Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (78 page)

From beyond the circle of singers and rhythmic, deep-pounding drums, Emily watched nearly naked men and women step and whirl around the roaring, crackling tower of flames, felt the hypnotic pulse of the drums impregnate her, throb within, possess her soul, mesmerize her. Haunting . . . the drums, the chants. She stepped closer.

Oblivious to her surroundings, she eased through the watchers, approached the ring of rapturous dancers. Smoke, sweat, body on fire . . . drums, pounding inside me, dizzy. Shadows and firelight flickered on her face like primeval spirits at the dawn of time. She stared into the fire, let its bewitching spell pull her in, arouse primitive passions hidden beneath
thousands of years of rising civilization. The drums . . . throbbing, shaking my soul . . . on fire . . . the fire, go to the fire.

As she stepped toward the flames, Isna touched her arm. She stopped, but the fire held her gaze. He touched her again. She looked at him with glazed eyes that didn’t see.

He took her hands, held them to his lips.

She blinked, blinked again as recognition flashed in her eyes. “Isna.” She leaned her head on his glistening chest. “The fire . . . the drums . . . Emily . . . Emily was in a trance.” She stared into his eyes, touched his brow, drifted her fingers softly down his damp cheek, feathered his chin. “ Isna has been dancing.”

“Yes.” His breath raced as if he’d been chasing a fleeing deer.

“Does Isna thank Wakan Tanka for the harvest?”

“Yes . . . and for his victory against the Powhatans.” He smiled. “But mostly for the little white fawn who forever owns his heart.”

Near midafternoon Emily walked out the palisades gate, saw Hugh Tayler standing at the edge of the forest fifty yards away; she felt the persistent ember of apprehension she’d carried in her stomach all day instantly flame into blatant dread. Don’t want to do this but promised I would. Don’t let it show, Em. But how can I speak of heartfelt things when I’m lost in love with Isna. The thought of Isna momentarily lifted her spirits, brought a thin smile to her face. Perchance I’ll see him tonight or tomorrow. So happy, alive with joy when I’m with him. What will Hugh tell me? No way to know the truth of things . . . yet I know in my heart Johnny Gibbes does not lie. But Hugh . . . how could Hugh—any man—be as immoral and contemptible as Johnny portrayed? How could Hugh present such great lies so convincingly? But does it matter? Do I care? Hugh and I have no future. My future, at least until spring, is with Isna, and that’s as far ahead as I can see now. A warm glow transfused her mind and body; her smile deepened then gradually withered as she approached Tayler. Ready yourself, Emily.

“Good afternoon, Emily. You look lovely, as always.”

“Good afternoon, Hugh. Thank you, but I feel rather disheveled from the day’s toil. ’Twas a step back into summer with that warm sunshine.” Her hair was somewhat unkempt, her sleeves rolled up, and the front of her shirt unbuttoned down to her breasts.

Like Emily, Tayler’s sleeves were rolled up and his shirt unbuttoned. “It matters not, fair lady. You’re always beautiful. Shall we go?” He extended his hand, but she didn’t take it.

“Where are we going, Hugh?”

“Oh, I thought we could walk a slight distance into the forest . . . far enough to be beyond earshot and prying eyes.”

“Are you sure ’tis necessary? In truth, is there that much more to discuss, and can we not talk here at the edge of the forest?”

“Emily, what I must tell you is of such grave importance I dare not risk being overheard.” He took a deep breath, looked into her eyes with a pleading, desperate look. “Please trust me, Emily. We won’t go far.”

She sighed, again wondered what could be so dire. “Very well, Hugh. But I must tell you that while I’m deeply conflicted over what I’ve been told by you and others, I don’t think there is anything you can tell me that will restore our relationship to the course it was on at Roanoke. Truly, my feelings, as well as certain influences in my life, are not what they were back then, and . . . and this is very difficult for me, but what I wish to say is that I believe the relationship that was then maturing between us is no more . . . and ’tis only fair to tell you so.”

He studied her silently for a moment. “Emily, I thank you for your openheartedness, but Hugh Tayler does not give up easily, and I believe that what I will shortly tell you will vindicate my honor and convince you to renew our relationship. So I beg you to please come with me and give me that chance.”

She sighed, flashed a bland expression. “So be it, Hugh. Let us be on our way.” She turned, started into the forest.

Tayler blinked at her abrupt departure, double stepped to catch her, then walked along beside her. “Let us follow this trail over here.” He pointed
to a pathway into a deep thicket. After a few steps he said, “Emily, while we walk, I should like to tell you a sad tale, one that—”

She stopped, looked at him. “Verily, Hugh Tayler, have we not enough sadness about us already?”

“Yes, Milady, we have, but this tale serves an important purpose if you’ll hear me.”

She held her bland expression, hesitated a moment, blinked. “Very well.”

“Thank you, Milady.” He pointed down the trail. As they resumed walking, he said, “My mother had a cousin she was very close to, and one day a close friend and business partner of his was found murdered. The third member of their partnership accused Mother’s cousin, swore he’d witnessed the murder. The cousin proclaimed his innocence in private and in court, but no one listened, and he was condemned and hung. Six months after his execution, his accuser, who had taken sole control of their business, lay on his deathbed and confessed to the murder just before he died.”

“How awful.”

“Yes, Emily,
’twas
awful; and I told you the story because the slander committed by your informant, or informants, places me in exactly the same position as my mother’s cousin: innocent and wrongly condemned . . . and in my case, condemned by the person I love more than my own life. And this is why I am driven to tell you what I’m about to say. Shall we sit?” He extended his hand to her.

Emily glanced around, noticed the dense wall of brush that completely encircled the small clearing in which they stood. “Yes, Hugh, though it seems we’re indeed quite isolated.” She took his hand, sat down on the bed of richly colored leaves that blanketed the clearing. She felt a brief wisp of anxiety that quickly surrendered to a smothering surge of empathy. I
have
been summary toward him, especially since I’m uncertain of the truth. So I
must
give him his moment.

Tayler sat close beside her, stared at the leaves for a moment, then looked into her eyes. “Emily, do you know who Sir Francis Walsingham is?”

“Of course. He’s the Queen’s Principal Secretary and her Secretary of State, the most powerful and influential person in England, next to Queen Elizabeth herself.”

“That is correct. But I’ll wager you
don’t
know that Sir Francis Walsingham is my father . . . not the late Richard Tayler as everyone thinks.”

Emily’s eyes bloomed wide.

“You see, when he was twenty-seven, Sir Francis had an affair with my mother, who was already married to Richard Tayler, and I was the result. Richard Tayler eventually found out about the affair and that I was not his child, and he hated and resented me for it until the day he died. He also thereafter resented my mother and abused her for the rest of her days, which ended with her suicide.”

Emily laid her hand on his arm, stared at him with compassionate eyes, parted lips. “Oh, Hugh . . . I . . .”

Tayler swallowed hard. “Well, throughout my youth, Sir Francis kept himself informed of my life . . . from afar, of course. But when Richard Tayler died, he sought me out, told me the truth, and pledged to be my benefactor. John White knows this because Sir Francis told him when he insisted the governor bring me on the voyage. And now for the important part.”

“Hugh, what could be more important than what you’ve just told me?”

“You’ll soon see, my dear Emily.” He looked away for a moment, took a deep, dramatic breath, looked back into her eyes as a sudden sadness shadowed his own. “Sir Francis detests Sir Walter Raleigh, the sponsor of this colony—first, because Raleigh is a commoner who has the Queen’s ear, and second, because Raleigh’s influence challenges his own. And what do people in high places in England do when they feel threatened by other people in high places? They find a way to discredit them and, if possible, have them charged with treason and executed. And such is Walsingham’s design with Raleigh; the failure of this colony is the first step in his plot.”

“Hugh, how can that be? Walsingham wouldn’t scheme against an English endeavor, his own innocent countrymen. Nor would he sacrifice our lives for his own benefit.”

He stared at her in silence for a long moment. “Em, unfortunately, such is not the case. Rather, such actions are everyday occurrences for the powerful. Naught but power and influence drive them. But there’s more.”

“Good sir, I do not know that I can bear more.”

“You must hear what comes next, Emily. ’Tis everything that matters to
us
.”

She cringed at his use of the word
us
but took a deep, calming breath. “Proceed.”

“Before we left, Walsingham himself approached me with his plan, told me he wanted me to be his spy and lead three others who’d already agreed to undermine the colony and perpetrate its failure. He didn’t tell me their names but made the uncharacteristic mistake of telling me they were all soldiers: an officer, a sergeant, and a corporal.” His look hardened. “He also said he’d arranged for the colony to be outfitted with inadequate supplies and had bribed the pilot, Fernandez, to abandon us at Roanoke rather than bringing us here to Chesapeake. He well knew the history of Roanoke and that our chances of survival there would be greatly diminished by the hostility of the Savages.” He paused, looked away then back into her eyes. “He knowingly sent us to almost certain death . . . but he then assured me we’d be rescued at an appropriate time.” He snickered. “However, he neglected to address the reality that many of us might already be dead by that time.”

Emily’s chin dropped to her chest, her eyes billowed with astonishment. “Hugh . . . what did you say to him?”

He looked at the ground with lifeless, despairing eyes. “I refused.”

“Oh, Hugh, what did he say?”

“He was not happy, and he commanded me to remain silent on the matter . . . or face most serious consequences. So, Emily, I’ve now defied him, and I shall tell you further that I know who the three soldiers are. Truly, ’twas not difficult to deduce since we started the voyage with but one officer and two sergeants, one of whom I floated with on a board the night we left Roanoke. He was certain we wouldn’t survive and foolishly revealed his role in the plot to me.”

Emily stared at him with tight eyes. “And the corporal?”

When we sailed, we had but one corporal, and he’s now a sergeant . . . Johnny Gibbes.”

“Lieutenant Waters, Sergeant Myllet, and Sergeant Gibbes.”

“Yes, Milady. And now you know why they seek to discredit me: I know of their plot, and they fear I’ll accuse them.”

Tears of frustration, guilt, conflict at once rushed to Emily’s eyes. She shook her head, started to extend her hand to touch his, held back. “Hugh, this . . . this is astounding. I don’t know what to say.”

“Aye, ’tis, Milady, but every word is truth.”

She stared silently at him, grappled with a flood of discordant thoughts, intuition, convictions. “Hugh, I haven’t told you where I heard the things said against you. How do you know ’tis one of these three?”

“No you have not, Lady; but I
know
’tis one of them, and my wager is on Johnny Gibbes; for as I’ve told you, he hates me and my family and has an obsessive passion to harm me.” He took a deep breath, let it waft slowly between his lips. “But the greater misfortune is that regardless of what I know of their plot, I cannot say or do anything until one of them makes a conspicuous move to execute it. And, of course, all of this ignores the grim reality of my father’s wrath toward me if I’m party to uncovering his conspiracy. So for obvious reasons, ’tis fruitless to pursue any course against these three until the governor returns, hopefully with additional soldiers and some loyal officers.”

“You could go to Roger Baylye and the Assistants.”

“Aye, but to what avail? They’re powerless without the soldiers, and the conspirators command the soldiers.”

“ ’Tis true.” She stared into the forest, heard her heart tell her to believe him, her mind plead for caution. I know not what to do . . . so confused. Yet . . . ’tis almost too outlandish to be untrue . . . and what if
’tis
true, and I’ve believed slander? But could Johnny Gibbes simply compose the intricate tales he’s told me? I think not. And are there not two issues: the welfare of the colony and my own heart? And is the latter not given to Isna . . . my dear Isna. How I love him. Oh, Mother, what should I say? She looked squarely into his eyes. “Hugh, your revelation frightens me . . . yet . . . yet I can conceive of nothing I can do, for I’m but
a young lass with no power to influence anything of the consequence you describe. And you’re right. We must wait for John White to return . . . and pray we survive until he does. Truly, Hugh”—a sudden deluge of caution pummeled her mind like a crashing wave—“I want to believe you . . . but I know not what to believe. Nor do I know what
not
to believe. So I can do nothing, believe nothing until some future event—one more persuasive and demonstrable than
anyone’s
spoken words—reveals the certain truth.”