Jamestown (The Keepers of the Ring) (34 page)

They sat on a knoll near the riverbank to consider their options.
“‘Tis a terrible fate that’s befallen you,” Brody told Fallon, his voice faintly mocking. “Y’are in a land with no worries, money in your pocket, and y’are finally rid of that pack of boys. Trust them to God’s hands and let’s join a trading expedition. We’ll search for gold along the river, and then we can stake a claim of land for ourselves. If all else fails, we’ll grow tobacco. In a year, if not sooner, we can purchase a bride—”

“
Just one?” Fallon asked, slanting the question with a lifted eyebrow.

Brody laughed and clapped his friend on the back.
“Name of a name, can you be thinking I’d share me wife with you? Never! But if the tobacco grows green, there’s no reason why we couldn’t have two wives each, a blonde and a brunette. What say you to that?”

“
I think y’are treading on immoral and illegal grounds,” Fallon said, tossing a pebble into the river. “Seriously, Brody, I wouldn’t mind growing tobacco, but y’are forgetting—there’s one thing I must do first. I’ve family here, somewhere. I promised my parents I’d take care of Noshi and Gilda and if they’re alive, I’ve got to find them.”

Brody lay back on the grass and crossed his arms under his head.
“You know, when you told me that story about being born in Virginia and being the son of an Indian chief, I didn’t think you were telling me the truth. But I
wanted
to believe you, so I did. And now that we’re here, and I see that everything is just as you said, well, sure, I know you weren’t lying. But truth to tell, Fallon, now I
don’t
want to believe. I want us to find our own adventure. Those two kids—they could be dead, Fallon, though it pains me to say so. They could be anywhere. They could be in some place where no Englishman hath ever been! They could have been offered as sacrifices, or eaten by lions. You shouldn’t be spending your time on impossible dreams and foolish imaginings—”

“
That’s enough,” Fallon interrupted, glaring down at his friend. Brody’s mouth closed with an audible snap, and Fallon turned to look at the river as Brody’s gloomy warnings echoed in his brain. What if Brody was right? What if he was wasting precious time and energy on a wild chase that might get them killed or maimed or lost in the wilderness?

Yet deep inside he knew that Noshi and Gilda waited for him.
Mayhap they lived only days away in the west where tall green pines fringed the horizon. For eleven years he had not finished a prayer without lifting their names to heaven, and he had endured too many hellish nights on the ocean to abandon his search now. Rowtag had taught him how to survive in the forest; he could pray that his survival skills would not fail. But he could not stop searching.

“
I don’t know where, or how, or if we’ll find them at all,” Fallon finally told Brody. “But my parents died at Ocanahonan, and somewhere in this forest there are Indians who can confirm my story. Powhatan, for one.”

“
He’s dead,” Brody interrupted, and Fallon felt his mouth go dry.

“
Dead?”

Brody shrugged.
“I heard some of the soldiers talking about him this morning. Powhatan’s been dead for some time, and the new chief is making them plenty nervous. His name is O-peck—”

“
Opechancanough,” Fallon whispered, prickles of cold dread crawling along his back. Memories ruffled through his mind like wind on water—Opechancanough standing before him as he ordered Fallon’s death, Opechancanough’s taunts that Noshi would be sold into slavery and Gilda would forget everything about God and her parents and all Fallon had endured for her . . .

“
May God have mercy,” Fallon whispered, and Brody sat up.

“
What’s this? You know this fellow?”

“
He’s the devil incarnate,” Fallon answered, rising to his feet. Suddenly frantic with an unreasoning terror, he paced the riverbank for a moment, then bent down and grasped Brody’s doublet with both hands. “We’ve got to begin our journey soon, do you understand? If Opechancanough is making the soldiers nervous, God hath brought us to this place and at this time for a reason—” His eyes fastened upon the spot where the river snaked into the wooded horizon. “We’ll have to find guides and hire a boat.”

“‘
Twill cost money,” Brody said, his voice flat.

“
I’ve got money,” Fallon answered, his mind racing. “Surely ‘tis enough to charter a boat and stock provisions for a trip inland—”

“
Now y’are talking sense,” Brody said, standing. He clapped his hand upon Fallon’s shoulder as he led the way to the fort. “I think your reasons are addled, mind you, but as long as y’are headed into the wilderness, I’ll be wanting to join you.”

Fallon hired a boat and arranged for two Anglican ministers to accompany them on a journey inland.
“I don’t know why you want clergymen to come along,” Brody fussed as they loaded canvas bags stuffed with their provisions into the flat-bottomed canoe. “A couple of soldiers would have been more useful.”

“
And we would have been shot through with an arrow twice as quickly. Most of the Indian tribes recognize that clergymen are men of peace, as are we,” Fallon answered, relishing the warmth of the sun upon his face and hands as he loaded the boat. Despite the heat of the day, strong force of habit led him to tug occasionally at the cuffs of his long sleeves to be sure his Indian tattoos were covered. To avoid questions and curious glances from the folk at Jamestown he still wore the proper, dignified blue doublet and short breeches of a schoolmaster. He knew that to the soldiers and hardy frontiersmen at the fort, he was a laughable sight. Brody, in comparison, wore leather breeches, a white, open-collared shirt, and a hat set at a rakish angle on his head. His dark cloak hung over one shoulder.

“
You look like a pirate,” Fallon said, grinning at Brody as he hefted another bag into the canoe.

“
Better to look like a pirate than a schoolmaster,” Brody countered, planting his hands on his hips as he struck a heroic pose in the canoe. “An Englishman’s likely to shoot you before we even reach Charles City.”

“
Very funny,” Fallon said, taking a moment to look around to see if they had forgotten anything. A bird called as it flew overhead, and Fallon took a quick breath of surprise when he recognized the species, though he had not seen another like it in years. A wonderful sense of homecoming flooded his heart. The water, trees, and wildlife that surrounded him were part of his nature, and he realized for the first time why he had felt so imprisoned in London. This was where he belonged!

The two ministers, both dressed in unseasonable black tights, doublets, and wide brimmed hats, approached from the fort.
Each carried a canvas bag over his shoulder and greeted Fallon and Brody with a cordial handshake.

“
I’m Reverend Alexander Whitaker, and my companion is the reverend Richard Buck,” the first man said, nodding to Fallon. He smiled companionably. “I hear you gentlemen are set upon a venture into Indian country.”

Fallon introduced himself and Brody.
“We want to go inland, possibly to Opechancanough’s village,” he said, not daring to reveal his full intention. “We have heard rumors about this new chief, and desire to travel with men of God rather than men of war.”

“
Since his brother’s death, Opechancanough resides at Powhatan’s village of Weromacomico,” Reverend Buck said, frowning slightly. “And talk of rumors disturbs me. What tales have you heard?”

Fallon reminded himself that everyone thought him a schoolmaster who had just arrived from England.
‘Twould not be wise to reveal his knowledge of Opechancanough’s character too soon.

He shrugged carelessly.
“We have heard that Opechancanough may not be willing to trade. Some say he is evil and cannot be trusted.”

“
Bah,” Buck said, waving his hand at Fallon’s apprehension as if his words were but the babbling of a frightened child. “Opechancanough is an old man, a toothless lion. I myself have met him countless times, and he hath assured me that the peace betwixt our people will remain as long as the heavens stand above us.”

“
Well then,” Fallon said, not much relieved, “we’ve naught to worry about on our journey. We want to scout out locations for a tobacco plantation and mayhap do a little trading with the Indians.”

“
Have you beads?” Reverend Whitaker asked, raising an eyebrow. “The savages love them. Particularly Opechancanough’s wives.”

“
We have beads,” Brody said, confidently patting a canvas bag in the front of the boat.

“
Is this your first trip inland?” Reverend Whitaker asked, seating himself inside the canoe. “You both have the pale complexions of Englishmen just off the ship.”

Brody laughed as if the question were a great joke, but Fallon silenced him with a warning glance.
“‘Tis true enough that we’ve just arrived,” he said, helping Brody push the canoe off the bank and into the water. When the boat floated freely, both men climbed in and began to paddle. From the back position, Fallon steered the vessel into the river current and enjoyed watching Brody splash ineffectively until Reverend Whitaker offered to lend a hand with the oar.

For a long while they traveled upriver without speaking, the only sound the soft lap of oars pulling against calm water.
Then, as men do, the travelers began to share their histories, and Fallon was surprised to learn that he travelled with two noted clergymen: Reverend Whitaker had overseen Pocahontas’s religious education, and Reverend Buck had officiated at the marriage of John Rolfe and the newly-christened Rebecca.

“
I had no idea we were traveling in such esteemed company,” Fallon said, his shoulder beginning to ache from the unaccustomed exertion. “We heard marvelous tales of the Lady Rebecca Rolfe in London. The entire country grieved when she died.”

“
Aye, the Indians speak of her still,” Reverend Buck said. “And poor John Rolfe hath shut himself away at his plantation at Henrico, though his business often calls him to Jamestown.”

Fallon
’s pulse quickened at the mention of John Rolfe’s name. A year had passed since they spoke in London, but mayhap Rolfe had learned something about Gilda and Noshi. If the trip to Opechancanough’s village yielded no information, he would seek John Rolfe at Henrico.

“
I’d like to meet Rolfe,” Brody said, turning so suddenly that he nearly toppled the canoe.

“
You’d better learn to ride first,” Reverend Buck admonished gently, and the back of Brody’s neck reddened as he turned forward to watch Virginia glide by.

Scouts relayed the news of approaching strangers to Opechancanough a day before the canoe would arrive.
The great chief scratched his chin and pretended to consult with his elders. “They say a canoe comes with four men, two of whom wear the black suits of holy men,” Opechancanough said, his blood boiling at the bitter memory of the black-robed Catholic friars who had scorned and rebuked him. “They do not carry the irons which roar with the voice of thunder.”

The elders nodded, impressed that the approaching visitors did not carry muskets, but Opechancanough feared a more insidious evil.
Soldiers he could handle easily, for they carried weapons of war and could be attacked without provocation, but how could he convince his elders that men of God were just as threatening.

He impressed a frown upon his forehead and stared at his elders with penetrating concern.
“As you know, I know how to read the talking books and papers of the clothed men,” he said, shrugging modestly as if this knowledge was a special gift from the gods. “And not many moons ago I was given a book filled with the words of one who wore the black suit of a holy man. He said that the English will give the Powhatan such things as we want and need, things which are more excellent than they take from us.”

“
They give us copper,” an elder interrupted. “Such things we want and need.”

“
But they do not give us their sticks of thunder,” Opechancanough gently pointed out. “And such a weapon would be useful when we hunt. But this holy man went on to say that the English wish to make the Powhatan become like the English. They wish to give us their God and take away our own. They want to take away the kiwasa and the temples with the bodies of the dead chiefs. They want to remove our villages and our wives, for the Englishmen have no wives. A few of them have one wife, but to have more than one is an abomination to their God.”

“
Only one wife?” an elder asked, his mouth hanging open at the thought.

“
Aye,” Opechancanough nodded. “In this way, the holy men of the English are more dangerous than the soldiers who come with swords and weapons. Furthermore, this holy man of the talking book went on to say that the English wish to make us men, and to make us happy men.”

The import sank into their consciousness without his belaboring the point.
After a moment, Itopatin raised his head to speak. “Do they not think we are men already?” he asked, his dark eyes searching Opechancanough’s. “Do they not think that we are happy?”