The Captive Princess Read online

  Powhatan turned to Parahunt and nodded. “The water is too swift for their kind of canoe. They could not do it without one of our canoes.”

  “Yes,” the Chickhominy envoy said. “That’s why they came to us. The man called John Smith—the weroance— asked us to give him the use of a canoe and two guides. He said he wanted to hunt upriver.”

  “You didn’t believe him?” Powhatan asked.

  “Why would anyone travel so far when geese can still be found everywhere this time of the year?”

  “That is what I wondered.” Powhatan rubbed his face. “Continue.”

  “We gave him one of our canoes—a swift one. Our weroance sent me and another warrior to go with him. John Smith took two of his men and told the other men to stay behind. They did not join our people in the village. Before he left, John Smith ordered them to stay on their canoe, but our weroance wanted to discover more about the tassantassuk.” The man lowered his head and backed off, gesturing with his hand to another man from Apokant. “He will tell you what took place after we left.”

  Pocahontas could see the second man’s hesitation.

  “Our weroance told the women of the village to lure the tassantassuk to shore.” He glanced at Pocahontas as if to acknowledge that he would choose his words carefully. “They offered baskets of food and other enticements.”

  She knew what was coming. Treachery. Why did her people have to test strangers to see how brave they were? She wished she could cover her ears or slip out of the lodge so she wouldn’t have to hear the rest. But if she left, she’d miss hearing about John Smith.

  “When the tassantassuk understood what we planned, six of them escaped. We had but one to test. They called him Kay-son. He accounted himself well. He remained courageous to the end.”

  “So the tassantassuk are not cowards?” Powhatan did not need to ask what kind of trial Kay-son endured. They all knew.

  “The six who escaped never tried to save their brother, so we do not know about them, but, yes, Kay-son is not a coward. He died a true warrior.”

  The other man came forward again. When Powhatan acknowledged him, he said, “I will tell you about John Smith. After we went upstream, John Smith asked us to join him to hunt. His two men stayed with the canoe.”

  Pocahontas had watched John Smith many times. She knew his boldness, but going off alone—did he not know to keep his warriors close? She looked at her brother to see if he was surprised. He did not seem surprised by any of this. Instead, he looked at her and nodded his head.

  Nantaquaus knew.

  She thought about it. Of course, he knew. He knew everything that had happened. He’d been hunting with their uncle’s people. The moment Nantaquaus stood up to leave the ceremonial lodge, she’d be on his heels. He could probably tell her the whole story.

  The envoy continued speaking. “We did not expect a war party, but we heard a scream from one of John Smith’s men. Then silence. We knew someone had attacked.”

  “Did you know who?” Powhatan asked.

  “Not then. We had stepped out of the canoe into the water. Before we could wade to shore, we heard the calls of a war party. An arrow hit John Smith here.” He pointed to his thigh.

  Pocahontas inhaled deeply. That place carried a deep stream of blood. Many warriors died from having that life-giving stream pierced. She longed to ask if John Smith lived, but after one look at her father’s stern face she kept quiet.

  “Your brother Opechancanough led the warriors. I called out and warned him that John Smith was a weroance. I told him the man must not be killed. I knew he must be brought to you. During the whoops and thrashing about we stepped backward toward the shore. Both John Smith and I stepped into the sucking sand.”

  That quicksand had swallowed many an unsuspecting person.

  “The warriors pulled us to safety. As they pulled John Smith onto the bank, Opechancanough’s men raised their clubs.”

  Powhatan leaned forward. Pocahontas knew that if her uncle had killed John Smith, a man whom they believed to be a chief, it would have been an open challenge to the great Powhatan. A weroance of any kind was a valuable captive.

  “John Smith raised something of his own above his head. It caught the sun like mattassin. Your brother Opechancanough put his hand up to stop the warriors while John Smith showed this—this com-pass he had.” His voice lowered. “It is strong medicine. It could guide a warrior in a strange place. Even when John Smith moved, the com-pass pointed toward the direction of the star-that-guides.”

  “Did you bring me that com-pass?” Powhatan asked, holding out his hand.

  “No. Opechancanough will bring it when he brings John Smith.”

  Now it was Pocahontas’s turn to lean forward. John Smith? Coming here to Werowocomoco?

  She could concentrate on little else. The envoy told her father that John Smith had been taken to Rasawrack, her uncle’s hunting camp, but she hardly heard him. She caught her brother’s eye and silently begged him to leave. She had to hear the rest of the story.

  When the women brought more food, Nantaquaus left with Pocahontas following. They crossed the culvert into the village, but before they even reached the downed log, Pocahontas began asking questions.

  “Did you see him? Why didn’t you tell me? Is he hurt?”

  “Slow down and give me a chance to answer.” Nantaquaus laughed. “I didn’t tell you because I just returned from Rasawrack.”

  “Is that where our uncle took John Smith?”

  “Yes. They first arrived about the time I arrived. No one wanted to hunt after that.”

  “Did they test him?” Pocahontas pressed her lips together.

  “Not by torture. The men did a war dance. That should have been enough to scare most tassantassuk, but John Smith only seemed interested. He admired the paint on the faces of the warriors and tried to mimic the war cries and the sound of the women’s screams.”

  Pocahontas laughed. She couldn’t even do the wavery, high-pitched ululations that the women did with the muscles of their throats. It sounded almost like a coyote howling. She’d like to see a man try.

  “As he watched, John Smith kept scratching a goose feather on … something he called paper.”

  “Paper?” Pocahontas tried the word out.

  “I couldn’t stop watching. It seemed like some kind of magic.” Nantaquaus seemed to consider it. “He did not draw pictures. He put marks. Something like the marks a bird makes when he walks on wet sand. When he finished marking the paper, he folded it and asked our uncle to have it taken to his people. He said the paper would tell his people what he wanted them to send back as gifts to our uncle.”

  “Did Opechancanough send it?”

  “He did, but he also wanted to test if it was magic or some kind of trick.”

  Pocahontas had wondered the same thing.

  “Our uncle instructed his men to stay silent as they gave the paper to the tassantassuk. Not to give any hints or even cast their eyes toward any of the things John Smith asked his people to send. Even though the men said nothing, John Smith’s men looked at the paper and gathered together the very things John Smith requested of them.”

  Pocahontas thought about it. “It’s not magic. He’s not a medicine man.”

  “We’ve observed him. He’s a warrior.”

  “So do you think he has found a way of putting his words on that paper? A way that lets other people somehow get the words off that paper?”

  “I do.”

  Pocahontas didn’t speak right away. “I want to learn to put my words on a paper,” she whispered. “And I want to know how to understand other people’s words on paper.”

  Nantaquaus smiled. “The only words on your paper would be questions.”

  Pocahontas ignored him. “Is John Smith badly injured?”

  “No, the arrow did not go deep. You’ll see for yourself. Our uncle should be arriving with him by sundown.”

  “I’m going to be there,” Pocahontas said.

 
; She went to her lodge and gathered her things to bathe. Matachanna and Nokomias caught up and went with her down to the river. It was too cold to get into the water, but they took a clay pot to scoop out water to wash their faces and hands. The girls had to break a thin layer of ice on the water. The snows had not yet come, but the few stragglers of geese flying overhead reminded Pocahontas that popanow—winter —had settled on the land.

  Though she loved the long warm days of summer, these short, dark days held a mysterious beauty. The rabbits already wore white coats. Soon she’d see their soft footprints in the snow. The once-noisy forest stood silent since most of the animals stayed warm, hidden deep in their dens. The trees were bare and the ice crunched on the ground first thing in the morning.

  As she dressed she put on layers of soft hide and thick fur. Although she could no longer walk on her hands with so much clothing, the mothers told her she looked prettiest in the cold weather with her face framed in the long fur mantle of the fox. She looked into the clear stream. Yes, the cold had tinted her cheeks the color of berries. She opened the pouch with her necklaces and put them all on, touching the one with Anna’s water bead.

  “This is my favorite necklace, Nokomias,” she said, touching her friend’s arm.

  “You like it because of the English bead, don’t you?” Matachanna asked.

  “Partly.” Something deep inside her was drawn to the English. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t stop thinking about them. “I want to know all about them.” She rubbed her hands against the cold. “But mostly I love the necklace because you gave us our beads when you shared your story with us.”

  Nokomias smiled. “That was when I stopped being a captive and became a sister.”

  They heard dogs barking and children excitedly squealing —the kind of disturbance that marked the arrival of visitors in the village.

  “Here come the Pamunkeys, Opechancanough, and the captive,” Matachanna said. “Are you going to go, Pocahontas?”

  “I am.”

  Nokomias hung back. “You go. I need to go to Alaqua.” “I’m sure Alaqua will be there in the village with everyone else.” Pocahontas knew that seeing a party arrive with captives would bring back memories for her friend. “Come with me and we’ll find Alaqua.”

  “I’ll stay with you, Nokomias.” Matachanna linked arms with her.

  Pocahontas helped them find Alaqua, who was preparing ponepone and roasting a goose for a feast. She left the two girls there to help.

  By the time she got to the Great Lodge, a crowd had already gathered. She couldn’t make her way to her usual place on the dais without pushing through nearly half the people of her village and more visiting dignitaries than Pocahontas had ever seen gathered at Werowocomoco. Of course, from where she stood she could barely see at all. And with the noise—whoops and jeers—she couldn’t hear much either.

  Everyone had prepared for this. The warriors and many of the women had streaked their faces with earth, ash, and pocone red. The colors and designs added to the excitement. Jewelry flashed in the firelight. As the crowd jostled and parted a little, she saw her father. He wore ropes of pearls along with his other necklaces.

  As she pushed forward a little, she saw the large sullen woman, one of the wives of the Appomattoc weroance, bring water for John Smith to wash his hands. Then the woman slowly lifted her hand, looking around to make sure everyone was aware of her elevated status, and signaled for some of the mothers to come in with food. Pocahontas smelled the rich corn ponepone that must have just came out of Alaqua’s clay oven. The women came in with baskets of food—venison, goose, sturgeon, ponepone, walnuts, and berries.

  “That may be his last meal.” Nantaquaus had come and stood beside her. “There is much to distrust in the English.”

  Pocahontas knew that her brother was right. This may very well be John Smith’s last meal. With her father, one never knew. She only knew that if it looked like he was to be tested or killed, she would leave. She couldn’t bear to see it.

  As the captive ate, her father asked him questions. Pocahontas was surprised by how far John Smith’s grasp of language had come. When she first began spying on him, he could speak almost no Powhatan. She used to cover her mouth to keep from laughing when she watched him try to converse with one of the warriors outside the English village.

  “Why have your people come to our land?” Powhatan stopped eating, leaned back, and folded his arms across his chest.

  John Smith told a story of a fight with the Espaniuks—he called them Spanish—and a ship that needed repair. He chose his words carefully and pronounced them slowly. He said the English only waited for the bigger ships to come take them away.

  “That doesn’t sound true.” Nantaquaus narrowed his eyes. “If that were so, why are they building and exploring?”

  “Now who’s asking questions?” Pocahontas poked him. “I wonder if your wise English friend is saying what he thinks our father and his advisors want to hear?”

  “Maybe, but our father is not easily fooled.” Nantaquaus shifted. “Look at the great Powhatan’s face though. He admires John Smith. I can see it in his eyes.”

  “I can’t see his face. I can’t see anything but a whole lodge of backsides.”

  Nantaquaus put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. “Come, let’s try to push our way further. When people see that it is the princess trying to push her way through, those people should move for you.”

  Pocahontas followed the path made by her brother as they inched their way toward their usual places.

  When John Smith finished eating, one of the mothers came forward and held a bowl of water toward him for washing and a bunch of feathers for drying. Her father had finished his questioning.

  A group of warriors stood near the dais with their war clubs. The whole time John Smith had been answering questions they had rhythmically hit their hands with the heads of the clubs, as if they were itching to connect those clubs to flesh.

  “Look,” Nantaquaus said.

  Powhatan lifted his arms and a group of warriors brought in two large flat stones and laid them below the dais.

  Pocahontas could feel the blood pound in her head. She inched closer, even though she knew she should be moving toward the door. She didn’t want to see what she guessed would come next, but for some reason, she couldn’t abandon the scene.

  John Smith was brought forward and lowered to the stones. The men with war clubs gathered around. Drums began to beat. Women started dancing and making their throaty sounds.

  Pocahontas felt lightheaded. Her breath came out as if she’d been running—short, fast breaths. She found herself whispering, “No, no, no,” to the beat of the drum.

  The noise in the room got louder but she felt as if she were underwater. Time slowed down. The noise became muffled and she somehow felt a Presence—the presence of Gitchee Manitou. Even the beat of her heart slowed and she raised her head, breathing air slowly into her lungs. She remembered the night when she felt the Great Spirit say, “Amosens, I have given you a heart to know Me. Search your heart.”

  And now, she felt Him again. In the middle of the chaos of her father’s lodge, she knew the Spirit was present. As the crowd surrounding the captive came back into focus, she watched the warriors raise their clubs high above the head of John Smith.

  “No!” she shouted, as she pushed forward and threw her body over John Smith, cradling his head in her arms.

  She tensed, waiting for that first fatal blow of a war club to fall on her.

  Leving at Peace

  The blow never came. Pocahontas could feel her brother’s hands lift her off the captive and stand her up, facing her father. The dancing had ceased. No one spoke.

  “Amosens, come.” Her father motioned for her to come closer.

  She could see open hostility on the faces of many of her father’s advisors. What had made her throw herself over a tassantassa about to be clubbed to death? As she asked that question, she knew the ans
wer.

  She walked toward her father. This would be one time she could not count on laughter, somersaults, and teasing to ease the tension.

  “Can you tell me what my daughter intended by that spectacle?” Her father kept his hands clasped in his lap.

  “I could not bear the thought of John Smith being killed.”

  “And what do you know of this John Smith?”

  “I have watched him at his village. He cares for his people, he cares for the land, and he seeks to understand us and honor us.”

  “You’ve seen all that?”

  “And I saw how brave he was today.”

  “Do you think I gave the order to kill him?” her father asked.

  Pocahontas started to answer yes, but stopped. Could this have been some kind of ceremony? She knew the Powhatan people had a rite of adoption into the tribe. She’d never seen it, but she’d heard it involved an enactment of death to life. Could that be what had been happening? Had she made a fool of herself for nothing?

  “You ask many questions in your mind, do you not?” Powhatan’s mouth twitched. “Now you will never know if the captive would have been killed or spared.”

  “I am sorry, Father.”

  “Do not be sorry, little one. You proved your own bravery. There is no greater sacrifice than to lay down your life for another.”

  Even the advisors murmured their approval. Opechancanough glared, but the other faces on the dais relaxed.

  “So, you have saved the captive, John Smith.” Her father smiled at her. “What do you propose we do with him now?”

  Pocahontas remained silent for a minute. She hadn’t considered that. “He could stay in our village to help us learn about his people.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “He can teach us English and I can teach him our language.”

  Her father nodded, as if waiting for more.

  “He can make hatchets for you and bells, beads, and mattassin jewelry for me.”

  At that the great Powhatan laughed. Pocahontas looked over at the captive and saw that he’d understood enough to make him smile as well.

  “Tell me you did not do what they say you did?” Matachanna caught up with Pocahontas before she reached their sleeping lodge. “Everyone is talking about it. You could have been killed.”