The Captive Princess Page 4

Powhatan smiled and nodded. “And, of course, you knew that Nauiraus could tell you more about what they did and where they went.”

  Pocahontas knew that her father always considered the strategy behind every decision.

  The man smiled and continued, “During their visit we receive word that Parahunt will join us for a meal.”

  Parahunt was one of Pocahontas’s older half-brothers but she barely knew him. He’d been living in a different village as chief for as long as she could remember. The few times she’d seen him, he ignored her, paying attention only to their great father.

  “Our weroance tries to tell the tassantassuk that Parahunt is your son and he is chief at the village of Powhatan. They do not understand that though you are called Powhatan, our people are also called Powhatan—all our people and all our tribes—and we have a village called Powhatan.”

  It didn’t surprise Pocahontas that they mixed that up. She often wondered why her people didn’t use different names.

  “They mistake Parahunt for you, Powhatan,” the man said. “They give him gifts of many knives, beads, copper, and tools. Even the women laugh at the mistake.”

  Pocahontas could see by the way her father rubbed his hand over his face that he wondered why Parahunt hadn’t reported to him and brought the proper portion of the treasure as a tribute. It didn’t matter that Parahunt was his son; her father was the ruler of all and one did not slight him.

  When the envoy had eaten and left, Powhatan discussed what he’d heard with his advisors. “These tassantassuk know nothing of our people. They meet the Paspahegh and receive friendship at their hands. Without understanding, they go next to the Arrohattoc, the enemies of the Paspahegh. Who is to trust them?”

  All the advisors laughed and made mocking comments.

  Pocahontas wondered how tassantassuk were supposed to know which tribes were allies and which were enemies. Besides, you might even be a friendly tribe, like the Chesapeakes, and still find yourself facing a wall of warriors. Just because her father’s advisors understood the complicated politics of their nation didn’t mean an outsider could sort it out.

  All she knew was that she longed to find out for herself about these tassantassuk. She needed to have her questions answered and she wanted to judge for herself.

  “There are grasses outside their village tall enough to hide a man,” Nantaquaus said as he paddled his canoe down the Pamunkey River. Early this morning Pocahontas finally talked him into going with her to get a look at the tassantassuk village.

  “Why do they not cut the grasses if the weeds are tall enough to shield a war party?” Pocahontas asked. “Anyone could attack without being seen.”

  “No one knows why they do such strange things. But you should be glad they leave the grasses; otherwise I never would have agreed to take you.”

  “They do so many strange things, according to the reports. Like digging in the ground all the time for something they call gold. Why would they spend so much time digging on barren hillsides when they haven’t planted their corn?” Pocahontas shook her head. “Do you think gold is some kind of food we don’t know about?”

  “How many questions are you going to ask, little sister, before you give me a chance to answer one?” Nantaquaus slapped the water with his oar, splashing her with a spray of water. “Our father thinks this gold they seek is a rock that their people value like we value roanoke.”

  Pocahontas thought about that. “Everyone thinks them fools but I think they are just different from us. Our people want to know what they do and where they go. I want to know why they do what they do and why they go where they go.”

  “If you were a bird your single song would be why-why-why.”

  “Don’t you ever wonder why?”

  “Being around you makes me wonder about the whys,” Nantaquaus said. “It’s probably not a good thing for a warrior to be wondering. A warrior needs to be quick on his feet and willing to follow his leader—not ask questions.”

  “But if you become a weroance or even Mamanatowic, searching for answers would be very good, would it not?”

  “You are like our father. He thinks deeply and wants to know the reasons behind everything. Not because he is interested in people like you are, but because he understands that with knowledge he increases his power. He’s able to make wise decisions for our people.” Nantaquaus seemed to concentrate on the rhythm of rowing for a while. “To be chief requires wisdom, but it also requires a willingness to make life-and-death decisions without trying to see all sides like you do.”

  Pocahontas didn’t say anything. She thought her brother would make a wise Mamanatowic, but they both knew that when her father died, it would most likely be her uncle, Opechancanough, who took over. He had none of the wisdom and patience of her father. And he hated the tassantassuk. She feared he would be a brutal leader.

  As they paddled out onto the Chesapeake, Nantaquaus spoke. “Many of the men who reported to our father left some details out of their official report. When they ate with our warriors they told a different tale.”

  “What did they leave out?” Here Pocahontas thought she had listened into everything.

  “They have tested the tassantassuk in a number of different ways. Remember the Arrohattoc who came to see our father?”

  “Yes. He was the one who told of Parahunt meeting them.”

  “What he didn’t tell was that, while that group of tassantassuk was visiting the villages along the river, more than a hundred warriors attacked the tassantassuk village.”

  Pocahontas drew in a noisy breath. “How many survived?”

  “It appears that several were wounded, maybe ten, maybe more. One boy was killed as he tried to find shelter in one of the white bird ships.”

  “A boy?” Why did Pocahontas feel such a loss? These people were strangers.

  “It would have been worse but for the massive thunderstick hidden on one of their boats that sent a hard, round stone flying into the air with great force. The thunder that boomed shook the chest of every warrior there. The stone—Nauiraus said it is called a cannonshot—hit a tree and broke the tree in half and sent it down onto the warriors.”

  Pocahontas repeated the word, “Cannonshot. Cannon-shot.” Now she had one more English word.

  “The warriors scattered like a group of scared girls.”

  Pocahontas kicked her brother in the back. “Stop mocking girls.”

  “It’s just a saying.” He laughed. “Of course sayings usually come from wise observations.”

  She scooped up a handful of water and splashed her brother. She enjoyed seeing the shiver caused by cold water on hot skin.

  He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

  “Why would Nauiraus act as their guide and pretend to be their friend, knowing his people planned an attack?” Pocahontas asked.

  “I’m not sure Nauiraus isn’t a friend to them. No one can control what the weroances do except our father.”

  “I wish our father would—” Pocahontas stopped mid-sentence. Feeling the stiffened back of her brother ahead of her, she knew he saw it at the same moment. The largest of the white bird boats sailed toward the Great Water.

  Nantaquaus began rowing harder on one side of his canoe to guide it toward the mouth of the Powhatan River. Neither spoke until they were well up the river.

  “They are leaving,” Pocahontas said. Why did she feel such sorrow at their leaving? “I never got to ask my questions.” She knew that wasn’t it, though.

  “We don’t know that they leave. That is only one ship. Remember? We saw three. Soon we will come ashore and hide my canoe. We will come around from behind where the tall grass will shield us.”

  They hid the canoe in a thick clump of bushes quite a distance from the settlement. They circled around until they could approach the meadow of tall grass from the back. Both brother and sister knew how to move through any terrain without being seen and without making a sound.

  They heard the noise of the tassa
ntassuk first. Many voices talking.

  “They have not all left,” Pocahontas said, and she grasped Nantaquaus’s arm. She could not say why it meant so much to her that they stayed.

  He put his hand over his mouth to signal her to keep her voice down. He needn’t have worried. The tassantassuk made so much noise—talking, clanging, rasping, singing—they could not have heard an army approaching.

  He pointed to an opening in the log wall, where they could see inside. Men were stacking planks of wood. Others were lifting stacks and moving through a gate. Pocahontas and Nantaquaus moved through the grass so they could look toward the river on the opposite side of the encampment. Men were loading the wood onto one of the two ships.

  “It looks like that ship is being readied to follow the first out onto the great water,” Nantaquaus said. “Maybe they were just visiting for a short time.”

  Pocahontas studied the parts of the village she could see through the openings in the wall. “I don’t think so.” She kept craning her head and silently moving. “No. I see corn planted inside.”

  Nantaquaus squinted, angling for a better look. “And you call that corn?” The field was sparse at best and the edges of the leaves were brown. “I think the soil here in this marshy ground may have too much salt to allow much to grow. The Paspahegh said this ground is only fit for hunting.”

  “But the tassantassuk would not go to the work of planting just to leave.”

  “No. You may be right, but that corn will never feed them,” Nantaquaus said. “The other problem is the lack of water. Nauiraus said there are no springs on this piece of land. For now they pull water out of the river, but already the water turns slimy and brackish and it is only nepinough. What will happen toward the end of summer?”

  Pocahontas agreed with her brother. How would they survive? Even though the full heat had not yet come to the land, the swampy ground caused an uncomfortable heat—the water-laden kind you felt when a pot of water was put over the fire. And the biting, blood-sucking insects flew in clouds across the meadow. Had she not been worried about making noise, she would have been swatting insects all day long.

  The parade of men carrying wood to the ship continued from the time Pocahontas and Nantaquaus arrived until the sun shone overhead. Many of the men just stood around, pointing and talking. They wore so much clothing. The only pieces of skin that showed were their hands and the parts of their faces not covered with hair—pale skin, not like Pocahontas’s skin. It reminded her of Micah, the boy who came with the Chesapeake captives.

  The men who worked wore that hard clothing that caused the sun to glint off of it like sun sometimes does on water. Pocahontas had to shield her eyes sometimes when one of them turned the wrong way. It hurt like looking into the full sun.

  “Why are there more men who stand and talk than men who work?” she asked.

  “They act like they are chiefs, but why would one tribe have so many chiefs?” Nantaquaus had as many questions as Pocahontas.

  “See the little one with dark hair? The one who works the hardest and seems the strongest?” Pocahontas pointed toward the man who had carried the most loads of wood to the ship. “He seems like the real weroance, even though those other men strut like they are leaders.”

  “You may be right. Watch how his eyes keep scanning as he moves. He may be the only real warrior we’ve seen today. He looks for trouble even when it seems safe. He keeps looking out here, like he is the only one who sees the danger in weeds tall enough to hide a man.”

  “And he carries his weapon by his side.” Pocahontas wanted to remember this tassantassuk. She hoped he would come to Werowocomoco to meet with her father. She hoped those idle men would not be the ones to come.

  They crouched there in the grass for what seemed like a long time, but Pocahontas could not drag herself away. She kept catching snippets of words she knew. England. Ship. Sail. Cannon. Gold.

  When the wood had all been loaded, the line of men began pushing and pulling something heavy from the ship to the village. It looked like a log on its side, but with wheels. She caught the word again—cannon. So that was the weapon that fired a stone big enough to scare off a hundred warriors.

  After they managed to push it into the wall, no one came out for a time. Pocahontas waited, but this time without fearing that the people were all leaving. The cannon meant that at least some would stay. The tassantassuk never left their weapons. Everyone knew that. She smiled to herself, hoping the little warrior would stay.

  When the sun began to cast shadows, the gate opened once more and the whole village seemed to pour out through the opening and move toward the ship. Only her man seemed watchful. The rest talked and laughed, slapping hands on each other’s backs.

  “They take leave of one another,” Nantaquaus whispered.

  He was right. Almost half the men climbed aboard the larger of the two ships left in the channel. The others stood and watched. A few boys waved. With loud flaps the great white bird opened her wings and began to move from the shore to open water.

  The sight of it took Pocahontas’s breath away. “I want to sail on a white bird before I die,” she whispered.

  Nantaquaus looked at her as if he knew not who spoke those words. “Don’t say words like that, sister. The gods cannot like it.”

  She didn’t answer, but deep in her spirit she felt sure Gitchee Manitou was the one who planted the longing.

  Death to

  the Captive

  Pocahontas had managed to talk her brother into spying on the tassantassuk several more times. She felt like she was getting to know them. The short warrior she’d noticed on the first visit was her favorite. They called him John Smith. She’d said that name over and over, practicing how it sounded. She now thought of him as John Smith. He worked the hardest and seemed to be the smartest. She often watched him scanning the meadow carefully for movement. She stayed as still as possible, but she suspected he knew she was there.

  None of the others seemed aware, including the new weroance. They called his name Rat-cliff. The first weroance now lived on the small white bird boat and no longer ruled his people. Nantaquaus said they treated him like a captive, so he must have done something wrong.

  Each time she and her brother came to the meadow, they could see the changes in the tassantassuk. Harvest was finished and it should have been a time of feasting like it was at Werowocomoco, but these people were starving. She knew the look. And their numbers grew smaller and smaller. She never saw funeral pyres, but she began to realize that the holes they dug in the ground were for their dead. She and Nantaquaus once saw them put a body into the ground. At first they dug holes outside the walls, but more recently she could see through some of the gaps in the wall that they started making the dead holes inside.

  “They don’t want us to know how many of their warriors have died from sickness,” Nantaquaus said one day. Pocahontas knew he guessed right. She could tell by comparing the comings and goings of her first visits with the more recent ones that only a fraction of the tassantassuk survived.

  It made her sad. Would they all die before she could know them? She had so many questions. Would John Smith die? She hoped not. Each time she came, she held her breath until she saw him. He grew thin but he still worked hard.

  “Pocahontas, come look at the storehouse,” Nokomias said. The last tribute had been brought and her father and his advisors had assembled in the lodge next to his ceremonial lodge to look over the stores. The storehouse was almost as big as the ceremonial lodge.

  She hadn’t planned to go because they’d only be talking about the harvest. She never missed listening in on a meeting to discuss the tassantassuk, but she didn’t care so much about the everyday running of the village.

  “I’ve never seen so much food,” Nokomias said.

  Pocahontas looked at her friend. Seeing the stores of food must have made Nokomias feel secure. “I’ll go with you.”

  They slipped inside as the men were talking.
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  “We must be careful with food until the rains come back to the earth,” Rawhunt said. He was the oldest.

  Nokomias tilted her head to the side as she looked at the stores. “Isn’t this enough?” she whispered to Pocahontas.

  “It’s not as much as in the years when the rains came. We have to have enough to feed all our people until the next harvest—not just Werowocomoco, but other villages if they fall short of food.”

  Nokomias clasped her hands together and listened to the men.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Pocahontas whispered. “Our father will see that you always have enough food to eat. He just wants us to be careful not to waste.”

  Two warriors came running into the lodge, brushing by the girls. Powhatan turned. “Do you have news?”

  “Yes,” the taller man said, bowing his head. “The brother of the great Powhatan captured the weroance of the English, the man they call John Smith.”

  John Smith! Pocahontas drew closer. He was not a weroance. She knew that from watching their village. The man called Rat-cliff acted as the English weroance.

  “Come,” her father said, motioning toward his lodge. “Make food for our friends,” he said to some of the nearby women. The messengers, her father, and his advisors made their way to the lodge. Pocahontas followed.

  “I cannot come,” Nokomias said.

  “Stay with me. Be silent and you can sneak in.”

  Nokomias’s eyes grew large. “No. I must not. I’ll go find Matachanna.”

  Pocahontas watched her friend leave. She probably should have followed Nokomias, but she couldn’t bear to miss the report. She sat down on the edge of the dais as everyone settled into place. Nantaquaus came and sat in the gallery nearest Pocahontas.

  “So tell us your news,” her father told the messenger, settling in for a full report.

  “The one named John Smith sailed with a small band of men in their canoe up the Chickhominy. When they came upon the fast-moving suckhanna, they turned their canoe around and sailed back to Apokant, to our village.”