Jamestown (The Keepers of the Ring) (9 page)

Though the people of Ritanoe had been generous to offer shelter, Fallon knew this place could not be his home. And though the women seemed affectionately disposed toward Gilda and Noshi, he would not leave the children in this village where heathen spirits might supplant the knowledge of the one true God.

Fallon reached for the children’s hands and pulled them away from the sight of the screaming conjuror. “I want to see the dancing,” Noshi protested, planting his heels into the sandy ground.

“Nay,” Fallon answered, pressing his lips firmly together. “Y’are coming with me.”

Gilda did not protest, but her blue eyes did a slow slide toward the fire as Fallon led her away. “Don’t even look at it, Gilda,” Fallon rebuked her, resolutely pulling her with him. “Y’are not a child of darkness.”

As the savages of Ritanoe danced in celebration, Fallon took his small charges into an empty hut and reminded them of what they had learned in Ocanahonan. “Your father, Gilda,” he said, lowering his head to look into the girl’s eyes, “was a minister, a man of God. Your mother’s heart would be broken if she thought for one minute that you might forget the one true God.”

Gilda blinked and her slender brows knitted in a frown.

“And you, Noshi,” Fallon said, turning to his half-brother. “If our mama and papa knew that you wanted to dance with those Indians—”

“Papa was an Indian,” Noshi interrupted. “And he danced. I saw him!”

“Your papa danced in praise to the one true God, not to the demons of air and wind,” Fallon corrected. “Listen to the priest when he speaks, and you’ll hear that he speaks of evil spirits! Look at the idols in the center of the village—never did you see an idol in Ocanahonan!”

Gilda screwed up her face as if she would cry. “I want to go home,” she wailed plaintively. “There are people here we
know, let’s ask them to take us home, Fallon.”

“The Englishmen have been very sick, and we must wait for them to get well,” Fallon answered. He gentled his voice. “And there is no more Ocanahonan, Gilda. From this day unto your last, your home is with me.”

She walked forward and leaned against his chest, a simple, childlike gesture of trust, and Fallon awkwardly brushed the top of her head with his hand. Noshi leaned against him, too, and Fallon embraced them both.

Fallon squatted so that his eyes were level with theirs. “What is your name?”

“Gilda Colman.”

“Noshi.”

“Aye,” Fallon answered, inhaling their wonderful warmth. “And who gave you this name?”

“My mother and father,” the children recited together, “who wish to bring me up in the knowledge of Christ.”

“Very good,” Fallon said. “Now rehearse for me the articles of your belief . . .”

Ashore in Virginia, the English lifted prayers of praise for a safe journey, then erected a cross on a point of land they called Cape Henry in honor of the eldest English prince. After this ritual, the settlers returned to the
Susan Constant,
the
Godspeed
, and the
Discovery
. The three ships shed their sails like molting birds and anchored in the mouth of the wide river newly christened as the James.

Captain Newton promptly dispatched landing parties. Over a period of weeks a half dozen small vessels loaded with men, supplies, and arms rowed up the river to explore possible settlement sites. The men’s expressions were locked with anxiety, sobered by the possibility that they might meet with resistance like that they had encountered on their first excursion ashore. Though the Indians they had met since that day had been friendly, still, one never knew what lurked in the savage mind.

As John Smith stepped out of the shallop one morning and splashed toward shore, he was almost disappointed that they had not encountered more opposition. Apparently the savages had heard about English firepower and decided to welcome the settlers instead of resisting. He hoped the Indians would not prove to be cowardly or weak, for the country itself was beautiful beyond description and could not have spawned an inferior people.

Steadying his impatient heart, Smith paused on the shore and waited for the other members of his landing party. Drawing his sword, he relished the heavy feel of the hilt in his hand, then took a practice swipe at a vine hanging from a branch. ‘Twas of certain no English spring could match the color of Virginia, he thought as he looked into the wilderness before him. The land blazed with dogwood, honeysuckle, and wild roses. Grapes and raspberries flourished in every crevice and shadow, and in some places strawberries covered the ground so thickly that ‘twould be impossible to step without crushing them.

He knew the woods teemed with game, too, and in days past the men of England had been alternately delighted and amazed by the myriad assortment of animals. One wiry creature, hanging by its tail from a tree, had startled Captain Newton into firing his musket, and a black-masked furry creature that scuttled across the trail had been promptly misidentified as a monkey. Deer were numerous and tame, watching the English progress with indifferent eyes, and huge flocks of birds rose from the woods in bright colors. One flock had flown over the river in such a vast number that the sky darkened for the space of five minutes.

A faint trail led away from the river where they had landed, and Smith suspected that at its conclusion they would find an Indian village. “Arm yourselves, and be ready lest the savages prove less than friendly,” he called over his shoulder to the men behind him. “But let us pray God that these will be as accommodating as those we have met thus far.”

Steadying their muskets against their shoulders, the English dove into the woods and wildlife scattered around them.

Miles away, Wowinchopunk, chief of the Chesapeake Paspahegh tribe, received word that small parties of clothed and bearded men had landed from great winged ships on the sea.

The chief gravely considered the news. He had heard much of these clothed men. He knew they should be handled carefully, for they carried rods of thunder in their hands and had the power to strike entire villages with sickness.

Reluctantly, he gave the order to send a welcoming party and to prepare a feast.

By the thirteenth of May, the English council had decided to establish their colony thirty miles up the James River. The site was a flat peninsula three miles long and surrounded by six- fathoms-deep water that could easily be navigated by large ocean-going vessels. The spot could be defended with ease against invaders from land or sea, for the only bridge to the mainland was a narrow isthmus that lay under water at high tide. These considerations overrode Smith’s concern that the land was low and marshy, and the council leaders paid him scant attention. With the council’s approval, Captain Newport gave the order to moor the three ships to the trees outside the peninsula where they would build a fort and a settlement called Jamestown.

The next day, all one hundred five Englishmen went ashore and gathered on firm ground. The colonists helped unload their stores from the ships, and canvas tents were set up for shelter as the council members drew an outline and
rough plan of the fortification they would immediately build.

Though orders in a recently unsealed box from the directors of the London Company had named him as part of the governing council, Smith knew the aristocrats on the council did not hold him, or his opinion, in any esteem. So he worked quietly among the other men, doing what had to be done, and waited.

While Gilda and Noshi collected wild blueberries in the field outside the palisade of Ritanoe, Fallon sat in the grass and kept a careful eye on them as he pondered what he should do. The children had taken easily to life in the village, playing with the other youngsters and joining in the work that had to be done. They would not understand why Fallon wanted to leave.

The four surviving Englishmen, though weak and dazed at first, had also adapted to life at Ritanoe. They banded together and used their knowledge of metallurgy to win Gepanocon’s favor. If the chief wanted metal weapons, Fallon had heard them say, let the ore be brought from the rocks and river and they would fashion arrowheads that would not bend and knives that would cut the toughest hide of a bear. But let the English be given a hut, and let their food be brought there, and let them work in peace.

And Gepanocon, giddy with dreams of conquest, had given the Englishmen the best his village had to offer. Fallon watched his fellow countrymen with disdain, shocked that they freely made such selfish demands and guiltlessly accepted the chief’s offers of women and food and furs. The Englishmen attended the tribal dances and smiled at the conjuror’s black tricks, they slipped their hands around the waists of women and took them back to their hut in the darkness of night.

Why would men change their hearts solely because they had changed their home? Fallon did not understand, and he could find no one with wisdom enough to answer.

“Fallon!” Gilda called, berries tumbling from her basket as she ran toward him.

“Careful, little one,” Fallon put out a hand to steady her as she rushed to his side. “You will lose all you have gathered.”

“You can share them with me,” she offered generously, her bright blue eyes shining toward him in a smile. “I’m thirsty, Fallon. Can we go to the river?”

“We do not have to go to the river,” Fallon answered. He waited until Noshi ambled up, then put his arms on his hips
and surveyed his younger brother sternly. “Do you remember what our father said, Noshi? Where can you find water in the meadow?”

Noshi crinkled his nose, thinking, and after a moment Fallon shook his head in dismay. “You must learn your lessons better,” he said, rumpling the boy’s dark hair. “We will not always stay in this village, and we must know how to take care of ourselves. Look at this.” He pointed to a narrow trail in the grass. “Whether worn by animals or man, all trails lead to water. Remember that.”

“Can we go to the river, then?” Noshi said, looking up. “I’m thirsty, too.”

“Nay.” Fallon shook his head sternly. “We will find water another way. Gilda, you find a vine, and Noshi, find a bush with stems as thick as my finger.”

The children grinned at each other, eager to test themselves, and tossed their baskets on the ground as they ran to a nearby stand of trees. Fallon sighed and looked at the spilled berries, then scooped up the baskets and followed them.

“I found a bush!” Noshi danced around a weed that grew taller than his head. “Now what do I do with it?”

“Pull it out of the ground and look at the root,” Fallon instructed.

Noshi wrapped both hands around the slender trunk and tugged mightily. The ground cracked and crumbled, then Noshi held the green weed high.

“The water is in the root,” Fallon told him, pulling a sharpened stone from the pocket in his breeches. Kneeling, he sliced the root and handed a piece to Noshi.

Noshi tentatively put the root to his lips. “It’s sweet,” he remarked, popping the slice into his mouth.

“Aye,” Fallon agreed. He stood and looked for Gilda who, as usual, had wandered farther and faster than Noshi. “Where are you, little girl? Have you found a vine?”

He heard only silence for a moment, then the hair on his arms lifted as a blood-chilling scream rent the air. Fallon barked an order for Noshi to remain still while he sprinted in the direction of the sound.

Gilda lay on a small pile of rocks at the base of a gentle hill. She clutched a vine in her hand, and Fallon guessed that she had lost her footing and tumbled down the slope while reaching for it. A bloody cut had opened above her left eyebrow, and one knee was scraped and bleeding. But her wide eyes were fastened upon a pale brown snake that buzzed upon a rock a few feet away.

“A copperhead,” Fallon whispered, trying hard to remember what Rowtag had taught him about such snakes. The bite was serious and would not kill an adult, but Gilda was yet a child, a mere baby . . .

“Do not move, sweetheart,” Fallon called, carefully edging down the incline toward her. “He is more frightened of you than you are of him. Close your eyes, little one, and let him go home to his children.”

Gilda trembled, and Fallon held his breath until she obeyed and closed her eyes. A moment later, the snake turned and zigzagged away.

Fallon knelt and caught her in his arms as she broke into honest wailing. “I was so scared, Fallon,” she cried, sobbing brokenly against his chest. “I want to go home! I want mama and papa, I want to see Rowtag and my own house—”

“You have me now, and Noshi,” Fallon murmured, a curious emotion rising in his chest as he held her tightly. He breathed in the fresh scent of her hair and tried to unravel the tangled feelings her helpless dependence inspired. ‘Twas like the beginning of a new identity, and in that instant he had become her father, brother, and protector . . .

He pulled away and lifted her chin so that she looked into his eyes. “We are your family now, Gilda. I promise, I will take care of you no matter what happens.”

She hiccupped a sob. “You promise?”

“I do.” He drew her into his arms again and felt his heart warm as she nestled into his youthful strength.