Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (39 page)

The small hand paused on the bauble and her pale skin colored slightly. “The costs of colonization are high,” she said, her voice falling carefully upon dozens of intently listening ears. “
‘Twas my understanding that private investors were to finance this venture.”

“They are, Your Highness, but only you can grant permission for the fleet to sail. I had assembled a fleet in March, but your order from the Privy Council forbade my ships to sail—”

“Think you that I should have left England defenseless against the Spanish?”

“No.” He hung his head in what he hoped was an attitude of humility. “But I have been aboard the
Ark Royal
with Lord Charles Howard, and I have seen the Spanish defeated. You are victorious, my queen, and I—”

The hand upon the bauble lifted; the index finger wagged in a gentle warning. “The Spanish have disappeared along the Irish coast. I need Sir Richard Grenville, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Lord Charles Howard to maintain their vigilant watch. What if the Spaniards capitalize on Irish disaffection for this throne? I cannot risk another attack, John White. At this time, I cannot grant this liberty for your venture.”

She nodded in curt dismissal and White bowed again, his face burning in humiliation and defeat. If he could not convince Her Majesty the Queen to remember and care for her abandoned colonists, he would have to find a way to provide for them himself.

The English queen and her captains did not realize how little they had to fear from the Spanish. As the Duke of
Medina-Sidonia attempted to reach Spain by circumnavigating the British Isles, severe storms battered the crippled remnant of the Armada along the rocky Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian coasts. Storms broke up fully half of the remaining fleet, and only a handful of ships limped back into Spanish harbors.

Philip II heard even worse news soon after his defeated sea captains came home. Sickness and disease had struck his army in the Netherlands, and of the thirty thousand men he had stationed there in anticipation of the English invasion, only seventeen thousand returned alive to Spain.

Overwhelmed by defeat, Philip lay prostrate on the carpet in front of the private altar in his chapel. Conqueror of Portugal and colonizer of America and the Philippines, he had gathered gold from the four corners of the earth and built the greatest naval fleet in history. How could God have allowed this ignominious destruction of his armada by Protestant English rebels?

Thirty-seven

T
he colonists at the City of Raleigh had no idea that the world’s two greatest civilizations battled for supremacy on the high seas, nor did they know that their fate and the naval battle were inextricably intertwined. England celebrated her supreme naval victory well into the fall of 1588, but the colonists at the City of Raleigh spent their time bringing in the harvest and preparing for winter. With each passing week they thought less about John White and the promise of English reinforcements, and depended more upon the kindness and wisdom of their Indian neighbors. And as the English and Indian cultures became more interdependent, Thomas Colman preached longer and harder against the sins of the colony.

When he first preached against buckskin, Indian beads, and dancing, most of the colonists had silently agreed with him. But as months passed and the villagers learned to appreciate the beauty and practicality of Indian ways, Jocelyn began to overhear complaints from her husband
’s congregation. Torn between a desire to be loyal to Thomas and a desire to be reasonable, she decided to approach him with her concerns.

She waited until after supper one night, then put Regina into her trunk. The baby stood up, clutching the edge of the trunk for support, and her wide blue eyes followed every movement Thomas made as he sat at the table. A shining splotch of drool hung from her chin as she babbled at her father.

Suppressing a smile, Jocelyn pulled up a stool at the board while Thomas studied his Bible. After a moment, he looked up at her, his handsome face darkened by shadows thrown by the dim lamp.

“Thomas, I would speak with you.”

“Yes?” His voice was cool and detached.

“
‘Tis about what I hear the others say.” She paused and bit her lip. How could she say these things without offending his sense of honor? “Mayhap you won’t like to hear this.”

“Tell me, Jocelyn. Faithful are the wounds of a friend.” His eyes fell from her face. “If you are my friend.”

His words cut her heart; how could he say such a thing? “I am, Thomas, and I don’t mean to hurt you. But think you that mayhap you are putting too much emphasis on—
unimportant things?
”

He folded his hands over his Bible and gave her a calm smile. “Unimportant things, Jocelyn? In truth, speak plainly.”

She waved helplessly. “Dancing. Singing. Wearing proper clothing. We did these things in England, Thomas, and never thought them sin. Why should they be sinful here? As long as a heart is pure before God, why does it matter if a man sings or a woman dances? Are we not commanded to make melody in our hearts? And did David not dance with joy before the Lord?”

His face flushed, but his expression did not change. “Have you anything else to say?”

She shook her head, feeling miserable.

“Then I must thank you for your insight,” he said dryly, lifting his hands from his Bible. “But God has burdened me with the spiritual oversight of this colony, and I must direct matters as I see fit. And I bid you good night.”

Without saying another word, Jocelyn left him and went to bed.

The next Sunday morning, Thomas stood before the crowd of sober-faced colonists and thrust his hands behind his back. “It has come to my attention that there are those among you who feel I am too
strict
about sin,” he said, his voice carrying well beyond the crowd. “Welladay, I have given some thought to this matter, and would like to read to you the thoughts of a second century Christian who desired to follow God above all else.”

He pulled a book from the lectern and opened it. “Give up colored clothes,” he read. “Get rid of everything in your wardrobe that is not white. Stop sleeping on a soft pillow. Sell your musical instruments and don
’t eat any more white bread. You cannot, if you are sincere about obeying Christ, take warm baths or shave your beard. To shave is to lie against him who created us, to attempt to improve upon his work.”

Several people in the congregation snickered, and Jocelyn had to admit that Thomas had used a clever illustration. But to what purpose?

“Have I asked you,” he said, putting the book back on the lectern, “to give up black, green, blue, or even red clothing? Have I asked you to toss out your mattresses of grass and straw to sleep on the ground instead? Have I asked any one of you to burn your harps or reed flutes, even those upon which you play praise to God? Have I asked any of you men—” He pointed to several of the men who were clean shaven, as he was, “—to surrender the blades with which you shave? Shall we all grow our hair long like the heathen so we will not bring the blade of scissors upon the hair that God has created? No! I have not asked any of these things.”

He opened his Bible. “But these are the words of God, and these are the things God asks of you:
‘When thou art come into the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not learn to do after the abominations of those nations. There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer. For all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord: and because of these abominations the Lord thy God doth drive them out from before thee. Thou shalt be entirely obedient with the Lord thy God. For these nations, which thou shalt possess, hearkened unto observers of times, and unto diviners: but as for thee, the Lord thy God has not suffered thee to do so.”

Thomas closed his Bible and looked up at the congregation. “We are to be
entirely obedient
to the Lord,” he said, his dark eyes sweeping over the gathering as if he weighed the purity and thoughts of every soul present. “The heathen savages who surround us shall be swept from the land, driven out before us. And we shall not adopt their ways, lest we, too, be destroyed before the awesome power of the Lord.”

Abruptly, he sat down, and after a few moments of silence, the chastised congregation began to file out the door of the church. Jocelyn sat still on her bench, her cheeks burning with the shame of conviction. Had she been wrong? Was her spirit too free in this place? Though she had won many friends among the women of the Indian village, converts to
Christianity had been few. Had she not been strong enough in her approach?

Laden with guilt and misgivings, Jocelyn left her husband alone in the church and followed the rest of the chastened congregation out the door.

The next morning, after breakfast, Jocelyn said a meek farewell to Thomas as he left for his work, then bundled seventeen-month-old Regina on her back. She was deep in thought when she left the house, still considering whether or not her actions had been appropriate in the eyes of God, and scarcely noticed when Audrey fell into step with her outside the village.

“Well met, Jocelyn,” Audrey said, her voice unusually cheerful for such an early hour of the morning. “Where are ye bound?”

“Good morrow,” Jocelyn said, waving her hand distractedly. “I’m on my way to the Indian village. Pauwau and Hurit promised to help me spin today. We think we can make thread from
wisakon
.”

“What?” Audrey crinkled her nose.

“That,” Jocelyn said, pointing to a common variety of milkweed growing by the path. “If Thomas is bound that we shall not wear buckskin—”

“You mean
bucksin?
” Audrey giggled. “Sure, Jocelyn, and ye don’t think it is truly a sin—”

“I don
’t know.” Jocelyn stopped in midstride and turned to face her friend. “I was sure ‘twas all right, but now I don’t know. I want to please God, Audrey, and my husband. One day a thing seems right to me, then Thomas reads from the Holy Scriptures, and then I’m sure ‘tis wrong.”

“Thomas read yesterday about witchcraft and the like,” Audrey said, shifting her basket from one hip to the other. “But buckskin is not witchcraft, nor is anything else you
’ve ever done, Jocelyn.”

“No,
‘tis not,” Jocelyn allowed. She closed her eyes and blew the wisps of hair from her forehead. “Beshrew this confounded confusion! I don’t know what to do anymore!”

“You
’ve been doing well enough,” Audrey offered as they began to walk again down the trail toward the Indian village. “And ye haven’t asked me how I’ve been doing.”

“Oh?” Jocelyn turned inquisitive eyes toward the girl. “How are you doing, Mistress Bailie?”

Audrey blushed and looked down at the trail. “A wee bit better than I’d hoped, for certain. Y’know, for months I thought the old man married me because he wanted another servant—or worse, if ye take me meaning,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But he doesn’t treat me like a servant at all. And he didn’t come near me, either, in that way—until I said he could.”

“You said he could?” Jocelyn lifted an eyebrow.

“Aye,” Audrey answered, raising her chin. “He treats me as a
lady
, Jocelyn, not a servant. In the four months we’ve been married he’s never commanded me to do anything. On my first night in his house he told me he wouldn’t require anything of me, but I cook and clean because I am grateful for his goodness.” Her voice gentled. “He’s kind, too, and sweet. He tells me stories, and has promised to build me a big house as soon as ‘tis safe to move outside the palisade.”

“In truth?”

Audrey nodded and lazily twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “William keeps after me, of course, but y’know, he’s not nearly as nice as Master Bailie, though I had to admit he’s more than a wee bit handsomer. But last week I saw William flirting with Emme Merrimoth, who’s thirty if she’s a day, and Master Bailie would never do that, not if a hundred Emme Merrimoths passed by a’flapping their eyelashes at him!”

She ended her speech by raising her hand in a flourish of triumph, and Jocelyn had to smother a smile. “So you like your husband now?” she asked.

“He’s tolerable, mind ye,” Audrey answered, tilting her head. “And last night—I let him kiss me. And one thing led to another, and, well—” she blushed prettily, and Jocelyn felt a stab of envy. Audrey had taken the same chance at marriage that Jocelyn had taken, but Audrey had gained a husband who worshipped her.

Jocelyn quickened her pace. “We ought to hurry,” she said, nearly breaking into a run. “I want to be home in time to take Thomas his dinner.”

The gates of the wooden palisade around Ohanoak were open as Audrey and Jocelyn approached, and Jocelyn nodded soberly to the braves who stood watch at the gate. Though the Indians had lived in peace with their neighboring tribes for years, security was never taken lightly, and one of the most grievous sins in the Indian catalog was “living carelessly.” Caution was a continual exercise, and Ananias and the council had been much impressed by the Indians’ natural defensiveness.