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Disclaimer: the only named non-Disney character in this chapter is Christopher Dawkins.

Thanks for the reviews! Glad you all thought the scene worked despite the absence of Colours of the Wind. (And that you can stand my English spelling).

With this chapter I get to the point where there will be a lot more of my own scenes and own characters – hope it doesn't bore you. What I have to do is establish some practical aims and doings for the settlers, other than dancing around with shovels, and start working up the tension between John Smith and Ratcliffe about the aims of the expedition, which will be a major plot point.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER 8

So now what was he to do? He glanced at the sky. He had no time to lose if he wanted to be back at camp by sunset. And how was he to get there? The way he had come, passing the Indian village, would be too dangerous now. But what obstacles might he not find if he headed straight across the hills? She might have been considerate enough to stay to give him directions, he thought fatuously. And he had not even got his compass.

He made his way back down the gorge and the cliff beside the first waterfall, and then left the river's edge and struck out southwards up the side of the valley. He found himself scrambling among rocky gullies choked with deep undergrowth. At every check his frustration and worry grew more acute. He was aware of nothing else on the surface of his mind. Deep down, though, stillness and a sense of security still held him embraced. It was as if the larger part of him was asleep, or locked away doing some secret work of its own. He had an inkling of this when he found that he could no longer trouble himself to move silently or stay hidden. It was not just his hurry that dictated this, but a conviction that nothing could now harm him, that he, personally, was completely safe. All his worry was for his men and how they had fared without him. And in fact, he encountered no enemy and met with no accidents, and eventually came through to the low ridge beside the estuary along which he had walked first in the morning. He swung along the trail carelessly, relieved to glimpse tree-tops on the opposite side of the river still lit golden by the sun, although his side was already in shadow.

The evening forest brooded, very quiet but for an occasional quiver in the branches, its colours faded to a pallid grey with dark shadows. Though part of him wanted to stay there, sheltered in the silence, he began to long for his own kind, for walls, fire and food. Before he had even begun looking for the landmarks that would tell him to turn off towards the camp, he was waylaid by a faint smell of woodsmoke. Stopping and listening, he heard distant shouts and the tapping of a mallet, certainly more than half a mile away. The sounds startled the depths of his mind and they began to wake to a life he felt he had left behind months before, not earlier that day. What a difference the coming of his people had already made to that silent forest!

In a short time high posts and a blank fence of freshly cut timber showed between the trees where that morning there had been nothing but green grass. As he came closer he saw that the fence had only just been started, but that solid tree trunks were planted as posts to mark out its whole line and a tall gate with a raised walkway for a lookout was already finished. That morning there had been a jumble of baggage cast up on an unknown shore; this evening there was Jamestown. His heart warmed in spite of himself at what his people had accomplished. Already the camp had the homelike familiarity that a strange place can instantly acquire when one sets down one's belongings there and has nowhere else to go.

The forest edge was further back than it had been. A wide strip between it and the fence was a wasteland of felled stumps, with only the wispy rejected trees still standing among reared roots, craters and clods of earth. John Smith stood looking at it and remembered the little mark he had made with his knife on the tree beside the waterfall. The cold emptiness of fatigue and hunger in him deepened the gulf he felt opening between the two worlds he was now part of. What was the camp? His home or a desolation? He stood for a few more moments summoning his nerve to hail the sentries and commit himself again to the life he knew, but before he could do so someone peered out from the look-out post and shouted to him. He saw a figure hurrying down to the gate to meet him. It was the mate, Christopher Dawkins. John felt unworthily grateful for the welcome, but as soon as he saw Dawkins's face he knew his fears were realized.

'Thank God you're back safely,' the mate said abruptly, drawing him towards the gate. 'We were starting to worry.'

'Of course I'm safe. Never mind that. What happened?'

Dawkins stood still just outside the gate and looked at him sideways. 'You're not going to like it.'

'I dare say not,' said John, feeling a tremor low down in his stomach. 'Just tell me.'

'There's been a fight.'

'The Indians?'

'Yes. They…'

'Anyone killed?'

'No one was hurt, none of ours. At least one of them was, though.' John heard that in spite of Dawkins's concern there was a trace of satisfaction in his voice.

John led the way impatiently in through the gate and towards the watch-fire in the middle of the meadow. He was too furious to speak, but his heart pounded with fear – the fear he should have felt hours before, in his fool's paradise by the waterfall. He had known that this would happen. From the moment he had left Ratcliffe in command he had known. And it would not have happened if he had been there. Never mind that it should not have happened anyway. They would all pay for it and it was his fault.

Half a dozen men were standing and sitting around the fire, which had just been freshly built up and had fish bones and shells thrown on it. All the men sprang to the alert with a look of high relief when they saw John Smith. He barely acknowledged it. 'Lon,' he said, 'go and find Governor Ratcliffe and tell him I'm back. I don't want to be disturbed for the next ten minutes: I'm taking a report from Mate Dawkins.'

'Where's our tent?' he said to Dawkins, turning away.

'Over here.'

There was awkward silence for a few moments as they walked. Then Dawkins said, 'Look, John, I know I'm supposed to report to you, but I won't be much good on this one. I wasn't here when it happened. I was on the ship. I'm only going on what the men said; I hardly saw anything.'

Better and better. 'Tell me anyway,' said John, 'what you can. Make it official.' They went into the tent and sat down under the ridgepole. It was twilight inside. I mustn't treat the men like that, thought John, whatever's happened. They were glad to see me; I should have played on that. Anything to keep up their spirits. Being afraid is no good.

'At about three o'clock in the afternoon…' began Dawkins.

That must have been while I was first sitting with her beside the river, thought John, cold creeping through him.

'... the shooting went on for maybe three or four minutes. Then I heard the men cheering...' Dawkins was saying.

'Sorry. Just tell me the first part again,' said John with embarrassment.

'All right.' Dawkins took a deep breath. 'I was on deck getting ready to unload some of the cannon. Most of the men were on shore cutting timber. There was a lot of noise and shouting anyway, so the first I knew that anything was wrong was a couple of shots. I went to the side to look and saw our men running for their muskets and taking cover.'

'Did you see any Indians?'

'I thought I saw one.'

'How many are there supposed to have been?'

Dawkins half grinned at John. 'Some of the men said dozens, but when I asked how many different ones they'd actually noticed, none of them said more than three.'

'Good work,' said John, sighing. 'Did they fight back once the shooting started?'

'Yes. With arrows. We collected fifteen or so. The men all want them as trophies.'

'So what made the Indians give up?'

'One of them was hurt, I'm pretty sure. Lon Carden was the only man who said he'd been fighting hand to hand with an Indian, and I think I can believe him. He said he saw a man fall and went over to club him on the head, but another Indian wrestled Lon down and a third lifted the one who'd fallen and carried him away. Then all the Indians disappeared and that was it.'

John considered. 'But you don't know who actually wounded the Indian?'

'Right. But everyone was shooting – it could have been anyone.'

'And no one knows what started the fight in the first place?'

Again the mate tightened his lips. 'Everyone says they heard someone shouting "Indians!" or "It's an ambush!", and they rushed for cover. No one said the Indians shot first. And no one will admit to being the first one who shouted. You know what it's like.'

John paused and then asked his last question in a low voice. 'And what was Governor Ratcliffe doing?'

Dawkins answered just as deliberately. 'You'll have to ask him.'

After a moment John stood up quietly. 'Thank you, Christopher. It was just one of those things; I'm to blame for not being here.'

'What did you find?' asked Dawkins non-committally.

'I found the Indian village ... the only one nearby, I'm pretty sure. I was going to go there to parley tomorrow. It'll be even more urgent now. I must go and talk to Ratcliffe about it. What's to eat?'

Dawkins pulled forward a bucket half full of large clams and mussels. 'They're not bad if you just throw them on the fire. The fish's all gone, but I managed to keep these; not all the men would eat them.'

'Thanks. Keep them until I get back if you can. Have you eaten?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'

John Smith bent down to come out of the tent, and found the servant Wiggins hovering a few feet away. 'The governor wishes to speak with you, if you are free, Captain Smith,' he said silkily.

John went ahead without a word, even more irritated than before. To be summoned to give an account of himself, when if anyone should be giving an account it was Ratcliffe! He wished he could have got some food into his belly before he had to face this meeting. He was light-headed, and his mind would not work properly: when he tried to think he came up against the blank wall of his anger; he was afraid even to see Ratcliffe in case he lost control of himself. But at all costs he had to keep calm and use his head.

He still had no fixed idea of what he was going to say when they got to Ratcliffe's tent, which had high sides and a pointed roof with a pennant flying from it. The servant went in first, then came out and ushered John in. He does all right for himself, doesn't he? thought John. There were four candles lit on tall candlesticks, needed because the tent was hung on the inside with dark, fine woollen cloth. Half of it was screened off; in the visible part was a carved table, two chairs, two chests, a wooden easel with maps on it, and a pallet for the servant; the floor was covered with rush mats. The air of solid comfort seemed unreal.

Governor Ratcliffe came out from behind the screens.

'Good evening, Captain Smith,' he said. 'We are all glad of your safe return. Will you be seated?'

His voice was perfectly level and affable except for its usual tinge of irony; the rich candlelight showed his face looking as composed as John Smith had ever seen it. John had expected him to take the offensive at once to cover his own failure. He was caught off balance: suddenly he felt like a muddy dog bristling in a strange parlour. He murmured thanks and sat down at the table almost before he knew what he was doing. Ratcliffe sat opposite him.

'Will you take my report first, Governor?' asked John quickly, with constrained politeness, before he could be manoeuvred any further.

'In a minute, Captain, thank you,' said Ratcliffe, half smiling. 'A glass of wine?' He beckoned the servant, who was still hovering.

'No, thank you,' said John.

'Never mind, then,' murmured the governor and pushed bowls containing sweet cakes and raisins in John's direction. The servant bowed and went out. John looked at the bowls: he would have liked to eat like that animal of the girl's, simply tipping them up and pouring the contents down his throat, but in front of Ratcliffe he could not touch them. He would have given a good deal for a glass of wine, but that would not do, either. Funny: the first time Ratcliffe had ever offered him wine was the first time he could not accept it. He knows, too, John thought. He must save gallons of it this way. He gave a sour interior smile, and felt a little more in command of himself.

'Mate Dawkins will have told you of the incident this afternoon,' said Ratcliffe, toying with a raisin.

'The fight with the Indians?' said John stiffly. 'That it occurred, little more. He said he was on the ship at the time. I should be grateful for a fuller account from you, Governor Ratcliffe.'

'Yes, Captain Smith ... you have every right to expect one. I regret what happened.' It seemed to cost Ratcliffe an effort to say the words, and John's anger died down a little. 'A sudden panic ... if the Indians had challenged our men there might have been no bloodshed, but as they approached by stealth it is understandable that somebody feared the worst.'

'What exactly happened?' put in John gently.

Ratcliffe gave one of his more usual impatient glares, but John waited, pretending not to notice, and he eventually answered. 'Indians were seen moving in the bushes near to where the men were cutting wood. Someone shouted a warning and the men went for their muskets and began to shoot. I was consulting with the master carpenter about the line of the defences. I heard the shots and immediately afterwards arrows fell near us. I supposed that the Indians had attacked, and myself took a musket and encouraged the men in their defence. Within five minutes the Indians had made off.' He paused. 'It was not a large affair. I regret that your orders were not followed. But you will appreciate that once the fighting had begun, we had little choice but to press it to a finish.'

John turned this over in his mind. Ratcliffe's conciliatory manner had disarmed him; more than he could afford, he knew. He found it hard to muster the will to question him closely.

'I see,' he said. 'Do we know who first saw the Indians and gave the warning?'

'No one will own to it,' said Ratcliffe, almost with a smile. 'Some say it was one man, some another. Of course once the heat of the moment had passed they remembered your orders and feared being disciplined.'

A flock of sheep, thought John. We should have given far more detailed orders. If you see an Indian: rule one, don't shoot; rule two: quietly alert your companions; rule three ... that's how it's done. I've been working too much with men I picked myself, that's the trouble.

'Well, in a sense it scarcely matters,' he said. 'What's done is done; we must patch it up as best we may. There is a large Indian village about four miles from here, and no others for many miles on this side of the river, as far as I could judge today. Tomorrow morning I should like to take a few men there and try to come to some arrangement. We shall have to be prepared to offer them compensation for what happened today. If they accept it we may still do well.'

'Is that really necessary?' asked Ratcliffe. 'After all…'

'Yes, it is,' said John.

There was a moment's silence. 'I question if you should go tomorrow,' said Ratcliffe. 'Give us time to strengthen ourselves, and let their blood cool. What if they…'

'What if they serve us as we served them?' John finished for him. 'But we'll be walking there openly, not skulking in the bushes.' He paused. 'There is danger, but it is the least dangerous course.'

'Very well,' said Ratcliffe abruptly. 'But in the meantime we must be prepared for an attack. We heard drumming, like signalling, for more than an hour in the afternoon after we had driven the Indians off. They may be preparing something for tonight, or at dawn. You must mount a strong guard.'

'Yes, Governor.'

'And if you do go tomorrow you must take at least twelve men.'

John was so relieved that Ratcliffe had agreed to the embassy at all that he did not choose to argue that point just then.

'And now,' said Ratcliffe, 'tell me what you have discovered today, and I hope it is of importance, for the truth is that when the shooting started you were sorely missed here.'

The sting in the tail, thought John. He gave an account of his reconnaissance overloaded with topographical detail, hoping that the tedium of it would drive any awkward questions out of Ratcliffe's mind. It seemed to work. Even for himself, it seemed to dispel for a moment his insistent impression that what had happened to him that day had changed everything. It may not have been time wasted, he thought. That girl may well have influence: if I made any impression on her, it may help us to win over the others ... But even as he thought it, he knew that his encounter with her would not be fitted into the colonists' plans as easily as that.

He described the village, its buildings and crops, and emphasised the desertion of the country outside it. 'We must not underestimate these people,' he said. 'They are not a rabble: if they all live together, they must be under one command, and it looks as if they can obey orders quickly. You are right about the guard, Governor; there is no time to lose. They will be dangerous as enemies, but as allies they may be very useful.'

Ratcliffe nodded heavily. 'Yes, Captain Smith, I take your point. And so you saw no one all day outside the village? And are you sure you were not seen?'

Under his shrewd glance John felt for a moment as if his implicit lies were as transparent to Ratcliffe as they were to himself. He pulled himself together. 'Well, if I was, I lived to tell the tale.'

'Clearly.'

'Have I your permission then, Governor, to muster the men and mount the guard for the night?'

'One moment. There is one other matter arising from the day's work that you should know of. We had an accident with the woodcutting in the afternoon; one of the men, Kemp, was injured by a tree falling on him. His shoulder is crushed and some ribs broken.'

'These things happen. Has the surgeon seen him?'

'Yes. But there was little to be done; he won't be able to work for a long time. I thought it necessary to discipline the men who were working with him, since their carelessness caused the accident. I had them shackled to trees for the next two hours.'

John stared at him aghast.

'Floggings seemed inappropriate as things are just now,' explained Ratcliffe testily, 'and we cannot lock anyone up or confine them to camp. What would you have suggested?'

'It is for you to enforce discipline, Governor. I was not about to suggest anything,' said John faintly. What was the use of arguing with a man who could do that – impose punishments that would humiliate the men and set them against each other, now of all times? Where would this end? It occurred to him to wish he had never come.

'Who were the men?' he asked, and was a little relieved that Ratcliffe was at least willing and able to give him their names.

The bugler was fetched, and John Smith and Ratcliffe went out together for the muster: it was already half an hour after sunset. As he got up, John changed his mind and unceremoniously palmed a handful of the governor's sweet cakes, eating them as he crossed the camp.

The men gathered round the flagpole and Ratcliffe addressed them from its makeshift platform. No one could have told that he had two serious blunders on his conscience already. He praised the first day's work in ringing tones and spoke of the scuffle with the Indians as if it were a victory. What else can he say now? John asked himself, but his anger revived. Ratcliffe left it to him to introduce the subject of the embassy. When he did so, he noticed the men's eyes widening; they were afraid to face the Indians, more so than they had been that morning. They knew that what had taken place in the afternoon had been a panic, not a victory. If they are scared, it serves them right, thought John bitingly. Let them remember to obey orders next time. But he refrained from choosing which men were to go with him. They would all be feeling braver in the morning. This parley had better go well; God help them if it didn't.

He arranged the watches and asked the carpenter and the quartermaster to organise work and foraging parties for the next day. Then the chaplain said prayers.

'Lighten our darkness, O Lord, and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night …', he ended. There was quite a fervent 'Amen' to this.

By the time the muster broke up it was deep twilight. Clouds were rising in the sky, obscuring the light of the half moon. The camp looked makeshift, its attempts at defence laughable, under the shadow of the dark forest. Owls hooted and the screech of a hunting wildcat, perhaps, sounded from among the trees. John Smith could feel the tide of unreasoning fear creeping among the men. They were used to the enclosed world of the ship; now there was nothing between them and the vast, unknown lands which loomed ever larger in the gathering darkness, a home for nightmares. Despite their tiredness most of the men were still standing in groups outside the tents or around the fires, reluctant to lower their guard enough to sleep. The watches were all huddled together at the gate.

He went over to them and chaffed them into beginning a proper patrol, promising to come back and spend some time with each watch once he had eaten. Then he made his way back to his tent urging those he passed on the way to get some sleep. He felt like an adult soothing the night fears of children. He examined himself for signs of apprehension and was surprised to find none at all. Now that his actions for the next several hours were planned, he felt a new calm and energy. The forest was not strange or terrible to him. Was it not her home, after all? She had shown him that for all its dangers it was filled with peace.