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

Smith immediately made safety his priority.
He gave orders to extend and reinforce the rough fortification that had surrounded the one-acre city. The original triangular enclosure grew into a five-sided fort for greater defensive strength. Smith organized a weekly military parade to train the men under his command, and his captains regularly sent out trading and fishing expeditions to deal with the ever-present threat of famine.

Smith knew that his air of command, his occasional flashes of temper, and the fact that he was a plebeian giving orders to the gentry accounted for much bitterness in his camp, but popularity was a luxury he could ill afford.
During the autumn of his term of office Captain Newport arrived from England with more settlers, including Dutchmen and Poles to manufacture naval stores, but the planners had not sent enough food to feed the newcomers. Once again Newport carried letters containing orders from the London Company that Smith’s men should work to find gold, Raleigh’s lost colony, and a passage to the great South Sea. In addition, Newport carried a copper crown with which Smith was to commission Powhatan as a sovereign in alliance with James I of England.

Powhatan refused to be flattered by King James
’ recognition. He stoutly refused to come to Jamestown for the inaugural ceremony, so a deputation headed by Captain Newport traveled to Weromacomico, entered the chief’s dwelling, and forcibly placed the copper crown on his head. Powhatan, chief of more tribes than any werowance before or since, stoutly refused to kneel for the ceremony.

Smith was grateful for any excuse to visit Weromacomico, however, because he honestly enjoyed visiting Pocahontas and Numees.
He had come to look upon the older girl as a heaven-sent angel in disguise, and once wrote to England that she was the only “nonpareil of Powhatan’s kingdom.” She had grown into a lovely young woman of fidelity and courage, and with her alone he made a determined effort to be kind and solicitous.

Numees, on the other hand, fascinated him as an experiment in English/Indian relations.
At five years of age, the girl was an enigma, as thoughtful and eager to please as the daintiest English maiden, but as fiercely devoted to savage ideals and customs as the most intense warrior. She was vulnerable to fits of depression that seemed unlikely in such a young child. During these spells of melancholy she would not speak but brood quietly, her hand clasped around a talisman that hung from a strip of leather about her neck. She grew more lovely with every passing day, with blue eyes as wide and fair as those that gleamed brown in Pocahontas’s eager face.

Smith was pleased when Pocahontas expressed an interest in learning to speak
“the clothed man’s tongue.” Knowing how Powhatan’s resentment could flare into sudden fury, Smith cautioned both girls not to speak English before the chief. Numees, who spoke fluently and with a natural rhythm, hesitated to speak English, while Pocahontas, who stumbled over unfamiliar sounds and syntax, yearned to be able to converse as freely in Smith’s native tongue as he now did in hers.

Pocahontas surprised him one day with the reason for her desire to speak English.
“I will marry an Englishman,” she said, the words strangely stilted in her voice. “I will marry you, John Smith.”

“
Oh, no, Princess,” he said, laughing as he tore his eyes away from her loving gaze. “I will marry no woman, for I am wedded to Virginia and the work I do.” His eyes narrowed in thought as he considered her outspoken proposal. Mayhap a marriage betwixt the chief’s daughter and an Englishman might cement the peace. “I would not discourage you,” he went on, giving her a paternal smile. “There are many Englishmen in Jamestown who would love to be your husband, and many others will soon come. Trust in God, my dear, and let me see what I can do.”

He patted her hand.
“Someday, Princess, you will marry,” he said. “Until then, be patient and enjoy the days of your youth. And keep Numees safe, for she represents all that you might accomplish in such a marriage.”

He did not know if Pocahontas understood what he meant.

Smith declared the arrival of four ships in the summer of 1609 a mixed blessing. They brought relief supplies and additional able-bodied colonists to bolster the sagging strength of the men at Jamestown, but among the passengers were John Ratcliffe and Gabriel Archer, by now Smith’s ardent enemies.

The two malcontents bred such complaining and dissension among the men at Jamestown that by September, Smith chose to lead another excursion into the wilderness.
Ostensibly the company went forth to look for additional food supplies, but in reality Smith sought to escape the stiflingly hostile atmosphere of the colony Smith had single-handedly rescued from starvation.

The peace and quiet of river travel soothed him, and Smith let the gentle motion of the boat rock him to sleep.
He dreamed he was at Weromacomico, with his head resting in Pocahontas’s lap. Her dark eyes were fastened upon his, her gentle fingers strafed his brow and raked his hair, his limbs loosened and relaxed in her tender embrace.

“
You work too hard,” she murmured, her voice as light as the breeze that caressed his cheek. “Ignore your problems and they will go away.”

“
You don’t understand,” he told her, watching his reflection in the brown pools of her eyes. “To overcome is to live. One must not surrender in the struggle—”

A sudden explosion wrenched him from his dream world.
A barrel of gunpowder in the boat had accidentally ignited, and Smith smelled the acrid stench of burning flesh before he realized ‘twas his own skin burning. A scream clawed in his throat as he flung himself into the river, and pain seared his consciousness even as the cooling waters passed over him.

The men of the second boat hauled him out of the water, and one look at the face of George Percy, his second in command, told Smith that his days at Jamestown were at an end.

Because the colony had no doctor, Smith was bandaged and placed aboard the first ship sailing for England. He returned to London in 1609, just in time for Christmas.

Word of Smith
’s departure spread swiftly through the Indian camps, and Powhatan and his people braced themselves for an uncertain future. With John Smith gone, who would chart the course for peaceful Indian/English relations?

Pocahontas and Gilda cared nothing about politics; they felt Smith
’s loss personally. John Smith had been their friend and confidante, and both were grieved beyond words to hear that he had left without saying goodbye.

The morning after they heard the news, Pocahontas took Gilda
’s hand and led her to the top of a tall chasm cut generations before by rushing river water. The water lay twenty feet below them now, quiet and still, and Pocahontas slipped a favorite copper bracelet from her arm and held it above the yawning gorge. “In memory and honor of my friend John Smith,” she said, silently letting the bracelet fall. It glinted in the sunlight as it traveled downward, then hit the face of the river with barely a splash.

Wiping tears from her face, Pocahontas turned to Gilda.
“Now you must give something,” she said, looking at the younger girl. Her eyes went automatically to the leather cord around Gilda’s neck, and Gilda lifted her hand in a protective gesture. “I will give this,” she said, taking a beaded headband from her hair. It had taken hours to carve holes in the tiny shells and string them together, but she tossed the headband into the empty space without a thought.

Both girls stood silently and considered the void.
“There will never be another Englishman like him,” Pocahontas said softly, her voice mournful and quiet. “Already my father is asking if I will marry next year. It is time, but how can I marry when I have given John Smith my heart?”

Annoyed and bewildered that Pocahontas would ask her such difficult questions, Gilda remained silent.
What did a six-year-old know of a fourteen-year-old’s problems?

But Pocahontas did not expect an answer.
After a long time of silence, she took Gilda’s hand and led her home.

Pocahontas was not the only person to feel John Smith
’s absence. Without his stern leadership, discipline at the colony of Jamestown grew lax and the colony encountered its most dismal and harsh winter in 1609 as sickness ran rampant and food supplies were exhausted. As the English grew desperate for food, relations with the Indians deteriorated. One group of thirty hungry colonists on a bartering expedition led by John Ratcliffe was massacred by the savages who refused to submit to English demands.

Threatened by starvation and savages and forced into the Jamestown fort, wave after wave of crippling and killing diseases struck the remaining weakened settlers.
A few men of strength and daring crawled out through the fort’s unguarded gates to catch snakes or dig up roots for food. Those who remained inside the city died in droves and were piled like refuse into common graves. Those who survived ate the dead.

Of the five hundred people who lived at Jamestown when Smith left in September 1609, only sixty-five remained alive six months later.

On the twenty-third day of May 1610, relief appeared in the form of two small ships aptly named
Patience
and
Deliverance
. The surviving skeletal colonists cried with joy when Lieutenant Governor Gates anchored at Jamestown, spent two weeks patching his vessels, and then ordered every man aboard. Abandoning the Jamestown fort in wild glee, the survivors filled the holds of the ships and set sail for England on the seventh of June.

Lacking a good wind, the ships anchored overnight a few miles downstream in the James River.
By the will of God, it would later be said, on the following morning a sail appeared in the distance. Gates waited until contact with the boat was made and learned that three well-equipped ships were en route with the colony’s new governor aboard.

This news was met with groans, curses, and great grief.
Gates returned the bone-tired survivors to Jamestown and three days later, Lord Delaware, the new governor, stepped from his ship, knelt, and thanked God that he had come in time to save the colony. Greeting his new subjects with a sermon of thanksgiving, he restored discipline and order and declared that the colony should be run by holy edicts. And to ensure that men’s thoughts did not stray too far from the God who had thus far preserved them, bells would be rung for prayers at ten a.m. and four p.m. every day.

“
If we are to survive, and I believe ‘tis God’s will that we do,” Lord Delaware told his astounded colonists, “we must live according to his holy principles and laws. And as long as I am governor, we will not be forgetting them.”

Sixteen

A
n odd, volatile feeling filled the Royal Academy for Homeless Orphans one hot morning in July. Turning in his desk, Fallon cast a quick glance toward Brody. “What is amiss?” he dared to whisper. Master Crompton had abruptly cancelled classes at the school, and the headmaster only cut classes short when a student had committed an egregious error that would require lengthy and public correction.

“I’faith, I know not,” Brody answered, his eyes flickering over the other boys in their cramped classroom. He rose and jerked his head toward the shelf where they stored their hornbooks, and Fallon followed, placing his supplies away.

Their tutor, a nervous, pale young man who reminded Fallon of one of the skittish rats he often saw in the hallway, twitched his nose and held up a timid hand. “The master says you are all to return to the dormitory until noon,” he said, his eyes darting about the room. “There is to be a guest of some significance at dinner, and the master expects us all to be on our best behavior.”

He clapped his hands and the boys rose on cue, then filed out of the room in a single line that did not waver until they reached the freedom of the upstairs dormitory. Once inside, the delighted boys lapsed into their customary horseplay, but Fallon playfully blocked the pillows that flew toward his head and reclined on his bunk.

At sixteen, he had at last taken his place in the classes for older boys who readied themselves for apprenticeship. He was officially ready for what Master Crompton called “graduation,” and as he walked through the school he was faintly conscious of admiring gazes from the younger students. He had grown tall, of certain taller than his petite mother, and stood nearly eye to eye with Master Crompton himself. He was slim but powerfully built, his sinewy muscles a fortunate result from hours of wrestling in the wild free-for-all before bed, and his hair flamed as red as ever atop his head. In a fit of flattery, Brody once told him that he’d be handsome in a girl’s eyes, but Fallon wasn’t so sure.

At noontime, one of the tutors knocked on the dormitory door, and the boys fell quickly into line. As the boys filed into their usual places in the dining hall, Master Crompton took his seat at the sumptuous center table and a clergyman of obvious high ranking sat across from him. The clergyman said a prayer, louder and longer than usual, and the boys sat to eat. Master Crompton and his esteemed guest spoke in loud voices, the better to impress the students, and Fallon froze over his bowl in total incredulity when he heard the minister utter a familiar name.

“Captain John Smith was presented to His Majesty just the other day,” the clergyman was saying. “He looked right fit, especially after that accident in Virginia. Nearly took his leg off, I hear, with an explosion of gun powder.”

“Quite gruesome,” Crompton offered, carefully slicing a leg of lamb.

“Indeed,” the minister continued, dabbing his lace handkerchief at the corners of his thin mouth. “Welladay, the court is abuzz with news of a letter received from our most pious Lord Delaware. Seems he arrived at Jamestown just as the entire colony was preparing to leave, and ‘twas only by the grace of God that he found anyone there at all. But all is as it should be, the savages meek and mildly assenting to his will, even the mighty Powhatan whom Smith had so handily conquered . . .”

Fallon felt his heart slam against his ribs. Though he had been absent from Virginia for years, the mere mention of Powhatan readily evoked the chief’s image—the dark eyes weighing him and Gilda and Noshi, the gravelly voice that gave the order to destroy Fallon’s home, his parents, his way of life . . .

And John Smith was in England! And if this clergyman told the truth and Smith had conquered Powhatan, then surely Smith knew something of Gilda—

Fallon’s knuckles whitened around the wooden spoon in his hand. ‘Twas folly to even
think
of interrupting a conversation at Crompton’s dinner table, but if he did not speak now he would never have the opportunity—

He rose before he had even willed himself to act. “Excuse me, reverend sir,” he said, his voice ringing loud and clear above the suddenly muted sounds of fifty boys at dinner. “But where might I find this John Smith? He is an old friend, and I must speak to him.”

The moment seemed frozen in time, like a statue, until Master Crompton rose from the table with a look of disbelief, rage, and frustration upon his blotchy face. “You dare to address our honored guest?” he roared, blinking as if he could not believe the sight that stood before him. “You, Fallon Bailie, have dared to question this reverend minister?”

The question brought a hushed silence to the dining hall. Fallon felt Brody tug frantically on his sleeve, but he crossed his arms and turned his gaze toward the clergyman who sat with a mouthful of food, too amazed at the turn of events to even chew his dinner.

“I’ll ask again, reverend sir,” Fallon said, nodding in what he hoped was a sign of respect. “Where might I find John Smith?”

The minister’s face reddened, then he coughed into his lace napkin. In a fit of pique, Crompton thrust his chair away so that it toppled backward and clattered on the floor as the headmaster swept across the room, his thick hand reaching for Fallon’s collar.

“Are you ready to be caned, Fallon Bailie?” Crompton muttered between clenched teeth as his fingers closed around the fabric at Fallon’s neck. “You will go to my office and wait there until I come to you.”

The headmaster’s voice was a jolt of energy that propelled Fallon away from the table and out of the dining hall. He paused at the door for a moment, and turned to see Crompton’s baleful eyes burning toward him. “Go!” the master roared, and Fallon slunk through the doorway in the heavy silence.

The ten lashes on his bare buttocks left Fallon’s skin broken and his teeth chattering, but he did not cry out. He would not give Delbert Crompton that pleasure.

The rod broke on the tenth lash and Crompton threw the
mangled cane against the wall. Frustrated, he roared an oath and stomped out of the room. Fallon, who had been standing bent over with his hands on his knees, remained in place, afraid he’d be in for a worse lashing if Crompton returned to find him gone. But after a moment it became clear that the headmaster had gone elsewhere to vent his anger.

Fallon groaned as the coarse fabric of his breeches brushed his stinging, broken skin, and loosely fastened his belt at his waist. He’d sleep on his belly tonight, and he’d never speak to Crompton or one of his pious dinner guests again. But Crompton could beat the life out of him before he’d stop trying to discover the whereabouts of John Smith. ‘Twas the only way he could ever know what had happened to Noshi and Gilda.

“Brody, hath anyone ever broken out of this place?”

Full darkness filled the dormitory, and Fallon lay upon his stomach, his rough sheet rumpled at the foot of his bed. ‘Twas too hot to be covered anyway, and even his nightshirt chafed against his tender skin. The room echoed with the deep, regular breathing of sleeping boys, but Fallon knew Brody was still awake. The boy had thrashed in the cot overhead for more than an hour, doubtless upset by what had transpired at dinner.

“Broken out?” Brody peered over the edge of the bed, grinning in reckless excitement. “Faith, now that’s an idea! Why don’t you just run away? I’ll go with you, and Crompton will never hurt you again.”

“I can’t run away,” Fallon said, pounding his pillow in frustration. “If I run away, John Smith won’t know where to find me.”

“The same John Smith you asked about at dinner?” Brody whispered, one eyebrow jetting upward. “Name of a name, Fallon, you can’t mean the bloke who is visiting the king! What’s a man like that got to do with you?”

“‘Tis a long story,” Fallon answered, gritting his teeth against the pain of his torn skin as he rolled onto his side to look up at Brody. “But if he’s in London, I’ve got to find him.”

“Sure, and didn’t you just say he’d be coming to look for you?”

“Mayhap. I don’t know. But if he does, I’ve got to be here. And if he doesn’t, I’ve got to find him.”

“You talk like an eejit. How can you be here and there?”

“I want to stay here, in case he comes. But if I could leave for an hour, or an afternoon—”

“Well, naturally, ‘twouldn’t be wise to run away,” Brody pointed out. “Y’are sixteen, and ready to be apprenticed as soon as Crompton finds a willing master. Better to be an apprentice and learn a trade than be out on the streets perishing with hunger. Life’s hard on a boy in London—I’ve heard stories. And as hard as life is in here, ‘tis better than begging.”

“Of certain,” Fallon answered, his mind racing. “So, has anyone ever broken out of here for a little while? I only need whatever time it takes to find where Captain John Smith might be staying—”

“You might as well ask for a letter of introduction to the king, if you take me meaning,” Brody answered, his eyes gleaming with a spark of mischief. “We’ll have to think on that a while, me friend. But if the thought is solidly into your head, I’ll be wanting to join you on this great expedition.”

“You might earn Master Crompton’s wrath,” Fallon warned, glancing up. “‘Tisn’t pleasant, that cane.”

“Ah, sure ‘tisn’t,” Brody answered, rolling back onto his bunk. Cutting through the darkness from above, his voice was high with suppressed excitement. “But they’ll not see our like again in this place. We’ll go, and we’ll go together.”

The students at the Royal Academy for Homeless Orphans were always better behaved than usual on the day after a caning. When Master Crompton rose from his chair in the dining hall, all fifty boys stood as one, and Fallon made an effort to meekly hang his head as he followed the long single line down the hall to afternoon classes.

As an older student, Fallon was one of the last boys out of the hall, and he lingered in the corridor for a moment. With one quick, disobedient glance behind him, Fallon made certain that none of the proctors followed, then he dove into the water closet where Brody waited with an expectant grin on his face.

The two boys pressed against the closed door, their breathing quick and light in the sour-smelling chamber. “They’ll know we’re gone as soon as the master sees our empty seats,” Brody whispered. “We have to run for it now!”

Fallon nodded, his heart in his throat, and forced himself to move quickly despite the pain he felt every time the rough fabric of his breeches rubbed against the tender wounds from his caning. Brody moved the chamber pot from the table to the floor, and Fallon climbed onto the table, then stepped from the table to the long rectangular window. He slipped easily through the opening and rolled onto the wood-shingled roof of the porch below. Brody followed, an adventurous grin on his face, and Fallon paused before moving further.

“You don’t have to come, y’know,” he said, eyeing the younger boy steadily. “There’ll be an awful caning when we come back. The master won’t be happy.”

Brody lifted his chin and thrust out his lower lip. “Can you be thinking I’d let you go alone?” he asked, raking his hair from his eyes. “Besides, what would a fellow from Virginia know about London? You’d be lost without me.”

Fallon sighed in relief and gave his co-conspirator a shaky smile. He looked carefully around, then skittered like a crab over the shingles until he reached the ancient rain gutter that ran from the roof to the ground. He paused, knowing his jump was certain to make noise. “We’ll have to be quick,” he said, looking at Brody. “The cook and the housekeeper will come running once they hear this pipe creaking.”

“‘Tis all right,” Brody answered, looking down. His voice seemed smaller as he regarded the distance. “We’ll be fine.”

Fallon followed Brody’s glance down to the cobblestones on the ground. Sharp sunlight threw broken shadows onto the road, and Fallon knew one of their bones could be broken as easily.

“No waiting, then,” Fallon called. He grabbed the gutter pipe, heaved his weight out into empty air, and slid down the groaning structure until he felt solid ground beneath his feet. In another moment Brody stood beside him, his face flushed with triumph, and then they ran, adrenaline driving them up the street like condemned men who’ve been unexpectedly paroled.

When they could run no further, Fallon pulled Brody into the long shadow of a building. Leaning on the stone wall as he panted for breath, he peered around the corner. “Know you what street this is?” he asked over his shoulder. “And know you how we can find John Smith?”

“If Smith has been presented to the King, we should ask someone at court,” Brody said, shrugging.

“Court?” Fallon crinkled his nose. “Where is it?”

“It’s not a place, it’s a group of people,” Brody said, struggling to catch his breath. “People of the gentry, who wait on the king. Some of them actually follow the king around wherever he goes; others merely visit him.”

“So how do we find this court?”

Brody shrugged again. “We go to one of the fine houses of the gentry, I’d wager. Of certain one of the lords hath news of such a great explorer as John Smith.” He laughed. “Or we could find the King himself.”