.
Kit turned and saw her, and immediately the three men fell silent.
Emme considered asking them what they had been talking about but decided not to for her mistress’s sake. If indeed the lady might be alarmed, it was probably better that she didn’t know.
Master Dare greeted his wife first, putting his arms around her and kissing her lovingly in a way that made Emme feel somewhat better disposed towards him.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ he said. ‘Let me show you inside.’ He led her to the threshold with his hand over her rump.
Emme narrowed her eyes and caught sight of a swept dirt floor, a joint stool and trestle table, and a ladder leading upstairs. Perhaps Mistress Dare would have the luxury of giving birth on a bed; she might even have her husband’s full attention for a while.
Governor White turned to Kit, rolled up his paper and touched it to his cap.
‘I must see how the work goes at the fort.’
Kit gave a short bow. ‘I’ll help with the felling. There’s much to be done.’