What was too far? There had been too many threats in Nat Turner’s life—they had lost their power. Nothing could be done to him that his Father did not allow. “You say what you do is a natural thing, but does the red rose serve the white rose? Does the night surrender to the day and the day not to the night?” Trezvant inched closer, his fingers wrapped loosely around the knife, but Nat Turner did not pause. “In God’s plan there is a harmony. He loves us all. We are all blessed. But you are greedy and say all blessings are for you.
“It is all a lie and you teach the lie to your children, so that they are blinded and cannot find their way.”
Trezvant lifted the knife from the table. “I warned you—”
“You have taken a whole race captive to work for, and even amuse, you and your families. Are you saying that God has given the wolf the right to protect its offspring, but not to my people?
“What would make you believe that you are great enough to own another man, woman, or child? You do not have money enough to pay for the life of my son. You cannot count high enough to reach a price worthy of my wife.” Cherry, his beautiful Cherry. He would never see her again. How could any man have hoped to pay for such a woman? He could never have paid a bride-price worthy of her. Her love was the sweetest gift. “It is a lie.”
Trezvant continued to finger the knife. “I could take your life right now and no one would care. In fact, everyone would cheer and call me a hero.”
“My life is already over. Slice me here, hang me on the tree, slavery’s slow death; it is all the same.”
The two judges looked at each other.
“But you won’t kill me. I am here because God sent me. I go to Jerusalem because God has chosen me to pick up the yoke of Christ.”
“Madman, are you saying that you are Jesus?”
“No. I am no different than you, brother. He asks us all to pick up His yoke.”
It would be over soon. He would not see his mother again. He would not see his family. But their freedom was worthy of his life. “Our Father has said you will not kill me now, neither will you repent or atone for your sins.
“God has sent me to warn you: War is coming.
“You will take me to Jerusalem. And there you will hang me because of a lie.”
Trezvant sneered. “Oh, we will hang you! We will hang you and I will cheer!”
“You put yourselves first, above and never beneath. But Jesus said the one who would be master is the one who would serve his brothers.”
“Then we white men have done you a favor, nigger.” Trezvant snickered.
“You laugh, but you speak curses over your own head.”
Trezvant looked at the other white men. “Listen to how he rambles. Who can make heads or tails of this?” He turned back to Nat Turner. “You are a lunatic!”
“We are not murderers. We are your brothers. We are heroes. We fight against armies with not much more than bare hands. You think I am mad, but I am only the first, the first to call the lie a lie. More will come. War will come.
“You and the other slavery men are fanatics and your foolishness infects even many of those who believe they are well.
“God called you to judgment because there was no other choice. He loved, but you murdered. We loved, but you murdered.
“You have murdered the land, you have murdered us, as the wisteria vine chokes the tender tree.
“And for what cause? For thirty more coins in your purse? For a title? To hear others call you ‘master’?
“We are not thieves. You steal—you stole our lives, our future, our hope. Look with your hearts. You are the predators. Wealth and power without love breed mad, beastly men.”
Knife in hand, Trezvant again leapt from his chair.
His sudden move jerked the tablecloth askew. Glass and fruit crashed from the table. Nat Turner’s back slammed to the floor, bare bones and wasted flesh against hard wood, Trezvant’s knee pressed Nat Turner’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. His blade pressed against Nat Turner’s throat. “You are dirty, stinking cowards, stealing upon people in the middle of night, murdering them as they slept!”
Nat Turner grunted, the knife pressing into his flesh. “Brave men. God’s men.” He squeezed out the words, hardly any air in his lungs. Trezvant’s breath smelled of corn liquor and cigars. His sweat and spittle dropped onto Nat Turner’s face. Trezvant pressed the tip of the blade so a crimson bead appeared. “Despicable cowards!” He breathed the words like fire, his face closer still.
Nat Turner grunted again. “It takes great courage to love those who hate you. Courage to fight against those you love. We had courage to fight. To fight those we loved!” He felt the burning slash of Trezvant’s knife down the side of his face.