10

At sennight’s end Xander entered the council chamber in James Towne, unsurprised to see nearly every seat taken. In matters with the Naturals, every goodman and official wanted to lend a voice or at least an ear. With their very lives at stake, who could blame them?

All eyes were upon him as he removed his hat, awaiting Governor Harvey’s entrance. The chair reserved for the leading official was large and ornate, something a prince or lord might require, and seemed the focal point of the musky, oak-paneled room.

He had come prepared for one last battle before resigning from the council. On behalf of the Powhatans, some would say. His allegiance to the colonial government was continually in question. Some here had even accused him of spy. His foremost adversaries—Helion Laurent and Nicholas Claibourne—were missing, their empty places conspicuous.

The last council meeting had turned forge-hot in mere minutes over the fate of forty settlers marrying Indian women and abandoning the settlement during the last decade. Under old martial law, the penalty for such desertion was death, though most had eluded capture and assimilated.

He’d pleaded like a barrister for his fellow Virginians’ right to marry and live as they desired, undeterred by law or king. But the council had instead appointed a sheriff and sent out a posse to round up those living among the “infidels and savages” and incurring the wrath of the Almighty. The archaic penalty remained unchanged.

“Renick, you bring out every man in the colony, even the shirkers and sots.” A wry smile worked itself across the face of his friend and fellow planter Emanuel Murray. “’Tis said Governor Harvey rues commanding a lesser audience than you, vainglorious as he is.”

“I would rather the meeting be limited to select men, as all this has the feel of theater to me.” Xander’s gaze traveled to the doorway as more latecomers arrived. Laurent entered, Claibourne just behind. For a few seconds all attention shifted to the two peacocks.

Murray took a seat beside him. “Is it my imagination, or did Helion Laurent just cast you a murderous look? And the proceedings have not yet begun.”

“’Tis his usual stance,” Xander replied quietly.

Few knew that he and the physic fought a far more personal war whenever they met, be it here or beyond James Towne. Their rancor ran like a scarlet ribbon beneath the more obvious matters at hand, as if they’d crossed swords.

Governor Harvey entered at last, all stood, and a lengthy prayer was said. But not to the God Xander knew and worshiped. Unbidden, a timely Scripture filled his bowed head.

Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.

At their collective “amen,” the irascible Harvey brought the meeting to order with an address that tested Xander’s patience. True, Harvey had done a great deal to establish the colony, though many of his enterprises and industries had failed miserably and he’d made a great many enemies. While a movement was afoot to depose him, the list of offenses growing, Xander wanted nothing to do with it. His business was straight as an arrow and concerned the Naturals first and foremost.

At last he stood and faced the assembly. “I make a motion that two or more royal commissioners investigate and handle any and all disputes between Indians and English.” Sweating from the closed room, a fly bedeviling him, he was as succinct as Harvey had been long-winded. “The authorities must establish accountability and rectify wrongs done.”

Barely were the words aired before Claibourne leapt to his feet, a look of utter contempt on his swarthy face. “Wrongs done? May I enumerate for you the base deeds done to us by the savages since Virginia’s founding?”

“By all means,” Xander replied, “if you are also willing to hear the growing list of offenses committed by the English since sixteen and seven. In my hand I hold Chief Opechancanough’s latest grievances. I can assure you and everyone in this chamber that though atrocities have been committed on both sides, we English are the foremost aggressors with our flagrant duplicity and pharisaical self-righteousness.”

A rumble went through the room. Not in his favor, Xander knew. He returned to his seat to retrieve a ream of papers while Claibourne continued the verbal assault he’d begun.

“Few here need reminding of the ten years’ war that ended only recently and may well begin anew. But for those of us serving on the governor’s council who are courageous enough to lead expeditions against the Naturals—”

“Courageous?” Xander turned back around, clutching the papers. “What glory is to be had in burning Indians’ fields and destroying enough food to have sustained four thousand men for a twelvemonth?”

“How dare you—”

“Not only burning but keeping much of the plunder from the Indian towns for yourselves.” Xander looked from Claibourne to Harvey, who sat in stony silence. “These are the actions that return me to my appeal today—the need of royal commissioners to investigate such acts, which are, by English law, deserving of censure and punishment.”

“Are there not laws in place prohibiting trading with the Indians, which you yourself are guilty of?” Laurent stood as a disgruntled Claibourne sat. “I saw with mine own eyes your purchasing a great many goods from the cape merchant’s daughter before going west of your own accord. Are there not laws prohibiting such?”

Murray stood in Xander’s defense. “Laws that are antiquated and seldom enforced, as free trading abounds, especially on Virginia’s borders.”

Xander faced his opponents across several crowded benches. “I made no unlawful trade as you claim. As commander of my shire, I went west at the invitation of Chief Opechancanough in pursuit of peace. I brought the requisite gifts as any sensible envoy would.”

“Peace?” Laurent all but spat the word. “There’s been no peace, nor shall there be till every acre the savages claim is underfoot us Virginians.”

Other voices rose, joining in the vociferous cry against the tribes, spewing venom to all corners of the echoing chamber. Xander held his peace as the din grew deafening. He stared down at his papers, upon which he’d penned a lengthy list of Opechancanough’s most alarming grievances.

“Gentlemen, I see you all are in a passion, which makes men no longer themselves.” Governor Harvey’s voice became a hoarse shout. “I pray give a small respite to your anger and recover your reason!”

When the room finally quieted, Xander voiced his second cause—the proposed peace exchange. But how would it end? Chief Opechancanough was ruthless. He was feared. And guilty in the past of pleading peace while plotting mayhem. Most within this chamber would rather draw and quarter him than send Virginia’s children into enemy territory or entertain the Naturals in their own.

Xander’s gaze swept the florid, frowning faces before turning toward the governor, who seemed more desirous of reconciliation with the Naturals. “I beg you to consider the peace exchange proposed by Opechancanough between the Powhatan nation and the English . . .”

Xander picked a particularly large worm from a tobacco plant, mastering his disgust with the mettle of years in the fields. The pest writhed in his palm before he flung it onto a small fire made for that purpose. Smoke billowed in the early June wind, contained by several indentures intent on ridding the struggling, rain-soaked plants of yet another scourge.

Better the pests of the field than the council chamber.

The thought turned him wry as he looked askance at the clouds. The overcast held no threat of rain and spared his laborers the sun beating down on shirtless backs. Though he’d long grown used to Virginia’s climate, he fretted about his indentures, who cycled in and out of Rose-n-Vale’s infirmary. He sympathized and prayed. His own seasoning when he’d first set foot on these shores had nearly been the end of him. First the dysentery from foul well water in James Towne, then when he was full grown, a recurring miasma that left him so depleted it was all he could do to pull on his boots.

Mattachanna’s coming had changed all that. She’d doused him with her tonics, most of them known healers among the Powhatans, and her practical partnership had renewed his purpose. ’Twas she who’d taught him how to raise maize and beans together, not in unproductive Old World rows but intertwined. Nor would his tobacco be what it was without her expertise. His step lightened in thankfulness before sorrow rushed in.

He picked his way down another row, shadowed by Mattachanna’s dire beginnings at James Towne. The dark memory hovered, though he tried to thrust it away as he sent another pest onto the snapping fire.

“Sir.” Hosea Sterrett, his farm manager, approached, hat in hands. “I’ve come to give ye a report.”

“A good one, I pray.” Xander turned his back on the next tobacco plant and gave the lanky man his full attention.

With a nod, Sterrett glanced at the pluming fire. “Glad to confirm the flax, hemp, and rice are thriving, as well as the black walnut groves.”

Xander ran a sleeve across his brow. “Much of our success is because of your oversight.”

“Ye give me undue credit when ye yourself work tirelessly, sir.” Still, Sterrett seemed pleased. “We’re readying a ton of potash to ship to England, in addition to wainscoting and a small quantity of silk from the mulberry grove. For now, I bring ye this.” He reached into his pocket and produced a large pink pearl. “From yer oyster beds.”

Xander took it, his would-be bride’s face flashing to mind. He nearly had enough for a lovely necklace strung on silken thread. “A beauty, mayhap the largest find yet. And such a peculiar color.”

“Is it true about the Powhatans, that they amass pearls in their treasure houses, even burying them with their dead?”

“Aye, the chiefs do, yet they tend to ruin pearls by firing them open.”

“I daresay ye’d fetch a royal price for this one even in London.”

Xander held the gemstone up to the light as the clouds parted. “Not all of Virginia’s treasures are to be exported, thankfully.”

“Rightly so, sir.” Returning his hat to his balding head, Sterrett bade him good day and resumed his rounds.

Watching him go, Xander allowed himself a brief rest. With a word to the workers to slake their thirst, he returned to the house, not trusting himself with so fine a pearl. After retreating to his study, he opened a corner cupboard, hinges creaking, and took out a small, velvet-lined box.

Truly, this new freshwater marvel outshone the last lustrous gray one that was slightly misshapen. A growing collection lay before him. His favorite was a metallic green, the others pale purple and varied hues, gotten from Chesapeake oyster beds. ’Twas said the pearl symbolized purity, loyalty, integrity, and largess of spirit. The essence of his intended.

He secreted the box and climbed the stairs that led to the nursery across the hall from his bedchamber. The closed door seemed more a wall. He rarely came here, having last entered to read a letter from his Scots kin. He went to the dresser, retrieved the post from a top drawer, and stared down at the page. He’d already committed the contents to memory, returning to the most troublesome lines . . .

I hope that you will consider Oceanus’s nurse as more than that. Electa Lineboro has been cast into service due to her family’s losses of recent years. She is soon to be five and twenty, of honest conduct and conversation, a handsome, honestly educated maid. Given you have not remarried, I urge you to consider her as a bride prospect. Not only would that ease your son’s transition to the New World, it would benefit you at Rose-n-Vale, which is no doubt in need of a mistress, and relieve Miss Lineboro’s hard circumstances . . .

The plot thickened. He felt like a character in a Shakespearean play—a comedy, mayhap a tragedy. Just when he was ready to move forward with his own romantic plan, there came an unwelcome twist. He’d married Mattachanna out of affection and a realization that their tie would help bring about peace between the Powhatans and colonists. And here lately he’d begun to allow himself a vision of another bride, one near at hand, one highly esteemed in the settlement, who could have any number of suitors but had chosen to stay chaste.

Enter Electa Lineboro.

The name was pleasing, the prospect convenient, given she was Oceanus’s nurse. And on her way to Virginia even as he held the letter between callused fingers. He would be spared the time and expense of wooing her, this woman who was likely not averse to marrying a colonist who peddled tobacco.

Yet his mind—his heart, rather—was fixed on someone else entirely.

He returned the letter to the drawer and began a slow walk around the unused room. No more need for the cradle between the two tall windows. A more fitting bed for a boy of four was against one wall, a new coverlet worked by his aunt atop it. A wooden rocking horse of dapple gray, fashioned in London, awaited beside some colorful blocks and toy soldiers painted scarlet. No expense had been spared for a boy he hardly knew and who hardly knew him.

Lord, help Thou me.