Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (21 page)

“
You don’t have to thank me, Thomas, I’m your wife. ‘Tis my duty to help you, to serve you—” She wanted to add
to love you
, but the cold aloofness in his eyes blocked the words. “I’faith, Thomas, I wanted to talk to you about this morning. I would rather hurt myself than bring you trouble in the council, but then there was that horrible whipping . . .”

He thrust the shovel into the sand and brushed a layer of grit from his hands.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked, his smile twisting as he leaned his weight upon the shovel’s handle. “I’ve spent the afternoon asking God why he would bring you into my life, for unless his plan is to torture me—”

A terrible wailing interrupted his words.
Thomas flashed into movement, sprinting toward the sound, and Jocelyn’s heart went into sudden shock as she recognized the frenzied cries of young George Howe.

Young George stood as if he were frozen, his head thrown back in numb terror, his fists clenched in frustrated horror.
The elder George Howe lay in a pool of reddened water, his body pierced by over a dozen arrows, his head battered to an unrecognizable pulp. His clothes lay strewn on the sand; his forked stick floated innocently in the water near his body.

Jocelyn ran to young George and turned his head away from the carnage, muffling his cries with her body.

“Savages!” Thomas spat the word, raising a fist to heaven. “God help us, are these the people we came to redeem?”

Jocelyn squinted to block out the sight; both the living and the dead man frightened her.
And if the savages were still in the area—

“
Soft, Thomas, we must warn the others,” she said, pulling the boy away from the water. “You can’t stay here!”

“
God help any savage who strikes me,” Thomas said, his stern expression set in stone as he climbed over the rocks and splashed into the pool. He lifted the dead man’s body from the water, and Jocelyn cried out again at the sight of what had been the face of gentle George Howe.

At the sound of her cry, Thomas looked up.
“Go bring a company of men,” he directed. “I’ll stay here. I’ll not leave my brother’s body undefended.”

“
But what if—” Jocelyn stammered, her heart pounding at the thought of savages in the woods.

“
Go,” Thomas’ voice rang over the beach. “Get out of here!”

Closing her ears to the sound of the boy
’s cries, Jocelyn took his hand and ran to the safety of the fort.

Back aboard the
Lion,
Jocelyn listened to the steady creaking of the ship’s timbers and shuddered. How quickly life could change! Last night she had been the happy and contented new bride of a minister, tonight she was fevered and frantic with fear. Of all the men in the colony, George Howe had been the most pleasant and easy-going. Why, then, had the savages set upon him? In his almighty wisdom, why had God allowed such a terrible thing to happen?

Even more worrisome was Thomas
’ attitude. The other men of the colony had been quick to praise Thomas’ devotion to duty and his steely courage in the face of certain danger, but they hadn’t seen the glint of defiance in his eyes when he commanded Jocelyn to leave him on the beach. ‘Twas as if he dared the savages to appear and strike him down. In that instant, Jocelyn had thought him suicidal.

But harboring such thoughts would do her no good.
What minister would commit suicide? Her doubts only proved how little she knew and understood him. Certainly he was brave and courageous, everyone told her so. ‘Twas better to think on that than to wonder if her husband would actually defy the savages to kill him.

Next to Jocelyn, young George lay sleeping on a pile of mildewed canvas, for all the blankets had been left ashore in the colonists
’ haste to leave the island. Only a handful of men were ashore this night, and they walked the ramparts of the fort with loaded muskets and anxious eyes, looking for the gleam of a torch, the movement of a single leaf.

John White had warned his people that the Indians might be bent on revenge, but the ferocious and unnecessary attack upon George Howe had unnerved even Manteo and Towaye.
They, too, were aboard the
Lion
, awaiting daylight and a decision from the Governor as to what action should be taken in retaliation for Howe’s death.

Most of the women slept now below deck, while the council assembled up on the quarterdeck to discuss the day
’s events. Too shaken to sleep, Jocelyn left George in the room of sleeping women and huddled in the shadows behind the capstan to listen to the men.

John White
’s face was pale and strained before his fellow settlers. “I thought mayhap Roanoke would be safer, for all have heard of the barbaric savages of the Chesapeake,” he said, his shoulders bowed. “I shall never forgive myself for this—George Howe was an esteemed friend and a valuable part of our community.”

“
Blame not yourself, this could have happened anywhere,” Thomas Stevens spoke up, nodding soberly toward his fellows. “No matter where we plant our city, the savages will fear us because they do not know our intentions. We should do more to convince them that we are peaceful.”

“
And how do we do that?” Ananias Dare asked. He looked toward Manteo, who sat silently in the circle. “What, my friend, do you say? Think you that we should stay here?”

Manteo nodded slowly, weighing his words.
“My English brothers were too free,” he said, looking around the circle for signs of disagreement. “Not one of my race would live as you did. We do not travel alone. We do not fish without regard for the avenger who waits in the reeds. You, my friends, are fortunate that Roanoacs did not vent their wrath on an earlier day. Only because they feared your anger for the killing of the white bones did they not come sooner.”

“
What is he saying?” Ananias asked, looking at his father-in-law as the circle of men buzzed.

John White held up his hand.
“As always, there is wisdom in Manteo’s words. We assumed that because we saw no savages, there were no savages, and we can never make that assumption. Manteo believes the arrows came from a tribe of Roanoacs, and their friendship with the English ended years ago.”

“
Why did their friendship end?” Thomas Colman’s deep voice broke through the buzzing of the men, and Jocelyn lifted her head as every man in the circle gave attention to her husband’s question. If any in the colony had thought Thomas Colman unworthy of leadership, none thought it after this afternoon.

John White gave the minister a rueful smile.
“The Roanoacs were pleasant and friendly people when I landed here with Ralph Lane’s party two years ago. Wingina was their chief, and their camp lay on the mainland due east of our island, a place called Dasemunkepeuc. Wingina’s brother, Granganimeo, invited Lane to settle here on Roanoke Island so the English would be near Dasemunkepeuc.”

“
Why would the savages want the English near?” Thomas asked. “If they do not want us to interfere—”

White lifted an eyebrow.
“For power, my dear minister. The savages dwelling near us gained status because they were in close contact with our iron and copper and pots and beads. But they did not realize that English soldiers are not farmers, and the English needed food to remain alive through the winter. As they incessantly bartered with us, they soon depleted their own winter stores.”

White
’s eyes strafed the gathering, then trained in on the minister. “But when Granganimeo died, Wingina announced that his name had changed to Pemisapan—a word meaning ‘watchful’ or ‘wary’ in their tongue. From that day he became an enemy of the English, undermining Lane’s efforts until finally Pemisapan was killed. Within a month, Lane and all with him left for England, but the rift between the English and Roanoacs has never been healed.”

“
The skeleton we buried—” Thomas Stevens interrupted.

“
The white bones,” White nodded knowingly. “‘Twas probably was probably one of Grenville’s fifteen, and killed by the Roanoacs.” White stood. “We will see shortly. Sleep, my friends, for tomorrow we will scout the island thoroughly and make sure no other savages lie in wait to attack us.”

“
And if we find none?” This from Ananias Dare.

“
We will sail to Croatoan Island, home of Manteo’s people, and greet our friends at the village of Chacandepeco. They are our eyes and ears, and after talking to them, we will decide what to do.”

Jocelyn watched as the group dispersed.
Most of the men broke up into groups of two and three and threw their heads together as they buzzed with speculation. Only two men held themselves aloof from the fray—Manteo, the savage, and her husband the minister.

The armed search parties found no signs of savages on the island, and on the second day after George Howe
’s death, John White sent Edward Stafford, Manteo, Ananias Dare, the reverend Thomas Colman, and twenty other armed men southward to Croatoan Island. They sailed in the small pinnace, piloted by Captain Stafford, and every man but the minister carried a dagger or arquebus in his belt as well as a musket in his hand.

Edward Stafford stared grimly at the familiar shoreline of Croatoan Island as the pinnace neared the shore.
The men, angry and ready for vengeance, leapt overboard as soon as the bow hit sand, and he reined in their impatient spirits with some difficulty. “Remember that the Croatoan are as unique from the Roanoacs as we are from the Spanish,” he said, raising a hand to silence the men. “Peace is our motive, and knowledge our goal.” He paused and looked at the group. “But arm yourselves and line up five abreast as if for battle. We have been gone from this place for a very long time.”

The men behind him nodded their assent, all but the unarmed minister and the two savages.
Stafford motioned to them and indicated that they should take their places at the rear of the guard, and with four lines of men in battle formation, he led the way up the beach.

They had not journeyed twenty feet into the tangled brush when a vicious battle cry lifted the hair on the back of his neck.
He heard the intake of a dozen breaths and raised his musket as limbs and leaves thrashed frantically around him.

Pushing his way through the breaking battle lines, Manteo hastily called a greeting in the Indian tongue.
The faceless activity in the woods stilled; Manteo called out again. After a moment, browned and painted faces appeared like disembodied ghosts in the brush, then one warrior stepped forward, a long arrow notched in his bowstring.

Manteo spoke rapidly to the warrior, who answered in the savage tongue and jerked his head toward the English.
“In God’s name, Captain, tell the men to lower their guns,” Thomas Colman shouted from the rear of the company.

With a careful eye on the woods around him, Stafford gave the order to lower their weapons, and the men did so, reluctantly.
The warrior’s face widened in a grin. He dropped his bow and hurried forward to embrace Manteo, and the woods came alive with the high-pitched calls of a score of other Indians who leapt from tree limbs and from behind shrubs to surround the English in happy bedlam.

Edward Stafford felt the arms of a dozen warriors encircle him in joy, and the hard knot of fear in his stomach began to relax.
As part of Lane’s expedition, he had spent many weeks with the Croatoans in peace; perchance those memories and that friendship would save his landing party yet.

Nineteen

A
fter the joyful reunion in the forest, the Indians of Croatoan Island led the landing party to their village at Chacandepeco. With Manteo and Towaye acting as interpreters, the Croatoans invited Stafford and Ananias Dare to sit with them in a council meeting. Stafford asked that Thomas Colman be allowed to sit with them, too, as a representative of the Englishmen’s God, and the village chief, the
werowance
, nodded in agreement.

Stafford gave his warmest greetings and regards to the chief, then asked the chief to spread the word of the colonists
’ arrival to the other friendly tribes on the mainland: the Secotan, Aquascogoc, and Pomeioc. After listening to Stafford’s description of George Howe’s mutilated body, the village chief agreed that a band of murderous Roanoacs were guilty of the murder on Roanoke Island.

“
They may have been hunting deer, or they may have come to draw blood,” Manteo said, translating for the gray-haired werowance. “The Croatoans do not know. But they will speak to you of another matter.”

The werowance gestured to a fiercely painted warrior who stood at his side.
The man left the circle and returned a moment later carrying a slender young man in his arms. Stafford judged the invalid to be about nineteen, but ‘twas difficult to tell whether he was man or child because he kept his face down as if ashamed, and long, unkempt hair hid his features. The elder warrior gently deposited the young man on a grass mat at the chief’s side, then moved away from the circle with a darkly accusing look on his face.