This chapter contains my summing-up of the John/Thomas relationship as I see it.

Disclaimer: Disney

CHAPTER 22

The days went by and there was peace of a sort. The settlers were now governed by an informal council consisting of the mate as president, Sir Richard Clovelly, Squire Hales, the chaplain, and three or four others. They had begun talking to the Indians on the very morning that the battle was avoided. The chief's daughter, Pocahontas, wanted to go with John Smith when the settlers got ready to carry him back to Jamestown, but her father, though he was very gentle with her, absolutely refused to let her go into the English camp. Thomas suggested that the English send an embassy to the Indian village the next day that would bring news of John Smith, and eventually, with great difficulty in the use of gestures and marks and conditions imposed by both sides, this was agreed upon. So the next day half a dozen Englishmen appeared, sat down in the longhouse opposite Powhatan, and began to explain why they were there.

Thomas's position in all this was ambiguous. He was supposed to be kept barred and guarded inside the fort in a wooden hut that the carpenters had quickly put up for the purpose, while the council decided what to do with him. But it became clear at once that he was indispensable in the negotiations with the Indians. Of all the English who were left only he was quick at language, imaginative enough to find ways of responding to the nuances of custom and courtesy in the Indians' behaviour, and young and humble enough to be able to take on the role of interpreter and prompter without compromising his position. Also, he at once found an affinity with the chief's daughter, whose position among her own people and solitary ability to speak some of both languages made her part in the parleying even more crucial. So any attempt to bring the full force of the law to bear on Thomas was undermined from the start, as some of the council complained during the meeting at which they tried to decide his fate.

'You have made it almost impossible for us to hang him here,' complained Hales to Dawkins, after they had already wrangled for an hour or more. 'The men really would mutiny. At best, there would be no good feeling left. If it was going to be done it should have been done at once, while they were still prepared for battle. Now we only have the choice between sending him back to England and letting him off – and God knows what will happen to our settlement if we begin by letting an act of murder and sedition like this go unpunished.'

'But if we send him back there'll be no end to it,' said the mate. 'Half of us will have to go too as witnesses, and the dirt will spread so wide that they'll end up recalling the whole expedition. We have the right to deal with this ourselves and we must.'

'How, then?'

'Like this,' said the mate. 'We court-martial him. We find him guilty of murder. We find grounds for clemency and let him go free. And we send a good simple lie back home. I have to take the ship back to England, to report and fetch fresh supplies – and now to ask for a new governor. We'll say that Sir John was leading his forces into battle when he stumbled and fell on his musket, which exploded and killed him. Haven't we all known it to happen? No one can possibly doubt it.'

'I don't see why I should be party to a lie like that,' muttered one of the landowners' agents.

'You may have to be,' said the mate. 'Because otherwise you'll risk being accused of being party to the mutiny. If the case does get back to England, where do you think it'll stop? A good half of the men went for Ratcliffe. At least a dozen must have laid hands on him. I don't recall any of us rushing forward, or shouting orders, or trying very hard to stop them. If we do tell the truth, there's a very good chance we'll all go down together.'

This gave even Thomas's strictest accusers pause.

'It'll be the end of the Virginia Company,' added the mate, 'probably for years, and for all of us here.'

'It might be for the best,' murmured the chaplain and one or two men nodded in agreement, but most emphatically shook their heads. The merchants and landowners had sunk too much into the venture to contemplate abandoning it.

'And I'll tell you what else,' the mate went on, more defiantly, 'Thomas did us all a favour. Let me remind you. Governor Ratcliffe put all our lives at hazard, needlessly as it turned out, because the Indians were ready to make peace. And he shot Captain Smith.'

'By accident,' objected Hales. 'Smith needn't have …'

'He thought he needed to and who are we to argue?' broke in the mate. 'It was what gained us the Indians' goodwill. John should have a say here, too, if he wasn't too sick – how is he?'

'Not in his right mind yet,' said the surgeon. 'But that's to be expected. If the wound doesn't fester he may live. But he won't be fit to talk for a good while yet.'

'It puts a duty on us to try to do as he wished,' the mate went on. 'He wanted peace and Thomas has let us have it. It would be poor thanks to hang him.'

No one much liked admitting this, but when a vote was taken there was a majority of seven to three in favour of sparing Thomas's life.

'This colony is not what my master expected,' grumbled the agent who had spoken before, as the council got up from the rough table. 'No gold, no mining, murderers let off scot free and all action taken by permission of the savages. When the new governor comes, are we going to go on currying favour with them?'

'I don't know,' said the mate curtly. 'But if I have any say in the matter, we'll go on working with them. They are men of more honour than some I could mention.'

*****

The second day that John Smith was free of fever and had slept peacefully for a while, he became aware that the surgeon was talking, and began to pay attention.

'I hadn't expected it,' he heard. 'That girl of yours brought a draught, willow bark or some such: I was ready to try anything, and it really seems to reduce the fever. I must ask for some more.'

'Pocahontas!' said John and moved his head involuntarily, then closed his eyes, dizzy.

'There, it's all right. Rest. I'm sorry. She's not here now, but she will come. It was she who kept you alive, I think.'

So he hadn't been dreaming. But it had seemed so unreal. Pocahontas, in Governor Ratcliffe's tent … He had kept trying to warn her that she must leave, that she would die if she stayed, but she had only hushed him gently, and the next moment he had clung to her with hands that still wouldn't grip properly, afraid of losing his hold on the only thing in the world that was not pain. But now … the pain was bearable and the world had become solid around him: the wool hangings, the polished table, the ewer and the fine cups.

'Why am I in here, anyway?' he asked, huskily. 'What's happened to the governor?'

The surgeon judged it safe to tell him. 'He's dead,' he said.

John nodded once, unsurprised. 'How did he die?'

'Thomas shot him. Right after the governor shot you.'

'Thomas,' repeated John loudly and winced sharply. 'Oh no. The poor boy ...' After a moment he collected himself and asked the surgeon in a low voice, 'Did they hang him?'

'No,' answered the surgeon with pursed lips. 'Mate Dawkins and the rest decided to let him off. But he's talking about taking the ship to England anyway when the mate sails, and giving himself up.' After a little while he added, 'There's a lot of good in that boy. No one knows what got into him.'

John lay and tried to think.

'Christopher's sailing for England?'

'Yes, he's planning to.'

'So … we're staying? The Indians made peace?'

'Yes, for the time being.'

John let out a long breath. He closed his eyes and lay still for a few minutes, until he heard the surgeon start to move away, clearly thinking that he had gone back to sleep. Then he stirred himself hastily. 'I need to talk to Thomas,' he said.

'Impossible,' said the surgeon. 'You won't be strong enough to talk to anyone for days. This is enough now, in fact. You need to take this draught, lie back and rest.'

'Get Thomas to come here,' said John, 'now. Do I still give orders around here, or not?' He gave a sketchy smile. 'How do I know I'm ever going to feel better than this? Come on, do it.'

The surgeon sighed, shrugged, and called for Wiggins –who had grieved theatrically at the death of his master, no one could tell with how much sincerity – to go and fetch Thomas.

'Come in, man,' said John, without moving, when he saw him in the entrance. 'It's good to see you again. Come and sit down here.' He reached a hand sideways and took Thomas's as he sat down by the bed. The first thing Thomas noticed was that John Smith had called him 'man'. Immediately afterwards he felt shock. The words and the handclasp were like the ghost of the old John Smith, still lingering around a changed man – gaunt and old after only a week, with even a bloom of grey over the fair hair. Thomas sweated with his hatred of Ratcliffe yet again, but after a moment felt only misery.

Aware of his feelings, John went on talking, going straight to the point. 'What's this I hear about you wanting to go back to England and give yourself up?'

Thomas gaped at him. 'You know what I did?' he said faintly.

'Yes, Thomas,' said John, carefully and deliberately, looking straight ahead of him, 'and I'm sorry. It was my fault for letting things get to that point between Ratcliffe and me. I handled it badly. I must try to make amends to you.'

'No,' said Thomas fiercely. 'It was up to me what I did, and I'm not sorry. If I could kill him again I would.'

'But, Thomas – don't you see?' John spoke faintly, closing his eyes as if to try to remember what had really happened. 'Ratcliffe wasn't such a bad man, at least not at first. He had substance, he was no fool … something about me made him worse. He had to be stopped, but he shouldn't have had to die, and you shouldn't have had to kill him – not you. It was my work you were doing.' John paused, breathed, then went laboriously on. 'Work I should have done myself – I should have been the one to get my hands dirty, not you. Ratcliffe and I both used you to attack each other… because I let him see I cared for you … it was stupid, wickedly stupid. You should blame me – you would be right to.'

Thomas stared at him and then said gently in a tone that John had never heard him use before:

'Captain Smith, you've done enough. Look at all that you've done. Don't you think I could choose for myself, whether to do your work or his? He had a choice, too. He didn't have to send me after you that night…'

'Oh,' said John, half smiling, 'so that was him? I thought it was your own idea.'

'No. He wanted you dead. I was too late, in the end, but I had to stop him.'

John looked at him for a long time.

'But if you can't stand it, Thomas – if you think you must go and give yourself up because the burden is too much for you – the blame is mine and you must lay it on me.'

Thomas was silent for a minute, and then tears started in his eyes. 'You've already made it less by saying that,' he said with difficulty. 'But yes. I'm not sure that I can live with it.'

'Why not?' asked John, shifting his grip from Thomas's hand to his arm. 'Tell me.'

'Don't you see?' said Thomas desperately. 'My family are waiting to hear from me. How can I go on lying to them – pretending everything's all right – but how can I tell them I'm a murderer? And the men don't trust me any more. I can see them looking after me. Someone will give me away, or kill me for some other reason. They may say they understand what I did, but really they think I'm a mad dog. I'd rather go back and get it over. Or even just go back to live – somewhere else where no one knows.'

'I see,' said John. 'Perhaps you must. But if you really made your own choice to do my work – there's something more that I'd like to ask you to do.'

'What, Captain Smith? I'll do it.'

John nerved himself. 'The thing is, I need you to stay, because I'm going to have to go back with Mate Dawkins.'

'You?'

'Yes,' said John. 'When the ship gets back, it will have to be reported that Governor Ratcliffe is dead, and the King will appoint a new man to come and take charge. Everything depends on whom they send. Someone like Ratcliffe, or someone who will be prepared to treat the Indians well. I'll have to get a word in. I've a favour or two to call in at court, and I think I've learned something about tact on this trip. Christopher can't do it. It will have to be me.'

'You're not staying – for Pocahontas?'

'If a governor comes with orders to drive the Indians out, what good can I do her here? Especially like this. The surgeon says…' he faltered, was silent for a minute and then went on angrily and mechanically, 'The surgeon says I may never walk again, and at the best I'll always have to use a stick and it'll be weeks before I'm on my feet.' He turned his face towards Thomas with a stiff-mouthed grin. 'I heard him say so to Christopher yesterday; he thought I couldn't hear, but I did. This is no place for cripples, nor will be for a long time. England will be better. And – no, be quiet. Listen a minute. I need you to stay – because you're the only one here to whom it means anything to play fair with the Indians. You can talk to them, you can understand them. You have to, Thomas. And look after her. Pocahontas. Please.'

'But, Captain Smith …'

'Don't call me Captain Smith any more. John.'

'But, John, I won't have any say in anything. I'm only ...'

'Oh, yes, you will. But I was coming to that. You said ... let me think.'

Thomas shifted slightly on the edge of the bed, but sat silent.

John closed his eyes for a while, then opened them again. 'The surgeon said no one knows what got into you. I dare say you don't know either.'

'No, I don't,' said Thomas.

'You felt as if you weren't yourself – as if someone else was taking command of you, before you could stop it.'

'How did you know?'

'There has to be a first time for all of us.'

'You mean it's happened to you, too?'

'I was just about your age… yes, I killed somebody, not in battle. I had reason, but the murdering rage it takes to do it: I thought I couldn't live with it, afterwards.'

There was a pause.

'But you did,' said Thomas.

'Yes, and so can you.'

'But I'm not … I still don't know how I can have done it. Was it the devil?'

'No, Thomas, it was you.'

'What?'

'It was a part of you that you're going to have to get to know better. It's no good hoping it'll never come back. You said the men will think you're a mad dog. That's it, right enough. A mad dog – the thing about him is, he doesn't know what he's doing. You have to know what you're doing. You have to own this thing or it'll follow you around like a black dog wherever you go and drive you mad, sure enough.'

'I know! That's why I wanted to own to it, give myself up …'

'No, Thomas, no. That's like admitting that it's stronger than you are, and it doesn't have to be ...'

He suddenly stiffened, stretched his head right back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Thomas saw that his face was as white as paper, and stood up in shock.

'I've overdone you. I'm sorry. I'll get the surgeon …' he said wretchedly.

John took a deep breath. 'No,' he said through clenched teeth, 'don't go.' Thomas hesitated and sat down again. For a minute or two he was sure that John was going to faint, but John kept his eyes shut and went on breathing deeply and evenly, and eventually opened them again. He glanced at Thomas. 'Please – can you get me a drink?' he whispered. 'There's a cup over there.'

Cursing himself for not having thought of it, Thomas hurried to do as he was asked. He put his arm round John's shoulders and raised him a little, as gently as he could, feeling the exhausted dead weight on his arm, thinking he would suffocate with grief and love.

After a few sips, John gasped and moved his head from the cup. 'Thanks. Sorry. All right, now we can carry on,' he said tonelessly but very deliberately, like a man addressing a meeting in the next room.

Thomas simply waited.

'You know where he is now, Thomas,' John said. 'That hound, devil, whatever he is. Don't let him slink after you. Train him. He's not afraid of anything, remember. You weren't afraid to be shot or hanged, so don't be afraid of your own anger. Use it, just a little, when they won't listen to what you say. When they propose to cheat, to bully, to go back on their word – use it then. They need you. Don't be too dutiful. It's worked for me – fairly well, on the whole.'

Thomas was too amazed to say anything.

'Yes – think about it. You'll understand. Killing Ratcliffe was a terrible thing to do. Don't try to live it down, live up to it. And make up for it. I hope you never have to do anything quite like it again ...'

'So do I.'

'And thank you for saving my skin the night before, too, in the woods.'

'I wish it hadn't happened. I thought I'd done for you, all that night.'

'So did I, but Pocahontas saved us … I suppose you'd better go now. Thanks for coming, Thomas ... and if after thinking it over you still decide to go home, well, it's up to you. I'll see you anyway before we sail.'

'I wish you were staying,' said Thomas, just holding back his tears.

'So do I, man, but what's the use? Be off now.'

Thomas stood up. His feelings were in turmoil, but out of them rose a conviction that he would be able to do what John had asked. His bitterness was gone. He remembered how John had held on to him in the water and saved him from drowning. Against all the odds, he had now done it again.

'Goodbye, John,' he said, and bent over and kissed him.

John ran a hand over his hair. 'See you.'

He went on lying still while Thomas went out, not looking after him. For a few minutes everything in front of his eyes was black and moved up and down, nausea gripped him, and he was afraid that the grim dreams of his fever were going to start again. But then things settled down and he went exhaustedly to sleep. That was one job done, even if the next one was going to be still harder.