Harold Titus's Blog, page 31
June 22, 2018
"Alsoomse and Wanchese" Scenes, Chapter 8, Pages 77-80
Granganimeo’s wife Hurit, standing a canoe’s length away in the village lane, was staring at them. She approached.
“Weroansqua,” Sokanon greeted.
Instantly, Alsoomse rose. The back of her left hand covering her mouth, she faced about.
“Sokanon. Alsoomse. You are teaching these children well.” Hurit looked at Wapun and Pules, who were watching her with large eyes. “Is that not so?” she said to them.
“Yes, Weroansqua, they are very good,” Wapun answered.
Pules nodded vigorously.
“I am pleased.” Hurit looked at Alsoomse, then Sokanon. “I have a duty I want you to perform.”
Sokanon’s eyes flitted.
I want both of you to accompany me to Croatoan, tomorrow. To serve me. Together with Allawa, and two other young women.”
Alsoomse’s cheekbones tingled. Her arms felt the rush of adrenaline.
She had expected criticism.
“Both of you appear surprised.” Hurit’s amused smile enhanced her unaffected beauty.
“Weroansqua, we will serve you well,” Sokanon answered.
Hurit nodded. Her face hardened.
“You should know that Croatoan’s weroansqua has asked me to attend a meeting she is to have with Piemacum’s important men, believing, we suspect, that Piemacum wants her to submit herself and her people to his authority.”
Alsoomse felt a second surge of adrenaline. Quick to exhibit temper, her face burned.
The Croatoan were gentle people! Her father Matunaagd had said so, often! For some time now they had been led by a woman, which explained, probably, their peaceful manner. A thought occurred to her. “Weroansqua,” she said, “I believe I know her purpose.”
“Which is …?”
“Your presence will answer Piemacum’s question without the weroansqua needing to give it.”
Hurit nodded, a slow backward and forward acknowledgment. “You are perceptive, Alsoomse. You are your father and mother’s daughter.” She paused, looked at Alsoomse soberly. “But in other ways you are not nearly so. You disturb me.”
Alsoomse’s face blanched.
Sokanon interrupted. “Is Granganimeo to accompany us?”
What other ways? Alsoomse thought.
“No, Sokanon. His or Wingina’s presence would cause a fight.” Hurit’s face softened. “I am to go alone. Men do not usually fight women.”
“We leave then … when?”
“Immediately after the casting of tobacco. Several of our men will take us there in two canoes. They will not be men of high station.” For the first time Hurit looked at Nuna and Odina. “I will need Machk to be one of them. Please tell him.”
“I will, weroansqua,” Nuna responded.
Sokanon made a small hand gesture. Hurit raised her eyebrows. “I will need somebody to look after my mother. She is not strong.” Her face apologized.
“I am certain one of your friends here will do that.”
Simultaneously, Nuna and Odina nodded.
“Then everything is arranged.” Hurit turned, took two steps toward the lane, and stopped. Pivoting, she regarded Alsoomse. “One other matter.” Her eyes examined the length of Alsoomse’s body. “I expect you, Alsoomse, to show your high station the entire time we are there. That means necklaces, Alsoomse. Bracelets. Beads hanging from your ears. You will be representing this village, not yourself. Do you have them?”
“Yes.”
“I should not have to ask.”
“No.” Here was the expected criticism. She felt the start of a second burn.
Hurit studied her, too lengthily.
The burn reached Alsoomse’s ears.
“Why do you do this? Are you not proud of your parents’ standing?” Hurit looked at Alsoomse’s legs. “No tattoos, not even on your calves. Your cousin has them” – she pointed – “there, and there, and on her arms. She wears a nice shell necklace. Polished bones hang from her ears. Every day. Why must you be so different?”
She wants to know; I will tell her!
“We are different people.”
“That is obvious.”
“I love my cousin.” Alsoomse’s eyes combatted Hurit’s sarcasm. “I respect her for who she is. It is not because she is my cousin or she is the daughter of parents of high station. It is because of who she is.”
“We all judge people that way.”
“I know some who do not. Also, some people of high station expect to be treated well but do not deserve it.” She was thinking of Askook.
Hurit’s left index finger touched the outer side of her left breast. Her fingers curled, became a fist. “Are you saying that people who are leaders, who take responsibility for the welfare of their followers, should not be treated with respect?”
“No, weroansqua, I do not.” Both sides of her face were hot. “I am saying that people like me born into high station should have to earn respect, not demand it. That is why I live here, outside the gate to the compound. I do not want anyone to believe I demand respect.”
Alsoomse moved her right foot forward, traced a line in the sandy earth. “I believe also that people not born of high station deserving respect should receive it.”
Fists pressed against her sides, Hurit studied her. “You are outspoken in your beliefs.”
“I spoke them because you asked.”
The flesh beneath her chin stretched, Alsoomse maintained eye contact. Peripherally, Odina and Nuna were figures of stone.
Hurit’s irises remained centered. “You should know, Alsoomse, that there are people in this village, and at Dasemunkepeuc, who believe that you are dangerous. Strong-headed dangerous. My husband has spoken of it. Our kwiocosuk has spoken of it. You risk punishment, from Kiwasa, from your leaders. I will expect you to keep your thoughts to yourself while we are at Croatoan. I have … tolerated your independence, until now. I must be certain that you will say or do nothing to damage our purpose.” Her eyes bored.
“Your answer?”
She would be truthful, not weak. “I respect you and all of our leaders. I will do nothing to hurt our people.”
“You will wear ornaments that signify your station?”
Alsoomse hesitated. “Yes, weroansqua, I will.”
“Weroansqua,” Sokanon greeted.
Instantly, Alsoomse rose. The back of her left hand covering her mouth, she faced about.
“Sokanon. Alsoomse. You are teaching these children well.” Hurit looked at Wapun and Pules, who were watching her with large eyes. “Is that not so?” she said to them.
“Yes, Weroansqua, they are very good,” Wapun answered.
Pules nodded vigorously.
“I am pleased.” Hurit looked at Alsoomse, then Sokanon. “I have a duty I want you to perform.”
Sokanon’s eyes flitted.
I want both of you to accompany me to Croatoan, tomorrow. To serve me. Together with Allawa, and two other young women.”
Alsoomse’s cheekbones tingled. Her arms felt the rush of adrenaline.
She had expected criticism.
“Both of you appear surprised.” Hurit’s amused smile enhanced her unaffected beauty.
“Weroansqua, we will serve you well,” Sokanon answered.
Hurit nodded. Her face hardened.
“You should know that Croatoan’s weroansqua has asked me to attend a meeting she is to have with Piemacum’s important men, believing, we suspect, that Piemacum wants her to submit herself and her people to his authority.”
Alsoomse felt a second surge of adrenaline. Quick to exhibit temper, her face burned.
The Croatoan were gentle people! Her father Matunaagd had said so, often! For some time now they had been led by a woman, which explained, probably, their peaceful manner. A thought occurred to her. “Weroansqua,” she said, “I believe I know her purpose.”
“Which is …?”
“Your presence will answer Piemacum’s question without the weroansqua needing to give it.”
Hurit nodded, a slow backward and forward acknowledgment. “You are perceptive, Alsoomse. You are your father and mother’s daughter.” She paused, looked at Alsoomse soberly. “But in other ways you are not nearly so. You disturb me.”
Alsoomse’s face blanched.
Sokanon interrupted. “Is Granganimeo to accompany us?”
What other ways? Alsoomse thought.
“No, Sokanon. His or Wingina’s presence would cause a fight.” Hurit’s face softened. “I am to go alone. Men do not usually fight women.”
“We leave then … when?”
“Immediately after the casting of tobacco. Several of our men will take us there in two canoes. They will not be men of high station.” For the first time Hurit looked at Nuna and Odina. “I will need Machk to be one of them. Please tell him.”
“I will, weroansqua,” Nuna responded.
Sokanon made a small hand gesture. Hurit raised her eyebrows. “I will need somebody to look after my mother. She is not strong.” Her face apologized.
“I am certain one of your friends here will do that.”
Simultaneously, Nuna and Odina nodded.
“Then everything is arranged.” Hurit turned, took two steps toward the lane, and stopped. Pivoting, she regarded Alsoomse. “One other matter.” Her eyes examined the length of Alsoomse’s body. “I expect you, Alsoomse, to show your high station the entire time we are there. That means necklaces, Alsoomse. Bracelets. Beads hanging from your ears. You will be representing this village, not yourself. Do you have them?”
“Yes.”
“I should not have to ask.”
“No.” Here was the expected criticism. She felt the start of a second burn.
Hurit studied her, too lengthily.
The burn reached Alsoomse’s ears.
“Why do you do this? Are you not proud of your parents’ standing?” Hurit looked at Alsoomse’s legs. “No tattoos, not even on your calves. Your cousin has them” – she pointed – “there, and there, and on her arms. She wears a nice shell necklace. Polished bones hang from her ears. Every day. Why must you be so different?”
She wants to know; I will tell her!
“We are different people.”
“That is obvious.”
“I love my cousin.” Alsoomse’s eyes combatted Hurit’s sarcasm. “I respect her for who she is. It is not because she is my cousin or she is the daughter of parents of high station. It is because of who she is.”
“We all judge people that way.”
“I know some who do not. Also, some people of high station expect to be treated well but do not deserve it.” She was thinking of Askook.
Hurit’s left index finger touched the outer side of her left breast. Her fingers curled, became a fist. “Are you saying that people who are leaders, who take responsibility for the welfare of their followers, should not be treated with respect?”
“No, weroansqua, I do not.” Both sides of her face were hot. “I am saying that people like me born into high station should have to earn respect, not demand it. That is why I live here, outside the gate to the compound. I do not want anyone to believe I demand respect.”
Alsoomse moved her right foot forward, traced a line in the sandy earth. “I believe also that people not born of high station deserving respect should receive it.”
Fists pressed against her sides, Hurit studied her. “You are outspoken in your beliefs.”
“I spoke them because you asked.”
The flesh beneath her chin stretched, Alsoomse maintained eye contact. Peripherally, Odina and Nuna were figures of stone.
Hurit’s irises remained centered. “You should know, Alsoomse, that there are people in this village, and at Dasemunkepeuc, who believe that you are dangerous. Strong-headed dangerous. My husband has spoken of it. Our kwiocosuk has spoken of it. You risk punishment, from Kiwasa, from your leaders. I will expect you to keep your thoughts to yourself while we are at Croatoan. I have … tolerated your independence, until now. I must be certain that you will say or do nothing to damage our purpose.” Her eyes bored.
“Your answer?”
She would be truthful, not weak. “I respect you and all of our leaders. I will do nothing to hurt our people.”
“You will wear ornaments that signify your station?”
Alsoomse hesitated. “Yes, weroansqua, I will.”
June 18, 2018
"Alsoomse and Wanchese" Scenes -- Chapter 7, Pages 63-67
Chapter 7, Pages 63-67
He was awakened by the staccato sounds of a Great Horned Owl. “Hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo.” A mating call. He anticipated a response. There was none. “Hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo,” the same male sounded, unexpectedly close. He had never seen the Great Horned Owl, which lived, bred, and hunted exclusively at night. He had seen the crushed remains of its prey -- too large to be ingested.
Wanchese glanced at the fire. It was still burning. It had, in fact, not diminished! The corner of his left eye caught movement. He started, sat instantly upright. A human figure sat close to the fire.
Etchemin.
His arms and upper back tingling, Wanchese stared.
“Wanchese.” The youth’s right heel made a groove in the sandy earth. He looked at the mark. “You asked who I am.”
“I did.”
“I am Chesapeake. From Skicoac. I came here because I could not live there.”
Ten seconds passed. The light of the fire extended up past Etchemin’s face.
“Why?”
“Because … I am different. … I do not kill, do not hunt. I will not fight.”
Wanchese pointed. “Those scars?”
“Braves have hit me.”
Wanchese inhaled, exhaled. His jaw and cheek bones hardened. He thought of Askook. “You let them hit you?”
Etchemin looked at the fire.
“Why?
Etchemin stared past Wanchese’s left shoulder.
”Were you afraid of them?”
Etchemin made eye contact. Wanchese recognized anger. He raised his palms to the level of his chin. “Why?”
“I do not hunt and kill. I do not fight!”
Wanchese leaned backward. Staring at the Chesapeake, he struggled to understand. “Why do you not hunt?”
His right hand gripping his right knee, Etchemin leaned forward. “What do you see in the eyes of a doe that you have struck with your arrow and she is dying?”
Fear, Wanchese thought. It was the worst part of hunting.
Wanchese spoke rapidly. “Ahone permits us to hunt. It is the way of life. Eat or die. We give thanks to the animals who sacrifice themselves. You know that.”
“Killing is evil,” Etchemin said. “Fighting leads to killing. I will not become evil to fight evil.” He rose. He glared toward the river.
“If you never fight, … you are the doe.” Wanchese stood.
Etchemin turned away, went to and entered his dwelling.
Wanchese knelt upon Etchemin’s deer skin, stretched himself upon it, pulled his own deer skin over his body. He questioned how much sleep he would get before the sun made sleep no longer possible. He could not respect a man who had the physical ability to defend himself. It was probably that unwillingness more than Etchemin’s refusal to hunt that had caused other young men to abuse him. Etchemin had chosen to live this way and had been punished for it. He had been rejected and driven away to restore harmony, balance. Ahone had created a world that abhorred imbalance. Herring, striped bass, plovers, hawks, squirrels, turtles, bears all lived according to Ahone’s rules. Ahone’s dictate to the Real People: maintain His balance. Those who refused to obey had to be expelled.
#
Voices woke him. Early sunlight had penetrated the little clearing. Wanchese rose to a sitting position. He heard Osacan and a voice he did not recognize. Six men appeared out of a cluster of red maple and yellow-poplar. Osacan saw him.
“Wanchese, I am sorry I did not wake you. How went your night?” He laughed.
They veered toward him. He stood, and started to fold his deer skin.
“Not talking? You should know I had a very comfortable night!”
They converged. Osacan thumped Wanchese’s right shoulder.
Andacon had been studying the down slope. “You slept here, not by the canoe?”
“There was no need.” Wanchese brushed moisture off a section of his deer skin.
“You did well here?”
“It was good.” He looked at the ashes of the fire.
The brave standing beside Osacan spoke. “I know what happened.” He jerked his right thumb toward Etchemin’s dwelling. Etchemin had exited it. “You had fish.” He and his companion hunters laughed. “Not deer, rabbit, duck, or beaver. Fish!”
Wanchese straightened his back. “We did. Excellent perch.” He fixed his eyes on the hunter that had spoken.
“We had excellent deer stew, Wanchese.” Osacan extended his right arm. “I would have brought you some but I forgot.”
The hunter whom Osacan had apparently befriended stooped. He picked up from the fire pit the end of a branch not incinerated. “We allow him to live here,” he said to the wood, “because he builds canoes. Except for that, he is worthless.” He stared at Etchemin, standing next to his stacked branches. “Is that right, Useless?!” He hurled the piece of wood. Etchemin stepped to his right. The wood struck the side of the dwelling.
The hunter faced Osacan and Andacon. “He is useless and he is a coward! Watch!” The man strode toward Etchemin, who waited. “Show them I am right! Tell them you are a coward!”
Etchemin stared past him. The hunter slapped him, the sound of palm against cheek distinct.
Etchemin regained his balance, resumed his stance.
“Say it! Say it or defend yourself! No? Then here!” The hunter slapped Etchemin again.
“That is not necessary!” Andacon declared.
“Let him be!” Osacan responded.
“You see?” The hunter, facing them, grinned. “This is what we live with!”
Andacon motioned toward the river. “We have nothing here we must do. Down to the canoe,” he ordered. He stepped off. Osacan; Nootau, ever silent, looking tense; and Wanchese, red-faced, followed.
“Why not take him with you?!” the hunter shouted. “He can build you canoes! If you need to warm your hands, slap him!” They heard a third slap.
Wanchese stopped. He turned about, started up the incline.
“Wanchese!” Osacan exclaimed.
Wanchese heard Andacon’s stern voice. “No!”
He was twenty feet away from the hunter, then ten, then standing in front of him.
“Ah, the coward has made a friend!” the hunter mocked.
Wanchese grabbed the hunter’s skull feather, pulled it out of its groove, held it in front of the hunter’s astonished face, broke it in half. He dropped the two pieces. Locking his eyes on the brave’s face, he waited.
A deep red covered the hunter’s countenance. He swore. Wanchese saw the man’s right hand, of a sudden, move upward. Blocking the upward thrust, Wanchese kneed the hunter’s genitals. He heard instant distress. The hunter doubled over, Wanchese kneed his forehead. The brave went down. Wanchese pinned the hunter’s head to the soil with his right foot.
Breathing fiercely through his nose, Wanchese watched the hunter’s legs thrash. He applied greater pressure. The man emitted a plaintive cry.
He was aware suddenly that the others were close by. The thought that he might be attacked penetrated. He would bring each of them down! “You!” he shouted at the hunter immobilized under his foot. “I will let you up! If you choose to fight, I will kill you!” Three more fierce breaths and he removed his foot.
He was awakened by the staccato sounds of a Great Horned Owl. “Hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo.” A mating call. He anticipated a response. There was none. “Hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo, hoo-hoo hoo,” the same male sounded, unexpectedly close. He had never seen the Great Horned Owl, which lived, bred, and hunted exclusively at night. He had seen the crushed remains of its prey -- too large to be ingested.
Wanchese glanced at the fire. It was still burning. It had, in fact, not diminished! The corner of his left eye caught movement. He started, sat instantly upright. A human figure sat close to the fire.
Etchemin.
His arms and upper back tingling, Wanchese stared.
“Wanchese.” The youth’s right heel made a groove in the sandy earth. He looked at the mark. “You asked who I am.”
“I did.”
“I am Chesapeake. From Skicoac. I came here because I could not live there.”
Ten seconds passed. The light of the fire extended up past Etchemin’s face.
“Why?”
“Because … I am different. … I do not kill, do not hunt. I will not fight.”
Wanchese pointed. “Those scars?”
“Braves have hit me.”
Wanchese inhaled, exhaled. His jaw and cheek bones hardened. He thought of Askook. “You let them hit you?”
Etchemin looked at the fire.
“Why?
Etchemin stared past Wanchese’s left shoulder.
”Were you afraid of them?”
Etchemin made eye contact. Wanchese recognized anger. He raised his palms to the level of his chin. “Why?”
“I do not hunt and kill. I do not fight!”
Wanchese leaned backward. Staring at the Chesapeake, he struggled to understand. “Why do you not hunt?”
His right hand gripping his right knee, Etchemin leaned forward. “What do you see in the eyes of a doe that you have struck with your arrow and she is dying?”
Fear, Wanchese thought. It was the worst part of hunting.
Wanchese spoke rapidly. “Ahone permits us to hunt. It is the way of life. Eat or die. We give thanks to the animals who sacrifice themselves. You know that.”
“Killing is evil,” Etchemin said. “Fighting leads to killing. I will not become evil to fight evil.” He rose. He glared toward the river.
“If you never fight, … you are the doe.” Wanchese stood.
Etchemin turned away, went to and entered his dwelling.
Wanchese knelt upon Etchemin’s deer skin, stretched himself upon it, pulled his own deer skin over his body. He questioned how much sleep he would get before the sun made sleep no longer possible. He could not respect a man who had the physical ability to defend himself. It was probably that unwillingness more than Etchemin’s refusal to hunt that had caused other young men to abuse him. Etchemin had chosen to live this way and had been punished for it. He had been rejected and driven away to restore harmony, balance. Ahone had created a world that abhorred imbalance. Herring, striped bass, plovers, hawks, squirrels, turtles, bears all lived according to Ahone’s rules. Ahone’s dictate to the Real People: maintain His balance. Those who refused to obey had to be expelled.
#
Voices woke him. Early sunlight had penetrated the little clearing. Wanchese rose to a sitting position. He heard Osacan and a voice he did not recognize. Six men appeared out of a cluster of red maple and yellow-poplar. Osacan saw him.
“Wanchese, I am sorry I did not wake you. How went your night?” He laughed.
They veered toward him. He stood, and started to fold his deer skin.
“Not talking? You should know I had a very comfortable night!”
They converged. Osacan thumped Wanchese’s right shoulder.
Andacon had been studying the down slope. “You slept here, not by the canoe?”
“There was no need.” Wanchese brushed moisture off a section of his deer skin.
“You did well here?”
“It was good.” He looked at the ashes of the fire.
The brave standing beside Osacan spoke. “I know what happened.” He jerked his right thumb toward Etchemin’s dwelling. Etchemin had exited it. “You had fish.” He and his companion hunters laughed. “Not deer, rabbit, duck, or beaver. Fish!”
Wanchese straightened his back. “We did. Excellent perch.” He fixed his eyes on the hunter that had spoken.
“We had excellent deer stew, Wanchese.” Osacan extended his right arm. “I would have brought you some but I forgot.”
The hunter whom Osacan had apparently befriended stooped. He picked up from the fire pit the end of a branch not incinerated. “We allow him to live here,” he said to the wood, “because he builds canoes. Except for that, he is worthless.” He stared at Etchemin, standing next to his stacked branches. “Is that right, Useless?!” He hurled the piece of wood. Etchemin stepped to his right. The wood struck the side of the dwelling.
The hunter faced Osacan and Andacon. “He is useless and he is a coward! Watch!” The man strode toward Etchemin, who waited. “Show them I am right! Tell them you are a coward!”
Etchemin stared past him. The hunter slapped him, the sound of palm against cheek distinct.
Etchemin regained his balance, resumed his stance.
“Say it! Say it or defend yourself! No? Then here!” The hunter slapped Etchemin again.
“That is not necessary!” Andacon declared.
“Let him be!” Osacan responded.
“You see?” The hunter, facing them, grinned. “This is what we live with!”
Andacon motioned toward the river. “We have nothing here we must do. Down to the canoe,” he ordered. He stepped off. Osacan; Nootau, ever silent, looking tense; and Wanchese, red-faced, followed.
“Why not take him with you?!” the hunter shouted. “He can build you canoes! If you need to warm your hands, slap him!” They heard a third slap.
Wanchese stopped. He turned about, started up the incline.
“Wanchese!” Osacan exclaimed.
Wanchese heard Andacon’s stern voice. “No!”
He was twenty feet away from the hunter, then ten, then standing in front of him.
“Ah, the coward has made a friend!” the hunter mocked.
Wanchese grabbed the hunter’s skull feather, pulled it out of its groove, held it in front of the hunter’s astonished face, broke it in half. He dropped the two pieces. Locking his eyes on the brave’s face, he waited.
A deep red covered the hunter’s countenance. He swore. Wanchese saw the man’s right hand, of a sudden, move upward. Blocking the upward thrust, Wanchese kneed the hunter’s genitals. He heard instant distress. The hunter doubled over, Wanchese kneed his forehead. The brave went down. Wanchese pinned the hunter’s head to the soil with his right foot.
Breathing fiercely through his nose, Wanchese watched the hunter’s legs thrash. He applied greater pressure. The man emitted a plaintive cry.
He was aware suddenly that the others were close by. The thought that he might be attacked penetrated. He would bring each of them down! “You!” he shouted at the hunter immobilized under his foot. “I will let you up! If you choose to fight, I will kill you!” Three more fierce breaths and he removed his foot.
June 14, 2018
"Alsoomse and Wanchese" Scenes
Wanchese has embarked on a trading mission up the Chowan River to Choanoac with his superiors Andacon and Osacan and his cousin Nootau. Alsoomse had wanted to go with them.
Chapter 6, Pages 50-51
... Looking over his right shoulder, Wanchese could no longer see the northern tip of Roanoke Island, where the previous afternoon Alsoomse had demanded that she accompany him, knowing her words were futile, believing a combative dialogue was essential. It was one aspect of her being he both resented and respected. If he ever did decide to court a young woman, she would have to be just about as strong-minded.
“You and your important friends need to grind corn kernels, tend the fire and pot, dress deer hide, hunt for clams, make pottery, plant seeds, pull weeds, harvest crops, gather nuts and berries, do everything we do every day! Instead, you are permitted to travel, meet new people, do exciting things!” Why was it that she targeted him with her complaints?! It had been Ahone, not he, who had created the People, the sun, the moon, the rivers, the swamps, the great waters, the trees, animals, fish, and birds!
“The Great Creator determined our duties!” he had answered. “You have yours. I know mine. It is the way of things.” Her eyes had been large, adamant. “To change would be to destroy order, balance. Without order, without discipline, we do not survive. Our father and mother made that clear to us!” Standing close to him, her chin angled up at him, she had seemed more intent on forcing him to step backward than altering his viewpoint.
“Why must you challenge everything you decide is wrong?! Who are you to decide what is right?! Our leaders and the kwiocosuks and the gods decide. We accept! Those who cannot must live alone. Is that what you want?!” He had not diverted his eyes. He had not given ground! He had said nothing more!
She, not he, had stepped back. She had looked briefly across the water, had engaged him afterward as resolutely as before.
“I know responsibility! You know that! I know the importance of order! I would do nothing to hurt our people!” Face flushed, she had for five or six heartbeats stared, her frown distinct. “I am not content! My mind wants to know what you know, not by you telling me what you decide to tell me but by my living it. Myself! Can you understand that? I should be allowed! No, not allowed! I should be free to do!”
She was wrong. Going to Choanoac to trade with the great Menatonon is what men did! Important men! That familiar burn of temper was ascending the back of his neck! He was a hunter, a weir builder, a warrior, not a weaver of mats! Men and women were different! Meant to be! They had separate responsibilities, for obvious reasons. All responsibilities had to be met. No village member had the right to choose whatever task he or she wanted! It was hard enough for villagers, working together, to accomplish what survival demanded!
“I want to go someplace with you to learn things I do not know! I will not give up until I do!” Turning her head, she had looked again at the sun-dappled water. “When you get back,” she had said, enunciating each word, “you will tell me everything! About Menatonon, the women there, what Nootau said and did, what their village is like, how they are different from us, everything!”
“I will.” How the corners of his mouth had wanted to celebrate!
Chapter 6, Pages 50-51
... Looking over his right shoulder, Wanchese could no longer see the northern tip of Roanoke Island, where the previous afternoon Alsoomse had demanded that she accompany him, knowing her words were futile, believing a combative dialogue was essential. It was one aspect of her being he both resented and respected. If he ever did decide to court a young woman, she would have to be just about as strong-minded.
“You and your important friends need to grind corn kernels, tend the fire and pot, dress deer hide, hunt for clams, make pottery, plant seeds, pull weeds, harvest crops, gather nuts and berries, do everything we do every day! Instead, you are permitted to travel, meet new people, do exciting things!” Why was it that she targeted him with her complaints?! It had been Ahone, not he, who had created the People, the sun, the moon, the rivers, the swamps, the great waters, the trees, animals, fish, and birds!
“The Great Creator determined our duties!” he had answered. “You have yours. I know mine. It is the way of things.” Her eyes had been large, adamant. “To change would be to destroy order, balance. Without order, without discipline, we do not survive. Our father and mother made that clear to us!” Standing close to him, her chin angled up at him, she had seemed more intent on forcing him to step backward than altering his viewpoint.
“Why must you challenge everything you decide is wrong?! Who are you to decide what is right?! Our leaders and the kwiocosuks and the gods decide. We accept! Those who cannot must live alone. Is that what you want?!” He had not diverted his eyes. He had not given ground! He had said nothing more!
She, not he, had stepped back. She had looked briefly across the water, had engaged him afterward as resolutely as before.
“I know responsibility! You know that! I know the importance of order! I would do nothing to hurt our people!” Face flushed, she had for five or six heartbeats stared, her frown distinct. “I am not content! My mind wants to know what you know, not by you telling me what you decide to tell me but by my living it. Myself! Can you understand that? I should be allowed! No, not allowed! I should be free to do!”
She was wrong. Going to Choanoac to trade with the great Menatonon is what men did! Important men! That familiar burn of temper was ascending the back of his neck! He was a hunter, a weir builder, a warrior, not a weaver of mats! Men and women were different! Meant to be! They had separate responsibilities, for obvious reasons. All responsibilities had to be met. No village member had the right to choose whatever task he or she wanted! It was hard enough for villagers, working together, to accomplish what survival demanded!
“I want to go someplace with you to learn things I do not know! I will not give up until I do!” Turning her head, she had looked again at the sun-dappled water. “When you get back,” she had said, enunciating each word, “you will tell me everything! About Menatonon, the women there, what Nootau said and did, what their village is like, how they are different from us, everything!”
“I will.” How the corners of his mouth had wanted to celebrate!
June 11, 2018
Alsoomse and Wanchese Scenes
On the back of my paperback historical novel "Alsoomse and Wanchese," recently published, a browser of books can read the following:
“Mother, I want to question things. Know the why of things. Decide things. Why must weroances, priests, and a husband – kind or not -- decide who I must be?”
“We gave you your name for a reason.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Be respectful, child, dutiful. The gods have taught us our roles. We must obey them, please them. We must please also the wise ones who speak to them. Life is perilous, Alsoomse. Kiwasa makes it so. Weigh what you think before you act. Accept.”
He marveled at the potency of his temper. He was surprised that his blow to Askook’s head had not been followed by a fist to the throat and a crushing knee to the side of the skull.
He savored the idea.
Something inside him had interfered.
Had Askook been a Pomouik, he would not have hesitated. He was a warrior. Any man who chose to make himself an enemy needed to beware.
Askook had laid bare his deficiency.
Roanoke Island. 1583. Rejecting tribal conformity, deciding what is true, what is just, desiring independence, accomplishment, fulfillment, Algonquian 17-year-old sister Alsoomse and 19-year-old brother Wanchese suffer repercussions. Alsoomse pushes continuously against tribal convention, the imposed role of women, the dictatorial authority of men, rulers and priests. Wanchese’s short-temper and quest to meet his deceased father’s expectations place him three times in mortal combat.
***
I have always been interested in the English/Algonquian/Roanoke story, how the English came to North America in 1584 to find a location to establish a settlement, how a year later English soldiers alienated entirely the local population, how in 1587 over 100 English common folk (not soldiers) including several women and children were tricked into settling on Roanoke Island and how their governor John White had to return to London to try to acquire ships and supplies to transport them to a different location, and, how, finally, in 1590 White returned to find that his people had vanished.
The more deeply I researched the story, the more curious I became about the Algonquian natives. Who were they? What was their culture? What were their aspirations? Their conflicts?
Other writers of historical fiction that have written about some aspect of the Roanoke story focus on the English. I decided to write an Algonquian story. Think for a moment about all the Native American people that inhabited America before the White Man crossed the ocean and began his conquest. As human as any homo sapiens -- advanced or primitive -- these people had no alphabet to form written words to record their life experiences. I contend that any human being – famous or anonymous – who suffers the vicissitudes of life has an instructive story to tell. Few get told. That is one important reason why authors of historical and contemporary fiction write.
"Alsoomse and Wanchese" begins in late August 1583 and concludes a year later after English explorers -- secondary characters -- have come to Roanoke and left. Their presence is but a complication to the Algonquians’ ongoing collective and individual inter- and intra-tribal conflicts.
I do not expect any prospective reader of my fiction to purchase either of my novels without first sampling my writing. Below is the first of seven "Alsoomse and Wanchese" scenes that I will be posting.
***
Chapter 2, Pages 17-18
Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the turbulent waves, had approached. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. Here existed the necessary food supply for his planned settlement! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.
He had spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.
“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”
Clarke had contradicted Gilbert’s intended west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” Gilbert had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath upon Clarke to force the master to comply.
Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!
If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, …
The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.
A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.
“Admiral! Here!”
Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!
For an hour Gilbert’s two ships maintained their positions. Then he ordered their departure. All one hundred of the Delight’s crew had perished. Numbed with guilt, he retired to his cabin.
“Mother, I want to question things. Know the why of things. Decide things. Why must weroances, priests, and a husband – kind or not -- decide who I must be?”
“We gave you your name for a reason.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Be respectful, child, dutiful. The gods have taught us our roles. We must obey them, please them. We must please also the wise ones who speak to them. Life is perilous, Alsoomse. Kiwasa makes it so. Weigh what you think before you act. Accept.”
He marveled at the potency of his temper. He was surprised that his blow to Askook’s head had not been followed by a fist to the throat and a crushing knee to the side of the skull.
He savored the idea.
Something inside him had interfered.
Had Askook been a Pomouik, he would not have hesitated. He was a warrior. Any man who chose to make himself an enemy needed to beware.
Askook had laid bare his deficiency.
Roanoke Island. 1583. Rejecting tribal conformity, deciding what is true, what is just, desiring independence, accomplishment, fulfillment, Algonquian 17-year-old sister Alsoomse and 19-year-old brother Wanchese suffer repercussions. Alsoomse pushes continuously against tribal convention, the imposed role of women, the dictatorial authority of men, rulers and priests. Wanchese’s short-temper and quest to meet his deceased father’s expectations place him three times in mortal combat.
***
I have always been interested in the English/Algonquian/Roanoke story, how the English came to North America in 1584 to find a location to establish a settlement, how a year later English soldiers alienated entirely the local population, how in 1587 over 100 English common folk (not soldiers) including several women and children were tricked into settling on Roanoke Island and how their governor John White had to return to London to try to acquire ships and supplies to transport them to a different location, and, how, finally, in 1590 White returned to find that his people had vanished.
The more deeply I researched the story, the more curious I became about the Algonquian natives. Who were they? What was their culture? What were their aspirations? Their conflicts?
Other writers of historical fiction that have written about some aspect of the Roanoke story focus on the English. I decided to write an Algonquian story. Think for a moment about all the Native American people that inhabited America before the White Man crossed the ocean and began his conquest. As human as any homo sapiens -- advanced or primitive -- these people had no alphabet to form written words to record their life experiences. I contend that any human being – famous or anonymous – who suffers the vicissitudes of life has an instructive story to tell. Few get told. That is one important reason why authors of historical and contemporary fiction write.
"Alsoomse and Wanchese" begins in late August 1583 and concludes a year later after English explorers -- secondary characters -- have come to Roanoke and left. Their presence is but a complication to the Algonquians’ ongoing collective and individual inter- and intra-tribal conflicts.
I do not expect any prospective reader of my fiction to purchase either of my novels without first sampling my writing. Below is the first of seven "Alsoomse and Wanchese" scenes that I will be posting.
***
Chapter 2, Pages 17-18
Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the turbulent waves, had approached. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. Here existed the necessary food supply for his planned settlement! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.
He had spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.
“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”
Clarke had contradicted Gilbert’s intended west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” Gilbert had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath upon Clarke to force the master to comply.
Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!
If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, …
The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.
A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.
“Admiral! Here!”
Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!
For an hour Gilbert’s two ships maintained their positions. Then he ordered their departure. All one hundred of the Delight’s crew had perished. Numbed with guilt, he retired to his cabin.
February 12, 2018
A favor
To my friends and followers,
The Historical Fictionistas Group is taking nominations and seconds of American Revolution novels for its April group read. I would be greatly pleased if any of you would nominate and second my novel, "Crossing the River." Thank you.
The Historical Fictionistas Group is taking nominations and seconds of American Revolution novels for its April group read. I would be greatly pleased if any of you would nominate and second my novel, "Crossing the River." Thank you.
October 17, 2017
Seconding a Nomination
To my supporters and followers,
I have nominated my historical novel, "Crossing the River," hoping that it might be chosen to be the Historical Fictionistas group's December group read. To reach the final list of novels to be presented to the group's voters, a nominated novel needs several members to second its nomination. If you are a member of Historical Fictionistas and you believe that my novel merits it, I invite you to second my novel's nomination. Thank you.
I have nominated my historical novel, "Crossing the River," hoping that it might be chosen to be the Historical Fictionistas group's December group read. To reach the final list of novels to be presented to the group's voters, a nominated novel needs several members to second its nomination. If you are a member of Historical Fictionistas and you believe that my novel merits it, I invite you to second my novel's nomination. Thank you.
September 5, 2017
Writing "Alsoomse and Wanchese" -- Research While Writing
Despite all the many months of research that I did to learn the history of the settlement of Roanoke colony 1584-1590, the culture of the Algonquian natives, and the geography, vegetation, birds, animals, and fish of the area prior to my writing the first chapter of this novel, I found it necessary to stop at certain places in my subsequent narration to research specific information that directly related to particular events. Here are two examples.
Treating a Particular Arrow Wound
***
Their immediate reaction was to duck and crouch. Wanchese heard before he saw that Rakiok had been hit. The left thigh. He was lying-half sitting on his right hip bone, right palm partially supporting his weight, his right leg bent underneath his left. The arrowhead had passed entirely through! The shaft was visible front and back!
…
The conjuror, naked except for the fold of rabbit skin hung from his waist band and the tobacco bag hung over his right hip, stood. Without explanation he disappeared behind the weroance’s longhouse.
“He will grind the roots of cattails into a salve.” Mesickek engaged Rakiock’s eyes. “You are fortunate the arrow did not strike your bone. He has removed such arrows as yours. You will survive. …”
***
I had to research the removal of arrows from body parts to write this and the scene that follows. The best source I found was the detailed account of arrow wounds and treatments found in Dr. Joseph Howland Bill’s “Notes on Arrow Wounds,” written in 1862. Dr. Bill made these important observations:
Arrows inflict wounds “with a fatality greater than that produced by any other weapons.
The worst thing a friend could do was to try to remove the arrow by pulling on the shaft, which would cause the arrowhead to be left behind forcing the doctor to search for the projectile.
To avoid inevitable infection, each arrowhead had to be removed.
It was much easier for the doctor and patient if the shaft was left intact until a doctor could remove the head and shaft as one piece.
The bowmen knew that a hit to the trunk was likely to be fatal and is where they aimed.
“Arrow wounds of the abdomen are generally fatal. An arrow can scarcely pass through the abdomen and fail to open a vessel or wound an intestine.”
You may read this entire article by accessing this link: https://allthingsliberty.com/2013/05/...
The easiest wound to treat was that caused by an arrow passing entirely through a limb without severing a blood vessel or nerve. The shaft of the arrow would be broken off in front of the entry hole and the remaining part of the shaft would be pulled through the limb and out the exit hole made by the arrowhead. This is what is done in the following scene.
***
The conjuror produced a flint knife. “Hold the shaft below the arrowhead,” he ordered. Wanchese stepped forward. “You,” he said to Osacan. “Hold this end with the feathers.” He placed the edge of his knife on the shaft an inch from the nearest fletched feather.
It took awhile. Rakiock’s face was stone hard. His enlarged eyes stared.
The section removed, the conjuror moved the tip of his left index finger over the new end. Satisfied he had removed any sharp edges, he smoothed over the length of the shaft the cattail salve he had prepared. Afterward, he spread much salve on the middle part of the strip of deer skin. He gripped then, just below the arrowhead, the section of the shaft that had passed through Rakiock’s thigh.
“When I remove this,” he said to Wanchese, ”you are to place the deerskin over the bleeding wound. There will be much blood. Be sure the salve is over the wound.”
He pulled; Rakiock gritted his teeth; the arrow shaft came out. Blood spurted. Wanchese placed the deer skin, held it tightly against the leg.
The conjuror wound a strip of deer gut around the deer skin and tied it. He wound another strip around the skin on the other side of the wound. After tying it, he reached into his pouch and took out more tobacco leaves. Dancing, chanting, gazing skyward, he spread the leaves again around his patient. Finished, he retrieved his knife and wooden bowl and disappeared behind the longhouse.
***
I also had to research how Native Americans treated wounds. I discovered that broadleaf cattail was used as a food source, a construction material, and a medicine. It has been called the "supermarket of the swamps." Tribal wars had been waged over control of broadleaf cattail marshes. Broadleaf cattail was most commonly used as a wound dressing, its rhizomes grounded into a salve.
Narrating a Fight Scene
Later in my narrative, Wanchese is compelled to fight a Nansemond warrior to the death.
***
Upon Tesicqueo’s signal the opposite end of the circle opened and ten or twelve warriors danced within. They were brandishing invisible spears, clubs, and arrows. Their warbling cries were high-pitched, shrill. They weaved about him, their footfalls in rhythm to the beating of the drums. They swooped in at him thrusting their weapons at him. He would have enjoyed sending one of them sprawling with a swift forearm to the neck; but, outwardly, he was stoic. Save your energy for Megedagik. Be calm. He had been taught during his manhood training that a warrior must control his muscles so as to receive blows better, so as not to be stiff but instead be quick in reflex.
He would need to be very quick. And smart.
He knew how to fight.
***
I had no idea how Native Americans at that time fought without weapons. I again made use of Google. Here is information that I learned
Fight low, in a crouch, stay on your feet, try to be relaxed rather than stiff.
Strike pressure points to temporarily or permanently disable your opponent: eyes, temples, base of the nose, jaw, ears, Adam’s apple, sternum, groin, knees, shins, toes.
Use low kicks to the legs. High kicks open up your groin and the grabbing of your legs. In close, use elbow strikes.
Pull on fingers, or bend them backwards.
Various tactics to use to fight somebody bigger than you. I won’t go into details.
Best of all, use a choke hold.
Here is how I utilized much of this information in a fight scene.
***
Up on the balls of his feet, taking swift, short steps, Wanchese moved to his right. He, too -- knees substantially bent, chest nearly parallel to the ground – was in a deep crouch. Keep yourself loose, he reminded himself. Wait for his attack.
It came. Megedagik went for Wanchese’s neck. Wanchese struck the Nansemond warrior’s left hand away with his right. With his other hand Megedagik grabbed Wanchese’s left wrist. Bringing it toward him, Wanchese struck Megedagik’s leftt eye with the side of his right hand.
Megedagik stepped back. They stared at each other.
Megedagik closed. Wanchese drove his right knee into Megedagik’s lower left leg. Megedagik closed his arms around Wanchese’s upper body, straightened him, locked his hands, and squeezed.
Suddenly, Wanchese could not breathe. He reached for, found Megedagik’s left ear. He gripped it, twisted it, yanked, felt it tear. Screaming, Megedagik released him. Gasping for breath, Wanchese bent low. His ribs throbbed.
Megedagik came at him. Wanchese delivered a blow to his sternum. It didn’t slow him. Grabbing Wanchese’s long hair, Megedagik spun him, encircled him with his arms, his left hand gripping his right wrist.
Wanchese drove his right heel downward, striking the warrior’s left shin bone. He did it a second time. He felt a loosening of the grip. With his right hand, Wanchese gripped Megedagik’s left middle finger, pried it loose, bent it back. Megedagik’s adjacent fingers loosened. He cried out. Wanchese stomped Megedagik’s left toes with his left heel.
Again he was loose. His heart pounded, his breathing quick, emphatic.
…
Megedagik reached for Wanchese’s left shoulder, Wanchese struck the hand away with his left hand, and Megedagik struck the bridge of Wanchese’s nose with a glancing right fist.
Wanchese staggered backward, reached downward and backward with his left hand to regain equilibrium. Megedagik was on him. Wanchese went down, grabbed Megedagik’s legs above the ankles, pinned them, and rolled right. Megedagik toppled. Wanchese sprung opward, caught Megedagik rising, whipped the fingers of his right hand, stabbing and digging, across the warrior’s eyes.
Megedagik pushed him away, shook his head.
Wanchese’s nose throbbed. Liquid was exiting his nostrils.
Megedagik closed. He drove his right fist at Wanchese’s nose. Wanchese ducked and stepped left. He struck Megedagik’s right rib cage with his right fist.
Again Megedagik backed off. Saliva drooled down his chin.
***
That’s enough detail.
Writing a historical novel is not a continuous day after day process. I have had to make lengthy stops to research important information related to the actions of my characters.
Treating a Particular Arrow Wound
***
Their immediate reaction was to duck and crouch. Wanchese heard before he saw that Rakiok had been hit. The left thigh. He was lying-half sitting on his right hip bone, right palm partially supporting his weight, his right leg bent underneath his left. The arrowhead had passed entirely through! The shaft was visible front and back!
…
The conjuror, naked except for the fold of rabbit skin hung from his waist band and the tobacco bag hung over his right hip, stood. Without explanation he disappeared behind the weroance’s longhouse.
“He will grind the roots of cattails into a salve.” Mesickek engaged Rakiock’s eyes. “You are fortunate the arrow did not strike your bone. He has removed such arrows as yours. You will survive. …”
***
I had to research the removal of arrows from body parts to write this and the scene that follows. The best source I found was the detailed account of arrow wounds and treatments found in Dr. Joseph Howland Bill’s “Notes on Arrow Wounds,” written in 1862. Dr. Bill made these important observations:
Arrows inflict wounds “with a fatality greater than that produced by any other weapons.
The worst thing a friend could do was to try to remove the arrow by pulling on the shaft, which would cause the arrowhead to be left behind forcing the doctor to search for the projectile.
To avoid inevitable infection, each arrowhead had to be removed.
It was much easier for the doctor and patient if the shaft was left intact until a doctor could remove the head and shaft as one piece.
The bowmen knew that a hit to the trunk was likely to be fatal and is where they aimed.
“Arrow wounds of the abdomen are generally fatal. An arrow can scarcely pass through the abdomen and fail to open a vessel or wound an intestine.”
You may read this entire article by accessing this link: https://allthingsliberty.com/2013/05/...
The easiest wound to treat was that caused by an arrow passing entirely through a limb without severing a blood vessel or nerve. The shaft of the arrow would be broken off in front of the entry hole and the remaining part of the shaft would be pulled through the limb and out the exit hole made by the arrowhead. This is what is done in the following scene.
***
The conjuror produced a flint knife. “Hold the shaft below the arrowhead,” he ordered. Wanchese stepped forward. “You,” he said to Osacan. “Hold this end with the feathers.” He placed the edge of his knife on the shaft an inch from the nearest fletched feather.
It took awhile. Rakiock’s face was stone hard. His enlarged eyes stared.
The section removed, the conjuror moved the tip of his left index finger over the new end. Satisfied he had removed any sharp edges, he smoothed over the length of the shaft the cattail salve he had prepared. Afterward, he spread much salve on the middle part of the strip of deer skin. He gripped then, just below the arrowhead, the section of the shaft that had passed through Rakiock’s thigh.
“When I remove this,” he said to Wanchese, ”you are to place the deerskin over the bleeding wound. There will be much blood. Be sure the salve is over the wound.”
He pulled; Rakiock gritted his teeth; the arrow shaft came out. Blood spurted. Wanchese placed the deer skin, held it tightly against the leg.
The conjuror wound a strip of deer gut around the deer skin and tied it. He wound another strip around the skin on the other side of the wound. After tying it, he reached into his pouch and took out more tobacco leaves. Dancing, chanting, gazing skyward, he spread the leaves again around his patient. Finished, he retrieved his knife and wooden bowl and disappeared behind the longhouse.
***
I also had to research how Native Americans treated wounds. I discovered that broadleaf cattail was used as a food source, a construction material, and a medicine. It has been called the "supermarket of the swamps." Tribal wars had been waged over control of broadleaf cattail marshes. Broadleaf cattail was most commonly used as a wound dressing, its rhizomes grounded into a salve.
Narrating a Fight Scene
Later in my narrative, Wanchese is compelled to fight a Nansemond warrior to the death.
***
Upon Tesicqueo’s signal the opposite end of the circle opened and ten or twelve warriors danced within. They were brandishing invisible spears, clubs, and arrows. Their warbling cries were high-pitched, shrill. They weaved about him, their footfalls in rhythm to the beating of the drums. They swooped in at him thrusting their weapons at him. He would have enjoyed sending one of them sprawling with a swift forearm to the neck; but, outwardly, he was stoic. Save your energy for Megedagik. Be calm. He had been taught during his manhood training that a warrior must control his muscles so as to receive blows better, so as not to be stiff but instead be quick in reflex.
He would need to be very quick. And smart.
He knew how to fight.
***
I had no idea how Native Americans at that time fought without weapons. I again made use of Google. Here is information that I learned
Fight low, in a crouch, stay on your feet, try to be relaxed rather than stiff.
Strike pressure points to temporarily or permanently disable your opponent: eyes, temples, base of the nose, jaw, ears, Adam’s apple, sternum, groin, knees, shins, toes.
Use low kicks to the legs. High kicks open up your groin and the grabbing of your legs. In close, use elbow strikes.
Pull on fingers, or bend them backwards.
Various tactics to use to fight somebody bigger than you. I won’t go into details.
Best of all, use a choke hold.
Here is how I utilized much of this information in a fight scene.
***
Up on the balls of his feet, taking swift, short steps, Wanchese moved to his right. He, too -- knees substantially bent, chest nearly parallel to the ground – was in a deep crouch. Keep yourself loose, he reminded himself. Wait for his attack.
It came. Megedagik went for Wanchese’s neck. Wanchese struck the Nansemond warrior’s left hand away with his right. With his other hand Megedagik grabbed Wanchese’s left wrist. Bringing it toward him, Wanchese struck Megedagik’s leftt eye with the side of his right hand.
Megedagik stepped back. They stared at each other.
Megedagik closed. Wanchese drove his right knee into Megedagik’s lower left leg. Megedagik closed his arms around Wanchese’s upper body, straightened him, locked his hands, and squeezed.
Suddenly, Wanchese could not breathe. He reached for, found Megedagik’s left ear. He gripped it, twisted it, yanked, felt it tear. Screaming, Megedagik released him. Gasping for breath, Wanchese bent low. His ribs throbbed.
Megedagik came at him. Wanchese delivered a blow to his sternum. It didn’t slow him. Grabbing Wanchese’s long hair, Megedagik spun him, encircled him with his arms, his left hand gripping his right wrist.
Wanchese drove his right heel downward, striking the warrior’s left shin bone. He did it a second time. He felt a loosening of the grip. With his right hand, Wanchese gripped Megedagik’s left middle finger, pried it loose, bent it back. Megedagik’s adjacent fingers loosened. He cried out. Wanchese stomped Megedagik’s left toes with his left heel.
Again he was loose. His heart pounded, his breathing quick, emphatic.
…
Megedagik reached for Wanchese’s left shoulder, Wanchese struck the hand away with his left hand, and Megedagik struck the bridge of Wanchese’s nose with a glancing right fist.
Wanchese staggered backward, reached downward and backward with his left hand to regain equilibrium. Megedagik was on him. Wanchese went down, grabbed Megedagik’s legs above the ankles, pinned them, and rolled right. Megedagik toppled. Wanchese sprung opward, caught Megedagik rising, whipped the fingers of his right hand, stabbing and digging, across the warrior’s eyes.
Megedagik pushed him away, shook his head.
Wanchese’s nose throbbed. Liquid was exiting his nostrils.
Megedagik closed. He drove his right fist at Wanchese’s nose. Wanchese ducked and stepped left. He struck Megedagik’s right rib cage with his right fist.
Again Megedagik backed off. Saliva drooled down his chin.
***
That’s enough detail.
Writing a historical novel is not a continuous day after day process. I have had to make lengthy stops to research important information related to the actions of my characters.
August 5, 2017
Writing "Alsoomse and Wanchese" -- English Intentions
This novel is almost entirely an imaginary account of the lives of certain Algonquian natives (some of whom existed) at and near Roanoke Island from the fall of 1583 to August 1584. I will end it with two natives being taken to England by an English exploratory party to be taught English and to be returned the following year. To prepare the reader for the party’s sudden appearance, I have included several scenes that indicate English intentions of establishing an Atlantic coastline settlement. Here are some excerpts of these scenes.
Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s Failure to Establish a Settlement South of Newfoundland
***
Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the crests of turbulent waves, had come. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. He had to replenish his food supply! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how in bad weather too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.
And he had also spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.
“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”
Clarke had contradicted his west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” He had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath to force the master to comply.
Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!
If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, … The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.
A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.
“Admiral! Here!”
Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!
***
Walter Raleigh Seeks to Obtain Humphrey Gilbert’s Patent to Colonize
***
Thinking about Hatton, Raleigh laughed. Hatton played the courtly game of unrequited lover -- which Elizabeth loved so much -- but he, Raleigh, was much better at it. Two months ago using his diamond ring he had carved on a lattice window in the Queen’s Presence Room the message: “Fain would I climb, yet I fear to fall.” Taking his ring from him the next day, she had inscribed: “If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.”
To Elizabeth, he was “Water.” He was her Shepherd of the Ocean. She “died of thirst” whenever he left her presence. In his poems he called her Cynthia, goddess of the moon and symbol of chastity. He had penned the past two days two stanzas that, if he were quick about it, he might complete before her inevitable summons. He walked to his desk, bent over its surface, and read them.
Those eyes which set my fancy on a fire,
Those crisped hairs which hold my heart in chains,
Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,
That wit which on my thought does hold the reins!
Those eyes for clearness do the stars surpass,
Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun,
Those hands more bright than every ivory was,
That wit even to the skies hath glory won.
He thought that one more stanza might suffice. He would sit at his desk this very afternoon to write it if he were not summoned. If not this day, then he would tomorrow. She would read it; he would gain greater favor;he would press more aggressively his request to acquire Gilbert’s patent.
…
He had not been summoned. Riding the newly paved road to the palace the following morning, Raleigh thought about his goal. He had competition. Because of what Humphrey had experienced, he believed he knew his competitor’s identity.
Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s primary secretary. Humphrey had communicated his frustration during the final days before he had left England for Newfoundland.
…
Gilbert had learned that Walsingham, his stepson Christopher Carleill, and Sir George Peckham had interviewed the English seaman David Ingram about his purported journey by foot past the Chesapeake Bay all the way to Cape Breton. “Why their particular interest, Walter? Why their interest?” Humphrey had asked him sarcastically.
…
Captain Edward Hayes and the Golden Hind had returned to England September 22. The news: Raleigh’s half brother and good friend and his ship the Squirrel and crew had been swallowed in a violent storm.
Raleigh had quickly set in motion plans to outfit his own expedition. He had gathered together already at Durham House diverse people to ensure that his expedition would be thoughtfully organized and well equipped. Sometime in April of 1584 he expected to send two or more ships to North America, perhaps somewhat south of Gilbert’s intended settlement, to locate a practical place to found a settlement and base for privateers to attack King Philip’s treasure ships. He believed he could convince Elizabeth to award him Humphrey’s patent. But he had to be watchful! Walsingham, and Carleill, would not be standing still.
***
Introduction of Thomas Harriot, an Important Member of the 1584 English Voyage
***
It was raining. Walter Raleigh heard the steady drumming on the roof and the course of water in the rain gutter above Haritt’s room on the second floor of the Durham House. His employee was instructing another class of sea captains in the use of navigational instruments and his tables of corrections of mathematical findings that the instruments provided.
Dressed in black – Raleigh had never seen him wear clothing of any other color – Harriot, but 23 years old, was holding before his four students a quadrant. “Latitude, gentleman.” The young man held the quarter circle-shaped instrument eye-level tilted upward. “Any sea venture you attempt requires that you must know frequently your latitude. This instrument, as two of you well know, is one of the simplest ways of determining that.” He lowered the quadrant, smiled, extended his left hand as if to convey an apology. “Captains Harris and Sturges, you could demonstrate the employment of this instrument as easily as I. To our distinguished gentlemen also attending, my demonstration, I believe, is essential to their basic understanding.”
Appreciating his employee’s mathematical aptitude, attention to detail, and insatiable curiosity, Raleigh had encouraged Harriot to attack the sea captain’s seemingly insurmountable difficulty of determining by celestial observation his location where there was no land to guide him. He had sent Harriot to the London and Plymouth docks to interview grizzled seamen, preferably captains, over pints of ale in bawdy taverns, to learn everything he could about sailing ships, life at sea, and the ways captains navigated. Among various titles of inquiry an astronomer, Harriot had researched what the ancients, and later the Arabs, had discovered about the constellations and the measurement of time. He had read as well two modern publications about this vital subject: John Dee’s translation into English in 1570 of Martin Cortes’s Arte de navigation and, printed in 1574, William Bourne’s A Regiment for the Sea, a corrected and expanded version of Cortes’s work. In short, Raleigh believed that Harriot knew more about the reading of the sun and stars, the instruments used, and the imperfections of those readings and how they could be partially corrected than any English seaman alive.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham Talk about Colonization
***
The food-tasting for poison was essential. Guarded in her residence day and night, never left alone, she was less likely to be assassinated directly. Poisoning – indirect assassination --was subtle, more achievable.
There had been ample reason for concern. For her entire reign she had had to confront the ramifications of her renunciation of Catholicism. Only by threatening to marry the heir to the French throne had she been able to forestall Philip of Spain from authorizing military action to depose her. This tactic had not stopped Catholics in England and Europe from scheming to remove her and reestablish Catholic rule in the person of Mary Stuart, Elizabeth’s cousin, former queen consort of France, former Queen of Scotland, forced to abdicate her Scottish throne by Protestant lord.,Tthe past fifteen years per Elizabeth’s orders, Mary had been confined at Sheffield Castle closely watched by Sir Francis Walsingham’s numerous spies.
…
The interview had concluded. Yet he tarried.
“God’s love, rise!” It occurred to her that he had more to say. “Yes?”
He rose, with reluctance towered over her.
“A matter of collateral urgency.” His dark eyes connected.
“How so?”
“The expedition to the New World. We must found a colony north of Florida but south of where Gilbert had planned to colonize so as to seize in the Caribbean and south of the Azores Spanish gold, and, simultaneously, discover comparable riches!”
“We have spoken about thi!. You know the treasury lacks the funds to finance this venture! You must show me a plan that involves private investment! I wait to see such a plan!”
“I am close to showing you a plan.”
“You do know that you have competition.”
She saw in his eyes a flash of temper, despite his skill of suppressing emotion.
“You speak for my issuance of a patent, similar to that I gave Gilbert. Authorization to sell vast acreage to wealthy investors.”
“How else am I to raise sufficient capital?”
“Agreed. And who is to hold this patent, and grandly profit from it? Your step- son, Christopher Carleill?”
“He would be the captain.”
“But who would hold the patent? You?”
His eyes did not deviate. “Who but I have the connections to make such a risky, complicated venture successful?”
“Again, agreed. I will look at your plan.”
Walsingham having left, she was not of the mood to translate or nap. Her ire was up. Walsingham wanted his due. He expected it! Early during her reign, advisors had thought they could intimidate her, because she was a woman. There were times when Walsingham tried. She had allowed no man to control her nor had she any advisor to become too powerful.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham II
***
Grunting, Walsingham shifted his weight onto his left knee. He sought silently permission to rise.
Instead, “Speak.”
“The plot involves the Pope, the Guise family, and the Jesuits. It is part of King Philip’s planned enterprise. Mary Stuart and Ambassador Mendoza are fully informed. We are to be invaded at four locations.”
“Where?’
“Scotland, Ireland, Sussex, and Norfolk. All coordinated by Catholic activists foreign and national.”
“Your recommendation?”
“The executioner’s blade.”
“Always.” She frowned. “Throckmorton, yes. I agree. They will know that we will not countenance them!”
“The Scottish whore?” Walsingham’s dark brow furrowed all the more.
“You question God’s divine right to anoint kings?”
They responded rapidly.
“She commits treason!”
“The punishment will be continued isolation, confinement.”
“The Council will demand execution! As will Parliament!”
“I will not call Parliament into session! The Council advises, does not overrule my decisions! Have you again forgotten yourself?”
His anger reached dangerously across the intervening space.
No, this would not answer. It remained for her to defuse the friction. “You, Sir Francis, serve me best, I believe, of any man of this realm. Keep your spies active. You and they keep your sovereign and her people safe! Know that I value your opinions highly, but know that I do not submit to them! Continue, therefore, to presume to declare them, even if you must smolder privately because of their rejection. Know as well that you shall be rewarded personally for your zealous service. I am not an ungenerous queen.”
***
Raleigh’s Preparations
***
Raleigh looked directly at Arthur Barlowe, who was staring at him from across the table. “You, Arthur. I know you well from our recent Ireland days. Your seamanship in the Mediterranean precedes you. You have been involved in this planning from the beginning. I trust your judgment. I want you in command. You are not so old at 34 – Is that correct? – that you cannot withstand the rigors of an Atlantic crossing? What say you?!”
“I would be honored,” Barlowe responded.
“And I would like to bestow upon my adventurous relative, at the tender age of 19 -- here among us -- the opportunity to distinguish himself similarly!” Harriot and those closest to him looked at Philip Amadas, vain, in Harriot’s opinion given to impulsive behavior. Amadas had ingratiated himself by releasing to Raleigh his estate in the manors of Trethake, Penkelewe, and had taken permanent lodging at Durham House. Barlowe and Amadas had also been Harriot’s students. They were to sail to the New World! Would he?
“The esteemed Doctor Dee three years ago declared that the problems of navigation are best solved by a mathematician. We have an excellent mathematician seated at this table.” Harriot felt his faceflush. “Depend on it, the expert of the astrolabe, quadrant, and back-staff some of you here can attest!” Raleigh extended his right arm in Harriot’s direction. “Thomas, I want you on board to test your calculations, to locate as precisely as you are able the exact location of our future fortified harbor. Additionally, being the observant servant that you are, I want to hear afterward your observations of the land and its savages.”
…
“We would also have an artist. A few paintings together with a persuasive report need to find the hands of doubtful investors. Why not the artist that Frobisher had with him on one of his voyages, the cove that painted the Baffin Island native woman and her baby. Does anybody here know him? Is he available?
“John White.” Henry Greene half raised his right hand. “I heard talk about him at Cambridge. I conjecture he might be a member of the Painter-Stainer’s Company. I should question the French painter LeMoyne.”
…
“A pilot! No, I do not have a pilot! Who knows those waters that we would have available? One man! Secretary Walsingham’s man!
“Fernandez,” Arthur Barlowe said.
“The pirate,” Grenville said.
“Just so! The imprisoned but never convicted pirate!” Raleigh concluded.
“He now calls himself Ferdinando,” Grenville offered, looking thoughtfully at his hands.
“Gentlemen, he will be Christopher Carleill’s pilot! If Walsingham has his way!” He studied fiercely each of the faces opposite him. “I take comfort that I witness discernment! I admit that Carleill is a formidable rival. Exemplary in his military conduct. A hero to William of Orange. Secretary Walsingham will use him to impress Elizabeth our Queen and gain entrance to pursue his ends. I will see that does not happen! We proceed with these assumptions: that we, not Carleill, will search the waters of Bahia de Santa Maria, that because Queen Elizabeth has chosen us, Walsingham will insist that we take Simon Fernandez/Ferdinando, and that Fernandez will be Walsingham’s spy.”
Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s Failure to Establish a Settlement South of Newfoundland
***
Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the crests of turbulent waves, had come. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. He had to replenish his food supply! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how in bad weather too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.
And he had also spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.
“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”
Clarke had contradicted his west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” He had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath to force the master to comply.
Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!
If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, … The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.
A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.
“Admiral! Here!”
Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!
***
Walter Raleigh Seeks to Obtain Humphrey Gilbert’s Patent to Colonize
***
Thinking about Hatton, Raleigh laughed. Hatton played the courtly game of unrequited lover -- which Elizabeth loved so much -- but he, Raleigh, was much better at it. Two months ago using his diamond ring he had carved on a lattice window in the Queen’s Presence Room the message: “Fain would I climb, yet I fear to fall.” Taking his ring from him the next day, she had inscribed: “If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.”
To Elizabeth, he was “Water.” He was her Shepherd of the Ocean. She “died of thirst” whenever he left her presence. In his poems he called her Cynthia, goddess of the moon and symbol of chastity. He had penned the past two days two stanzas that, if he were quick about it, he might complete before her inevitable summons. He walked to his desk, bent over its surface, and read them.
Those eyes which set my fancy on a fire,
Those crisped hairs which hold my heart in chains,
Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,
That wit which on my thought does hold the reins!
Those eyes for clearness do the stars surpass,
Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun,
Those hands more bright than every ivory was,
That wit even to the skies hath glory won.
He thought that one more stanza might suffice. He would sit at his desk this very afternoon to write it if he were not summoned. If not this day, then he would tomorrow. She would read it; he would gain greater favor;he would press more aggressively his request to acquire Gilbert’s patent.
…
He had not been summoned. Riding the newly paved road to the palace the following morning, Raleigh thought about his goal. He had competition. Because of what Humphrey had experienced, he believed he knew his competitor’s identity.
Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s primary secretary. Humphrey had communicated his frustration during the final days before he had left England for Newfoundland.
…
Gilbert had learned that Walsingham, his stepson Christopher Carleill, and Sir George Peckham had interviewed the English seaman David Ingram about his purported journey by foot past the Chesapeake Bay all the way to Cape Breton. “Why their particular interest, Walter? Why their interest?” Humphrey had asked him sarcastically.
…
Captain Edward Hayes and the Golden Hind had returned to England September 22. The news: Raleigh’s half brother and good friend and his ship the Squirrel and crew had been swallowed in a violent storm.
Raleigh had quickly set in motion plans to outfit his own expedition. He had gathered together already at Durham House diverse people to ensure that his expedition would be thoughtfully organized and well equipped. Sometime in April of 1584 he expected to send two or more ships to North America, perhaps somewhat south of Gilbert’s intended settlement, to locate a practical place to found a settlement and base for privateers to attack King Philip’s treasure ships. He believed he could convince Elizabeth to award him Humphrey’s patent. But he had to be watchful! Walsingham, and Carleill, would not be standing still.
***
Introduction of Thomas Harriot, an Important Member of the 1584 English Voyage
***
It was raining. Walter Raleigh heard the steady drumming on the roof and the course of water in the rain gutter above Haritt’s room on the second floor of the Durham House. His employee was instructing another class of sea captains in the use of navigational instruments and his tables of corrections of mathematical findings that the instruments provided.
Dressed in black – Raleigh had never seen him wear clothing of any other color – Harriot, but 23 years old, was holding before his four students a quadrant. “Latitude, gentleman.” The young man held the quarter circle-shaped instrument eye-level tilted upward. “Any sea venture you attempt requires that you must know frequently your latitude. This instrument, as two of you well know, is one of the simplest ways of determining that.” He lowered the quadrant, smiled, extended his left hand as if to convey an apology. “Captains Harris and Sturges, you could demonstrate the employment of this instrument as easily as I. To our distinguished gentlemen also attending, my demonstration, I believe, is essential to their basic understanding.”
Appreciating his employee’s mathematical aptitude, attention to detail, and insatiable curiosity, Raleigh had encouraged Harriot to attack the sea captain’s seemingly insurmountable difficulty of determining by celestial observation his location where there was no land to guide him. He had sent Harriot to the London and Plymouth docks to interview grizzled seamen, preferably captains, over pints of ale in bawdy taverns, to learn everything he could about sailing ships, life at sea, and the ways captains navigated. Among various titles of inquiry an astronomer, Harriot had researched what the ancients, and later the Arabs, had discovered about the constellations and the measurement of time. He had read as well two modern publications about this vital subject: John Dee’s translation into English in 1570 of Martin Cortes’s Arte de navigation and, printed in 1574, William Bourne’s A Regiment for the Sea, a corrected and expanded version of Cortes’s work. In short, Raleigh believed that Harriot knew more about the reading of the sun and stars, the instruments used, and the imperfections of those readings and how they could be partially corrected than any English seaman alive.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham Talk about Colonization
***
The food-tasting for poison was essential. Guarded in her residence day and night, never left alone, she was less likely to be assassinated directly. Poisoning – indirect assassination --was subtle, more achievable.
There had been ample reason for concern. For her entire reign she had had to confront the ramifications of her renunciation of Catholicism. Only by threatening to marry the heir to the French throne had she been able to forestall Philip of Spain from authorizing military action to depose her. This tactic had not stopped Catholics in England and Europe from scheming to remove her and reestablish Catholic rule in the person of Mary Stuart, Elizabeth’s cousin, former queen consort of France, former Queen of Scotland, forced to abdicate her Scottish throne by Protestant lord.,Tthe past fifteen years per Elizabeth’s orders, Mary had been confined at Sheffield Castle closely watched by Sir Francis Walsingham’s numerous spies.
…
The interview had concluded. Yet he tarried.
“God’s love, rise!” It occurred to her that he had more to say. “Yes?”
He rose, with reluctance towered over her.
“A matter of collateral urgency.” His dark eyes connected.
“How so?”
“The expedition to the New World. We must found a colony north of Florida but south of where Gilbert had planned to colonize so as to seize in the Caribbean and south of the Azores Spanish gold, and, simultaneously, discover comparable riches!”
“We have spoken about thi!. You know the treasury lacks the funds to finance this venture! You must show me a plan that involves private investment! I wait to see such a plan!”
“I am close to showing you a plan.”
“You do know that you have competition.”
She saw in his eyes a flash of temper, despite his skill of suppressing emotion.
“You speak for my issuance of a patent, similar to that I gave Gilbert. Authorization to sell vast acreage to wealthy investors.”
“How else am I to raise sufficient capital?”
“Agreed. And who is to hold this patent, and grandly profit from it? Your step- son, Christopher Carleill?”
“He would be the captain.”
“But who would hold the patent? You?”
His eyes did not deviate. “Who but I have the connections to make such a risky, complicated venture successful?”
“Again, agreed. I will look at your plan.”
Walsingham having left, she was not of the mood to translate or nap. Her ire was up. Walsingham wanted his due. He expected it! Early during her reign, advisors had thought they could intimidate her, because she was a woman. There were times when Walsingham tried. She had allowed no man to control her nor had she any advisor to become too powerful.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham II
***
Grunting, Walsingham shifted his weight onto his left knee. He sought silently permission to rise.
Instead, “Speak.”
“The plot involves the Pope, the Guise family, and the Jesuits. It is part of King Philip’s planned enterprise. Mary Stuart and Ambassador Mendoza are fully informed. We are to be invaded at four locations.”
“Where?’
“Scotland, Ireland, Sussex, and Norfolk. All coordinated by Catholic activists foreign and national.”
“Your recommendation?”
“The executioner’s blade.”
“Always.” She frowned. “Throckmorton, yes. I agree. They will know that we will not countenance them!”
“The Scottish whore?” Walsingham’s dark brow furrowed all the more.
“You question God’s divine right to anoint kings?”
They responded rapidly.
“She commits treason!”
“The punishment will be continued isolation, confinement.”
“The Council will demand execution! As will Parliament!”
“I will not call Parliament into session! The Council advises, does not overrule my decisions! Have you again forgotten yourself?”
His anger reached dangerously across the intervening space.
No, this would not answer. It remained for her to defuse the friction. “You, Sir Francis, serve me best, I believe, of any man of this realm. Keep your spies active. You and they keep your sovereign and her people safe! Know that I value your opinions highly, but know that I do not submit to them! Continue, therefore, to presume to declare them, even if you must smolder privately because of their rejection. Know as well that you shall be rewarded personally for your zealous service. I am not an ungenerous queen.”
***
Raleigh’s Preparations
***
Raleigh looked directly at Arthur Barlowe, who was staring at him from across the table. “You, Arthur. I know you well from our recent Ireland days. Your seamanship in the Mediterranean precedes you. You have been involved in this planning from the beginning. I trust your judgment. I want you in command. You are not so old at 34 – Is that correct? – that you cannot withstand the rigors of an Atlantic crossing? What say you?!”
“I would be honored,” Barlowe responded.
“And I would like to bestow upon my adventurous relative, at the tender age of 19 -- here among us -- the opportunity to distinguish himself similarly!” Harriot and those closest to him looked at Philip Amadas, vain, in Harriot’s opinion given to impulsive behavior. Amadas had ingratiated himself by releasing to Raleigh his estate in the manors of Trethake, Penkelewe, and had taken permanent lodging at Durham House. Barlowe and Amadas had also been Harriot’s students. They were to sail to the New World! Would he?
“The esteemed Doctor Dee three years ago declared that the problems of navigation are best solved by a mathematician. We have an excellent mathematician seated at this table.” Harriot felt his faceflush. “Depend on it, the expert of the astrolabe, quadrant, and back-staff some of you here can attest!” Raleigh extended his right arm in Harriot’s direction. “Thomas, I want you on board to test your calculations, to locate as precisely as you are able the exact location of our future fortified harbor. Additionally, being the observant servant that you are, I want to hear afterward your observations of the land and its savages.”
…
“We would also have an artist. A few paintings together with a persuasive report need to find the hands of doubtful investors. Why not the artist that Frobisher had with him on one of his voyages, the cove that painted the Baffin Island native woman and her baby. Does anybody here know him? Is he available?
“John White.” Henry Greene half raised his right hand. “I heard talk about him at Cambridge. I conjecture he might be a member of the Painter-Stainer’s Company. I should question the French painter LeMoyne.”
…
“A pilot! No, I do not have a pilot! Who knows those waters that we would have available? One man! Secretary Walsingham’s man!
“Fernandez,” Arthur Barlowe said.
“The pirate,” Grenville said.
“Just so! The imprisoned but never convicted pirate!” Raleigh concluded.
“He now calls himself Ferdinando,” Grenville offered, looking thoughtfully at his hands.
“Gentlemen, he will be Christopher Carleill’s pilot! If Walsingham has his way!” He studied fiercely each of the faces opposite him. “I take comfort that I witness discernment! I admit that Carleill is a formidable rival. Exemplary in his military conduct. A hero to William of Orange. Secretary Walsingham will use him to impress Elizabeth our Queen and gain entrance to pursue his ends. I will see that does not happen! We proceed with these assumptions: that we, not Carleill, will search the waters of Bahia de Santa Maria, that because Queen Elizabeth has chosen us, Walsingham will insist that we take Simon Fernandez/Ferdinando, and that Fernandez will be Walsingham’s spy.”
Writing "Alsoomse and Wanchese" -- English Intentions
This novel is almost entirely an imaginary account of the lives of certain Algonquian natives (some of whom existed) at and near Roanoke Island from the fall of 1583 to August 1584. I will end it with two natives being taken to England by an English exploratory party to be taught English and to be returned the following year. To prepare the reader for the party’s sudden appearance, I have included several scenes that indicate English intentions of establishing an Atlantic coastline settlement. Here are some excerpts of these scenes.
Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s Failure to Establish a Settlement South of Newfoundland
***
Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the crests of turbulent waves, had come. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. He had to replenish his food supply! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how in bad weather too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.
And he had also spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.
“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”
Clarke had contradicted his west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” He had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath to force the master to comply.
Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!
If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, … The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.
A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.
“Admiral! Here!”
Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!
***
Walter Raleigh Seeks to Obtain Humphrey Gilbert’s Patent to Colonize
***
Thinking about Hatton, Raleigh laughed. Hatton played the courtly game of unrequited lover -- which Elizabeth loved so much -- but he, Raleigh, was much better at it. Two months ago using his diamond ring he had carved on a lattice window in the Queen’s Presence Room the message: “Fain would I climb, yet I fear to fall.” Taking his ring from him the next day, she had inscribed: “If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.”
To Elizabeth, he was “Water.” He was her Shepherd of the Ocean. She “died of thirst” whenever he left her presence. In his poems he called her Cynthia, goddess of the moon and symbol of chastity. He had penned the past two days two stanzas that, if he were quick about it, he might complete before her inevitable summons. He walked to his desk, bent over its surface, and read them.
Those eyes which set my fancy on a fire,
Those crisped hairs which hold my heart in chains,
Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,
That wit which on my thought does hold the reins!
Those eyes for clearness do the stars surpass,
Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun,
Those hands more bright than every ivory was,
That wit even to the skies hath glory won.
He thought that one more stanza might suffice. He would sit at his desk this very afternoon to write it if he were not summoned. If not this day, then he would tomorrow. She would read it; he would gain greater favor;he would press more aggressively his request to acquire Gilbert’s patent.
…
He had not been summoned. Riding the newly paved road to the palace the following morning, Raleigh thought about his goal. He had competition. Because of what Humphrey had experienced, he believed he knew his competitor’s identity.
Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s primary secretary. Humphrey had communicated his frustration during the final days before he had left England for Newfoundland.
…
Gilbert had learned that Walsingham, his stepson Christopher Carleill, and Sir George Peckham had interviewed the English seaman David Ingram about his purported journey by foot past the Chesapeake Bay all the way to Cape Breton. “Why their particular interest, Walter? Why their interest?” Humphrey had asked him sarcastically.
…
Captain Edward Hayes and the Golden Hind had returned to England September 22. The news: Raleigh’s half brother and good friend and his ship the Squirrel and crew had been swallowed in a violent storm.
Raleigh had quickly set in motion plans to outfit his own expedition. He had gathered together already at Durham House diverse people to ensure that his expedition would be thoughtfully organized and well equipped. Sometime in April of 1584 he expected to send two or more ships to North America, perhaps somewhat south of Gilbert’s intended settlement, to locate a practical place to found a settlement and base for privateers to attack King Philip’s treasure ships. He believed he could convince Elizabeth to award him Humphrey’s patent. But he had to be watchful! Walsingham, and Carleill, would not be standing still.
***
Introduction of Thomas Harriot, an Important Member of the 1584 English Voyage
***
It was raining. Walter Raleigh heard the steady drumming on the roof and the course of water in the rain gutter above Haritt’s room on the second floor of the Durham House. His employee was instructing another class of sea captains in the use of navigational instruments and his tables of corrections of mathematical findings that the instruments provided.
Dressed in black – Raleigh had never seen him wear clothing of any other color – Harriot, but 23 years old, was holding before his four students a quadrant. “Latitude, gentleman.” The young man held the quarter circle-shaped instrument eye-level tilted upward. “Any sea venture you attempt requires that you must know frequently your latitude. This instrument, as two of you well know, is one of the simplest ways of determining that.” He lowered the quadrant, smiled, extended his left hand as if to convey an apology. “Captains Harris and Sturges, you could demonstrate the employment of this instrument as easily as I. To our distinguished gentlemen also attending, my demonstration, I believe, is essential to their basic understanding.”
Appreciating his employee’s mathematical aptitude, attention to detail, and insatiable curiosity, Raleigh had encouraged Harriot to attack the sea captain’s seemingly insurmountable difficulty of determining by celestial observation his location where there was no land to guide him. He had sent Harriot to the London and Plymouth docks to interview grizzled seamen, preferably captains, over pints of ale in bawdy taverns, to learn everything he could about sailing ships, life at sea, and the ways captains navigated. Among various titles of inquiry an astronomer, Harriot had researched what the ancients, and later the Arabs, had discovered about the constellations and the measurement of time. He had read as well two modern publications about this vital subject: John Dee’s translation into English in 1570 of Martin Cortes’s Arte de navigation and, printed in 1574, William Bourne’s A Regiment for the Sea, a corrected and expanded version of Cortes’s work. In short, Raleigh believed that Harriot knew more about the reading of the sun and stars, the instruments used, and the imperfections of those readings and how they could be partially corrected than any English seaman alive.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham Talk about Colonization
***
The food-tasting for poison was essential. Guarded in her residence day and night, never left alone, she was less likely to be assassinated directly. Poisoning – indirect assassination --was subtle, more achievable.
There had been ample reason for concern. For her entire reign she had had to confront the ramifications of her renunciation of Catholicism. Only by threatening to marry the heir to the French throne had she been able to forestall Philip of Spain from authorizing military action to depose her. This tactic had not stopped Catholics in England and Europe from scheming to remove her and reestablish Catholic rule in the person of Mary Stuart, Elizabeth’s cousin, former queen consort of France, former Queen of Scotland, forced to abdicate her Scottish throne by Protestant lord.,Tthe past fifteen years per Elizabeth’s orders, Mary had been confined at Sheffield Castle closely watched by Sir Francis Walsingham’s numerous spies.
…
The interview had concluded. Yet he tarried.
“God’s love, rise!” It occurred to her that he had more to say. “Yes?”
He rose, with reluctance towered over her.
“A matter of collateral urgency.” His dark eyes connected.
“How so?”
“The expedition to the New World. We must found a colony north of Florida but south of where Gilbert had planned to colonize so as to seize in the Caribbean and south of the Azores Spanish gold, and, simultaneously, discover comparable riches!”
“We have spoken about thi!. You know the treasury lacks the funds to finance this venture! You must show me a plan that involves private investment! I wait to see such a plan!”
“I am close to showing you a plan.”
“You do know that you have competition.”
She saw in his eyes a flash of temper, despite his skill of suppressing emotion.
“You speak for my issuance of a patent, similar to that I gave Gilbert. Authorization to sell vast acreage to wealthy investors.”
“How else am I to raise sufficient capital?”
“Agreed. And who is to hold this patent, and grandly profit from it? Your step- son, Christopher Carleill?”
“He would be the captain.”
“But who would hold the patent? You?”
His eyes did not deviate. “Who but I have the connections to make such a risky, complicated venture successful?”
“Again, agreed. I will look at your plan.”
Walsingham having left, she was not of the mood to translate or nap. Her ire was up. Walsingham wanted his due. He expected it! Early during her reign, advisors had thought they could intimidate her, because she was a woman. There were times when Walsingham tried. She had allowed no man to control her nor had she any advisor to become too powerful.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham II
***
Grunting, Walsingham shifted his weight onto his left knee. He sought silently permission to rise.
Instead, “Speak.”
“The plot involves the Pope, the Guise family, and the Jesuits. It is part of King Philip’s planned enterprise. Mary Stuart and Ambassador Mendoza are fully informed. We are to be invaded at four locations.”
“Where?’
“Scotland, Ireland, Sussex, and Norfolk. All coordinated by Catholic activists foreign and national.”
“Your recommendation?”
“The executioner’s blade.”
“Always.” She frowned. “Throckmorton, yes. I agree. They will know that we will not countenance them!”
“The Scottish whore?” Walsingham’s dark brow furrowed all the more.
“You question God’s divine right to anoint kings?”
They responded rapidly.
“She commits treason!”
“The punishment will be continued isolation, confinement.”
“The Council will demand execution! As will Parliament!”
“I will not call Parliament into session! The Council advises, does not overrule my decisions! Have you again forgotten yourself?”
His anger reached dangerously across the intervening space.
No, this would not answer. It remained for her to defuse the friction. “You, Sir Francis, serve me best, I believe, of any man of this realm. Keep your spies active. You and they keep your sovereign and her people safe! Know that I value your opinions highly, but know that I do not submit to them! Continue, therefore, to presume to declare them, even if you must smolder privately because of their rejection. Know as well that you shall be rewarded personally for your zealous service. I am not an ungenerous queen.”
***
Raleigh’s Preparations
***
Raleigh looked directly at Arthur Barlowe, who was staring at him from across the table. “You, Arthur. I know you well from our recent Ireland days. Your seamanship in the Mediterranean precedes you. You have been involved in this planning from the beginning. I trust your judgment. I want you in command. You are not so old at 34 – Is that correct? – that you cannot withstand the rigors of an Atlantic crossing? What say you?!”
“I would be honored,” Barlowe responded.
“And I would like to bestow upon my adventurous relative, at the tender age of 19 -- here among us -- the opportunity to distinguish himself similarly!” Harriot and those closest to him looked at Philip Amadas, vain, in Harriot’s opinion given to impulsive behavior. Amadas had ingratiated himself by releasing to Raleigh his estate in the manors of Trethake, Penkelewe, and had taken permanent lodging at Durham House. Barlowe and Amadas had also been Harriot’s students. They were to sail to the New World! Would he?
“The esteemed Doctor Dee three years ago declared that the problems of navigation are best solved by a mathematician. We have an excellent mathematician seated at this table.” Harriot felt his faceflush. “Depend on it, the expert of the astrolabe, quadrant, and back-staff some of you here can attest!” Raleigh extended his right arm in Harriot’s direction. “Thomas, I want you on board to test your calculations, to locate as precisely as you are able the exact location of our future fortified harbor. Additionally, being the observant servant that you are, I want to hear afterward your observations of the land and its savages.”
…
“We would also have an artist. A few paintings together with a persuasive report need to find the hands of doubtful investors. Why not the artist that Frobisher had with him on one of his voyages, the cove that painted the Baffin Island native woman and her baby. Does anybody here know him? Is he available?
“John White.” Henry Greene half raised his right hand. “I heard talk about him at Cambridge. I conjecture he might be a member of the Painter-Stainer’s Company. I should question the French painter LeMoyne.”
…
“A pilot! No, I do not have a pilot! Who knows those waters that we would have available? One man! Secretary Walsingham’s man!
“Fernandez,” Arthur Barlowe said.
“The pirate,” Grenville said.
“Just so! The imprisoned but never convicted pirate!” Raleigh concluded.
“He now calls himself Ferdinando,” Grenville offered, looking thoughtfully at his hands.
“Gentlemen, he will be Christopher Carleill’s pilot! If Walsingham has his way!” He studied fiercely each of the faces opposite him. “I take comfort that I witness discernment! I admit that Carleill is a formidable rival. Exemplary in his military conduct. A hero to William of Orange. Secretary Walsingham will use him to impress Elizabeth our Queen and gain entrance to pursue his ends. I will see that does not happen! We proceed with these assumptions: that we, not Carleill, will search the waters of Bahia de Santa Maria, that because Queen Elizabeth has chosen us, Walsingham will insist that we take Simon Fernandez/Ferdinando, and that Fernandez will be Walsingham’s spy.”
Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s Failure to Establish a Settlement South of Newfoundland
***
Humphrey Gilbert and his crew sensed how close to Sable Island’s rocks the Squirrel, riding the crests of turbulent waves, had come. If he dared to put out to sea, how many days or weeks would it be before he would be able to return? On this island roamed wild pigs and cattle, set ashore decades ago by Portuguese explorers. He had to replenish his food supply! The alternative was to return to the Queen disgraced! The Newfoundland fishermen had warned him about Sable Island, about how in bad weather too many ships had been destroyed on its rocks. “Approach it in the best of conditions. And lead with your smallest ship.” Well, in both instances he had done the opposite.
And he had also spurned the advice of the Delight’s master, Richard Clarke.
“If you must, utilize a south-west-south course.”
Clarke had contradicted his west-north-west direction. “That will take you to disaster, Admiral. The wind is at south and night is at hand. Unknown sands lay a great way off the land.” He had had to threaten to bring down Elizabeth’s wrath to force the master to comply.
Slanting rain pelted him. He turned his face away from its force. Minutes passed. Sailors were staring at him, turning their faces when he attempted to make eye contact. He would wait a bit longer!
If the fog lifted, he could then be certain. If not, … The waiting was interminable! He stared, at drifting, amorphous shapes.
A ferocious blast of wind caused him to slip and then fall on the rain-drenched deck. He careened down the deck’s slope, his right leg striking stanchions. Adjusting to the roll of the ship, gripping a foremast spar, painfully, he stood. The boards beneath his feet trembled. Fear constricted his throat.
“Admiral! Here!”
Gilbert hesitated, then followed the beckoning sailor to a cluster of four seamen just aft of broadside. There! The fog had opened. Gilbert's lead ship, the Delight, his largest, was coming apart on dark rocks. And in the water . . . the ship's crew: heads, flailing arms. Miraculously, a boat in the water, just beyond, in one eye-blink, capsized. Churning bodies, disappearing. Gone!
***
Walter Raleigh Seeks to Obtain Humphrey Gilbert’s Patent to Colonize
***
Thinking about Hatton, Raleigh laughed. Hatton played the courtly game of unrequited lover -- which Elizabeth loved so much -- but he, Raleigh, was much better at it. Two months ago using his diamond ring he had carved on a lattice window in the Queen’s Presence Room the message: “Fain would I climb, yet I fear to fall.” Taking his ring from him the next day, she had inscribed: “If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.”
To Elizabeth, he was “Water.” He was her Shepherd of the Ocean. She “died of thirst” whenever he left her presence. In his poems he called her Cynthia, goddess of the moon and symbol of chastity. He had penned the past two days two stanzas that, if he were quick about it, he might complete before her inevitable summons. He walked to his desk, bent over its surface, and read them.
Those eyes which set my fancy on a fire,
Those crisped hairs which hold my heart in chains,
Those dainty hands which conquered my desire,
That wit which on my thought does hold the reins!
Those eyes for clearness do the stars surpass,
Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun,
Those hands more bright than every ivory was,
That wit even to the skies hath glory won.
He thought that one more stanza might suffice. He would sit at his desk this very afternoon to write it if he were not summoned. If not this day, then he would tomorrow. She would read it; he would gain greater favor;he would press more aggressively his request to acquire Gilbert’s patent.
…
He had not been summoned. Riding the newly paved road to the palace the following morning, Raleigh thought about his goal. He had competition. Because of what Humphrey had experienced, he believed he knew his competitor’s identity.
Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s primary secretary. Humphrey had communicated his frustration during the final days before he had left England for Newfoundland.
…
Gilbert had learned that Walsingham, his stepson Christopher Carleill, and Sir George Peckham had interviewed the English seaman David Ingram about his purported journey by foot past the Chesapeake Bay all the way to Cape Breton. “Why their particular interest, Walter? Why their interest?” Humphrey had asked him sarcastically.
…
Captain Edward Hayes and the Golden Hind had returned to England September 22. The news: Raleigh’s half brother and good friend and his ship the Squirrel and crew had been swallowed in a violent storm.
Raleigh had quickly set in motion plans to outfit his own expedition. He had gathered together already at Durham House diverse people to ensure that his expedition would be thoughtfully organized and well equipped. Sometime in April of 1584 he expected to send two or more ships to North America, perhaps somewhat south of Gilbert’s intended settlement, to locate a practical place to found a settlement and base for privateers to attack King Philip’s treasure ships. He believed he could convince Elizabeth to award him Humphrey’s patent. But he had to be watchful! Walsingham, and Carleill, would not be standing still.
***
Introduction of Thomas Harriot, an Important Member of the 1584 English Voyage
***
It was raining. Walter Raleigh heard the steady drumming on the roof and the course of water in the rain gutter above Haritt’s room on the second floor of the Durham House. His employee was instructing another class of sea captains in the use of navigational instruments and his tables of corrections of mathematical findings that the instruments provided.
Dressed in black – Raleigh had never seen him wear clothing of any other color – Harriot, but 23 years old, was holding before his four students a quadrant. “Latitude, gentleman.” The young man held the quarter circle-shaped instrument eye-level tilted upward. “Any sea venture you attempt requires that you must know frequently your latitude. This instrument, as two of you well know, is one of the simplest ways of determining that.” He lowered the quadrant, smiled, extended his left hand as if to convey an apology. “Captains Harris and Sturges, you could demonstrate the employment of this instrument as easily as I. To our distinguished gentlemen also attending, my demonstration, I believe, is essential to their basic understanding.”
Appreciating his employee’s mathematical aptitude, attention to detail, and insatiable curiosity, Raleigh had encouraged Harriot to attack the sea captain’s seemingly insurmountable difficulty of determining by celestial observation his location where there was no land to guide him. He had sent Harriot to the London and Plymouth docks to interview grizzled seamen, preferably captains, over pints of ale in bawdy taverns, to learn everything he could about sailing ships, life at sea, and the ways captains navigated. Among various titles of inquiry an astronomer, Harriot had researched what the ancients, and later the Arabs, had discovered about the constellations and the measurement of time. He had read as well two modern publications about this vital subject: John Dee’s translation into English in 1570 of Martin Cortes’s Arte de navigation and, printed in 1574, William Bourne’s A Regiment for the Sea, a corrected and expanded version of Cortes’s work. In short, Raleigh believed that Harriot knew more about the reading of the sun and stars, the instruments used, and the imperfections of those readings and how they could be partially corrected than any English seaman alive.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham Talk about Colonization
***
The food-tasting for poison was essential. Guarded in her residence day and night, never left alone, she was less likely to be assassinated directly. Poisoning – indirect assassination --was subtle, more achievable.
There had been ample reason for concern. For her entire reign she had had to confront the ramifications of her renunciation of Catholicism. Only by threatening to marry the heir to the French throne had she been able to forestall Philip of Spain from authorizing military action to depose her. This tactic had not stopped Catholics in England and Europe from scheming to remove her and reestablish Catholic rule in the person of Mary Stuart, Elizabeth’s cousin, former queen consort of France, former Queen of Scotland, forced to abdicate her Scottish throne by Protestant lord.,Tthe past fifteen years per Elizabeth’s orders, Mary had been confined at Sheffield Castle closely watched by Sir Francis Walsingham’s numerous spies.
…
The interview had concluded. Yet he tarried.
“God’s love, rise!” It occurred to her that he had more to say. “Yes?”
He rose, with reluctance towered over her.
“A matter of collateral urgency.” His dark eyes connected.
“How so?”
“The expedition to the New World. We must found a colony north of Florida but south of where Gilbert had planned to colonize so as to seize in the Caribbean and south of the Azores Spanish gold, and, simultaneously, discover comparable riches!”
“We have spoken about thi!. You know the treasury lacks the funds to finance this venture! You must show me a plan that involves private investment! I wait to see such a plan!”
“I am close to showing you a plan.”
“You do know that you have competition.”
She saw in his eyes a flash of temper, despite his skill of suppressing emotion.
“You speak for my issuance of a patent, similar to that I gave Gilbert. Authorization to sell vast acreage to wealthy investors.”
“How else am I to raise sufficient capital?”
“Agreed. And who is to hold this patent, and grandly profit from it? Your step- son, Christopher Carleill?”
“He would be the captain.”
“But who would hold the patent? You?”
His eyes did not deviate. “Who but I have the connections to make such a risky, complicated venture successful?”
“Again, agreed. I will look at your plan.”
Walsingham having left, she was not of the mood to translate or nap. Her ire was up. Walsingham wanted his due. He expected it! Early during her reign, advisors had thought they could intimidate her, because she was a woman. There were times when Walsingham tried. She had allowed no man to control her nor had she any advisor to become too powerful.
***
Queen Elizabeth and Walsingham II
***
Grunting, Walsingham shifted his weight onto his left knee. He sought silently permission to rise.
Instead, “Speak.”
“The plot involves the Pope, the Guise family, and the Jesuits. It is part of King Philip’s planned enterprise. Mary Stuart and Ambassador Mendoza are fully informed. We are to be invaded at four locations.”
“Where?’
“Scotland, Ireland, Sussex, and Norfolk. All coordinated by Catholic activists foreign and national.”
“Your recommendation?”
“The executioner’s blade.”
“Always.” She frowned. “Throckmorton, yes. I agree. They will know that we will not countenance them!”
“The Scottish whore?” Walsingham’s dark brow furrowed all the more.
“You question God’s divine right to anoint kings?”
They responded rapidly.
“She commits treason!”
“The punishment will be continued isolation, confinement.”
“The Council will demand execution! As will Parliament!”
“I will not call Parliament into session! The Council advises, does not overrule my decisions! Have you again forgotten yourself?”
His anger reached dangerously across the intervening space.
No, this would not answer. It remained for her to defuse the friction. “You, Sir Francis, serve me best, I believe, of any man of this realm. Keep your spies active. You and they keep your sovereign and her people safe! Know that I value your opinions highly, but know that I do not submit to them! Continue, therefore, to presume to declare them, even if you must smolder privately because of their rejection. Know as well that you shall be rewarded personally for your zealous service. I am not an ungenerous queen.”
***
Raleigh’s Preparations
***
Raleigh looked directly at Arthur Barlowe, who was staring at him from across the table. “You, Arthur. I know you well from our recent Ireland days. Your seamanship in the Mediterranean precedes you. You have been involved in this planning from the beginning. I trust your judgment. I want you in command. You are not so old at 34 – Is that correct? – that you cannot withstand the rigors of an Atlantic crossing? What say you?!”
“I would be honored,” Barlowe responded.
“And I would like to bestow upon my adventurous relative, at the tender age of 19 -- here among us -- the opportunity to distinguish himself similarly!” Harriot and those closest to him looked at Philip Amadas, vain, in Harriot’s opinion given to impulsive behavior. Amadas had ingratiated himself by releasing to Raleigh his estate in the manors of Trethake, Penkelewe, and had taken permanent lodging at Durham House. Barlowe and Amadas had also been Harriot’s students. They were to sail to the New World! Would he?
“The esteemed Doctor Dee three years ago declared that the problems of navigation are best solved by a mathematician. We have an excellent mathematician seated at this table.” Harriot felt his faceflush. “Depend on it, the expert of the astrolabe, quadrant, and back-staff some of you here can attest!” Raleigh extended his right arm in Harriot’s direction. “Thomas, I want you on board to test your calculations, to locate as precisely as you are able the exact location of our future fortified harbor. Additionally, being the observant servant that you are, I want to hear afterward your observations of the land and its savages.”
…
“We would also have an artist. A few paintings together with a persuasive report need to find the hands of doubtful investors. Why not the artist that Frobisher had with him on one of his voyages, the cove that painted the Baffin Island native woman and her baby. Does anybody here know him? Is he available?
“John White.” Henry Greene half raised his right hand. “I heard talk about him at Cambridge. I conjecture he might be a member of the Painter-Stainer’s Company. I should question the French painter LeMoyne.”
…
“A pilot! No, I do not have a pilot! Who knows those waters that we would have available? One man! Secretary Walsingham’s man!
“Fernandez,” Arthur Barlowe said.
“The pirate,” Grenville said.
“Just so! The imprisoned but never convicted pirate!” Raleigh concluded.
“He now calls himself Ferdinando,” Grenville offered, looking thoughtfully at his hands.
“Gentlemen, he will be Christopher Carleill’s pilot! If Walsingham has his way!” He studied fiercely each of the faces opposite him. “I take comfort that I witness discernment! I admit that Carleill is a formidable rival. Exemplary in his military conduct. A hero to William of Orange. Secretary Walsingham will use him to impress Elizabeth our Queen and gain entrance to pursue his ends. I will see that does not happen! We proceed with these assumptions: that we, not Carleill, will search the waters of Bahia de Santa Maria, that because Queen Elizabeth has chosen us, Walsingham will insist that we take Simon Fernandez/Ferdinando, and that Fernandez will be Walsingham’s spy.”
July 1, 2017
Writing "Alsoomse and Wanchese" -- Bridging the Gaps
Determining the plot direction of this novel is challenging. Almost all of what I am writing is fiction, even though the setting and several of the characters and all of the villages I mention are historical. Roanoke, Dasemunkepeuc, Croatoan, Pomeiooc, Aquascogooc, and Secotan did exist. Wingina, Granganimeo, and Wanchese were actual Algonquians. As I have previously written, what we know about these villages and people are scant because the inhabitants left no information about themselves. Only a few Englishmen wrote about them; what they provided is limited.
Therefore, I must start my novel from a specific point in time and bridge two gaps to reach two actual events to end its story. I coincide Alsoomse and Wanchese’s activities in the fall of 1583 with the death of would-be colonizer Humphrey Gilbert drowned at sea while returning to England from Newfoundland and Sable Island.. The first historical event that I must reach is Wingina’s wounding presumably by Pomouiks (see map -- http://homepages.rootsweb.ancestry.co...) but possibly by weroance Piemacum’s Pomeioocs in the spring of 1584. The second historical event is the arrival of Captains Philip Amadas and Arthur Barlowe, the contact they and their sailors make with the Algonquian inhabitants, and their departure to England with two natives, Wanchese and Manteo. Between these two historical events and before the first one --unlike my novel about the beginning of the Revolutionary War – I must invent mostly all of my characters and what they do.
I am presently somewhere in the middle of the gap between the novel’s beginning and the first historical event. My narrative focus throughout will be on the brother and sister characters. Because character revelation, development, and conflict are essential to fast-paced fiction, I must place both Alsoomse and Wanchese in extraordinary (but plausible) situations.
Wanchese goes on a trading mission with his cousin Nootau and two of Wingina’s principal men, Osacan and Andacon. Their destination is the village Chowanoc, along the Chowan River. (See map) Wingina suspects that the upstart Pomeiooc weroance Piemacum, rather than turning over his trading goods to Wingina, has already traded with the mighty Chowanoc confederation mamanatowick Menatonon. Wingina has sent his four men to confirm this as well as to trade for chunks of quartz and stone to be made into axes, knives, and arrow heads. Stopping to spend a night on land between two Weapemeoc villages located along the northern shore of Albemarle Sound, they come upon several Weapemeoc hunters. Wanchese befriends an outcast of the hunter’s group. He spends the night with the outcast while his three companions sleep in the other hunters’ temporary huts. The next morning one of the hunters exhibits his scorn for the outcast. In character, Wanchese retaliates.
***
“We had excellent deer stew, Wanchese.” Osacan extended his right arm. “I would have brought you some but I forgot.”
The hunter whom Osacan had apparently befriended, stooped. He picked up from the fire pit the end of a branch not incinerated. “We allow him to live here,” he said to the wood, “because he builds canoes. Except for that, he is worthless.” He stared at Etchemin, who was watching them. “Isn’t that right, Useless?!” He hurled the piece of wood. Etchemin stepped to his left. The wood struck the top of the dwelling.
The hunter faced Osacan and Andacon. “He is useless and he is a coward! Watch!” The man strode toward Etchemin, who waited. “Show them I am right!” The hunter reached him. “Tell them you are a coward!”
Etchemin stared past him stiffly. The hunter slapped him, the sound of palm against cheek distinct.
Etchemin regained his balance, resumed his stance.
“Say it! Say it or defend yourself! No? Then here!” The hunter slapped Ecthemin again.
“That is not necessary!” Andacon declared.
“Let him be!” Osacan responded.
“You see?” The hunter, facing them, grinned. “This is what we live with!”
Andacon motioned toward the river. “We have nothing here we must do. Down to the canoe,” he ordered. He stepped off. Osacan; Nootau, ever silent, looking tense; and Wanchese, red-faced, followed.
“Why don’t you take him with you?!” the hunter shouted. “He can build you canoes! If you need to warm your hands, slap him!” They heard the third slap.
Wanchese stopped. He turned, started up the incline.
“Wanchese!” Osacan shouted.
Wanchese heard Anacon’s stern voice. “No!”
He was twenty feet away from the hunter, then ten, then standing in front of him.
“Ah, the coward has made a friend!” the hunter mocked.
Wanchese grabbed the hunter’s turkey skull feather, pulled it out of its groove, held it in front of the hunter’s astonished face, and broke it in half. He dropped the two pieces. Locking his eyes on the brave’s face, he waited.
A deep red colored the man’s face. He swore. Wanchese saw the man’s hands, of a sudden, move upward. Wanchese kneed the hunter’s genitals. He heard sound, distress. The hunter was bent over. Wanchese kneed his forehead. He went down. It was not enough. Wanchese pinned the hunter’s head to the sandy soil with his right foot.
He was breathing fiercely through his nose. He felt the hunter squirming under his foot. He applied greater pressure. The man emitted a plaintive sound.
He was aware suddenly that the others were close by. The thought that he might be attacked occurred to him. If so, he would bring each of them down! “You!” he shouted at the hunter immobilized under his foot. “I will let you up! If you choose to fight, I will kill you!” Three more fierce breaths and he removed his foot.
***
This incident causes the group’s leader, Andacon, to begin to doubt Wanchese’s judgment. It marks the beginning of a riff between Wanchese and Andacon that I have developed through fifteen chapters and will continue to develop.
I remove Alsoomse from Roanoke soon after Wanchese’s departure for Chowanoc. Here is the scene that explains why.
***
Granganimeo’s wife Hurit, standing twenty feet away in the village lane, was staring at them. Recognized, she approached.
“Weroansqua,” Sokanon greeted.
Instantly, Alsoomse rose. Her left hand covering her mouth, she faced about.
“Sokanon. Alsoomse. You are teaching these children well.” Hurit looked at Wapun and Pules, who were watching her with large eyes. “Is that not so?” she said to them.
“Yes, Weroansqua, they are very good,” Wapun answered.
Pules nodded vigorously.
“I am pleased.” Hurit looked at Alsoomse, then Sokanon. “I have another duty I wish that you perform.”
Sokanon’s eyes flitted.
“I want both of you to accompany me to Croatoan, tomorrow. To serve me. Together with my step-daughter Allawa, and two other young women.”
Alsoomse’s cheekbone skin tingled. Her arms felt the release of adrenaline. She had expected criticism.
“Both of you look surprised.” Her amused smile accentuated her unaffected beauty.
“Weroansqua, we will serve you well,” Sokanon answered.
Hurit nodded. Her face hardened. “You should know that Croatoan’s weroansqua has asked me to attend a meeting she is to have with Piemacum’s important men, believing, we suspect, that Piemacum wants her to submit herself and her people to his authority.”
Alsoomse felt a second surge of adrenaline. Quick to reveal resentment, to exhibit temper, her face burned. The Croatoans were gentle people. Her father Matunaagd had said so, often. For some time now they had been led by a woman; perhaps that explained their unaggressive behavior. A thought occurred to her. “Weroansqua,” she said, “I believe I know her purpose.”
“Which is …?”
“Your presence will answer Pienacum’s question without the weroansqua needing to give it.”
Hurit nodded, an acknowledgment. “You are perceptive. Alsoomse. You are your father and mother’s daughter.” She looked at Alsoomse soberly. “I do have concerns about you.”
Sokanon interrupted. “Will Granganimeo, or Wingina, accompany us?”
Not a perceptive question, cousin, Alsoomse thought, a brief thought, immediately erased by what Hurit might mean about being concerned.
“No, Sokanon. Their presence would cause a fight.” Hurit’s face softened. “I am to go, alone. Men do not normally fight women.”
“We leave … when?”
“Immediately after the casting of tobacco. Several of our men will take us there in two canoes. They will not be men of high station.” For the first time Hurit looked at Nana and Odina. “I will need Machk to be one of them. Please tell him.”
“I will, Weroansqua,” Nana responded.
Sokanon made a small hand gesture. Hurit raised her eyebrows. “I will need somebody to look after my mother.” Sokanon’s face apologized.
“I am certain one of your friends here will do that.”
Simultaneously, Nana and Odina nodded.
“Then everything is arranged.” Hurit turned, took two steps toward the lane, and stopped. Pivoting, she looked at Alsoomse. “One other matter.” Her eyes examined the length of Alsoomse’s body. “I expect you to show your high station the entire time we are there. That means necklaces, Alsoomse. Bracelets. Beads hanging from your ears. You will be representing this village, not yourself. Do you have them?”
“Yes.”
“I should not have to ask.”
“No.” Here was the expected criticism. She felt the beginning of another burn.
Hurit studied her, too long. The heat had reached Alsoomse’s ears.
“Why do you do this? Are you not proud of your parents’ standing?” Hurit looked at Alsoomse’s legs. “No tatooes, not even on your calves. Your cousin has them” – she pointed – “there, and there, and on her arms. She wears a nice shell necklace. Polished bones hang from her ears. Every day. Why must you be so different?”
She wants to know; I will tell her!
“We are different people.”
“That is obvious.”
“I love my cousin.” Alsoomse’s eyes combated Hurit’s sarcasm. “I respect her for who she is. It is not because she is my cousin or she is the daughter of parents of high station. It is because of who she is.”
“We all judge people that way.”
“I know some who do not. And some people of high station expect to be treated well but do not deserve to be.” She was thinking of Askook, Hurit’s younger brother.
Hurit studied her at length. With her left index finger she touched the outer side of her left breast. Her fingers curled. “Are you saying that people who are leaders, who take the responsibility of looking after the welfare of their followers, should not be treated with respect?” Hurit’s anger was palpable.
“No, Weroansqua, I do not.” She felt the redness of her face. “I am saying that people like me born into high station should have to earn respect, not demand it. I do not want anyone to believe I am such a person. I also believe that people not born of high station who deserve respect should receive it.”
Fists pressed against her hip bones, Hurit regarded her. “You are outspoken in your beliefs.”
“I spoke them because you asked.”
The bottom of her chin rigid, parallel to the ground, Alsoomse maintained eye contact. Peripherally, Odina and Nana were figures of stone.
Hurit’s eyes did not deviate. “You should know, Alsoomse, that there are people in this village, and at Dasemunkepeuc, who believe that you are dangerous. Strong-headed dangerous. My husband has spoken of it. Our priest has spoken of it. You risk punishment, from Kiwasa, from your leaders. I will expect you to keep your thoughts to yourself while we are at Croatoan. I have … tolerated your independence, until now. I must be certain that you will control it while we are there.” Her eyes bored. “Your answer?”
She would be truthful, not weak. “I respect you and all of our leaders. I will do nothing to hurt our people.”
“You will wear ornaments that signify your station?”
Alsoomse hesitated. “Yes, Weroansqua, I will.”
***
Alsoomse’s trip to Croatoan begins a journey of conflict, error-commitment, and self-discovery.
Therefore, I must start my novel from a specific point in time and bridge two gaps to reach two actual events to end its story. I coincide Alsoomse and Wanchese’s activities in the fall of 1583 with the death of would-be colonizer Humphrey Gilbert drowned at sea while returning to England from Newfoundland and Sable Island.. The first historical event that I must reach is Wingina’s wounding presumably by Pomouiks (see map -- http://homepages.rootsweb.ancestry.co...) but possibly by weroance Piemacum’s Pomeioocs in the spring of 1584. The second historical event is the arrival of Captains Philip Amadas and Arthur Barlowe, the contact they and their sailors make with the Algonquian inhabitants, and their departure to England with two natives, Wanchese and Manteo. Between these two historical events and before the first one --unlike my novel about the beginning of the Revolutionary War – I must invent mostly all of my characters and what they do.
I am presently somewhere in the middle of the gap between the novel’s beginning and the first historical event. My narrative focus throughout will be on the brother and sister characters. Because character revelation, development, and conflict are essential to fast-paced fiction, I must place both Alsoomse and Wanchese in extraordinary (but plausible) situations.
Wanchese goes on a trading mission with his cousin Nootau and two of Wingina’s principal men, Osacan and Andacon. Their destination is the village Chowanoc, along the Chowan River. (See map) Wingina suspects that the upstart Pomeiooc weroance Piemacum, rather than turning over his trading goods to Wingina, has already traded with the mighty Chowanoc confederation mamanatowick Menatonon. Wingina has sent his four men to confirm this as well as to trade for chunks of quartz and stone to be made into axes, knives, and arrow heads. Stopping to spend a night on land between two Weapemeoc villages located along the northern shore of Albemarle Sound, they come upon several Weapemeoc hunters. Wanchese befriends an outcast of the hunter’s group. He spends the night with the outcast while his three companions sleep in the other hunters’ temporary huts. The next morning one of the hunters exhibits his scorn for the outcast. In character, Wanchese retaliates.
***
“We had excellent deer stew, Wanchese.” Osacan extended his right arm. “I would have brought you some but I forgot.”
The hunter whom Osacan had apparently befriended, stooped. He picked up from the fire pit the end of a branch not incinerated. “We allow him to live here,” he said to the wood, “because he builds canoes. Except for that, he is worthless.” He stared at Etchemin, who was watching them. “Isn’t that right, Useless?!” He hurled the piece of wood. Etchemin stepped to his left. The wood struck the top of the dwelling.
The hunter faced Osacan and Andacon. “He is useless and he is a coward! Watch!” The man strode toward Etchemin, who waited. “Show them I am right!” The hunter reached him. “Tell them you are a coward!”
Etchemin stared past him stiffly. The hunter slapped him, the sound of palm against cheek distinct.
Etchemin regained his balance, resumed his stance.
“Say it! Say it or defend yourself! No? Then here!” The hunter slapped Ecthemin again.
“That is not necessary!” Andacon declared.
“Let him be!” Osacan responded.
“You see?” The hunter, facing them, grinned. “This is what we live with!”
Andacon motioned toward the river. “We have nothing here we must do. Down to the canoe,” he ordered. He stepped off. Osacan; Nootau, ever silent, looking tense; and Wanchese, red-faced, followed.
“Why don’t you take him with you?!” the hunter shouted. “He can build you canoes! If you need to warm your hands, slap him!” They heard the third slap.
Wanchese stopped. He turned, started up the incline.
“Wanchese!” Osacan shouted.
Wanchese heard Anacon’s stern voice. “No!”
He was twenty feet away from the hunter, then ten, then standing in front of him.
“Ah, the coward has made a friend!” the hunter mocked.
Wanchese grabbed the hunter’s turkey skull feather, pulled it out of its groove, held it in front of the hunter’s astonished face, and broke it in half. He dropped the two pieces. Locking his eyes on the brave’s face, he waited.
A deep red colored the man’s face. He swore. Wanchese saw the man’s hands, of a sudden, move upward. Wanchese kneed the hunter’s genitals. He heard sound, distress. The hunter was bent over. Wanchese kneed his forehead. He went down. It was not enough. Wanchese pinned the hunter’s head to the sandy soil with his right foot.
He was breathing fiercely through his nose. He felt the hunter squirming under his foot. He applied greater pressure. The man emitted a plaintive sound.
He was aware suddenly that the others were close by. The thought that he might be attacked occurred to him. If so, he would bring each of them down! “You!” he shouted at the hunter immobilized under his foot. “I will let you up! If you choose to fight, I will kill you!” Three more fierce breaths and he removed his foot.
***
This incident causes the group’s leader, Andacon, to begin to doubt Wanchese’s judgment. It marks the beginning of a riff between Wanchese and Andacon that I have developed through fifteen chapters and will continue to develop.
I remove Alsoomse from Roanoke soon after Wanchese’s departure for Chowanoc. Here is the scene that explains why.
***
Granganimeo’s wife Hurit, standing twenty feet away in the village lane, was staring at them. Recognized, she approached.
“Weroansqua,” Sokanon greeted.
Instantly, Alsoomse rose. Her left hand covering her mouth, she faced about.
“Sokanon. Alsoomse. You are teaching these children well.” Hurit looked at Wapun and Pules, who were watching her with large eyes. “Is that not so?” she said to them.
“Yes, Weroansqua, they are very good,” Wapun answered.
Pules nodded vigorously.
“I am pleased.” Hurit looked at Alsoomse, then Sokanon. “I have another duty I wish that you perform.”
Sokanon’s eyes flitted.
“I want both of you to accompany me to Croatoan, tomorrow. To serve me. Together with my step-daughter Allawa, and two other young women.”
Alsoomse’s cheekbone skin tingled. Her arms felt the release of adrenaline. She had expected criticism.
“Both of you look surprised.” Her amused smile accentuated her unaffected beauty.
“Weroansqua, we will serve you well,” Sokanon answered.
Hurit nodded. Her face hardened. “You should know that Croatoan’s weroansqua has asked me to attend a meeting she is to have with Piemacum’s important men, believing, we suspect, that Piemacum wants her to submit herself and her people to his authority.”
Alsoomse felt a second surge of adrenaline. Quick to reveal resentment, to exhibit temper, her face burned. The Croatoans were gentle people. Her father Matunaagd had said so, often. For some time now they had been led by a woman; perhaps that explained their unaggressive behavior. A thought occurred to her. “Weroansqua,” she said, “I believe I know her purpose.”
“Which is …?”
“Your presence will answer Pienacum’s question without the weroansqua needing to give it.”
Hurit nodded, an acknowledgment. “You are perceptive. Alsoomse. You are your father and mother’s daughter.” She looked at Alsoomse soberly. “I do have concerns about you.”
Sokanon interrupted. “Will Granganimeo, or Wingina, accompany us?”
Not a perceptive question, cousin, Alsoomse thought, a brief thought, immediately erased by what Hurit might mean about being concerned.
“No, Sokanon. Their presence would cause a fight.” Hurit’s face softened. “I am to go, alone. Men do not normally fight women.”
“We leave … when?”
“Immediately after the casting of tobacco. Several of our men will take us there in two canoes. They will not be men of high station.” For the first time Hurit looked at Nana and Odina. “I will need Machk to be one of them. Please tell him.”
“I will, Weroansqua,” Nana responded.
Sokanon made a small hand gesture. Hurit raised her eyebrows. “I will need somebody to look after my mother.” Sokanon’s face apologized.
“I am certain one of your friends here will do that.”
Simultaneously, Nana and Odina nodded.
“Then everything is arranged.” Hurit turned, took two steps toward the lane, and stopped. Pivoting, she looked at Alsoomse. “One other matter.” Her eyes examined the length of Alsoomse’s body. “I expect you to show your high station the entire time we are there. That means necklaces, Alsoomse. Bracelets. Beads hanging from your ears. You will be representing this village, not yourself. Do you have them?”
“Yes.”
“I should not have to ask.”
“No.” Here was the expected criticism. She felt the beginning of another burn.
Hurit studied her, too long. The heat had reached Alsoomse’s ears.
“Why do you do this? Are you not proud of your parents’ standing?” Hurit looked at Alsoomse’s legs. “No tatooes, not even on your calves. Your cousin has them” – she pointed – “there, and there, and on her arms. She wears a nice shell necklace. Polished bones hang from her ears. Every day. Why must you be so different?”
She wants to know; I will tell her!
“We are different people.”
“That is obvious.”
“I love my cousin.” Alsoomse’s eyes combated Hurit’s sarcasm. “I respect her for who she is. It is not because she is my cousin or she is the daughter of parents of high station. It is because of who she is.”
“We all judge people that way.”
“I know some who do not. And some people of high station expect to be treated well but do not deserve to be.” She was thinking of Askook, Hurit’s younger brother.
Hurit studied her at length. With her left index finger she touched the outer side of her left breast. Her fingers curled. “Are you saying that people who are leaders, who take the responsibility of looking after the welfare of their followers, should not be treated with respect?” Hurit’s anger was palpable.
“No, Weroansqua, I do not.” She felt the redness of her face. “I am saying that people like me born into high station should have to earn respect, not demand it. I do not want anyone to believe I am such a person. I also believe that people not born of high station who deserve respect should receive it.”
Fists pressed against her hip bones, Hurit regarded her. “You are outspoken in your beliefs.”
“I spoke them because you asked.”
The bottom of her chin rigid, parallel to the ground, Alsoomse maintained eye contact. Peripherally, Odina and Nana were figures of stone.
Hurit’s eyes did not deviate. “You should know, Alsoomse, that there are people in this village, and at Dasemunkepeuc, who believe that you are dangerous. Strong-headed dangerous. My husband has spoken of it. Our priest has spoken of it. You risk punishment, from Kiwasa, from your leaders. I will expect you to keep your thoughts to yourself while we are at Croatoan. I have … tolerated your independence, until now. I must be certain that you will control it while we are there.” Her eyes bored. “Your answer?”
She would be truthful, not weak. “I respect you and all of our leaders. I will do nothing to hurt our people.”
“You will wear ornaments that signify your station?”
Alsoomse hesitated. “Yes, Weroansqua, I will.”
***
Alsoomse’s trip to Croatoan begins a journey of conflict, error-commitment, and self-discovery.
