Cate of the Lost Colony Read online

  Thirty-two men. With those who had already died, I counted forty-five lost, almost half of our original number. Now there were barely enough men to defend the fort. On the other hand, there were fewer mouths to be fed if the next winter should prove harsh.

  And then John Chapman suggested the conspiracy. “It was the papists who plotted this. Ambrose and his nephew are on that pinnace. They were in league with that Irish seaman and Fernandes from the beginning. Now they’ve sailed off to rendezvous with the Spanish.” His face grew red and he tottered, making me wonder if he was drunk. “Mark my words, one morning we’ll wake up to find ourselves murdered by the Spanish.”

  At this I stifled a laugh, drawing suspicious looks. Well, if people were going to stare at me, they might as well hear me.

  “Mark instead what nonsense Master Chapman speaks, ” I said. “How could Vickers or anyone have planned a rendezvous with Spain a year ago, not knowing the circumstances in which we would find ourselves now?”

  Some looked away abashed, while a few nodded. Bailey and his allies regarded me with hostility.

  “Moreover, being a papist does not make a traitor of a man—or a woman,” I added in Betty’s defense.

  “But what if they are guilty?” someone shouted.

  “Now is the time to find out,” Bailey said, heading for the armory where Betty and her brother were being held.

  Silently I berated myself for speaking out. Why could I not learn to hold my tongue? Now Betty would be judged by the four assistants who remained: Bailey, two lazy gentlemen who did his bidding, and Ananias.

  Everyone crowded into the armory as Betty and her brother were brought forward. Betty’s eyes were wide with dread and her lips moved in prayer. Bailey questioned her first, perhaps thinking she would confess easily. But she shook her head when asked to reveal the details of her husband’s plot. Bailey held up a pair of iron pliers. Still she confessed nothing. He placed her fingers in the pliers and pressed. She gritted her teeth, and he pressed harder. I saw Ananias cringe. I stared at Betty’s brother, willing him to confess in her stead, but his eyes were tightly closed. There was a crack of bone and Betty screamed the names of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Jane Pierce, far gone with Bailey’s child, fainted. Alice and I carried her out and laid her on a bench. My own stomach was churning. I wished with all my being that Roger Bailey would be struck dead.

  Georgie Howe stood by the door of the armory, rocking back and forth, fear in his eyes.

  “Papa’s in the ground. Georgie is cold,” he said, although there was sweat on his forehead.

  “Cate is cold, too, Georgie,” I said.

  After Roger Bailey broke three of Betty’s fingers, her brother shouted out what everyone waited to hear: that he and Ambrose had conspired with Fernandes to betray the location of Fort Ralegh to the Spanish. I was certain he lied, except in swearing that Betty was innocent. Still, Bailey decreed that they would be taken to the mainland, rowed upriver in the shallop, and left to fend for themselves. It was a sentence of death, more cruel even than hanging. The punishment stunned everyone, and Bailey had to carry it out himself to ensure that it was done.

  I simmered with rage against Bailey and all the assistants. A sense of my own guilt and helplessness plagued me. Every one of us, I felt, had been complicit in making the Vickers family scapegoats for our fears. The only innocent one was little Virginia, who smelled of milk and sweetness, her happy smile belying the suffering all around her.

  My desire to escape the company of the other colonists made me decide to go to Dasemunkepeuc on that fateful day. Graham, as usual, accompanied me. Alice left her baby with Eleanor and joined us, saying she was weary of her husband’s talk of conspiracies. Jane Pierce was also glad to come. She had confessed to me she was afraid of Roger Bailey.

  “He has called me a whore and denied the child is his,” she said, pulling up her sleeves to show me the bruises on her arms.

  “You must not marry him,” I said. “All your days will be miserable.”

  “But it would make me an outcast to have no father for my baby,” she said, touching her belly.

  “I will be your friend,” I said, “if you promise not to be such a gossip.” Once she had asked me if I had a lover at the Indians’ village, to which I had responded with a cold stare.

  We were in the rowboat when, to my surprise, Manteo appeared on the shore.

  “I do not wish you to go to Dasemunkepeuc,” he said. “You may be in danger there.”

  Jane glanced from Manteo to me and raised her eyebrows. I knew what she was thinking and I gave her a warning look.

  “Lord Manteo,” I said. “At present we are in more danger from certain men here at Fort Ralegh.”

  “You do not understand. Some of the Croatoan have gone over to Wanchese,” he said to me in his tongue.

  “Surely not our friends at Dasemunkepeuc,” I said. “They are too few to merit Wanchese’s interest.”

  Rather than argue, Manteo climbed into the boat. He picked up an oar and stood in the stern holding it like a staff. To show his displeasure, he refused to row. His back was to me. A deerskin hung down over his loins, and a leather thong held his bow and a case of arrows behind his shoulder. The muscles in his legs quivered, holding him in perfect balance.

  I took a spare oar and, surprised by my own strength, helped Graham row the crowded little boat to Dasemunkepeuc. The village looked as peaceful as ever. Because of the warm day, the mats over the doors of Tameoc’s house were tied back. Jane exclaimed over everything from the houses to the frames for tanning hides, for this was her first visit to the village. A bowl of grain sat beside a quern as if someone had just been grinding it. Then Mika appeared at the door. If I had looked more closely at her eyes, I might have seen a warning there. But I was watching with some dismay the direction of Graham’s gaze, which had settled on Mika’s uncovered breasts.

  Jane also noticed and began to giggle.

  “Where is everyone?” Alice said.

  And then events befell in a confused and rapid sequence.

  Manteo shouted a warning and drew out his bow. Graham whirled around and aimed his musket. From the bushes warriors rushed forth with sharp cries. They were bedecked with feathers and paint and carried their muskets as if they were mattocks for breaking the ground. Graham fired but had no time to reload before they were upon him. Jane, Alice, and I fell to the ground in a huddle, too frightened even to cry out.

  Manteo was soon disarmed by the leader of the attackers, a smaller Indian with a beaked nose and scars on his face. I recognized him from long ago, when he strode with Manteo into the queen’s banquet hall. It was the hated Wanchese. He and Manteo were arguing, speaking so rapidly I could not understand them.

  “Manteo, you betrayed us!” cried Graham.

  Manteo turned to him with a look of fierce denial. I did not want to believe he had led us into a trap. He had warned us, after all. Some of the Croatoan have gone over to Wanchese.

  Then I saw the sword Tameoc had stolen—in Wanchese’s hand. Tameoc himself stood beside the Roanoke chief. I thought he had promised John White he would not become Wanchese’s ally. Since then he had not only stolen the sword, but apparently the muskets now in the Roanoke warriors’ hands.

  “Graham, don’t blame Manteo. It was Tameoc’s doing,” I said. “See the sword?” I suspected Tameoc had been forced to do Wanchese’s bidding, for he would not have given up the fine sword of his own will.

  The warriors made us rise and they bound our hands. Alice began to weep.

  “My son, my dear little boy, what will he do without his mother?”

  “Let her go. She has an infant to care for,” Manteo said.

  Wanchese hesitated, then motioned for Alice to be freed.

  “Take her back. And warn the English what their fate will be if they do not leave the island,” Wanchese ordered Manteo.

  “If I return there, they will say I gave you these captives, and they will kill me,” Manteo said. “If
I am dead, who will persuade the rest of the Croatoan to take your side?”

  I stared at Manteo in confusion. Was he planning to deliver his own people to Wanchese? Perhaps he was simply afraid to face Bailey and Ananias with news that Wanchese had captured us. Why had he let Wanchese take us without a fight?

  “If the English kill you, then the Croatoan will turn against them, which will serve my ends,” said Wanchese with a sneer.

  “You forget that I am Lord of Roanoke and Dasemunkepeuc. I have allies throughout Ossomocomuck,” said Manteo calmly. “You have need of me.”

  Wanchese hesitated.

  “Send Graham back with the woman. I exchange myself for him,” said Manteo, holding out his hands to be bound. “If he brings soldiers against us, you may hold me to account.”

  “What are they saying? What will become of us?” said Jane in a voice shaking with tears.

  I shook my head, for I did not understand Manteo’s deed. Like me, Graham was attentive to everything that passed between Manteo and Wanchese. I hoped he could make sense of it.

  After a long moment, Wanchese reached his decision. He told Tameoc to take Graham and Alice to the boat. But Graham, though his hands were tied together, threw off Tameoc.

  “I have sworn to protect the Lady Catherine!” he shouted. “Lord Manteo, you are the queen’s deputy. Command him to release the women.”

  But Manteo knew he was powerless. Tameoc shoved Graham, who glanced over his shoulder at me with a look of such defeat and regret that my eyes clouded over with tears.

  “Thomas, trust Manteo!” I called after him. “He must have a plan.”

  The Croatoan women and children now came out of the house, carrying their belongings in bundles. When Takiwa saw Jane and me, she looked away in shame. Tameoc went to her but she pushed him away. Mika’s thin shoulders shook with tears.

  I realized we were all Wanchese’s captives.

  Chapter 31

  Captivity

  All my dreams about living in friendship with the Indians now mocked me as childish fantasies. Nor could I have imagined, while enjoying the comforts of Whitehall and the queen’s favor not fifteen months ago, the stark and perilous state in which I now found myself: captive to the serpent Wanchese in a ruined Eden.

  More than myself, I pitied Jane. Her only mistake was to heed my reassurances that no harm would befall us at Dasemunkepeuc. It was my fault we had been taken captive. If I had heeded Manteo’s warnings, we would not have left the fort.

  Jane clung to me as we were marched through the woods. “Where are they taking us, do you suppose? How long do we have to live?”

  I had no answers to Jane’s questions or my own. Why had Manteo offered himself to his supposed enemy? Why didn’t Wanchese kill us outright? To add to my confusion, Wanchese’s behavior changed once the confrontation at Dasemunkepeuc was ended. He was not at all cruel. When we came to a clearing where several horses were tethered, he permitted the women and children to ride and left the men to walk. Later, when his men killed a deer and her fawn, we were given the fawn’s tender meat, the bones themselves soft enough to eat. Clearly he meant to keep us alive for some purpose.

  For two days we journeyed through thick forests and swampland where sharp-edged grasses snagged my clothes and whipped my hands and face. They were so tall they hid us from sight, but the splashing of water and the sucking sound of feet in the mire gave us away. Shrill frogs ceased their calls at our approach and resumed when we had passed, but the biting flies and mosquitos never ceased. Soon Jane and I were covered with sores and our skin was scratched and sunburned, increasing the pain. When we stopped for the night, Takiwa took out a pot of bear grease and showed us how to smear it on our skin. It smelled foul but brought some relief.

  Jane and I grew less fearful for our lives, but Jane was concerned for her child. “What will become of him if he is born among Indians?” she asked. “Will they take him from me?”

  “All Indians are good to children,” I said, trying to reassure her. “The Croatoan woman was allowed to keep her child. Besides, we will be rescued before your time comes.”

  Jane was easily encouraged, which made her a good companion for distressing circumstances. She also had a curiosity that sometimes made her forget the seriousness of our plight and succumb to amazement at anything new.

  After several days we came to a village surrounded by a palisade. Larger than Dasemunkepeuc, it was known as Nantioc, and Wanchese was the weroance. I could not say how far we had come since leaving Dasemunkepeuc. It seemed to me Wanchese had backtracked, perhaps to keep from being followed, and we had crossed two rivers—or had we crossed the same river in two places?

  Sobaki, the woman who greeted us, was Wanchese’s wife. Her dark hair was cut short in front and circled with a kind of wreath. Her cheeks and chin were marked in a curious pattern, and the skin between her breasts as well. From her ears hung strings of small pearls. I recalled in passing how Sir Walter liked to wear a pearl earring.

  Sobaki escorted us into her lodging, where there were two other women, also wives of Wanchese. They spoke unguardedly, not knowing I could understand them. They took off our clothes to clean them and washed us from head to toe. I was chastened to learn they considered Jane and me to be dirty and ignorant creatures because we did not bathe our whole bodies daily as they did. They gave us deerskins to wear, and Jane and I covered ourselves as thoroughly as we could. The skins were soft and fringed at the edges.

  Then Sobaki began to mark our faces with dye. I knew this was done before a celebration, so I told Jane not to be alarmed. The other wives gave much attention to Jane’s golden hair, touching it in wonderment. They tied it back using thin strips of hide. Jane seemed to enjoy the attention. My dark hair was not so remarkable to them, and Sobaki merely cut off the front with the sharpened edge of a shell, giving me a fringe like hers.

  Then Sobaki led us to the center of the village where the flames of a bonfire leapt to the sky. Men and women danced in a wide circle around the fire, the women’s breasts and the men’s buttocks visible to all. Musicians sat on the ground, playing pipes and shaking gourds filled with seeds or shells and something that swished like sand. Their steady chanting rose to a high pitch and wavered there, making me shiver. I thought if I could find Manteo and speak to him, I might learn the meaning of this ritual. Finally I spotted him among Wanchese’s warriors. His hands were loosely bound before him, but he stood unbowed and unafraid. I could not approach him, for Jane and I were made to sit with Wanchese’s wives.

  Wanchese sat with a long tobacco pipe in his mouth under a canopy made of skins and hung with tufts of brightly colored feathers. His councilors flanked him, still and solemn, with festive markings on their bodies. Despite the strangeness of the setting, I was reminded of the queen’s court. Here Wanchese was at the the center, with dancers and players all performing for his pleasure. Yet how could I compare Wanchese to Elizabeth? She was a Christian monarch with no husband; Wanchese, a pagan prince with two wives. But all rulers were alike in one important regard: they had enemies. And didn’t they often find it necessary to destroy those enemies in order to hold on to their power? Now I began to wonder if our capture was the cause of the celebration, which would end in our deaths.

  I glanced toward Jane, but she seemed to have no such fear. Sobaki was offering her a pipe. Jane put it to her lips, took a small breath, and coughed. She handed the pipe to me, but I declined it. My head ached with confusion.

  “Try it,” Jane urged. “You do not want to offend them.”

  Indeed I did not. I recalled from reading John White’s journals that you do not give a tobacco pipe to someone you mean to kill. So I took the pipe and breathed in a little. The smoke stung my throat and brought sharp tears to my eyes. But there was a flavor to it, as if sweet herbs had been added to the leaves. I took another draft, deeper this time. When I had breathed out all the smoke, I felt calmer.

  The next moment two Roanoke warriors lifted Jane and m
e to our feet and swept us toward the whirling bodies around the fire. The pitch of the chanting rose again, and to the rattling of gourds was added the drumming of sticks on the ground. The Indian held me firmly. His hair was shorn on the sides and stood up in tufts in the center and he glistened with sweat and paint. I felt the fire’s heat like a wave.

  “No, no!” I said, full of distrust.

  But he pulled me into the midst of the dancers, forcing me to follow them. I saw Jane holding her belly with one arm as she stumbled after the dancer in front of her. Takiwa and Mika were visible in the glow of flames, leaping lightly. Around and around we went until the drummers and the rattlers became a blur. I felt their rough music like the beating of my heart against my ribs, faster and faster. I tripped but the Indian held me firmly. Across from me Jane shuffled and stepped with the drumbeat. Her mouth was open in a grimace of fear. No, I was mistaken. To my astonishment, Jane was smiling. She clapped her hands. She was dancing!

  Could not the foolish girl see—as I did now—the purpose of this ceremony? Wanchese had given us the pipe to lull and deceive us. Now he meant to tire us out, as the hunter wears down his prey so it cannot run, but be easily slain.

  When the bonfire died down the dancing stopped, and Wanchese stepped out from beneath his canopy. The gourds and drums fell quiet. The singing and chanting ceased. Wanchese pointed to Jane and then to me. His eyes, black and small, bore into me in a discomforting way. He looked pleased as he opened his mouth to pronounce our fates.

  “Now,” he said, “you are one of us.”

  Chapter 32

  I, Manteo, Try to Free Ladi-cate

  I stared at my bound hands, into the fire, anywhere but Ladi-cate’s eyes. They would say to me: You did not keep me safe. They might even say: You betrayed us. I could not bear for her to think I had brought them to Dasemunkepeuc to be Wanchese’s victims. Though I was innocent of any betrayal, my shame was like a burden on my back. Why had I, the Lord of Roanoke and Dasemunkepeuc, let the English women fall into the hands of their worst enemy? I scorned Wanchese and yet I, Manteo the Croatoan, son of a weroance, had allowed myself to become his captive. Why, when I could have gone back to Fort Ralegh, led the English to rescue the women, and become a great hero?