Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (114 page)

The two trotted into the forest toward Emily’s special place, less than a quarter mile away.

Ten yards from her special place and still concealed by the forest, Isna stopped, looked back at Emily, twenty yards behind, signed her to slow her pace, be stealthy. When she reached him, he took her hand, led her slowly, quietly to the edge of the clearing, where he motioned her to kneel beside him behind a thick, newly budded bush. Their first glance at the clearing revealed a man’s body—a soldier’s body—lying in the leaves about twenty yards away, his helmet on the ground beside him, and his head, which faced them, bloody and smashed in on the left side.

Emily gasped, held her eyes on the man, grabbed Isna’s arm with a desperate grip, whispered, “ ’Tis Johnny Gibbes . . . my friend. I must help him.” She started to stand.

Isna grabbed her arm, pulled her back to her knees. “No. Do not move. There are white men here . . . Isna feels them, smells them, smells the fire on their big sticks that bark.”

“Isna, I must go to him. He may yet be alive.” She stood, walked slowly into the clearing toward Gibbes.

Isna whispered urgently, “Emily, come back!” She continued toward Gibbes. “Stubborn English girl!” He stood, moved soundlessly behind a tree, then drew his bow, stepped cautiously behind her, his arrow point moving right and left with his eyes as he scanned the tree line around the clearing.

When Emily reached Johnny Gibbes, she thought, Isna’s right, others here, no birdsongs, quiet . . . like the massacre. She knelt, touched Johnny’s cheek, leaned her ear close to his nose and mouth for a moment, then nudged his eyelids closed. Tears filled her eyes, rolled down her cheeks; a wave of nausea rose from her stomach to her throat. Like George Howe, she thought as she cupped her hand over her mouth. Johnny, my dear friend . . . and Emme . . . my poor Emme. She—

Hugh Tayler emerged from the forest; Thomas Butler and John Farre followed. Farre and Butler stopped, aimed their matchlocks at Isna, fifteen yards behind Emily. Tayler, pistol in hand, approached Emily from the front.

Emily looked at Isna, yelled in Lakota, “Run, Isna!”

Isna smiled, held his aim on Tayler.

Tayler said, “Good day, Emily.” He touched his side where she’d wounded him.

“Curse you, Hugh Tayler. You’ve murdered Johnny Gibbes, and by heaven I shall watch you hang for it.” She again looked at Isna. “Go, Isna! They mean to kill you.” Isna stood firm, held his aim.

Tayler sneered, glanced at Isna. “Will you, now! Indeed! You and your Savage look rather outgunned at the moment.” He looked back at Emily. “In truth, Mistress, this is a fortunate day; for though we’d planned to deal with you and your Savage, we’ve received the added bounty of Sergeant Gibbes following us here and revealing himself at a most opportune
moment . . . for us.
Two birds with one stone
, as the saying goes. Now, as I’ve several times promised, I shall afford you the opportunity to watch your Savage die. Then you and I will finish what we started last night.” He stopped two feet in front of her. “Give me your knife and pistol.”

Emily didn’t move.

“Now!”

“Take them yourself.”

He slapped her face with the back of his hand; grabbed her shoulders, spun her around to face Isna; slid his right forearm, pistol in hand, across her throat; pulled her tight against him while he removed her knife, tossed it to the ground, did the same with her pistol.

Emily pleaded hoarsely, “Isna, please go!”

Isna started walking slowly, measuredly toward Tayler and Emily, his drawn bow fixed immovably on Tayler’s head, eight inches above Emily’s.

Tayler yelled, “Farre, quickly, kill him with Gibbes’ pistol, then put it in Gibbes’ hand and lay the Savage’s body near him. Butler, if Farre misses, shoot him with Mistress Colman’s pistol. Be quick!” He slid his left arm across Emily’s chest, pinned her arms against her body, then pressed the side of his pistol against her right arm, just below the shoulder. “Now, Mistress Colman, watch your Savage die.”

“Isna!”

Farre raised Gibbes’ pistol, cocked the hammer, aimed, but Isna’s arrow ripped through his throat before he could pull the trigger. Isna ran toward Butler, dropped his bow, grabbed his hatchet with his left hand, his war club with the right. Butler aimed Emily’s pistol, pulled the trigger; but as the match ignited the powder, Isna dropped to the ground, waited for the ball to whoosh over his head, then sprang to his feet, rushed Butler. Butler’s helmet fell off as he leaned to pick up his matchlock. He’d barely touched it when the two-pound rock on the end of Isna’s war club shattered his skull like a rotten melon dropped on a cobblestone street. “ Hiyaaa!”

As he turned to Tayler and Emily, Isna juggled his weapons to opposite hands, glared menacingly into Tayler’s eyes; he started slowly, resolutely toward him, his hatchet cocked in throwing position over his head.
In Lakota, he told Tayler to release her; but Tayler held her tight, stepped slowly backward.

“Emily, tell him to stop,” Tayler instructed.

“Burn in hell!”

Tayler aimed the pistol at Isna, pulled the trigger. Emily heard the hammer, twisted to the right, pushed with all her strength to break Tayler’s aim; Isna hurled his hatchet at Tayler’s exposed left shoulder. The pistol fired high into the air as the hatchet thudded deep into Tayler’s shoulder bone. He screamed, shoved Emily to the ground, dropped to his knees; tugged on the hatchet handle, couldn’t free it; reached for his dagger as Isna kicked him to the ground, raised his war club to smash his head. “Hiyaaa!”

Waters shouted, “Stop!”

Isna held the blow. He looked at Waters, lowered his club, nodded, then walked to Emily, who lay on the ground, knelt beside her. “Is Emily hurt?”

She trembled, moaned faintly, “No.”

Isna stood, grasped her hand, helped her to her feet. She threw her arms around him, pulled him close, laid her head on his chest. “Isna, it . . . it was so fast . . . I . . . I’ve never seen anything so fast . . . so deadly . . . oh, Isna. Hold me.”

“My little fawn.”

One of the soldiers with Waters said, “Shall we bind the Savage, Sir?”

Waters said, “Why? You saw what happened.”

“Yes, sir, but . . . but he killed two of our men, and nearly killed Tayler.”

“Sad to say, those two needed killing. Attend to Sergeant Gibbes while I get the straight of what else happened.”

“Aye, sir, but he’s a Savage. We can’t let him—”

“Did you not hear me, Private?”

“Yes, sir.” He hustled toward Gibbes with two other soldiers.

Waters walked to Tayler, who lay on the ground moaning. He had removed the hatchet but writhed in pain as he tried to stop the bleeding. Waters looked at a nearby soldier. “You there, come help Master Tayler stop bleeding.”

Ananias Dare and Roger Baylye arrived with more soldiers and Emme Merrimoth, who screamed when she saw Johnny Gibbes, rushed to his
side. She knelt beside him, cradled his head, wailed wildly, “My Johnny, my Johnny!”

Emily knelt beside her, embraced her, rocked her back and forth. “Emme, Emme, I’m so sorry. Cry, Emme, cry.”

Tayler quit moaning, said, “That Savage killed Gibbes. I saw him do it. Hit him with that club . . . same one he killed Butler with. We all saw him, tried to stop him.”

Emily yelled, “That’s a lie, Hugh Tayler!” She looked at Waters. “Isna heard Johnny scream; and we ran here, found him where he is now. Then Tayler and his men came out of the forest. Tayler grabbed me, and the two soldiers tried to kill Isna . . . then Tayler tried. The first shot was from that one over there.” She pointed at Farre. “The second, from Tayler. The other man never got his shot off.”

Tayler growled, “That’s a lie, Lieutenant. We saw him kill Gibbes, and you
must
hang him!” Several soldiers murmured
aye
s of agreement.

Emme stopped crying, wiped her eyes, looked at Waters. “Lieutenant Waters, Johnny and I were walking in the clearing outside the palisades when we saw Tayler and those two slip out the front gate and into the forest. Johnny said something didn’t look right, said he was going to follow them and see what they were up to. I wanted to go with him, but he told me to go back inside the palisades.”

Emily walked over to Isna, translated Emme’s words.

Waters said, “Thank you, Mistress Merrimoth.” He shook his head, looked distraught. “I’m very sorry about Johnny, Mistress. He was a fine young man, an exceptional soldier with a bright future, and . . . and . . . I shall miss him greatly.” He turned away, brushed his sleeve across his eyes. “And I shall personally ensure his killer hangs.” He glared at Tayler.

Tayler shouted, “Damn you, Waters! I told you the Savage did this! He’s killed three of your men and wounded me. Why in hell aren’t you arresting him?”

Baylye and Ananias watched silently.

Waters looked at Isna. “Because he’s committed no crime. I saw you hold Mistress Colman as a shield and try to shoot him.”

Isna looked at Emily. “Perhaps Emily will tell her warrior chief that Isna will show him something.”

Emily nodded, turned to Waters. “Lieutenant Waters, Isna would like to show you something.”

“Aye. What is it?”

Emily nodded at Isna, who beckoned Waters to follow as he and Emily walked toward the edge of the forest. With Baylye and Ananias also in tow, Isna walked directly to a spot on the perimeter of the clearing twenty yards away, turned to Emily, pointed at boot tracks in the damp ground. “Tell them that this is where they talked. See the white man prints—three pairs here and one pair facing the other three?” Emily translated as he spoke.

A few feet away, Isna pointed to a roughed-up area with many deeper tracks. “Here, where the prints are deeper, is where they held him, wrestled with him, and killed him. And that flat place in the leaves, with blood on it, is where he fell.” Isna then followed a clear pathway through the leaves, from where Johnny had fallen to the edge of the clearing, stopped; stood on one leg, lifted a foot; touched his heel, pointed ten feet into the clearing, where there were no leaves and the trail became two parallel furrows, each the width of a boot heel. He next pointed at two sets of complete boot prints, one pair on each side of two shallow, two-inch-wide, furrows leading back toward the forest. “This is the path they made when they dragged him into the clearing to lay their trap for us.” He pointed at the furrows. “These tracks between the soldier footprints are from his heels.”

Waters said, “How did they kill him?”

After Emily translated, Isna led them back to where the men had scuffled, pointed to an eight-inch-diameter hole in the ground. “With a rock . . . taken from here.” He walked several feet deeper into the forest, searched the area carefully for a moment; suddenly stopped, leaned over; picked up an eight-inch rock, pointed at the blood splattered on one side; walked back to the hole, laid the rock perfectly in place.

Waters nodded, smiled at Isna, turned to Emily. “Mistress Colman, please thank your Sav . . . your friend . . . Eeesh . . .”

Emily smiled. “Eee-shnah . . . yes, I shall, Lieutenant.”

While Emily spoke to Isna, Waters, Ananias, and Baylye walked a short distance from the others, conferred in whispers for a moment, then returned to the murder scene. Waters walked up to Tayler. “Hugh Tayler, I arrest you for the murder of Sergeant Johnny Gibbes. Since we’ve no jail or stocks, I place you under guarded house arrest. You are not permitted to leave for any purpose . . . not even nature’s necessities. You may use a close stool and empty it yourself, once a day, under double guard. We will wait two weeks for John White to return and try you; but if he has not returned by then, you will be executed under martial rule.” Sooner, he thought, if Walsingham’s ship arrives first. He looked at the soldiers, pointed at two. “You and you, bind him and lead him to his quarters. Do not allow him to leave for any purpose. Sergeant Myllet will see to your relief in several hours.”

“Aye, sir,” the two spoke in unison.

“The rest of you men carry Sergeant Gibbes to the village in a manner befitting a fallen hero. Then retrieve the other two.”

“Aye, sir.”

Waters turned to Emily, smiled. “Mistress Colman, please tell Isna I hope I never have to fight him.”