Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (59 page)

Jocelyn made a weak sound of protest, but he shook his head and continued. “I knew that God had chastised me by taking my wife and son, and so I fled to America, booking passage on the
Lion
. I determined to get here any way I could.” Icy anger edged his voice. “Like foolish Jonah running from God, I fled to Virginia and discovered that no ocean is too wide for God’s wrath to cross.”

“And the payment for your passage was marriage to me,” Jocelyn said, lowering her eyes.

“Mark me, I didn’t want to marry you,” Thomas repeated, and the suddenly gentle expression in his eyes brought the color rushing into her cheeks. “I hoped that you’d refuse me and I could be free of God and serve your uncle. I wanted to leave the church behind, for I was embittered toward God and all that had to do with him. But though I should never have asked, when you agreed to marry me, I had not the strength to protest. I knew if I didn’t marry you, your uncle would give you to some other man, and I couldn’t bear that thought . . .”

Jocelyn wound her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his hair. How wrong she had been! For twenty years she had lived and labored under the false assumption that he had no feeling for her, while in truth, his love lay buried under guilt.

“Thomas,” she said, cradling his head on her shoulder, “God forgave you long ago! The past is forgotten! And it is not too late for you to live. You have been bound, Thomas, not by God’s wrath but by guilt, and the truth of God sets men free! You have struggled to live, think, and dress according to a harsh set of laws, but God would have us move and live and think in freedom.”

“In freedom!” he protested, pulling away. “Without God
’s laws, sin will abound and ruin this place—”

“God
’s laws are love,” Jocelyn corrected, holding him tight. “God is not chastising you; you are struggling under a self-imposed burden! You have labored so long and carried so much that freedom will feel strange to you . . .”

“Strange?” Thomas rolled his eyes in amused disbelief. “There is no freedom in the ministry, Jocelyn. Of all people, you should know this.”

Jocelyn put her finger across his lips. “I have known total freedom, Thomas, except where you and your rules have constrained me. And your rules are useless, for there is nothing we can do to deserve God’s grace. We can’t be good enough, pray hard enough, or keep our lives clean enough. But God has set us free. We can clothe ourselves in his goodness because
he
is good, not because we are.”

“
‘If you were only right,” he whispered, his head falling against hers as he relaxed in her embrace. “To live just one day without fear of God’s retribution—”

“There is no fear in love,” she whispered. “If you love God, Thomas, you do not need to fear his hand.”

His strong jaw worked as he searched for words. “But I am so—unworthy.”

“What did Martin Luther preach?” she asked, lifting her head to look at him. “Salvation by grace, not by works. Luther himself said that no one can be good and do good unless God
’s grace first makes him good; and no one becomes good by works.” He seemed to gobble up her words, hungry for truth. As he gave himself to her voice Jocelyn felt her heart stirring as if from a long, deep sleep.

“No one,” she whispered, “deserves grace. But in his sovereign mercy God has chosen to give great grace to imperfect, ill-deserving individuals like me, and Rowtag, and Audrey, and Regina, and Gilda.” She rested her head against his and tightened her embrace around his shoulders. “His grace flows to you, Thomas, in spite of and in greater measure than your guilt.”

A shuddering sob shook Thomas and he clung to her as he surrendered to the love of his wife and the irresistible love of God.

Two weeks later, on April twenty-fourth, an English expedition under the command of Captain Christopher Newport eased into the waters of the Chesapeake region. The Virginia Company had chartered Newport
’s three ships, the
Susan Constant, Godspeed
, and
Discovery
a year earlier to establish a permanent English colony on Chesapeake Bay.

From the trees along the shores, Indian scouts spied the ships and sent runners racing to Powhatan.

Fifty-eight

P
owhatan sent runners to the towns he controlled, and his allied villages began to prepare for war. The clothed people, Powhatan told his council, would bring guns of thunder, medicine stronger than any seen in the land. Within hours, a force of over eight hundred warriors journeyed to Powhatan’s village.

Proud to play a major role in the upcoming drama, the warriors wore body armor made of strong reeds. They made paints of fine clays mixed with bear grease, and strung their bows and lashed sharpened arrowheads to fresh arrows. Others brandished heavy clubs of wood spiked with the antlers of deer or the teeth of animals.

Finally, as the warriors from far-flung villages poured into the camp, Powhatan’s men hung magical feathers from their wooden shields and painted the surfaces. When each warrior was sure his shield was certain to inspire terror, he swathed it with a grass mat to keep the magical motifs’ power from leaking away.

The night before the war party was to depart, Powhatan stood in the center of his village before his men. His body, richly adorned with copper beads and brilliant strokes of red paint, gleamed from its coat of bear grease. He had shaved his head from forehead to crown, and the long hair that remained hung freely down his back so its power might be fully released. On the chief
’s right hand, the old priest stood ready to superintend the war party’s relationship to the gods, and on Powhatan’s left stood the younger conjuror, the white-eyed mystic who, though blind to the things of earth, could see things of the spirit. A small green and yellow snake had been pierced and attached to the conjuror’s ear, and the reptile writhed and wrapped its tail around the blind man’s neck as Powhatan raised his arms for silence.

“The time has come!” Powhatan cried, turning slowly to face the circle of people around him. “We will prove our hearts on the field of battle! Then shall the other nations say that the Powhatan have much courage. We are not afraid of the big guns of thunder. We are not afraid of the
clothed people’s strange medicine and strange god. We will approach like foxes, fight like lions, and disappear like birds. We shall show the great bear from the sea that we do not fear him and the clothed people have no place here!”

Fearsome and terrible in their fearsome paint, the warriors raised their battle clubs and let loose their war cries. Even the women and children of the village were caught up in the frenzy that followed. Drums began to beat in rhythm, and Powhatan raised his war club and danced around the post in the center of the village, striking it at will. One by one, other volunteers joined him, hitting the post with their weapons as they moved in and out of the circle, until the entire camp danced and screamed in exhilaration and anticipation of the victory to follow.

When the hysteria reached its peak, Powhatan broke off and led the warriors to a pile of leather pouches on the ground. He took a pouch, fastened it to his belt, and picked up his shield. Each man followed his example until a single line of warriors walked out of the camp, each man following in the footsteps of the man before him so that an enemy could not guess at the size of the war party.

Mumbling prayers to the gods of wind, rain, and fire, two young warriors lifted the pole on which hung the sacred medicine bundle. The bundle had to face toward the enemy at all times, could not touch the ground, and had to be hung at night between supports of forked sticks.

As the warriors filed out of the chief’s village, the torches were extinguished and the singing silenced. Under the cover of darkness the war party proceeded, each man carrying nothing but his weapon and his shield. A bow and quiver hung across each man’s back, and at his waist hung a leather pouch of parched maize flour that had been pulverized and combined with dried berries and maple sugar. When mixed with water, a single handful could sustain a warrior for an entire day, and Powhatan and his party carried enough maize to last more than a week.

Three days later, Powhatan and his war party spied the high wooden palisade around Ocanahonan, the village of the clothed men. Moving like shadows in the woods, Powhatan
’s warriors spread themselves around the camp, surrounding it on all sides. For most of the day they hid themselves in trees, in the brush, and along the riverbank to learn as much as possible about the enemy before striking.

What Powhatan saw did not impress him. The clothed people, most of whom were Indians, lived with little caution, moving easily in and out of their walled palisade with no apparent concern. They did not scan the treetops or listen for unusual sounds. When they walked through the woods, they tramped casually and made so much noise that Powhatan and his people did not worry about being heard themselves. One of the
clothed men, walking outside in the heat of the day, passed so closely that Powhatan could have slit his throat with one swift slice of a stone dagger, but the chief restrained himself. He favored night assaults and dawn attacks, when the medicine of the gods was strongest.

Powhatan saw no sign of the long guns of which he had heard much. Two large iron guns, stouter than a man, sat poised on the riverbank, but vines had partially covered one and the other was coated in a dull coat of orange rust.

Audrey peered out the window of her house and saw Rowtag standing in the courtyard, his hands alert at his side and a troubled look upon his brow.

“Rowtag,” she called, a teasing note in her voice. “Why stand you lonely out there? The children are playing elsewhere;
‘tis our time to be alone.”

Rowtag held a finger to his lips, then turned and seemed to study the trees. Audrey sighed and slipped out of her apron. If the mountain would not come to her, she would have to go to the mountain.

She crept out of the house, stopping the door with her palm so that it made no noise, and purposely planted her feet heel-toe, heel-toe so that she moved soundlessly over the sandy ground. With her husband’s broad back to her and no one else in sight, she waited until she caught the wonderful earthy scent of him, then threw her arms around his chest.

“Caught you!” she squealed.

He turned sharply, and drew back his hand as if he would strike her. Audrey blanched, and pulled away as Rowtag paled. “Do not startle me,” he said, an apologetic frown on his face. “I could have hurt you.”

“I was teasing,” Audrey mumbled. She felt herself blushing like a scolded child.

“Something—” Rowtag said, scanning the treetops outside the palisade again. “Something is not right.”

“Did ye hear something?” Audrey asked, her stomach tightening as fear brushed the edge of her mind.

“‘Tis what I don’t hear,” Rowtag answered. He stood for a moment more, his muscles tense, and Audrey couldn’t stand the suspense.

“Come home with me,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him toward the house. “What ye don
’t hear is the sound of two busy little boys, and we must take advantage of the silence, me husband.”

The sun dipped gradually into the west, and Powhatan slowly uncrossed his arms and legs. Around him, imperceptibly, other warriors readied themselves for the assault.

Of all the hours in the day, Thomas Colman liked dusk best. He fervently believed that ‘twas the duty of each Christian to walk with God in the twilight hour to review the day’s deeds and words to see if anything could be improved. And this day, he reflected, smiling, could not have been bettered in a single respect. He had awakened in Jocelyn’s arms, kissed her passionately as she woke, and clung to her for a long minute before dressing. He felt foolish, as silly as an adolescent schoolboy, and wondered that such feelings could still reside in the heart of a man his age. For the first time in his life, he felt free to love his wife with every ounce of his emotion, mind, and body.

“Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse,” he quoted, willing for the first time to believe that the Song of Solomon had anything to do with the literal expression of love, “thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck. How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! How much better is thy love than wine! And the smell of your perfume than all spices! Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb . . .”

He smiled, thinking of the woman who had brought his world to life. She was stubborn, rebellious, independent, and beautiful, so why hadn’t he discovered her sooner? His eyes had followed her for so many years, the very sound of her breath was as familiar to him as his own, and yet he had not really understood her vulnerability until he took her into his arms. When they had finally become one as God intended, Thomas realized the mystery of marriage, the depths of love and sacrifice that bound two souls together.

The snap of a twig broke his concentration, and Thomas turned to see the aged John Chapman approaching, rocking on his hips as if they were stiff. “Hallo, Thomas!” John called, waving his hands. “Your wife sent me to fetch you in. She told me to tell you—” the old man
’s eyes twinkled, “—she
wants
you.”