Jamestown (The Keepers of the Ring) (54 page)

Forty-one

G
ilda heard the thrashing sounds and retreated into the darkness at the back of the cave. ‘Twas not Fallon approaching, for the intruders moved too clumsily and made too much noise. They also moved unsteadily, as if they were not sure what lay ahead.

“
Up there!” she heard a rough voice call in English, and she recoiled against the wall at her back and knew she had made a mistake. She should have hidden in the rocks above where she would have had the opportunity to flee, but she had cut off all escape routes by seeking the shelter of the cave.

Cold terror lay in the pit of her stomach as she hid under the heavy bearskin.
She knew she should not be frightened, for Fallon had promised to send help or return for her himself, but a vague premonition held her in the grip of fear. The sounds of movement came closer, and her panic increased when the voices fell to a whisper.

A tired-looking English woman appeared in the mouth of the cave, and Gilda felt her uneasiness subside somewhat. The woman tilted her head when their eyes met, and she extended her hand with a tentative smile. “Come,” she said simply, motioning forward, but Gilda hesitated.

“
Your husband hath red hair, in sooth?” the woman asked, gesturing again. “He sent us to help you.”

Gilda slowly rose to her feet.
The woman looked at her with a mixture of fascination and concern, and Gilda stepped carefully forward to meet her. When at last they stood face to face, the lady smiled and clasped her hands primly in front of her. “I’m Megan,” she said, glancing over her shoulder toward someone who remained out of sight. “And that’s me husband—”

Gilda stepped completely out of the cave to see the man, but she had barely taken his measure when his rough hand whirled her around and clapped over her mouth.
“By heaven, the troublemaker took one of the savages to wife,” a voice snarled in her ear as iron arms held her tight. A gust of the man’s rancid odor assaulted her nostrils. “‘Tis all clear to me now. He hoped we’d leave our land so he and his savage friends could raid the place.”

“
Tobias, don’t,” Megan pleaded, honest fear in her face.

“
If he meant us harm, why’d he tell me about his wife?”

“
Because he’s a fool,” the man answered, and Gilda struggled in his grip only to feel his arms tighten around her. He laughed. “Look at his taste in women! He’s taken a dirty, flea-bitten savage when he could have had his pick from among the English ladies—”

Gilda felt her head spin as the man began to drag her away.
She clawed and scratched and kicked, but her weakness could not match his strength.

“
Tobias, what do you think y’are doing?” Megan screamed, her cries echoing in the silence of the winter woods as she followed. “Tobias—”

“
Shut up, woman!” the man roared, his muscular arm squeezing the air from Gilda’s lungs as he pulled her down the hill. She caught a glimpse of winter sky spiderwebbed by the dead, dark branches of the trees, then the world went black.

The barn where she woke smelled of hay, manure, wetness, and rot.
Her hands had been tied together with a length of rope, and her bare ankles were enclosed in iron manacles fastened to a sturdy ring upon the wall. Gilda shook her head to throw off the lingering wisps of sleep. Surely this was but a new variety of nightmare, for Fallon had promised to send help!

The small wooden door of the barn opened, and a stream of bright winter daylight entered the room before the door closed again.
The woman, Megan, entered, carrying a bowl of gruel. A small loaf of bread lay under her arm, and she placed both the bowl and the bread before Gilda, then stepped away and thrust her hands behind her back. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking as she looked directly at Gilda for the first time. “I meant to help you, I had no idea Tobias would do this . . .”

Gilda said nothing, but lifted her bound hands.
The woman nodded and came forward, kneeling in the sour straw as she untied the leather strips that held her. “I’m sorry, Tobias did it. He is convinced that Indians know how to vanish like the wind, and he said he didn’t want to take any chances. He made all the other servants sleep outside last night and—” She lowered her eyes and blushed. “Nobody’s violated you, if y’are wondering about that. Tobias saw the marks of pox upon your arms in the lamplight, and that scared him away.”

“
Thank God,” Gilda murmured, and the woman’s head jerked upward in surprise.

“
You speak English?”

“
I am English,” Gilda answered, rubbing her sore wrists. “I have lived in Jamestown for many years.”

“
But your hair, and your dress,” the woman stammered. “Coming upon you in the woods like that, in that Indian cave—”

“
I am also Powhatan,” Gilda answered, eying the woman steadily. “A kinswoman of the great Opechancanough. Your husband takes a great risk in holding me thus, for the chief will demand your husband’s head once he hears of this.”

Megan paled and hurried from the barn, and Gilda smoothed a smile of triumph from her face.
If Tobias was reasonable, he’d release her, and she would travel slowly, saving her strength, until she reached Jamestown and Fallon. Once they were reunited she didn’t care where they went, as long as they were together.

The metal bracelets on her ankles clinked together as she crossed her legs and began to eat.

Fallon pressed northward until he reached the James River. He considered swimming across to Henrico, but knew the frigid water could kill him more quickly than an Indian arrow. Finally he made a small raft by lashing sections of fallen trees together and used his hands to guide the raft through the current.

Though he was welcomed and fed at the Henrico settlement, his message of an impending Indian attack fell on deaf ears.
The directors of the corporation, who had taken great pains to restore the peace with the Indians since the massacre at Falling Creek, did not want to hear disquieting rumors.

Fallon nevertheless pressed on to Charles City, where his
message was openly scorned. The deputy governor of that settlement even made Fallon repeat his warnings before a group of visiting Powhatan traders. The savages listened to his charges without comment, then turned and flatly told the deputy that Fallon was lying. “Of course he is,” the governor said, smiling broadly at his guests. “And do not be concerned about the peace. It will hold, God willing, and this man will be hanged if he dares utter another seditious word.”

Shaking his head in contempt, Fallon left Charles City and moved eastward to Jamestown.

****

Gilda discovered that she had underestimated the courage and daring of Tobias Harden.
Megan repeated Gilda’s news and threat to her husband, and Tobias regarded Gilda thoughtfully for two days, then disappeared. While the master was away, Gilda endured the unwanted attention of a dozen of Harden’s indentured servants who returned to sleep in the barn. Though they kept a careful distance from her, due to the scabs that still dotted her face and flesh, they taunted her with ribald suggestions that kept her forever on guard and prevented the deep, healing sleep she desperately needed.

On the fifth day of her confinement, Tobias opened wide the door of the barn and Gilda blinked in the unaccustomed brightness.
Three Powhatan warriors followed Harden into the building, and they regarded Gilda with impassive eyes as Tobias rapidly explained that he hadn’t meant to offend the great chief by imprisoning the girl, but she was likely to run away if not kept chained. “Wouldn’t the chief like to have her back?” Tobias asked, smiling as he bobbed his head before his guests. “And isn’t her safe return worth a deer, mayhap two?”

The Indians spoke to each other in low voices, but after a moment they nodded to Harden, who produced a key from his pocket and removed the iron bracelets from Gilda
’s ankles. She stood, determined not to show her fear before this most despicable of men, and walked toward the warriors with her chin high.

“
Come,” she told them in Algonquin. “The great chief Opechancanough will want to see me.”

The great chief did not want to see her when she reached Weromacomico, and Kitchi himself blocked the way to the chief
’s dwelling. “Your uncle will see you later,” he told Gilda, an oddly appraising look in his eye. “You are to wait.”

So Gilda joined the other women in their daily work, blending seamlessly into village life while she waited upon the chief
’s pleasure. Day by day she noticed that the marks of her disease lessened, and by the fourth day after her arrival, her skin had been restored to health.

‘
Twas on that day that Kitchi came out of Opechancanough’s hut and motioned to her. She handed the ladle with which she had been stirring a stew to another woman, then smoothed her hair and brushed her hands on her tunic. ‘Twas time to face her uncle with the truth. She could no longer deny that he was a liar and untrustworthy—how had Fallon put it? The very devil himself.

She stooped to enter the hut, then stood before the werowance and the circle of elders as she had so many times before.
But this time no curiosity or affection gleamed in Opechancanough’s coal black eyes. The elders regarded her impassively, and the conjuror’s yellowed face squinted up at her in fearful suspicion.

“
The copper-haired man has been telling the English that I plan to attack them,” he said, wasting no time with formalities. “My scouts tell me that every day he moves toward the rising sun to warn the English.”

“
He speaks the truth,” Gilda answered, lifting her chin. “You know that he speaks truly. You hate the English. You always have. And now you would put a dagger in the hand you have extended in peace.”

His eyes seemed to see the tight place of anxiety in her heart.
“You speak as though you know my mind, Woman-with-a-secret,” he said, his voice smooth with killing casualness. “Yet you are young, and I have lived for seventy-eight summers.”

“
They say death is afraid of you because you have the heart of a lion,” Gilda answered, her eyes moving into the darkness of his. “But they are wrong. Death comes to every man, and ‘twill come to you if you pursue this path of hate.”

The conjuror hissed and rattled the gourd in his hand, but Opechancanough laughed, a menacing giggle that lifted the hairs on her arm.
“Death will not come to me,” he said, the whites of his eyes flashing toward her. “But it will visit you, little sister, if the English stand ready when I take up the war club against them. And it will claim the copper-haired man when we find him.”

“
He isn’t—” Gilda began, then she pressed her lips together and swallowed the words. Fallon wasn’t dead, at least not yet, or the chief would have told her. But if Opechancanough’s warriors were searching for him, Fallon would every bit of his cunning and the strength of her prayers to elude the scouts.

The chief lifted a bony finger and pointed it toward her in judgment, then looked around the circle at the listening elders.
“Kimi will remain in a hut of this village until spring,” he said solemnly, while the elders nodded in agreement. “She stands condemned, for every warrior at Ramushonnouk is dead, including her husband Anakausuen. The children have spoken of a blue-eyed woman who brought sickness upon the village.”

“
How do we know she will not bring sickness upon us?” one elder asked.

As if in answer, the conjuror rattled his gourd in Gilda
’s direction and tossed a handful of powder into the glowing fire in the center of the hut. The powder erupted into a yellow smoke, then the conjuror smiled and turned to the elder who had spoken. “Our power is greater than this sickness,” he said, flashing a malevolent smile toward Gilda. “This village will not be stricken.”

Opechancanough looked directly at Gilda.
“The gods will grant you life only if we are victorious over the English. When they are all dead, you may resume your place in our tribe as a healer. If they stand ready for our attack because of the copper-haired man’s warning, you will die.”

“
Your gods are no match for the true God,” Gilda called defiantly as two warriors stood to take her away. “And though the forces of darkness align with you, great uncle, the Creator God will have his way.”

“
Your God will not save your life if I decide to take it,” Opechancanough answered, smiling in cruel confidence.

The warriors grasped her arms to carry her from the chief
’s hut. Gilda jerked free and stilled them with a forbidding stare, then turned back to her uncle. “My life belongs to my God, and he can take it if he chooses,” she said, her voice like iron in the stillness of the smoky hut. “But the victory will be his, great chief, no matter what happens.”