Cate of the Lost Colony Read online

  Every day Algon visited the clearing, hoping to see the maid again. He thought of her always, the Moon Maid with her bright eyes and gleaming dark hair. His ears strained to hear the song of her laughter. A month later he was rewarded with the sight of her. Again she fled, laughing as if this were a game. This gave Algon an idea. The third month he captured a hungry wolf. From his hiding place he released the wolf into the circle of maidens. They fled in terror, leaving the Moon Maiden facing the growling beast. Algon came forth and loosed an arrow into the wolf’s neck. The beast turned on him, but with his bare hands he choked it to death. The grateful Moon Maiden fell into his arms and he carried her home. He treated her with kindness and she returned his love, but in secret she mourned. Large tears fell from her eyes and covered the ground with dew. Did she weep for her lost freedom? Had she loved another? She would not say, and Algon had to content himself, knowing he could never understand the woman he loved.

  When I came with the hunters to Dasemunkepeuc, I saw the fair-skinned maiden among Tameoc’s kinswomen. The one who had asked for my help with the fishing weirs, the one they called Ladi-cate. And like Algon, I was stricken at the sight of her beauty. But what was she doing in Dasemunkepeuc? Did she not know the danger? She did not flee like the Moon Maiden, though her eyes regarded me warily.

  Takiwa dressed her brother’s wound. I described how a party of Roanoke had attacked us for our food. Tameoc slew one of them, and now they would seek revenge.

  Ladi-cate stepped forward and asked, “Lord Manteo, are you not king of the Roanoke, by the authority of our queen?”

  It amazed me to hear her speak my tongue. “The Roanoke follow Wanchese,” I said, then went on in English: “Wanchese will not heed your kwin.” What the English did not know yet was that Wanchese planned to destroy them. That he expected me to assist him. How much time did I have before he would fulfill his threats?

  Ladi-cate pointed to Tameoc. “Can you not keep your own people from stealing from us?” She looked more distressed than angry. “Do you know what strife that sword has caused among us?”

  Yes, I knew Tameoc had stolen the sword. I had rebuked him, but he refused to give it up. He believed the montoac in the shining weapon would bring him success in hunting. Now Ladi-cate demanded an explanation. But I did not owe her one. She was a woman, not one of the governor’s assistants. I crossed my arms against her.

  She glanced toward Takiwa and Mika, then turned back to me. Her eyes were wet as she pleaded, “Lord Manteo, if Roger Bailey and the others learn of Tameoc’s theft, we will be friends no more, but enemies.”

  “Tameoc steals only to provide for his people,” I said.

  “I would not go to war over a sword, but I do not make the decisions,” she replied.

  This was a wise woman, I could see. The soldier Grem stood beside her, looking displeased. Would he tell Bay-lee that Tameoc was a thief and Manteo his accomplice?

  “Who are … you with, Manteo?” Ladi-cate halted over the words, but her meaning was clear.

  How could I answer such a question? For I am on two sides. I am the windward shore of the island and the calm one. I am the inside and the outside of the clay pot. Wanchese also demanded I choose. But how can I? There is but one island and one pot.

  “I am Manteo of Croatoan, Lord of Roanoke and Dasemunkepeuc and servant of Kwin-lissa-bet.”

  Ladi-cate looked relieved. She even smiled. Not even Algon had such good fortune. Was this a dream? I struggled to keep my mind on the serious matter before me: keeping the trust of the English. Keeping Ladi-cate and her people safe. Would Algon have let the wolf devour his Moon Maiden?

  “And as Lord of Dasemunkepeuc, I ask you to return to your fort,” I said.

  Ladi-cate’s eyes grew wide with surprise to be spoken to in such a way. Then she bowed slightly as the English do before their kwin.

  “We will, Lord Manteo,” she said.

  “For your own safety, Moon Maiden,” I whispered to myself.

  I went to Croatoan to find that Wanchese had threatened my mother if she did not join his alliance. She agreed to be his ally, deceiving him. She sent me to offer the English our best warriors if they would fight Wanchese in her name.

  I went back to Fort Raw-lee. I told the assistants that sickness and death had weakened Wanchese and the Roanoke. That the English and the Croatoan together could defeat him. But I admitted this might provoke the Secotan and others to retaliate. In the men’s faces, the desire to defeat Wanchese battled with their mistrust of me. I said I would show Wanchese that I—not he—was lord of the Roanoke by the authority of their Kwin-lissa-bet.

  The assistants made me leave John-white’s house while they debated what action to take. I waited by the garden gate. Doubted the truth of what I had said. Was it the kwin and John-white who gave me my power, or was it the gods? Had not my mother’s people—and Wanchese’s—dwelt here and called the land Ossomocomuck for many generations before the English weroance claimed it and called it Virginia? The priests had chosen my name. Manteo, “he who snatches from another.” What did my name mean? How would I live up to it?

  I did not realize Ladi-cate was in the garden until I heard her call my name.

  “Lord Manteo, will you come in?”

  I opened the gate and went to her. The gray mists that were her eyes seemed to enfold me, so I looked away from them.

  “You did not go back to Dasemunkepeuc, did you?” I asked.

  “You do not rule me,” she replied with a smile.

  I hardly knew what to think of a woman who would not heed a man’s will. Even Weyawinga and Ladi-cate’s kwin took advice from their male councilors. Was it my young age? Did Ladi-cate see that although I was tall, I had only lately entered my manhood?

  “When I came here I said I would never dig in the dirt,” she was saying. “But Takiwa gave me these seedlings. I will transplant them when we move to Chesapeake. If I did not go to Dasemunkepeuc, I would not have these new plants and Takiwa would not have the medicine that made her sister well.”

  She brushed off her hands and went inside, bidding me wait. I stood in the garden like a stone unable to move itself. Ladi-cate was talking to me without any fear. She was no Moon Maiden from a story, but a woman I might touch if I dared.

  Ladi-cate returned with a notebook full of writing and pictures of our lodges and their furnishings, our food, ornaments, and more. She was proud of her book and let me examine it.

  “It does not please the English men when you go among Indians,” I said.

  “No, nor many of the women,” she agreed. “But I am not afraid, for Wanchese has not been seen since George-howe was killed eight months ago. Is it true he has moved inland because he is afraid of us?”

  “If the assistants would heed me, they would learn the truth about Wanchese,” I said bitterly. “The Croatoan are in danger and so are you. This is why I ask you to avoid Dasemunkepeuc.”

  Ladi-cate looked startled. Now I expected her to run away. But she did not. No, she beckoned me to her.

  “Then you, Manteo, must come with me. Wanchese will not dare to harm you.”

  I could not say no to Ladi-cate. Already she had overcome my will. Oh, had I but ruled myself and her as well, how much suffering might have been spared?

  Part III

  Chapter 29

  From the Papers of Sir Walter Ralegh

  Memorandum

  15 March 1588. Two items pertaining to my Roanoke colony: In Cornwall my fleet of six small ships, commanded by Grenville, prepares to slip through the embargo and sail for the island with supplies. Second, Thomas Harriot’s report on Virginia is newly published, rebuking the malcontents who have spread their lies and praising the marvelous commodities of the land. I would expect a surge of investors and adventurers were a war with Spain not imminent.

  29 March 1588. My plans are foiled. The queen’s Privy Council has ordered Grenville to join my ships to Sir Francis Drake’s fleet for the defense of the coast. Drake does not n
eed those ships. It must be Walsingham who conspires against me. But now is not the time to defy the council, with the Spanish Armada preparing to invade.

  2 April 1588. I have tried to question Simon Fernandes about the events of last July and August, but he will not satisfy me. And John White’s sense of honor prevents him from speaking ill of his assistants. His only ambition is to see his family again, while that of every other man in England is to rip out the heart of Spain in battle.

  How then shall I weigh the charges in Catherine’s letter? When I distinguish myself in this pending battle, I shall defy Walsingham and petition Her Majesty to permit me to sail for Virginia. There I will mete out justice and rescue my colonists. This must earn my lady’s gratitude and, I dare hope, her love.

  15 April 1588. I appealed to Her Majesty to hold back two of my ships because of defects that made them unsuitable for her war fleet. She gave me leave to send them to Virginia, saying none of her subjects should perish through her inaction. (By her response, I know it was Walsingham who stayed my ships.)

  But my canny mistress again prevents my going, appointing me to her Council of War. It is a golden opportunity to shape her policy toward Spain. In my judgment we ought to take to the seas and attack the Armada, not sit like ducks and wait for the fox to attack us, which is Walsingham’s strategy.

  22 April 1588. Today the Brave and the Roe sailed from Bideford with John White and eleven passengers, including four women. I advised them to follow a direct northern route, despite the risk of contrary winds, to reduce their chances of encountering the Spanish.

  15 May 1588. The pope has excommunicated our queen yet again and calls upon her subjects to depose her. The astrologists predict an apocalypse of storms, fires, and sinking ships. If only they could declare who will prevail and spare us the descriptions that serve no purpose but to terrify.

  25 May 1588. The Brave and the Roe limped back to port after being attacked and boarded by the French. What irony, when all the fear is of war with Spain. Twenty-three were killed and White injured in the head and shot in the buttocks. He is swathed in bandages from head to foot but swears he will sail again once his injuries are healed.

  25 July 1588. A great battle is imminent. On the 19th the Armada was sighted and skirmishes reported. Now the Spanish war fleet nears Calais to join the Duke of Parma’s army and then invade our shores. Her Majesty’s navy follows with my own Ark Ralegh as the flagship: a wonder at 1,100 tons, 100 feet from keel to keel, with four masts and three banks of guns.

  30 July 1588. In Calais harbor our fire-ships packed with wood and pitch sailed among Spain’s galleons like nimble dogs baiting slow-moving bears. Winds fanned the flames, crippling the great ships and destroying their formation. It was a glorious rout, the godly David victorious over the wicked Goliath! Not a single English vessel was lost, and what remains of the mighty Armada flees northward, attempting to return to Spain by going around Scotland.

  20 August 1588. Providence continues to assist our victory, raising winds that wreck the Spanish ships off Scotland and Ireland. The threat of Spain lifts like the fog. Our Elizabeth is justly celebrated as the greatest prince in Christendom. Ballads are sung all over London, and her speech to the troops at Tilbury camp repeated on every man’s tongue. She said:

  “I am resolved to live or die amongst you all, to lay down for my God and for my kingdom and for my people, my honor and my blood even in the dust. I know that I have the body of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the heart and stomach of a king.”

  I wish I had been there! According to reports, she was dressed all in white, armed like an Amazon empress, and rode among the troops on a white gelding.

  I repent ever thinking ill of this virtuous virgin or resenting my duty toward her. It is the grace of God that gives her such courage and through her moves England to victory. May I live long enough to show her my regard, my grateful love.

  Chapter 30

  Serpents in Paradise

  As a poem may beautify a plain mistress or feign love, so can a flowing discourse beautify a harsh wilderness. If Virginia had ever been the paradise described by the writers Barlowe and Harriot or the one painted by John White, it had fallen from grace in an astonishingly short while.

  Did the Lion bring the serpent that corrupted the garden, or was it living here before we arrived? Did Harriot and White ignore it in their eagerness to promote the virtues of the land? Were they, with all their knowledge, as innocent as I was? For I believed my efforts to aid the Croatoan women would benefit us all. I hoped a desire for the common good would prevail over the cruelty and self-interest of men like Roger Bailey. Finally, to my grief, I believed Manteo’s authority was enough to check the serpent Wanchese and his minions.

  After killing George Howe in August, Wanchese did not strike until the following spring. One morning the fishing weirs were discovered pulled up from the riverbed and broken apart. Two weeks later the armory was raided and four muskets taken, along with bandoliers and gunpowder. The guards swore they had not been drunk or asleep, so they were only flogged. We could not afford to lose any more men by hanging. I wondered if Tameoc was one of the thieves. Graham had not revealed his theft of the sword. Of course the assistants suspected Wanchese, and the evidence that he was nearby made everyone alert and nervous.

  But Wanchese was not the only serpent on Roanoke Island. In our very own settlement was a nest of them, stirring up discord and dividing us against ourselves.

  Roger Bailey had decreed that the entire colony would move to Chesapeake. He sent Christopher Cooper and forty men to find a location for a settlement and begin planting. Ananias objected—as John White had—that the separation would make both parties vulnerable, but Bailey ignored him. So Cooper sailed in the pinnace, taking Manteo with him to smooth relations with the Indians. Ambrose Vickers was also in the party, for he was in favor of the move to Chesapeake.

  While his father was absent, tragedy befell young Edmund Vickers. Playing outside the palisade, he stepped on an iron caltrops laid there to deter the Indians. The spike penetrated his foot, which became swollen, then gangrenous. His fever raged, red streaks shot up his leg, and the surgeon decided the entire limb had to be cut off. Alice and I were there to assist him when Betty, learning of his decision, began to rave and pray incessantly.

  “Be silent, Mistress Vickers, for your own good,” the surgeon admonished her.

  “Hush, Mama!” the boy pleaded. His eyes were wide with pain and alarm.

  “Leave her be; she is distressed,” I said out of pity for her and the boy.

  “But she is calling out to the saints!” the surgeon said.

  “See if there are some spirits in the house. That may quiet her,” Alice said.

  I went to the cupboard and threw it open. There, nestled among some empty jars were candle stubs, a cross with a figure nailed to it, and a small statue of a woman in a blue robe.

  Alice was looking over my shoulder. “The Virgin!” she whispered.

  “Oh blessed Mary, Saint Joseph, and holy John the baptizer, save my son,” cried Betty. “Afflict me instead, for I have done wrong by living among the ungodly—” Her words dissolved into tears and she dropped her head to her son’s chest.

  Thus it was revealed that Betty Vickers was a papist.

  The surgeon, a man without prejudice, cut the boy’s leg off out of mercy, but Edmund died in the night.

  The next morning Bailey had every cupboard, trunk, and bedstead in the village searched. The yield was two Latin psalters, a set of rosary beads, another statue, and two brass crosses, all found among the possessions of Ambrose Vickers and his kin. Ambrose and his nephew had gone to Chesapeake, but the grieving Betty and her brother were brought forth and shackled.

  “We have sheltered papists in our bosom, and therefore we do not prosper,” shouted John Chapman angrily. His hair, which had turned white in the last year, flew about his head.

  Murmuring rose and then the cries began. “Flog them!” “No,
hang them!”

  Seeing Betty in chains horrified me. I couldn’t speak up, for I didn’t even know what to say. It was one thing to object to the torture of a simpleton, another to defend an admitted papist. It was Ananias who demanded that judgment be postponed until Cooper’s party returned, so Ambrose and his nephew could be questioned, too. Betty and her brother were put under guard. Little Edmund was buried at the base of a tree far removed from the cemetery where George Howe and all those who died in the winter had been laid to rest.

  A week later, eight men of the original forty-one straggled back to the island in a leaky shallop. Manteo was with them. Their tale was a disturbing one. They had reached Chesapeake without incident and begun their work. Then the eight men had gone upriver in the shallop to explore, and when they returned a week later, the pinnace was gone. Five bodies were found dead on the shore and in the camp. Christopher Cooper was one of the dead. Everything useful had been taken from the camp.

  Bailey drew his conclusion at once. “It was the Indians. You have betrayed us,” he said, confronting Manteo.

  “Musket shot killed them,” Manteo said, staying calm. “Their own betrayed them.”

  Griffen Jones, a Welshman and a farmer who was the leader of the eight explorers, nodded. “Manteo is right. There were malcontents among us. While we were exploring, they must have decided to chance a return to England. They shot the ones who tried to resist. And they didn’t stay to bury their bodies,” he said, his mouth tense with anger.

  “But they had no provisions for a sea crossing,” said Ananias in disbelief.

  “With luck they could make the Azores in a few weeks’ time and find passage on another ship,” said Bailey. He clenched his fists as if to keep the rest of his power from slipping through his fingers.

  “Who planned this? I want to know who betrayed us,” said Ananias. “Now we’ve lost thirty-two men and the pinnace to boot!”