Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (60 page)

Thomas grinned shamelessly. Had the entire town seen the change in their relationship? He lifted his hand to wave a response, but he stepped back when an arrow hissed from nowhere and pierced John Chapman
’s forehead. Thomas stared in hypnotized horror as the old man fell into a patch of engulfing vines without even blinking. From where had the arrow come? What enemy lurked in the woods?

Instinctively, he ducked, his hands lifting to cover his head, and another arrow thunked into the tree behind him. His heart slamming against his ribs, Thomas raced for the gates of the palisade, screaming his wife
’s name in a frantic warning.

The enemy poured out of the woods without warning. At least a dozen of Powhatan
’s warriors managed to enter the village before Thomas had roused the guards to close and bar the gates, and furious hand-to-hand fighting ensued. Totally unprepared, the Englishmen and Indians who had been strolling through the courtyard fell like Christians before the lions, and families rose in panicked confusion from their supper tables as the roofs of their homes were set ablaze. The men of the city scrambled for their swords and pikes, for not a single musket was useable. The gunpowder had long been gone, and the twenty-year-old guns had rusted from the humidity.

Jocelyn was sitting on the bed with Gilda in her arms when Thomas burst into the house. “In the name of God, tell me what has happened!” Jocelyn whispered, cold terror pulsing through her veins. “Are we to die tonight?”

“Not if we can help it,” Thomas said, throwing open his old trunk. Flinging books onto the bed, he lifted a leather scabbard from under a stack of parchments and pulled from it an eight-inch dagger.

“Thomas!” Jocelyn exclaimed, amazed. She had never known him to carry a weapon, and had never dreamed he owned one.

“They have killed John Chapman,” Thomas said, opening the door. He cast a backward glance toward her and gave her a fleeting smile. “They will not get far.”

Alarmed at the fear in their voices, Gilda began to cry, and Jocelyn drew the child closer. Thomas left the house promising that God would watch over them.

The battle raged inside the compound for an hour. The men of Ocanahonan were quick to defend their families once the danger was fully apparent, and the dozen of Powhatan’s warriors who had invaded the city were finally subdued. As a rain of burning arrows continued to fly over the rim of the palisade into the village, members of the council dodged the missiles and ran to the church. Afraid to be alone in the house, Jocelyn crept with Gilda into the back of the chapel.

“It is Powhatan, then,” Thomas was saying, his eyes darkly intent upon Rowtag. “You are sure?”

Rowtag nodded. “I am. Two of the dead bear the mark of his tribe. The woods are full of his men, for the birds were silent today. Without a doubt, we are surrounded.”

“How do we fight them?” John Sampson asked, his long nose pinched with fear. “We have posted a guard around the palisade to prevent them from scaling it—”

“They will scale it, in time, or they will burn it,” Rowtag answered, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“We have no guns,” Thomas pointed out. “The gunpowder
’s gone, the cannons are useless—”

“A lot of good they
’ve done us,” Sampson snapped. “Cannon to blow away Spanish ships that never came.”

“What will Powhatan do next?” John Prat leaned forward toward Rowtag. “You know how he fights; tell us what we should do.”

Jocelyn could feel her heart knocking as Rowtag gravely regarded his companions. She knew he had anticipated this attack; by all rights he should have muttered “I told you so” and stalked from the room. But he didn’t.

“He will wait until morning,” Rowtag said, looking carefully at each man, one by one. “His warriors will breach the palisade. They will burn our houses, kill, and take captives. They will plunder our storehouses and carry away whatever they desire.”

“Could we slip away in the darkness?” John Sampson asked. “Mayhap dig a tunnel, and canoe down the river to another place—”

“We don
’t have canoes enough for everyone,” Thomas pointed out. “How then, would you choose to divide those who will live from those who will die?”

Jocelyn felt her frightened heart stir with pride when Thomas stood
and placed his hands upon the table. “We have lived here for twenty years, and I say we stand and die here, if God leads us to do so. And if, perchance, God chooses to spare us, the victory and glory will be his. And if he chooses to take us to heaven, are we not ready to go?”

For a brief second, Thomas
’ eyes sought Jocelyn’s, then he turned again to the council. “Let each family draw together tonight for prayer. Let each man fight on the morrow for his life. And let us be confident that in this, as in all things, God’s will must be done.”

John Sampson pressed his tented fingers to his lips, John Prat drummed the table top with his fingers, and Rowtag nodded gravely and spoke for all of them: “So be it.”

Fifty-nine

W
ith Gilda on her hip, Jocelyn followed Thomas back to their house as the other council members went home to be with their families. Though smoke still drifted over the camp, the burning houses had been extinguished, and for the moment the deluge of arrows had stopped. But Jocelyn knew from the eerie calm of the night that Powhatan and his men were still outside the walls. Powhatan was but resting, reserving his armament for the coming morning.

Thomas took Gilda from her as she entered the house, and as she mechanically went about tidying up the supper dishes he sang a soft, funny lullaby to the child until she slept. When Gilda was safely asleep, Jocelyn turned to Thomas and patted her apron helplessly. “What do we do now?” she asked, tears blurring her sight.

“Ah, my dear,” he said, standing to enfold her in his arms. “First we pray, and then we hold each other. I shall tell you again how much I love you, and you shall tell me what a rascal I am—”

Despite the tremor of fear that shook her heart, she laughed and tilted her head up toward him. “My darling rascal,” she whispered, winding her arms about his neck. “My heart is right with God, so kiss me first. We have all night ahead of us.”

“You’re right,” he answered, bending down. His breath was warm in her ear. “And we have years of lost time to redeem.”

His hands spanned her waist and drew her to him. With a soft sigh he settled his mouth on hers and with exquisite tenderness he lifted her from the floor. A small sound of wonder came from his throat as she gave herself freely to the man she had loved for twenty years.

Later that night, Jocelyn drew her shawl about her shoulders and stepped into the vast and endless plain of evening. Lights burned in several houses, and from her doorway she could see the quick, restless movements of the men Rowtag had stationed as sentries along the palisade. From one house she heard the sound of frightened weeping, from another, insistent prayer. But in her own house, all was silent.

Thomas slept as easily as did Gilda, his face as innocent and fresh as the child
’s. After a time of heartfelt prayer, he had rested in Jocelyn’s arms and fallen asleep as though he had not a worry in the world.

But Jocelyn walked through the darkness and thought about the morrow. She could face death if she had to, for the foremost struggle of her life had ended days ago. At last, she and Thomas were one. And whether they shared another month or another lifetime, she knew nothing would separate them again.

But the children deserved a chance to live. Pacing in the moonlight, Jocelyn prayed for inspiration, then a voice from her past spoke again:
I will give you strength when the time comes.

“The time has come,” she cried, lifting her eyes to the dark heavens. “What can I do, Father God?”

A silence, thick as wool, wrapped itself around her, then a memory ruffled through her mind like wind on water: Gilda at the river’s edge, muddy and streaked with grime because she and the boys had slipped from the village through a hole under the palisade wall—

Jocelyn hurried to Audrey
’s house.

“It may be the only way,” Jocelyn said, leaning toward Audrey and Rowtag in her eagerness. “Let us send the boys and Gilda to the river. They can take a canoe, and they
’re so small they can lie in the bottom, mayhap covered by a canvas or a mat, and drift downstream. When this battle is done, we will seek them among the Indians further south—”

Rowtag put his hand upon Fallon
’s head. “This boy is wise already. He will know how to survive in the woods.”

“But Papa—” Fallon protested.

“Listen to your papa,” Audrey said, her voice sharper than Jocelyn had ever heard it. “Ye will take Noshi and Gilda, and hide in the canoe like Jocelyn has said. Ye will not make a sound or lift your head until the canoe is far, far away.”

She reached for the hands of her first-born son. “Fallon, everything will depend upon ye, but God will go with ye. And when this is over, we will find ye, of that ye can be certain. Ye will not be alone.”

The boy’s eyes flickered to Jocelyn. “God holds me in the palm of his hand?” he asked, his voice quavering.

“He does.
” Rowtag stepped forward. Placing his broad hand again on the boy’s copper-colored hair, he managed a sober smile. “And today you have become a man, my son.”

“There is one other thing I must ask of you,” Jocelyn said, pressing
her hand against her forehead as her lips reluctantly formed her request. “Gilda is the granddaughter of Powhatan, and daughter of Kitchi, his son. You must tattoo her with whatever emblems are necessary, Rowtag, so that if something happens, all the savages will know who she is—”

Rowtag paused. “You are certain of this?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn whispered. “But it must be done quickly.”

Audrey pulled Fallon to her and glanced for a moment at Noshi, who slept on a fur by the fire. “When must they go?” she whispered.

“The morning will be too late,” Jocelyn ventured.

“They must go now,” Rowtag said, stepping toward Noshi. He lifted the boy, fur blanket and all, into his arms and his steel-gray eyes gentled at the sight of the child in his arms. “It is well you are named Noshi, for you will be the father of many. Go in peace, my son, and God go with you.”

Noshi stirred and rubbed his eyes, and Jocelyn stood from her stool. “I’ll bring Gilda,” she said, stepping again into the darkness.

She woke Thomas, explained the plan, and together they dressed Gilda in a warm suede dress. Jocelyn paused when she saw her ring, still looped through the string of catgut, at the bottom of Gilda
’s trunk, then she resolutely slipped it over the sleepy girl’s head. “Rowtag will tattoo you with many colors to mark you as the daughter of a great Indian chief,” she whispered to her beloved child. “But this ring will mark you as mine.”

“What, Mama?” Gilda asked, rubbing her eyes.

“You are going on an adventure trip with Fallon and Noshi,” she explained, kneeling so that she could look directly into Gilda’s startled blue eyes. “Remember how you crept through the hole under the wall of the palisade? You will do it tonight, too. Fallon and Noshi are waiting for you now.”

Gilda did not seem surprised and trustingly took Jocelyn
’s hand as they started from the house. And though he had never before demonstrated any affection for her, she thrust her chubby hand toward Thomas. After taking it, the three of them moved silently through the velvet darkness to Rowtag’s house.

Audrey, Rowtag, and the two boys were waiting. Rowtag
’s needle and dyes were waiting on the table in the kitchen, and Jocelyn marveled that Gilda did not protest as Rowtag deftly applied the needle and marked her as a daughter of Powhatan’s tribe.

When all was done, Fallon led the way through the village to the opening under the palisade.
‘Twas a tiny hole, much too small for an adult, but perfect for the children.

“Shall we not enlarge it so that others may escape as well?” Thomas whispered.

Rowtag shook his head. “One canoe may slip away unnoticed, but two would draw attention from Powhatan’s braves. To send others would mean certain death for all who ventured out.”

Jocelyn took Thomas
’ hand, afraid for a moment that he would argue with Rowtag, but he only bent to kiss the top of Gilda’s dark head. “Go with God, little one,” he said, his voice breaking as he ran his finger lightly down the length of her nose.

Jocelyn fell to her knees and pressed the child
’s body into hers, breathing deeply to absorb the scent of the little girl. She ran her fingers through the girl’s hair, held her face between her hands, and embraced her one last time. “Always remember the ring,” she whispered into Gilda’s ear. “And know that I love you. And God will go with you always.”