Jamestown (The Keepers of the Ring) (50 page)

“
What?” Brody asked, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. He thumped his feet to the floor and leaned over the table. “You’ve got that spark in your eye, Fallon. Are you thinking we should journey upriver?”

“‘
Tis been over a year since Gilda left us,” Fallon said, running his finger idly over the surface of the table. “Lately I’ve felt that mayhap a trip to Weromacomico would be in order. Just to make sure, mind you—” he pointed a finger at Brody, “—just to be sure all is well with her.”

“
Y’are worried about the little vixen,” Brody said, his eyes squinting with amusement.

“
Nay,” Fallon protested, shaking his head. “Just concerned, like a brother. She is too outspoken for her own good, and too rash in her decisions. I just want to make certain that she’s well.”

“‘
Tis fine by me,” Brody said, slamming his mug on the table. “I’d rather journey into the outland than work in the fields any day.”

“
There’s only one thing,” Fallon said, pulling a tattered parchment from the sheaf of papers in his hand. “We’ll need goods if we’re going to trade with the Indians, and we haven’t the money for copper and trinkets right now. We have only this.”

He pushed the warrant entitling the bearer to a bride across the table, and held his breath until Brody shrugged.
“I don’t want an English bride,” Brody said. “Haven’t I said so more than once?”

“
I wanted to be sure you hadn’t changed your mind. I don’t want one either.” Fallon sighed in relief. “Then ‘tis settled. We’ll offer the warrant to a merchant. Surely ‘tis still worth two hundred pounds of tobacco.”

“
At least,” Brody said, his eyes flashing with the first real interest Fallon had seen in months. “When do we leave?”

“
As soon as we barter our goods,” Fallon answered, smiling. “And as soon as you burn off Mistress Rolfe’s field.”

The warrant was as good as gold, the merchant told Fallon, and in exchange for it he received a cask of beads and copper trinkets, several copper pots, a half dozen blankets, and an assortment of knives and axes.
The merchant had long been in the business of equipping men for trade with the Indians, and he even threw in a canoe when Fallon insisted that a bride was of certain worth more than a load of hard goods.

Fallon made sure that Wart and Edith were well-equipped to handle the hospital while he and Brody were away, then they loaded the canoe and turned it into the James River.
Brody rode at the front, paddling energetically, and Fallon sat at the back, steadying the canoe as they followed the blinding dazzle of the sun’s path on the quiet water.

It seemed a lifetime ago that they had travelled in just this way up the river.
On that first excursion with the two ministers they had been clothed almost visibly in naïveté and inexperience. After nearly losing their lives at the hands of the savages, they had returned home empty-handed but for Gilda. Fallon smiled at the memory. Worth the risk, it was, that trip and this one.

They traveled mostly in silence, though Brody often whistled with the excitement of the journey.
Fallon wondered whether his friend was excited to be seeking the adventure he had long craved or if he looked forward to finding Gilda and pressing his suit with her again. Brody was always restless for fresh horizons, but whether he sought them in the wilderness or in Gilda’s arms, Fallon could not tell.

Through the day and night they traveled, sleeping in fitful naps in the canoe.
Eager for adventure, Brody seemed grateful for Fallon’s sense of urgency, but with each mile Fallon felt his apprehension and anxiety increase. He couldn’t explain it, but since hearing of the illness among the Indians, he’d felt compelled to make this trip. He was only sorry he’d put it off this long.

The river itself seemed strangely quiet as they journeyed westward.
They passed a few English boats, whose crews saluted them and drifted by without comment, but the usual Indian scouts and traders did not appear. Nervous flutterings pricked Fallon’s heart as they moved further upstream into savage lands.

His heart was actually pounding when they landed near Weromacomico.
They beached the canoe, then shouldered their goods and followed the trail toward Opechancanough’s village. Brody talked and joked while they walked, obviously in high spirits, but Fallon peered through the undergrowth for signs of life. He had the uneasy feeling that a hundred eyes watched them, but no one shouted a warning and no spears parted the evergreens to threaten them.

Finally they approached the gates of the town, and a group of women welcomed them noisily, pointing and jabbering at the various pots and goods which hung from the bundles on their backs.
“Soon,” Fallon told them. “After we talk with Opechancanough.”

The women led them into the village, and Fallon saw Opechancanough
’s warriors standing like posts throughout the settlement, their arms hanging rigidly at their sides as if they waited for a sign or signal that had not come. He was about to say something to Brody about the grim aspect of the warriors’ faces when a woman pointed him into the hut where the great chief waited.

Fallon and Brody stooped to enter and found the great chief sitting with his arms crossed.
Again Fallon was struck by the ageless qualities of the chief’s face and body. He had not changed since the day he had taunted Fallon with death so many years before. The gruesome scar still gleamed white against his bronzed cheek; a shadowy sneer still hovered about his thin mouth.

“
We have come to trade, great chief,” Fallon said, hoping Opechancanough would not recognize him. “And to inquire about a woman called Kimi.”

Opechancanough
’s face darkened and Fallon realized in that instant that the chief remembered more than enough to rekindle his anger. “You were told never to come back here,” he thundered in English, his hand reaching forward as if to strangle them. “You came with the men of God!”

“
We have come alone now,” Fallon answered, hanging his head in what he hoped was a properly respectful attitude. “We have not come with the ministers. We seek only the girl. She is a friend, and we have brought gifts to her and her people.”

Opechancanough stared at Fallon with deadly concentration, then his face cracked into a twisted smile.
“The woman you speak of has gone to Ramushonnouk,” he said, nodding gravely. “Her husband has taken her there.”

“
Her husband?” Fallon said, cutting a look from the chief to Brody. He should have known. She was more than old enough to be married, and probably eager to love a warrior who was everything Fallon was not—

“
Yea,” the chief answered, folding his arms again. “The village is a three-day journey to the south.”

“
Three days?” Brody groaned. “Fallon, we’ll never make it carrying all this stuff—”

Without another word, Fallon slipped the bundle of goods from his shoulders and presented it to Opechancanough.
“We thank you,” he said, pulling Brody’s bundle from his back. “And we give these to honor you.”

Opechancanough nodded and accepted the gifts with an inscrutable expression.
Brody opened his mouth as if to speak, but fell silent when Fallon shot him a warning glance. They left the chief’s house and the village, then followed the southern trail away from the river.

“
Why’d you have to give him everything?” Brody complained once they were away from the prying eyes and ears of the Powhatan. “We could have used some of those goods for trading along the way—”

“
We are not traders,” Fallon answered, quickening his pace as the inner voice urged him to hurry. “We had to leave behind anything that would slow us down.”

“
Why are you in such a hurry to find Gilda
and her husband
?” Brody called, a taunting note in his voice as Fallon pushed ahead. “She won’t like you barging in on her. She’ll be mad as a cat, so why are you wanting to find her?”

“
Only God knows,” Fallon answered, not caring if Brody kept up.

When the two Englishmen had gone, Opechancanough allowed his counselors and priests to look through the bundles.
They exclaimed with great joy over the axes and knives, and placed the beads and copper pots outside the hut for the women. Each elder took a blanket for himself, but Opechancanough sat before the display of treasures and stared moodily into the darkening twilight.

“
Why did you allow the clothed men to go?” the priest asked, his new blanket securely around his shoulders. “You could have killed them, and still you would have had the goods.”

“
The time is not yet right for killing,” Opechancanough answered softly, his eyes fastened on the shining blades of the knives before him. “That time will come when the Englishmen believe they dwell in safety. We must act in love and peace until the hour comes to drive the English from the land.”

He leaned forward and picked up one of the knives.
It seemed alive in his hand, and bit through his flesh as he ran his palm over it. Opechancanough held his hand aloft for his elders to see, and they watched in silence as a thin red line appeared as if by magic, then swelled and began to drip blood.

“
When the time is right, thus shall the English be, cut and bleeding,” Opechancanough said. He ran his tongue over the blood, tasting his planned revenge, as his elders threw back their heads in a triumphant war cry.

Fallon and Brody wandered in the cold and leafless woods for five days, stumbling upon two different Indian villages before they finally found the palisade that surrounded Ramushonnouk.
An eerie silence hung over the place, the quiet of night shadows that seemed strangely out of place in the middle of the day.

No guards stood at the palisade gate, no cook fires lofted smoke into the wide blue sky.
Fallon gave Brody an uneasy glance as they approached, and a cold wind brushed the back of his neck and lifted goose bumps along his arms. His scalp tingled beneath his cap when he saw buzzards circling above the village.

They passed through the open gates, and a pair of thin, growling dogs loped into their path.
Brody picked up a stick and tossed it in their direction, and the dogs took flight immediately.

The circle of huts stood silent and empty within the palisade.
A blanket hung from a bare tree and flapped forlornly in the wind; somewhere a dog whined. A stack of clay pots waited for the women near abandoned, cold fire pits, and two deerskins had been stretched upon frames that wobbled unsteadily as if ghosts tested the tautness of the supports.

Fallon quickened his pace toward the center of the village where the central fire should have been burning.
A mound of ashes and charred remains lay cold in the fire pit, and he felt his gorge rise when he recognized the twisted shapes of human corpses. He brought his hand before his eyes to block the sight as the smoky smell of human flesh assaulted his nostrils.

“
What hath happened here?” Brody asked in an aching voice Fallon scarcely recognized. “A massacre? An enemy tribe?”

Fallon looked around at the empty dwellings.
“No enemy would burn the dead,” he said, pausing to peer into one of the huts. The place was empty save for a pile of grass mats and bowls in one corner of the room. There was no sign of bloodshed, no rotting corpses, no evidence of treachery. But where was Gilda? Would he have to sort through the blackened bodies in the fire pit to find her?

A small brown dog lurched into his path and paused to gaze at Fallon with mournful eyes, then sat down and threw back his head, howling pitifully.
Fallon extended his fingers and made a soft clucking sound. “What can you tell me, pup?” he asked, as the dog slowly came forward. “What hath happened here?”

The dog placed his head on Fallon
’s hand trustingly, then jerked away and rushed toward a pair of curs who were slinking toward one of the huts. The curs growled and bared their teeth for an instant, then retreated under the small dog’s fierce defensive posture. The brown dog barked again, then slipped into the hut and disappeared from sight.

“
Do you suppose she’s got pups in there?” Brody asked, staring after the dog.

Fallon didn
’t answer, but sprinted toward the hut. A body lay just inside in the doorway with a blanket loosely wrapped around the head and shoulders. ‘Twas a woman, Fallon realized as he drew nearer, and he held his breath for a moment as he lifted the blanket.

“
Father God, I cry you mercy,” he whispered when he saw the circle of gold at the woman’s neck. For ‘twas Gilda who lay there, but he would not have known her at all. Her eyes were closed, and her golden skin marred by angry, oozing pustules that combined to bloat her facial features beyond recognition. Her limbs had swollen as well, though from her parched lips and dry skin Fallon doubted that she had found food or water in days. Though her skin carried the flush of fever, her lips were blue with cold.