Joachim's Magic, page 11
They were herded together into an enclosure, closely guarded by Savages with painted faces. Jeremie had begun to cough again, loud racking spasms from the forced run and the dampness. Joachim moved closer to him, keeping Reis by his side. The warriors watched them with stone black eyes.
And so they waited, kept in that compound for three days and nights. No water or food was provided. Jeremie coughed and coughed; Reis’s stomach growled its hunger pangs, yet not a Savage came with sustenance. At one point Sir Thomas was taken from them and marched toward Pemisapan’s tent.
“Ve vill not see him again,” muttered Greutter. “He ist done for.”
“Be silent,” warned Philip Amadas. “Do nothing to anger them further.”
“They are already angry,” retorted Master Greutter. He turned belligerently to face Joachim.
“Vat say you, Master Gans, do you haf a potion up your sleeve for this?”
“Aber nein,” said Altschmer, pulling his friend away. “No fighting among us. Wir müssen nicht mit einander kämpfen.”
Joachim shook his head.
“I have no magic,” he said. “Only reason.”
Greutter snorted contemptuously.
“Reason vill not help us here. Ve need muskets, mein heathen freund, that ist vat ve need.”
“We are outnumbered, mein freund,” replied Joachim, nodding at the guards who surrounded them. “We were twelve, now nine, plus two boys. Master Hariot is our hope.”
“He hast betrayed us,” Greutter’s voice rose. “He hast made a deal mit the enemy to save himself. You vill see, Gans, you vill see I am right.”
When Hariot did not return even Reis wondered if what Greutter had said was true. The fourth day came and went. At dusk, water and food was brought but it was barely enough to wet their lips and ease the hunger pains.
By now Jeremie had developed a fever. His skin was flushed and he trembled. Spasms seized his chest.
“He was but barely recovering when we left camp,” whispered Joachim, ministering to him. “The run and the cold have done him in.”
“Will he die?”
“Perhaps, if we do not get him into warmth.”
“Then I shall try,” said Reis, though he felt himself trembling at the prospect of what he was about to do.
“Try what?” asked Joachim, staring at his apprentice.
Reis got up from the ground by Jeremie’s side and walked over to one of the Savages. The warrior watched him curiously, his face betraying neither surprise nor anger.
“My friend is sick,” Reis said in a timorous voice. He knew the Indians would not understand his English words but perhaps they might respond to his gestures. He pointed to Jeremie, pretended to cough, then feigned falling to the ground. When he picked himself up he saw the Savage had not moved except to draw his long knife and hold it before him.
“He is sick,” Reis said again, then watched in horror as the Savage pantomimed slitting his throat. He backed hurriedly away and returned to Joachim’s side.
“Not a good move,” his master whispered. “Do not stray from me again.”
Reis wondered what manner of men these Savages were, not to offer help to a boy so sick as Jeremie. He heard Joachim muttering something under his breath. It was in Hebrew.
“Master?” he tugged on the Jew’s arm. “Are you praying to your God?”
“Yours, mine, one and the same. A good deed leads to another, but one evil deed brings disaster in its wake.”
“What is that?”
Reis couldn’t fathom the mind of Joachim Gans. Why was he spouting words from the Talmud again? How could that help them now?
“If Hariot does not return soon, then I will go and speak to this chief.”
“See, see!” cried Master Greutter, his voice rising in panic. “He comes und Hariot ist not mit him!”
The great chief strode to the compound. He said something to one of the warriors. The Savage unlocked the opening and walked toward Joachim Gans. He motioned for him to follow.
“Vork your magic now, Master Gans,” whispered Greutter, his voice breaking. “Speak und persuade them to let us go.”
Joachim shook his head.
“I know not their language.”
He stood his ground. Angrily, the Indian began to push him. Once again, Joachim shook his head. He pointed to Jeremie lying on the ground. Pemisapan grunted and the Savage stepped back, allowing Joachim to pick Jeremie up and carry him in his arms.
Joachim was gone a long time. Reis shivered both from cold and a terrible fear. If the Savages had already killed Master Hariot, what would be Joachim’s fate? He had heard tales of these natives plucking out the hearts of their victims and eating the still-beating organ. Perhaps they had already done so with Sir Thomas and even now, were holding poor Jeremie’s heart in their bloody hands. He trembled as if with the ague; not even Master Altschmer’s jacket thrown about his shoulders could stave off the tremors.
Not a sign of Master Hariot or Joachim Gans appeared. The cold night passed slowly. Reis heard his own teeth chattering inside his head like a reverberating drum. He pulled Altschmer’s jacket around him and over his head, grateful for the kindness of the smelter who sat with his back against Greutter’s for warmth. Reis shuddered when he thought about Valentine Beale. The young soldier had been kind, telling him many stories about his life back in England and how he had been conscripted into service. He was, perhaps, only nineteen or so, not that many years older than Reis. And Captain Vaughan had always been a good man, though impulsive. It was his rash behavior which had brought about their downfall. Joachim had known what might happen if the Savages discovered who had burned their storehouse. Joachim always knew what the future might bring. Oh, where was his master now? What fate had befallen him in Pemisapan’s tent?
The sun was rising on the fifth morn when Sir Thomas appeared out of the mist and walked toward their compound. For all this time the men and women of Pemisapan’s tribe had watched them, chattering excitedly in their own strange tongue, poking at them with sticks. Some of the young children had hurled stones their way. Master Altschmer and Philip Amadas had been hit with the flying rocks. Reis stared at these boys and girls, some younger than he, others the same age. They had bronze skin and jet black hair. The boys tried to impress their elders by parading up and down in the manner of warriors. If Reis hadn’t been the prisoner, he might have found their posturing amusing. But in their childish arrogance, they frightened him.
Thomas Hariot looked gaunt and troubled. His demeanor was cautious. He approached the compound and signaled one of the warriors. The man grudgingly allowed him to pass and enter. Hariot went immediately to Sir Ralph and Amadas, where they conferred in whispers. Reis moved closer to Altschmer. Now that Joachim had gone, he felt alone and the presence of the big German smelter gave him some comfort. Altschmer smiled at him while Greutter eyed him warily.
“Perhaps you know the magic, eh?” he whispered hoarsely. “He hast taught you the spells, hast he not? You know vat to do.”
“Leave the boy, Erhart,” said Master Altschmer.
“Nein, nein, he knows. The Jew hast taught him. Come here, boy.”
Reis walked reluctantly to the miner.
“Can you vork magic?”
Reis shook his head. Greutter frowned. He pulled Reis closer.
“Gans hast taught you. You can set us free. Ve need you, boy. Your master hast deserted us und gone to the enemy’s side. Vy ist he not here mit us?”
Reis tried to pull away but Greutter held him tightly. He began to push and struggled against the miner’s grip until, finally, it was Altschmer who grabbed his friend’s hands and broke them free. He spoke in rapid German and Reis moved quickly away, positioning himself closer to Sir Thomas and Master Lane. Sir Thomas came over and knelt down in front of him.
“Your friend is dead,” he said with great sorrow. “Nothing we did could save the boy.”
CHAPTER 17
POWER PLAY
REIS DIDN’T KNOW how he got through the rest of that terrible time. Upon hearing Master Hariot’s news, he stared straight ahead. There were no tears that forced their way through his eyelids. He wouldn’t let these Savages nor, indeed, anyone see him weep for Jeremie. What was the boy to him, after all? Not a close friend of the heart, a mere apprentice like himself, sold to the highest bidder. Jeremie had called Joachim the Christ killer. He had denounced his master for drinking the blood of Christian babes. Surely one so full of ignorance wouldn’t be missed at all? Then why did he feel so terrible? Why did his heart grieve so? He stared stonily into space, neither seeing nor hearing those around him.
One young Savage, no more than eight, slipped into the compound and squatted down in front of Reis. He was thin and his ribs showed through his skin. He cocked his head to one side. Reis saw the burning of his eyes and the gaze unnerved him. He got up and moved closer to the others. The boy followed. Reis noticed the guarding warriors did nothing. When he moved a third time, the boy followed once more.
“What do you want?” Reis asked, though he knew the boy couldn’t understand. The young Indian held out his hand. It was empty. ‘What does he want?’ It was a puzzlement. ‘I have nothing at all,’ he thought.Then he reached into the jacket pocket and felt a lump of metal. He drew it out to stare at the iron ore. The boy grunted. Reis rolled the small nugget around in his fingers. It was worthless, just a piece from the slag heap. Again the boy grunted and without a word, Reis handed it to him. The boy whooped in triumph, stood up and ran past the guard to the other children who had watched. They crowded around him.
“They can trade it,” Master Hariot said, coming over. “It will buy them some food.”
“It’s worthless,” said Reis and those were the first words he’d spoken since hearing about Jeremie. “Why would they want a useless piece of ore?”
“They have no real monies, just what they can barter for. They’re as hungry as we. The burning of their storehouse was the final blow. Some of them want to kill us all.”
Reis shuddered.
“Where is my master?”
“They hold him in Pemisapan’s tent. He is different from us, as well you know. They think him magic.”
So Master Greutter had hit upon the truth after all. Even the Savages thought Joachim Gans was a spell-caster.
“Will they harm him?”
“Not as long as we are still talking. When Pemisapan shuts his ears to our words, who knows what may happen.”
Reis rummaged around in the jacket’s other pocket. He found nothing. He thought about the boy who had snatched the piece of useless ore in triumph. What could he trade it for? How much food was it worth? Perhaps they could use that to their advantage. He got up and sat down next to Master Haring. The man’s face was grim.
“Master Haring,” he whispered. “Have you any metal?”
Master Haring stared at him.
“Vat are you talking about?”
“They want metal. They can trade it with other tribes for food. Do you have anything?”
Over to the side, Greutter threw back his head and gave a chuckle.
“All vas left at the camp,” he said. “There ist plenty of metal there. Tell them that, boy.”
At the sound of Greutter’s loud voice, the warriors on guard stiffened. He stared at them and they stared back. Reis went to each of the men. Philip Amadas took out the flints he carried and looked at them.
“Perhaps we can use these,” he said.
Master Lane dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
“There’s no metal here. Don’t be ridiculous, boy. Sit you down and be still before you anger them further.”
Master Hariot went back to Pemisapan’s tent. He was gone until the next morn. By that time Reis was beginning to cough himself and the other men were clearly showing signs of the cold. The Savages had wrapped cloaks around themselves made of the thick fur of animals. A few skins were thrown into the compound and the men covered themselves in these. Reis was glad Master Altschmer had one, for he had taken the jacket back from the smelter to huddle in its warmth. The day passed slowly and within the confines of his prison Reis walked, scuffing his feet and kicking small stones to entertain himself. At one point Master Altschmer joined him.
“You are scared?”
Reis nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Me, too.”
He stopped and looked at the big man walking next to him.
“Ist true. Greutter und me, Haring, all scared but not to show it in front of them. Es ist besser, Angst nicht zu zeigen.”
“Do you think they’ll kill us?”
Altschmer paused.
“They do not think like us. They are angry. Ve are guilty. Punishment ist due.”
“But… but….”
“Nein, nein, do not vorry, ist not you they vant.”
He stopped and looked up at the sky.
“Snow soon,” he said. “Back home it vud start the Holy time.”
Unexpectedly he reached out and ruffled Reis’s hair.
“Master Hariot speaks for us. Und your master, too, Joachim ist… he ist….”
“… a good man.”
Altschmer nodded.
“Ja, if he hast magic, like Erhart says, ve haf much need of it now.”
The Indians watched and said nothing. Late in the afternoon one of the warriors strode into the compound and grabbed Reis roughly by the arm. He tried to resist but it was no use. The Indian propelled him forcefully toward the great chief’s tent. Behind him he heard the angry roar of Master Gruetter, who had risen threateningly when the Savage first entered. Greutter began swinging his fists and it took three warriors to subdue him and push him forward. He and Reis found themselves thrust inside to face Pemisapan.
Reis gasped. At least it was warm. There was a small fire burning in the center, the smoke wafting out the hole at the top. Joachim was there and still alive. Reis was never so glad to see anyone in his life. Master Hariot gave him a slight nod then signaled him to sit and be quiet. To Greuttter, he did the same.
“Vat ist this?” the big miner growled. He glared at Joachim and took a threatening step toward him, fists raised.
“Jew bastard, you hast taken their side!”
Master Hariot half-rose, Joachim sat with his head bowed. Greutter advanced more threateningly toward him, ignoring Pemisapan standing there watching his every move. The chief muttered something in his strange language. Hariot quickly translated. Joachim spoke and Hariot translated for Pemisapan.
“Tell him I can not.”
The chief spoke again but this time, Hariot remained silent while Joachim slowly shook his head.
“It is impossible for me to do so.”
“Was ist los?” Greutter questioned, whirling around so fast that he bumped into the chief, almost knocking him over. Pemisapan looked at one of his warriors and the Indian strode quickly forward and with his drawn knife, slashed down at Greutter’s ear. The big man gave a howl and clapped his hand where his ear had been. Reis’s heart turned over. Blood was spurting everywhere, large spatters of it covering Joachim and Pemisapan. The Indian warrior quickly slipped behind Greutter and held the knife to his throat. Pemisapan said some more words and Hariot stared at him, started to open his mouth to speak, but the chief waved him silent. Greutter was moaning, trying to stop the blood from gushing where his ear had been. Joachim spoke through Hariot.
“Let him go, Great Chief.”
Pemisapan shook his head. Hariot spoke Joachim’s words again and once more, Pemisapan shook his head. The chief held out his hand but Joachim said and did nothing. Greutter kicked out violently toward Pemisapan and the knife point pricked his skin.
Then Joachim leaned forward and whispered quickly in Reis’s ear.
“If silence be good for the wise, how much better for fools? Say nothing, do nothing, do you understand?”
Reis was too fearful even to nod. He sat like one turned to stone while Greutter howled and the warrior pulled him backward out of the tent. Two others left also and they heard Greutter’s cry of protest as he was pushed deep into the woods.
“Was ist los, eh, eh…?”
Reis began to tremble violently. As the tremors shook him he felt Joachim’s hand soft upon his arm. Joachim was saying something in Hebrew under his breath. Reis knew that Master Greutter was going to die. Without being told he knew it deep in his heart. Though he disliked the man intensely, he would not wish him this particular fate nor, indeed, anyone. He thought of Valentine Beale and Captain Vaughan, he thought of Jeremie’s untimely death.
Against the backdrop of Greutter’s cries of agony rising and falling, echoing back in waves from the deep dark trees, Reis heard the chorus of witches, howling in delight. Only Joachim’s hand on his arm kept him from jumping up to run screaming from the tent. Only Joachim’s gaze fixed upon his face kept him quiet. Pemisapan was watching. Joachim’s lips moved slowly; he lowered his bared head, his ear curls clearly showing. His long black coat was off and he looked like a man who has sat himself down with friends after a big meal, saying first his prayers then waiting for the right moment to engage in deep conversation.
Staring at Pemisapan’s impassive face, watching Joachim Gans with his head bowed, Reis was suddenly aware of what was happening here. It was the play of power against power. Joachim held power over the Great Chief, who wanted something that his master wouldn’t give. Joachim had somehow convinced Pemisapan he had strong magic, that he could render spells. Pemisapan had known all along it was the English who burned his storehouses not the Weapemeoc, in spite of Weapemeoc arrow heads left by Vaughan and Beale. Pemisapan had planned their slaughter and only Joachim, with his strange looks and even stranger ways, stood between them and certain death.
CHAPTER 18
A BARGAIN STRUCK
LONG AFTER GREUTTER’S screams had stopped and silence fallen, Reis could still hear him. Only once during that interminable time while Pemisapan sat cross-legged, fixed and immovable, Joachim had lifted his hand from Reis’s arm, leaned slightly forward and mouthed the words,
