Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [82]
Sobaki, the woman who greeted us, was Wanchese’s wife. Her dark hair was cut short in front and circled with a kind of wreath. Her cheeks and chin were marked in a curious pattern, and the skin between her breasts as well. From her ears hung strings of small pearls. I recalled in passing how Sir Walter liked to wear a pearl earring.
Sobaki escorted us into her lodging, where there were two other women, also wives of Wanchese. They spoke unguardedly, not knowing I could understand them. They took off our clothes to clean them and washed us from head to toe. I was chastened to learn they considered Jane and me to be dirty and ignorant creatures because we did not bathe our whole bodies daily as they did. They gave us deerskins to wear, and Jane and I covered ourselves as thoroughly as we could. The skins were soft and fringed at the edges.
Then Sobaki began to mark our faces with dye. I knew this was done before a celebration, so I told Jane not to be alarmed. The other wives gave much attention to Jane’s golden hair, touching it in wonderment. They tied it back using thin strips of hide. Jane seemed to enjoy the attention. My dark hair was not so remarkable to them, and Sobaki merely cut off the front with the sharpened edge of a shell, giving me a fringe like hers.
Then Sobaki led us to the center of the village where the flames of a bonfire leapt to the sky. Men and women danced in a wide circle around the fire, the women’s breasts and the men’s buttocks visible to all. Musicians sat on the ground, playing pipes and shaking gourds filled with seeds or shells and something that swished like sand. Their steady chanting rose to a high pitch and wavered there, making me shiver. I thought if I could find Manteo and speak to him, I might learn the meaning of this ritual. Finally I spotted him among Wanchese’s warriors. His hands were loosely bound before him, but he stood unbowed and unafraid. I could not approach him, for Jane and I were made to sit with Wanchese’s wives.
Wanchese sat with a long tobacco pipe in his mouth under a canopy made of skins and hung with tufts of brightly colored feathers. His councilors flanked him, still and solemn, with festive markings on their bodies. Despite the strangeness of the setting, I was reminded of the queen’s court. Here Wanchese was at the the center, with dancers and players all performing for his pleasure. Yet how could I compare Wanchese to Elizabeth? She was a Christian monarch with no husband; Wanchese, a pagan prince with two wives. But all rulers were alike in one important regard: they had enemies. And didn’t they often find it necessary to destroy those enemies in order to hold on to their power? Now I began to wonder if our capture was the cause of the celebration, which would end in our deaths.
I glanced toward Jane, but she seemed to have no such fear. Sobaki was offering her a pipe. Jane put it to her lips, took a small breath, and coughed. She handed the pipe to me, but I declined it. My head ached with confusion.
“Try it,” Jane urged. “You do not want to offend them.”
Indeed I did not. I recalled from reading John White’s journals that you do not give a tobacco pipe to someone you mean to kill. So I took the pipe and breathed in a little. The smoke stung my throat and brought sharp tears to my eyes. But there was a flavor to it, as if sweet herbs had been added to the leaves. I took another draft, deeper this time. When I had breathed out all the smoke, I felt calmer.
The next moment two Roanoke warriors lifted Jane and me to our feet and swept us toward the whirling bodies around the fire. The pitch of the chanting rose again, and to the rattling of gourds was added the drumming of sticks on the ground. The Indian held me firmly. His hair was shorn on the sides and stood up in tufts in the center and he glistened with sweat and paint. I felt