She takes him back to her husband's house – helps him stagger through the streets, because they have wounded him, too, stabbed him deeply in that old wound he received on behalf of her father, so long ago.
Mrs Jenkins opens the door in disapproval.
'John is looking for – who is this?' But Pocahontas has stone in her eyes. She risked everything to stop a war, once long ago. But this time she will fight herself. And she will not stop until she sees them bleed.
She seats John by the dining table.
'Fetch me needle and thread.' John gasps, clutching at her fingers, and off she goes. Her husband stops her, coming down the stairs.
'Where have you been? I was worried about – you're filthy!' But she pays him no attention, grasps her sewing box. John sits, clutching the wound in his side. It is dark in the house, save the light of the fire, so she aluminates a lamp for him to see by.
'Do you need help?' He shakes his head and, with steady fingers, threads a needle and lifts up his shirt.
'Mother? Mother what – Captain Smith!' Thomas. Thank God – Thomas is safe, Thomas is well, and she catches him in her arms, holds him, sends up a prayer to whatever rules this world, be is spirits or a crucified God.
'Where is Meg?' her son asks, with fearful eyes.
She can't quite bear to answer him.