1609, Winter of the Dead: A Novel of the Founding of Jamestown (19 page)

Peter lifted his head. His eyes were as wild and dangerous as those of the mad dog Nat had killed in London. “Go away!” he snarled.

Martha and Nat took several steps closer. Peter tried to back farther into the corner. Martha groaned weakly, but her eyes did not open and she did not move.

“Peter, you are our friend,” said Audrey. “Martha is our friend. We want to help.”

Peter's teeth were bared. His lips twitched.

“Peter,” said Nat. “Give Martha to Audrey. Come to the other side of the cottage with me. Let us talk.”

There was a long moment of silence. Audrey said to Nat, “I gave him some acorn gruel, but he slapped it away. It was as though he no longer can even recognize food.”

Nat nodded.

“Peter, listen to us,” said Audrey.

Peter looked from Audrey to Nat to Martha in his arms. “Martha,” he said. “My Martha.”

“Peter,” said Audrey.

Suddenly Peter jumped to his feet, wailing and tearing at the air. Martha rolled off his lap into a heap. Peter lunged at Audrey, grabbing her throat in his fingers. Audrey gasped and fell backward, dragging Peter with her. Nat's blurry mind cleared then; he threw himself at Peter. His arms wrapped about the man's waist and with all the energy Nat had, he wrenched Peter away from Audrey. Peter screamed and struggled. His ragged fingernails gouged into Nat's wrists and he bit Nat on the hand.

“Audrey, get out of the cottage. Go find more help. I can't do this alone!” cried Nat.

Audrey darted out of the cottage. Nat continued to hold tightly to Peter even though the man slashed viciously with his nails and chomped with his teeth. At last Nat got one leg beneath those of Peter Scott and knocked the man's body out from underneath him. Peter hit the floor with a cry and Nat held him down.

Nat leaned in close to Peter's face. “Listen to me, man! You are hungry, we all are! But you cannot let it consume you. You must be strong for yourself, for Martha and the baby. Help is coming. We will do all we can to see that Martha makes it through.”

Peter's struggles grew weaker and weaker.
Pray God he is not dying, too,
Nat thought. But the man continued to breathe, irregular, shallow breaths. Then Peter looked at Nat. He said, “Nat? Please get off me. You are too heavy.”

“You will not fight with me?”

“No,” said Peter. “I will not.”

Nat got up from the floor and gave Peter a hand to help him up, too.

“Martha,” said Peter. “I must go to her.”

“Yes,” said Nat, “And we will do what we can to bring her back to health.”

They went to the corner and Peter knelt by his wife. He lifted her head. And then he threw back his head and roared. “She's dead!”

Nat touched Martha's wrist. He put his finger beneath her nostrils and there was no air moving. Indeed, the woman had died.

“Peter,” Nat began. “I am so very sorry, so—”

But Peter's mind snapped again in an instant. He drove his fist against Nat's chest, slamming Nat backward into the trunk. The lantern wobbled but did not fall. Peter ripped at his face and his clothes and babbled dreadful, insane nonsense.

Nat left the cottage. He found Audrey pounding on a nearby cottage door, and he took her hand to stop it.

“No one will help,” said Audrey. “I've tried three homes and everyone says we are all sick and dying and they won't leave their own to help Peter and Martha.”

“It doesn't matter now,” said Nat. “Martha is dead. Peter is indeed distraught beyond reason, but I think it is best to leave him alone with her until he comes to his senses.”

“Where shall I sleep, then?” asked Audrey.

Nat took Audrey to one of the empty barns and made her a pallet out of straw. Then he brought his one remaining deerskin to her, covered her, and bid her good night.

Back in his cottage, he recorded the events of the night.
Poor Peter Scott,
he wrote at the end of the entry.
Such a loss, both wife and baby. Perhaps he will find better luck in the passage of time. Perhaps things will turn for the better for all of us. How can it get any worse?

33

January 6–10, 1610

M
ARTHA
S
COTT'S BODY
was found in Peter Scott's trunk, chopped into pieces and covered with salt. Her belly had been ripped open and the baby was missing.

Peter Scott was immediately put into the James Towne jail, a small building with no furniture, lanterns, nor fireplace. He was left there for several days, with only a handful of grain tossed in for his meals. The trial would come to pass quickly, as soon as the council could decide what to do about so horrendous a crime.

“He killed her,” Nat heard one gentleman say as he collected firewood from the fort's community supply. “Killed her and ripped the child from her and tossed the baby into the river. Then he cut his wife up and salted her for food. He thought no one would look in that ghastly trunk!”

“Killed his own wife,” said another man. “I am starving, but I would never murder! Satan has come to James Towne and lives in the person of Peter Scott.”

Nat found his voice and said, “Peter did not kill her, she died.”

But the gentleman scoffed. “You are his friend, you'd say anything. Now, hold your tongue before I accuse you of assisting in the murder, boy!”

George Percy took Peter Scott from the jail after several days and marched the young man to a tall tree just outside the palisade. As everyone gathered to watch, Peter was drawn up by his thumbs and hung there, his jaws clenched together, his eyes wincing with incredible pain.

“Getting what he deserves,” said one man in the crowd.

“God save his soul,” said one woman.

“Nat, I was not there when Martha died,” Audrey said, tears of frustration and pity coursing down her face. “You were there. Tell them what you saw.”

But Nat shook his head. He might be accused of killing Martha, too.
Peter, I'm sorry! There is nothing I can do!

Percy proceeded to question the tortured man hanging from the tree. “Peter Scott, did you murder your wife, Martha, and cut her into pieces?”

Peter did not move. Nat could see tears on the man's cheeks, but there was no sound.

“Did you cut her into pieces and throw your infant into the river?”

Peter did not answer. Cloth bags were tied to Peter's ankles and filled with stones to weigh Peter and make the pain even more terrible. The questioning went on for fifteen minutes. Nat stared at the ground. He could no longer endure the expression on Peter's face nor the agony in Audrey's eyes.

And then there was a cry of triumph from George Percy, and Peter Scott was cut down from the tree. “He admitted his offense,” Percy told the crowd. “He nodded at the last question. His nod confirmed our accusations. This man is a murderer and shall die!”

Nat looked up at last. Audrey said, “Peter did not nod. His head spasmed and Percy, looking for anything to end this ordeal, said he saw a nod! What shall we do? Peter was mad with hunger, and so his tormented mind reasoned that Martha would be food after she died. But he did not kill her! We must stop the execution of Peter Scott!”

Nat turned away from Audrey. There was nothing he could say.

Peter Scott was returned to the jail and a pyre was built in the center of the barren cornfield. All men who were able piled brush and sticks and branches together and planted a post in the center. Nat feigned illness to keep from participating. He lay on his mattress and tossed with anxiety and rage. At Peter for losing his mind and butchering his dead wife's body. At Martha for dying. At Audrey for being kind and drawing him into association with the Scotts. At George Percy for believing torture could secure truth. And at himself for having no courage to say what needed to be said.

The next morning, in the bitter cold, all those who were not sick in bed turned out for the punishment of Peter Scott. George Percy brought the torch, and made an impassioned speech, gesturing with the torch at both the condemned and at the witnesses. His words were punctuated with puffs of mist. He stomped his feet to keep warm, but on and on he rambled about God and the devil and Peter Scott's obscene acts.

Peter, his feet without shoes, and wearing only a torn shirt and moth-eaten trousers, had been lashed to the center post. He stared up at the sky. Every few moments he would shudder with the cold.

“We are Englishmen,” said Percy to the settlers. “We are civilized, and will not tolerate less. Hanging is not good enough, not strong enough, for such a deed as Peter Scott performed. He must suffer and we will see that he does.”

There were murmurs from the group, some in agreement, some laced with sadness for what Peter was about to endure.

“Peter, have you anything to say before you are sent out of this life?”

Peter said nothing. But then his head turned, and he looked directly at Nat.

Nat felt the stare as surely as a knife to his heart. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out that which he had brought to the execution, that which he didn't really believe he'd have the courage to show.

“George Percy, sir!” shouted Nat. Audrey turned and stared at Nat with wonder. The mumbling in the crowd quieted. “Percy! Listen to me now, if never before. I must tell you something, and you must hear me out. I know for a fact that Peter Scott did not kill his wife.”

“Don't listen to him, Percy!” shouted a gentleman. “He is Scott's friend.”

“Let him speak,” said Percy.

Nat held up his journal. It was curled and soiled, but inside was a record of the night of Martha's death, the details of what had happened. Nat said, “Most of you here know me. And those of you who do know I don't have friends. I have avoided friends ever since I came to James Towne. I have preferred to be alone, to take care of myself. But what I say is truth, God as my witness.”

“Continue,” said Percy.

“I went to the home of Martha and Peter the night she died. Audrey Ford called me and I came, hoping to calm the man as Audrey nursed the poor woman. I was with Peter and Martha when she took her last breath. I wrote of it in my journal, and I offer it now as testimony to the facts.”

Percy held up his hand. “Mistress Ford, is Peacock giving us an honest statement?”

Audrey said, “I did indeed call him. Peter was crazed with heartache for the dire condition of his wife. I was not there when she died, but I can say Nathaniel Peacock would tell the truth.”

There was mumbling in the crowd. Then Nat continued, “Please, sir, read my journal aloud and let Peter be charged with only the cutting of his wife. Surely that is not an offense requiring death.”

George Percy squinted at Nat, then Peter, then the journal. “Bring that record to me, boy,” he said.

The crowd parted as Nat worked his way to Percy. Some looked at him as he passed as though they hoped the journal might stop the burning. Others scowled as if they were afraid it would.

“Here, sir,” said Nat. He gave the booklet to Percy. Percy handed the torch to the torch man. Nat took a deep breath. He couldn't imagine what trouble he'd be in for rescuing Peter, but right now it didn't matter. He had no choice.

I have no choice. Richard, this is for you, too.

Percy flipped through the pages, then tossed the journal onto the pyre. “Make-believe,” he declared to the settlers. “Anything to try and rescue this demon!”

“Accuse Peacock of conspiring to murder Martha Scott!” came a cry.

Percy paused, then shook his head and said, “There is no indication that Peter acted in any way but alone. Peacock is just trying to stall what must happen. Now we shall have justice. Peter Scott will face our fire here in this life and hellfire in the next.”

Percy nodded to the torch man, who lowered the flame to the kindling and waited until it began to smolder and smoke. The journal caught the first licks of flame and went up like dry leaves.

Nat watched, dumbfounded, horrified. Audrey came over, took his arm, and buried her face in his sleeve. She couldn't watch as the fire grew stronger and stronger, working its way to the center pole where Peter Scott stood, his eyes closed.

Women in the gathering broke into sobs. Men mumbled uncomfortably. Nat said nothing. He stared into Peter's face, and thought,
Peter, I pray it goes quickly for you.

The fire reached Peter's legs and caught the fabric of his trousers instantly. The blaze raced up his chest to his face. There were several seconds of silent twitching and shaking. The smell of roasting flesh was sharp and pungent. And then, with an unbearably long scream of supreme anguish, Peter Scott gave his consciousness and life to God.

Only a few remained to watch the man reduced to cinders. Nat led Audrey back to her cottage. She sat without a word on her cot, and Nat sat next to her, holding her gently. He could feel her quiet weeping as his chest grew warm and wet.

“You did a good thing,” came a voice from the door. Nat looked over to see William Love. “Someone had to speak up for Peter. I can't believe he killed his wife, either. Thank you for trying.”

Nat nodded and William withdrew. Minutes later, Edward Pising looked into the cottage. “Master Peacock? You were brave to speak out at such a moment. I didn't know Peter Scott well, but I know in my soul that he could not have killed his wife. He was a fine man. He should not have died. But you gave his death some dignity.”

“Thank you,” said Nat.

A handful of other men and women stopped by to tell Nat of their appreciation for his courage. Nat thanked them all in turn.

Night came. Audrey fell asleep, curled up on her cot, and Nat gazed at her for a moment, and then covered her gently with the deerskin. He touched her hair and bid her a sleep without dreams.

He went back to his cottage and found that Samuel Collier had put three sheets of paper on his mattress as well as a pen and small well of berry ink.