The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I

Chapter 1: The Blood Draw

AUGUST 31, 1613

The sunlight lingered on the horizon as the English ship sailed through calm waters, heading northwest. The peace was broken again when Meeko loosed his stomach contents over the bow for the sixth time that day. Pocahontas wrung her hands, highly troubled at the sight of him. Her furry friend was getting thinner and thinner. The raccoon normally had quite a ravenous appetite, but he seemed repelled of food lately.

John Rolfe walked up behind Pocahontas. He furrowed his brows in concern as he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently alerting the young woman to his presence. "He'll be okay, Pocahontas," he spoke reassuringly. "We're going to make landfall any day now."

It was late summer. The winds had been particularly kind throughout the journey. Storms had been frequent but relatively minor. It seemed as if some great supernatural force was smiling upon them during the return voyage. Pocahontas felt impatient about the length of it though. She was tired of being on the salt water and just wanted to get home.

Pocahontas turned to peer at John Rolfe and smiled lightly. He had been her only source of reassurance for the last few months, helping her to stave off an almost unbearable level of homesickness. She had had no one to talk to regularly on the trip to England, as her brother-in-law Uttamatomakkin had taken an unexplained oath of silence until the start of the summer season. The Powhatan princess suspected it had something to do with a lost bet, but she was not inclined to make any comments to him on the subject.

When Meeko's stomach seemed to calm a bit, he went back to moping miserably around the lower deck. Pocahontas twiddled her fingers as she tried to think of how to express her concerns from the last three months. She and John Rolfe had not discussed the future despite sharing numerous romantic kisses since the dawn of the voyage. The magical M-word had never come up. Marriage, Pocahontas thought to herself. She wondered why he had not asked her yet. Maybe he did not really intend to marry her. The discordant thought dwelled in the pit of her stomach as she stared down at the frothing saltwater. She was afraid to voice the question because the thought of rejection was intolerable. Plus, was it even considered proper for a woman to bring the subject up first?

On the other hand, Pocahontas was charmed by John Rolfe's clear intention not to dishonor her in any way. They occupied separate cabins on the ship and his advances on her had not gone beyond kissing on the hand, cheek, and lips, and hugging. His attraction to her was clear, yet he maintained a perfect gentlemanly distance. If he struggled to maintain self-control at all, he hid it expertly. In fact, the diplomat seemed to be such a jumble of contradictions that it frequently confounded Pocahontas. He wore his heart on his sleeve at times, but, at others, his thoughts were well-guarded. Pocahontas desperately wondered what was going on in his head at such times. The man was an enigma.

While Pocahontas was absorbed in her thoughts, the Englishman gently lifted her chin and kissed her for the umpteenth time that day. Her lips tingled and she kissed him back almost passionately before she remembered it wise to hold back. It would be just too embarrassing for her if he was to pull back first and tell her that she was going too far. She savored the hint of his scent, disappointed when the wind whisked it away as they pulled apart. The word "John…" slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

It was not the name itself but the tone with which she had said it that led John Rolfe to realize she had something serious on her mind—other than Meeko's wellbeing. Rolfe clasped her slender hand in his large warm ones. "What's the matter, my dear?"

Though the heat from his skin was intoxicating, Pocahontas softly pulled away and placed her palms on the railing of the ship. Hesitant at first, she finally managed to follow up with a reply. "I was just wondering what's going to happen when we get back to my homeland?" she finally inquired, shooting him a furtive glance.

John Rolfe smiled. "I'm glad you asked, Pocahontas," he said, pulling the king's sealed order out of his satchel. He tapped himself on the forehead with it and pointed it at her. "We're going to forge a lasting peace. No more instability in the relations between your people and the settlers. The laws laid out in this document will ensure that," he finished, smirking cleverly. He seemed to believe he had answered her question to perfection.

To John Rolfe's surprise, Pocahontas frowned in response. She was well aware of the plan. She had watched the king's scribe draft the order herself, just as she had watched James add his beautifully embellished signature and royal seal to it. That was when the obvious occurred to Rolfe. "Oh," he murmured, flushing slightly as he glanced down at the deck. With James's order tucked under his thumb, the Englishman began to poke his pointer fingers together nervously. "You meant… beyond that?" When Pocahontas nodded coyly, Rolfe cleared his throat. "Right, right. Well, my dear, that all depends upon your father," he returned, trying to sound as definitive as possible. When Rolfe saw her frown again, he mirrored the expression. "Not confident he'll say yes, are you?"

Pocahontas shrugged. "I don't know. If he said no, I wouldn't know what to do." She leaned her elbows on the tall railing and ran her fingers through her long hair.

"Not to worry," John Rolfe replied, sticking the document back in his satchel, "for I have a plan." Pocahontas looked up at him with a quizzical expression. "It's not foolproof," he added for good measure, "but it should increase our chances significantly."

Pocahontas turned to face him fully with a hopeful expression, her interest immediately piqued. He took a hold of her hand again as he spoke. "I propose that when we get there, we do not mention this at first. It would be wise to give your father time to get used to my presence, get to know me a little more. Then after a while, when peace has been established and we feel more confident about his response, I'll go ask him if I can marry you. I think the key is patience, my dear. A great deal of patience. Besides, the Rolfe family has a tradition of long engagements going back centuries. It's in our blood."

Pocahontas suppressed the urge to frown a third time. Patience was not her strong suit. It never had been. But the Powhatan princess gave John Rolfe a forced smile regardless to demonstrate her confidence in his idea if nothing else. At least they were on the same page now. She was enormously relieved to discover that he had every intention to make her his wife if her people allowed it. Hundreds of other follow up questions bubbled up in her brain, but it was too early to ask or even ponder extensively on them. They needed a yes or no from the great chief first, or their planning would all be for naught.

Flit emerged from the cabins below and darted around them to the starboard side of the ship. Forming in the distance was a heavy mass of dark clouds, brought to their attention by the small ruby-throated hummingbird's sudden arrival. Flit seemed to intuitively sense the coming storm from inside the ship and he zipped around frantically to assess the situation. It was not a good sign. John Rolfe and Pocahontas saw a flash of light beneath the great formation, followed by a deep but distant rumbling.

"Looks like we are in for a spot of rain," John Rolfe said nonchalantly. His attempt at making light of the situation failed as he saw the muscles in Pocahontas's throat contract.

Overhearing his remark, Captain Blackwell strutted over. "Isn't that the understatement of the week, Lord Rolfe? Looks like we're in for some rough weather indeed," the man announced with a chuckle, flicking out his pocket telescope. "Aye," he murmured as he observed the approaching storm through the polished lens. "We won't be able to outpace her. She's comin' in real fast. Best we go ahead and get the ship prepared."

"Nonsense, captain. Don't worry, Pocahontas. These are some of the finest sailors England has to offer. I'm sure they can steer us through any maelstrom the sea might whip up," John Rolfe countered, placing a hand softly on her shoulder.

"I thank you your confidence, Lord Rolfe. We'll do our best, that's for sure," Blackwell replied. He plodded down to the lower deck and shouted a bunch of orders at the crew. The sailors spurred to life and shuffled around to prepare the ship as fast as possible.

"Come along, dear. Let's get down below before the rain starts," John Rolfe suggested, taking a gentle hold of Pocahontas by the elbow. "It'll be here soon."

For a moment, the Powhatan princess did not respond as she stared into the dark belly of the impending storm. The harsh winds whipped her long black hair into a frenzy, though she hardly noticed as she barely mouthed the words, "Angry spirits…"

John Rolfe was forced to hold onto his red hat to prevent the powerful gust from tearing it away. He gave Pocahontas a quizzical look and released her arm, waving a hand in front of her face to get her attention. "Pocahontas, dear? Are you alright?"

Pocahontas blinked in surprise and turned to John Rolfe, snapping out of her stupor. "Yes, of course," she replied, shaken. A frightful vision had flashed through her mind, though it was much too fast for her to identify just what it was that she had seen. She was sure she had heard a metallic clashing of some sort. It greatly concerned her, but there was no sense in worrying about something she could do nothing about. She followed Rolfe down below hurriedly as the first heavy droplets began to slap the deck of the ship.

…

Pocahontas and John Rolfe hunkered down in the mess deck to await the storm's passing. The common areas were far from stunning for a simple supply ship. While their private cabins were rather nice due to the Englishman's social status, he refused to spend time with her in them lest harmful rumors concerning their relationship crop up—God forbid such rumors should make it back to the chief of the Powhatan tribe.

The cabin boy brought them mugs of ale, though neither were fans of the beverage. As the voyage neared its end, the ship had run out of fresh water. All that was left had turned green and been discarded. Hopefully, more would be caught in the rainstorm above. Empty barrels were always left open on deck just for the occasion, but they sometimes ended up full of nasty salt water instead when the seas were too rough.

While Meeko was out for the count in Pocahontas's cabin, Percy and Flit were glad to provide them company for the ride. The two came into the room, relieved that the place was mostly empty for once. Sailors shuffled around up above, their footsteps rattling the planks now and again. As it turned out, the mess deck could be a nice place without a lot of drunken crewmen singing loudly and stepping on tails and paws.

John Rolfe stared into his mug of ale with a look of dissatisfaction on his face. He had half a mind to go back up top and stare up at the sky with his mouth open for some water, but he knew he would look silly. Also, he did not wish to distract the sailors.

Pocahontas pushed her mug away, yawning. "I think I'm going to turn in early," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. She was unusually exhausted. Anticipating the return home with glee, they had stayed up late the night before talking about everything from their respective childhoods to fairytales to the English art of stage acting.

"I'll probably do the same soon enough," John Rolfe replied, trying to take another sip of the acrid beverage. He gave up and pushed it away. If it were not for the distracting rocking of the ship, he would have gone back to his cabin to pen more into his journals. As he had requested to return to Virginia, King James had given him a new but critically important duty. The diplomat was to observe, draw, and record anything and everything in the New World for placement into the prestigious royal archives.

It seemed that if James had to send one of the most highly educated men in his kingdom to a small trading colony for keeps, he still preferred to make use of him in whatever ways possible. Hence John Rolfe was to become an archivist. It was not a bad proposition as the diplomat had always enjoyed writing and drawing in his spare time. So far, he had recorded to the T all the stories that Pocahontas had told him about the mythologies of her people. He had drawn her as well as Meeko and Flit and was looking forward to all the fascinating flora and fauna he was sure to find in the land of Virginia.

Now was a bad time for any kind of drawing or penmanship though, as the motion of the big storm waves did not help to steady John Rolfe's hand. He could not even read a book or he would develop a headache in due time. The young diplomat sighed and forced a bit more of the ale down to keep hydrated before getting up. He almost fell on his rump as another wave crashed into the side of the ship, sending him stumbling about. He grabbed a hold of the nearby doorframe to regain his footing and clumsily made his way up the stairs. It would not be a bad idea to check on the storm status with the crew.

…

Back in her cabin, Pocahontas settled into bed. While she normally found English mattresses uncomfortable, the stormy waves had a way of rocking her to sleep. Her discussion with John Rolfe had taken her mind off of her worries and made her feel more reassured of his devotion, so it did not take long for her to drift off. She started to imagine the days ahead when tensions with the settlers would hopefully vanish for good.

In a colorful whirlwind, Pocahontas found herself back in the carefree days of her golden childhood. It was years before her mother's untimely death. Standing by the calm waters of her village, she viewed her reflection as that of a ten-year-old girl. She leaned down and touched the surface of the water with a finger to see if it felt real and it did. As the ripples grew outward, a second face appeared in the water behind her.

"Wasn't there something you wanted to show me, Pocahontas?" John Rolfe inquired, leaning over and giving her an odd look on account of her fascination with the ripples. He was only a few years older than her, a realistic version of the young lad in the paintings she had seen in Rolfe's London townhouse. She looked up at him and he smiled down at her. "You said you wanted to show me something," he said in a boyish voice.

Pocahontas giggled and splashed John Rolfe, earning some laughter from him. She stood up and grabbed him, intent on dragging him off to play. He followed quite readily, running after her through the groves and the forest. In the heart of the summer, the two children rolled in the grass, swam in the river, played in the gully, climbed trees, and ate fresh berries. They even played some of Pocahontas's favorite games, such as Hunter's Trap, the Tricky Fox, and the Adventures of Okeus. The young Rolfe played the hero, of course, while Pocahontas enjoyed the more mischievous roles.

At the end of every day, Pocahontas routinely ended up at the Enchanted Glade. This day was no different. She climbed up the gnarled roots, glancing over her shoulder to see that John Rolfe was following. "Where are we going now?" he asked.

"I want to introduce you to someone," Pocahontas said, pulling him up once she had reached the top of the stump. "It is someone very dear to my heart."

"But there's nobody here except us," John Rolfe replied, glancing around curiously as he reached the top. The sounds of the forest stopped and the birds fell silent just before a gust of wind gave the both of them a very unexpected chill.

When Pocahontas turned to face Grandmother Willow, the old tree spirit's face appeared in the bark as expected. Instead of the kind expression she usually wore, however, she appeared terrified. "Pocahontas, wake up now! You are in danger, child!" Grandmother Willow exclaimed as the sky turned blood red through the leaves of the canopy.

Pocahontas's heart thundered as she peered at John Rolfe, who was equally frightened as she was, and grabbed a hold of him. They held onto each other as the earth began to quake. Both children cried out in terror. A frightful wind fueled by infuriated spirits blew again, whipping the English boy's hair around as his face morphed into its adult form.

The frantic diplomat shook her awake. "Pocahontas, wake up! We're under attack!" John Rolfe exclaimed, pulling the Powhatan woman out of bed and onto her feet.

Pocahontas felt her heart pounding in her chest as she awoke. "Wha's going on?" she slurred groggily. She found herself slung over John Rolfe's broad shoulder as he hurriedly carried her out of the room with Meeko, Percy, and Flit in quick pursuit. Her hair tumbled down toward the floor, obscuring her view as she tried to glance around.

"Pirates, Pocahontas! It's the Blood Draw. There are too many of them and we can't fight them off. We have only one chance to survive, but you'll have to do precisely as I say and without question. Remember what I told you about English stage acting?" Rolfe coached as her ears fully awoke to the sounds of swords clashing above. Men screamed and others howled in wicked laughter. One side was losing and John Rolfe apparently knew which.

Before Pocahontas knew it, John Rolfe had carried her all the way down to the empty brig on the lowest level of the ship. The Englishman placed her on her bare feet on the cold muddy floor and dropped a large bag he had been carrying beside him, ruffling through it frantically. Pocahontas shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She had fallen asleep in her buckskin dress, though she had kicked off her moccasins. Rolfe pushed her arms up over her head as he produced a dreaded garment—a corset.

"I know you hate these, my dear, but we have to make you look as much like a man as possible. Which is not going to be easy, I'm afraid," John Rolfe informed her. He wrapped the item around her torso. Instead of tightening it around her waist to accentuate her femininity, however, he tightened it quite a bit around her breasts and left her waist relatively loose. He wrapped her behind as well with a separate binding before pulling a shirt and a pair of trousers out of his sack. "Put these on. Quickly," he said.

Pocahontas did as John Rolfe asked, almost falling over herself in the rush to get the men's clothing on. He readily assisted her by holding her upright. "It's alright, dear. The fight is still going on. They won't be raiding the lower levels for a few minutes still," he reassured her. When the trousers were up and the belt buckled, Rolfe helped her slip the shirt over her head. He tucked it in a bit around her waist, leaving some hanging in the back, and shoved her muddied bare feet into oversized men's boots. "Alright. The thing I have to do next is probably something you're not going to like. Pocahontas," he spoke, turning her to face him, "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to cut off your hair."

Pocahontas gasped, taking a hold of the black mane that she had grown so fond of over the years. Would John Rolfe still think her beautiful without it? The anxiety grew in the pit of her stomach, but her fear of the attackers overwhelmed it by far. The Powhatan princess gulped deeply and, with tears in her eyes, nodded. Rolfe pivoted her around without hesitation. She could hear him draw his blade and felt his hand twist her hair into a firm knot. Before she knew it, her head felt lighter than a feather. She turned around to see him toss the ebony locks into a privy barrel, effectively hiding the evidence where no one would look. Then he hid the sword and sheath behind some empty crates.

John Rolfe returned to Pocahontas's side. "Now, give me your necklace," he gently instructed. "I'll put it with the king's order for safe-keeping." She did as he asked and he stuck the treasured item into the satchel, hiding the satchel itself below a loose floorboard. The screams from above had finally ceased and the clatter of footsteps and hoots of victory could be heard invading the lower levels of the ship.

John Rolfe turned to Pocahontas with a slightly alarmed expression. "They're coming. It's time for your first serious stage acting lesson, Pocahontas," he explained as he shoved her into one of the small cells, closing the iron bolt behind them.

She heard a loud rip as he tore his own fine ruffed collar in two and observed as he bent down to gather some of the filthy sludge off the floor. He smeared it all over his face and clothes. "These pirates are sworn enemies of the English. We are prisoners of the ship, traitors to the throne of King James. We hate him and we want him dead. You are the son of Powhatan, sent back to the colonies to be executed in sight of your father as an opening act of war. I'm to be executed as well for assisting you. When the pirates arrive, we give them a hero's welcome. We beg parlay and ask the captain permission to join his crew," he said, gathering more mud and smearing it on her this time.

John Rolfe continued, "Now, we need to look as dirty and ill-treated as possible. Put on your most miserable wretched face. Remember, you are a man. So choose a man's name from your tribe and introduce yourself as such. We can pretend your English is poor so you do not have to do much of the talking. If you witness brutality, even against me, you must do whatever it takes not to cry out or even flinch. At the first chance we get, we'll escape the pirates and search for a ship back to Virginia. Understood?"

"John, I don't know if I can!" Pocahontas cried, her whole body trembling badly. Fear was rapidly overwhelming her and tears of dread pricked at her eyes.

"You can! I know you can. You can do anything. If you can convince a powerful monarch that peace is the right path, then there's nothing you cannot do," he countered, gathering her remaining hair and forcing it into a dirty old hat. He stood back and observed her. "Hm. Well, if not a man, you could certainly pass as a young boy. Fourteen to seventeen, perhaps," he noted. "That should take a bit of the pressure off of you, darling. Now, let's sit. Let me do the talking at first. I have had a bit more practice with theatrics."

"What about Meeko, Percy, and Flit? Will they be killed?" Pocahontas suddenly blurted.

John Rolfe quickly shook his head. "Not likely," he returned, settling down by her side. "Pirates usually take animals as pets or sell them, especially exotic ones. It's our own skins we need to worry about. Plus, our animal friends can easily hide."

Pocahontas gulped but nodded. The three animals in the room did the same.

Boisterous noise could be heard just down the hall. "They're coming. Get ready!" John Rolfe announced. Pocahontas stooped down to appear as much like a wretched underfed prisoner as possible. Flit made himself scarce as his small size gave him an advantage. Meanwhile, Meeko squeezed through the bars and copied Pocahontas's demeanor. Percy, on the other hand, just hid in an empty barrel and whimpered a bit.

…

The door shuddered moments before two menacing men burst into the room, followed by two others bearing lanterns. "What have we here then?" came a sinister voice. Looking up, John Rolfe recognized the speaker immediately from the horrifying tales of the man's deeds as they had been told in London. Word had it that since the Blood Draw rarely left survivors, the more literate members of the crew routinely tacked long menacing notes to the severed heads of vanquished high-ranking officials and sent them back to the rulers of their countries of origin. That was how the ruthless men of the Blood Draw took credit for their atrocities and gained notoriety. They staked their cutthroat careers on their brutal reputations. Finley Flame was one of these vile men.

Plain old 'Flame' was the hideous quartermaster's fabled nickname, on account of the old burn injury he proudly bore scarring half his face. It had also robbed him of half a head of Irish-red hair, but he made no attempt to cover the disfigurement. On the gnarled side of his face, his ice-blue right eye leered at them in a predatory manner. It sent a shiver down Pocahontas's spine. She looked away, avoiding the intruders' gazes.

John Rolfe uttered a feigned gasp and climbed slowly to his feet, the look of awe in his eyes eerily convincing. "Sakes alive, can it be that my friend and I are in the presence of Finley Flame, legendary quartermaster of the Blood Draw?" the Englishman extolled, appearing star-struck as he clung hopelessly to the iron bars of the jail cell.

The fiend could scarcely suppress a flattered grin. "Aye. That you are, laddie. Heard of me, have you? And who might you be? You have the posh appearance of British gentry. What is a fellow of your stature doing muddied and miserable down in the deep dark brig, eh?" the disfigured man inquired, a tone of curiosity in his gruff voice.

John Rolfe lowered his eyes, appearing shamefaced. "Please, sir. Do not remind me of the life of delusion I lived. I am a proud traitor to the English throne. My companion and I," Rolfe gestured to the copper-skinned 'boy' on the floor, "were to be shipped back to the colonies for public execution. He is the son of a great chief with whom King James of England intends to make battle. James wanted the boy executed within sight of his father as a commencing act of war. I sided with the boy and was deemed a traitor."

"And your name?" Finley Flame inquired, slowly sheathing his sword. His three mangy accomplices followed suit—a good omen, thought the discerning Englishman.

"John Rolfe, sir. Or it was. Perhaps I should change it as I no longer honor my origins," Rolfe replied. "Might I humbly request a parlay with the great Captain Bleud? If he sees fit to spare our unworthy lives, we would be eager to join your crew. We will work hard as we want nothing more than to wreak havoc on the damned English. How we envy your liberated lifestyle cannot be expressed in mere words, my dear man."

Flame shifted a hand through his short scraggly red beard, considering the request. John Rolfe could tell that the hesitation was only a show. The English diplomat knew the plan had already succeeded, at least with these four. Even in his request for parlay, Rolfe had played all his cards right. Most captives that were not killed straightaway outright demanded the right of parlay, thus insulting their lower-ranking hosts. The Englishman humbled himself before a man he despised in order to win his favor, and indeed he had. All they had left to do now was convince the barbarous captain himself.

"Very well, mate. I'll take you to see our dear captain, but I should like to know the Indian prince's name first if it is pronounceable," replied the quartermaster, observing the young 'boy' with a look of dark curiosity. John Rolfe had to suppress a nervous tic.

"Come along, lad," the Englishman declared in a voice laden with enthusiasm. He turned his attention to Pocahontas and offered her a hand, which she took. She subsequently gasped slightly as he hauled her to her feet with a jolt. He was treating her like another male and she was unaccustomed to the lack of delicacy. However, she followed his lead and suppressed her surprise as much as possible for the sake of their survival.

Pocahontas placed a hand on her chest. "Me, Tomtom," she spoke in a much deeper than normal voice, going along with John Rolfe's idea to pretend her English was poor. As Rolfe had suggested, she did indeed prefer to speak as little as possible. She had never in her life been in such a situation as this and it was more than a little terrifying.

"Tomtom, eh?" Flame echoed.

John Rolfe readily nodded, hiding his relief at how well and quickly Pocahontas had adapted to her new role. "Yes, Prince Tomtom. Still learning his English," he noted, "but he's a clever lad nonetheless. He'll catch on soon enough, rest assured."

One of the other pirates, a bald man with a massive scar running diagonally down his face, was the next to speak. The bridge of his nose appeared to have been sheared in half at one point, making his voice sound slightly nasal. "I like it," he said. "Nice and short."

Flame nodded. "Aye, a good name it is. Sounds almost like a Thomas, does it not?"

John Rolfe smiled. "Indeed, it does."

"And that strange creature, what is it?" Flame asked, pointing to Meeko.

John Rolfe peered down, surprised. "Oh, that is something called a 'raccoon.' It is from Tomtom's native land. Look at the mask around its eyes. Would make a lovely bandit or pirate, don't you think? It's a very clever type of animal, almost like a monkey!"

Finley Flame leaned over to get a better look. "Yes, I should certainly like to show it to the captain at some point," he murmured thoughtfully. "However, it does not look so well. Is the beast ill?" he inquired, poking Meeko's rump through the bars with the tip of his boot. The raccoon shifted a bit but was too lethargic to react much.

"A bit of food poisoning is all. The wretched former crew of this ship tried to feed us a bowl of spoiled oysters that they didn't want. Tomtom and I were wise enough not to eat them, but the animal was very hungry. Fortunately, raccoons are known to be quite hardy. He should most certainly recover in due time," John Rolfe replied.

"Right then," Flame announced, turning to one of his shipmates. "Spike-Eyes, bring me the cell keys. We are to parlay these unfortunate prisoners with the captain immediately."

The origin of the aforementioned man's name was no mystery—for he bore what looked like numerous giant rose thorns pierced through the skin around his eyes. He was the tallest person there, and the most muscular and fiercest-looking by far. The pirate uttered not a syllable as he turned to go carry out the quartermaster's order.

John Rolfe and Pocahontas were soon freed from the brig. Finley Flame slung an arm around Rolfe's neck in a chummy manner, pulling the slightly taller man's head down to his level. He tousled the young Englishman's auburn hair. "Should Captain Bleud consent to your design, lad, I should like to take you under my wing. Your smooth face be far too unmarred for a man over twenty on road to the pirate's life. I'll help roughen you up a bit so the other men won't eat you up alive and spit you out again."

John Rolfe felt the blood rush to his face. "That would… uh… be much appreciated," he replied hesitantly, struggling to suppress a nervous tic in his face.

Pocahontas tried not to scowl. She did not like to see Finley Flame manhandling John Rolfe's face, clapping him on the cheek as he did in a fraternal gesture. Though Rolfe seemed to be handling the treatment just fine, Pocahontas was far from enthused at the thought of his face becoming any less 'unmarred.' She felt a seed of anxiety well up in her stomach as they climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the captured ship.

Flame chitchatted with John Rolfe and Pocahontas on the way up, explaining the loose rules of piracy to the two of them. In the process, Pocahontas learned that the fearsome Captain Bleud was just above at the helm. The realization that they would meet him in the flesh any minute forced her to focus. Their lives depended upon the man giving an affirmative response to their request, so she had to be at the top of her game.

…

The noise of boisterous drunken men grew louder as they neared the deck. Flame hurrahed as they emerged up top, joining the pirates' victory chant. The heavy rain had turned to a light drizzle and the sea had calmed tremendously. It was then that Pocahontas spotted the burly man, a pirate who stood above all the rest at the helm. She could see cruelty in his eyes to a degree others could not. In one hand, he held a bloodied sword and in the other, a severed head. He thrust the head upwards in time to the cheers from the crew. Pocahontas's blood ran cold the moment she recognized the lifeless face of poor Captain Blackwell, who had never spoken an unkind word to her during the voyage.

Pocahontas bit her lip and turned her gaze down to her own two moonlit hands, squeezing them into fists. She shut her eyes and shook her head in an attempt to rid the horrid image of the innocent dead captain from her mind. When she glanced over at John Rolfe, he was looking up. He appeared to be neither outwardly afraid nor disgusted.

Then the smell hit her—the scent of hot red blood was thick in the air. Pocahontas felt a sticky liquid tack under the oversized boots that John Rolfe had given her. The nausea was almost unbearable, though she felt relieved that the pirates had not left the bodies lying around. She guessed they had been chucked overboard. Still, the planks ran red so she turned her gaze up from the deck and gritted her teeth against the stench.

If it were not for the microscopic flinch in John Rolfe's brow, Pocahontas would have thought him indifferent to the bloodshed. It appeared that he was much more adept at guarding his features than she could have ever imagined. It was a skill present in many Englishmen of the upper crust, forced upon them by their superficial society.

Pocahontas sighed as they were led through the crowd toward the marauding leader. The lot of pirates turned one by one to look at them—at first with surprise, then with scheming curiosity. It was not until they had almost reached the helm that the captain saw them. His bosun was a tall angular beast of a man who noted their presence first and tapped Bleud on the shoulder, pointing them out to the gruff commander.

The bosun held Pocahontas's attention for the longest. She had never seen a man of his kind before, for his skin was many shades darker even than hers. As she got closer, it became apparent that he was dark as the night itself. He wore no shirt and his ebony flesh glistened with sweat from the victorious battle. Scars that Pocahontas could not identify the origin of—white streaks— lined his back, chest, and shoulders. Almost as tall as Uttamatomakkin, he had a frightful and solemn demeanor. He was neither young nor old. Perhaps he was in his late thirties, she thought. His eyes seemed able to pierce armor and Pocahontas had to suppress the impulse to tremble under his intense gaze.

She shot a glance at John Rolfe, who was still talking amiably with Finley Flame. The Englishman seemed to notice the dark man's presence but was not taken aback. Perhaps he had seen such people before. Either that or he was concealing his surprise and was doing so very effectively. Pocahontas had no way to know for the time.

"Halt!" Bleud abruptly ordered, stirring the pirate crew to silence.

Pocahontas and John Rolfe stopped as the quartermaster stepped forward to introduce them. Finley Flame bowed to the captain in a flourishing gesture. The formality seemed to serve the sole purpose of making the crew laugh, and they did quite loudly. "Captain Bleud, we found a few prisoners down in the brig of this here humble supply ship. Both of them were destined for execution in the colonies. Allow me to introduce John Rolfe, traitor to the English throne, and Prince Tomtom of an Injun tribe. As sworn enemies of King James, they have requested a parlay with ye," he proclaimed.

Flame's announcement had snapped Pocahontas out of her fixation with the hard-faced bosun. She began to observe the other crew members as well. They seemed to be a mix of different races, though the vast majority were white or close to it. Most were fairly tanned though, spending much of the day under the sun at sea. John Rolfe was easily the palest man on the ship. The bosun's appearance was by far the strangest she had yet seen. Despite their differences, the men seemed to have formed a unique culture all their own.

Pocahontas's profound fear of the crew tempered her curiosity. These were not good people. It occurred to her why John Rolfe had turned her into a 'boy.' Dread struck her heart like a burning arrow. She knew she truly had to keep up the appearance and she had to keep it up well if she hoped to survive unharmed amongst the crew.

"Request accepted," Captain Bleud replied. Pocahontas thought she heard a quiet sigh of relief coming from John Rolfe. She was glad that the Englishman's face was obscured from the bosun's piercing gaze by the main mast in that instant. The moment ended when Flame stepped aside to allow the 'prisoners' to come forward.

John Rolfe stepped up first, followed by Pocahontas. She stayed slightly back but not enough for her timidity to be noticeable, and watched as the Englishman removed his muddied hat and held it to his chest. "Great captain, the tales of your unimagined deeds reached us in the Tower of London even before our sentencing. Never did I think I would have the privilege to meet you in person. As your quartermaster mentioned, my name is John Rolfe. Prince Tomtom and I would like to request to join your crew if you'll have us. We are willing to work very hard. Both he and I want nothing more than to wreak vengeance on the English and live the free life. Isn't that right, Tomtom?"

Pocahontas bowed her head affirmatively, which she had seen Uttamatomakkin do countless times. She decided her stoic brother-in-law would be the best model for the male role she was playing. It made sense—the less she spoke, the less likely she would be to give anything away about her and John Rolfe's true identities.

"Hmm," Bleud uttered, his face betraying no conclusions. He pursed his chapped lips as he considered the appeal. Observing him, Pocahontas noticed numerous beads and feathers woven into the dark brown hair on his face. His skin was darker than the average white man's too. She wondered if he could be a racial hybrid of some sort. "How do I know I can trust ye, my boy? I've got a good many enemies as it were."

"Understood, sir. Perhaps only time will allow us to prove our devotion. You and your crewmen are our liberators, after all, and I am not opposed to a bit of backbreaking labor if that's what you require of me," John Rolfe explained. "As a full-grown man, I should be able to handle a good bit of work." He gestured to Pocahontas. "I request you go a bit easier on the lad though. We would not want to stunt his growth. His father is a very tall and very powerful warrior chief. Tomtom has much potential given just a few short years. Currently, he is no older than fourteen and cannot handle a man's full workload just yet."

Pocahontas felt a bit bothered by John Rolfe's last statement, though she knew perfectly well his only intent was to protect her. If the diplomat had a sense of the labor involved in corn cultivation, however, he might think otherwise about her capabilities.

Pocahontas figured if she really pushed herself, she might be able to impress him with just what she could 'handle.' She felt the fire of determination enliven her veins and stood staunchly before the pirate captain and his crew. The Powhatan woman would show John Rolfe that she was not helpless in the face of adversity. It was not just about her pride though. She did not want Rolfe to bear the full burden of their predicament alone.

Bleud was silent for a moment following John Rolfe's speech, but his blackened teeth soon showed up in an ominous grin. "I've got a better idea, my boy," he suggested. Rolfe perked up in interest, eager to please. The pirate captain gave Pocahontas a start when he abruptly howled into the crowd, "BRING FORTH THE PRISONER!"

A battered man was dragged from the throng, a handkerchief gag over his mouth. As his dazed head bobbed about, Pocahontas was tempted to look away. It was clear the bloodied sailor had been tortured to some degree, though she knew not why. She vaguely recognized him as a rude low-ranked crewman from whom she had heard the word 'savage' muttered more than a few times. Despite his disrespectful treatment of her, she sensed the depth of the sailor's pain and pitied him for it greatly.

Bleud passed Blackwell's head to the bosun, who stashed the blood-drenched item in a dark bag and tossed it aside."If you've the gall to join me crew, lad, kill the scum. We've had our fun with 'im, now he's all yours," the merciless captain decreed. He unsheathed his sword and tossed it deftly to John Rolfe, who readily caught it by the hilt.

Pocahontas almost gasped as the full weight of the order sank in. She saw John Rolfe's Adam's apple bob in apprehension as he set his eyes on the razor-sharp blade in his grasp. It was clear the Englishman had never killed anyone before. Rolfe held his face firm, but Pocahontas could tell his skin was gathering a thin sheet of sweat.

After the Englishman got over the initial shock, he quickly and loudly cleared his throat. "Right then!" he returned, deftly spinning the sword around in his hand. He brought the tip to rest by the unfortunate sailor's jugular. As desperately as he tried to keep his hand from trembling, Pocahontas's sharp eyes noticed the slightest of quivers.

Is he really going to do it? she wondered, sweating as well. Worse yet, what would she think of him if he did? Would she ever be able to see him the same way again? The fear was profound, a deep dark beast lurking in the abyss that she had not sensed until now. Was not the real measure of a man what he would do when pushed to the brink?

"I want to see your killer instinct," Bleud hissed as John Rolfe sucked in a breath. The beaten captive's eyes fluttered open, coincidentally falling upon Pocahontas. The sailor had to look her up and down a few times before recognition dawned in his visage.

Pocahontas gritted her teeth in apprehension as she saw him draw his brows together, shaking off the gag. "Hold on a minute, that's not a—" The man's sentence was cut short as John Rolfe buried a knee deep in his solar plexus, knocking the breath clean out of his lungs. He keeled over and fell to the deck with a thump, wheezing.

Pocahontas gasped as John Rolfe stood over the victim, strategically turning his head just enough to catch her eye. The man's green orbs expressed volumes that she knew he could not speak aloud to her at that moment. The diplomat would not allow this man to expose her. If he had to be cruel in order to do that, he would be without hesitation.

The gasping sailor gradually pushed himself back up to his knees, trying to bring air back into his lungs. Members of the crew chuckled at the show of violence. John Rolfe turned his attention away from the beaten sailor briefly to face Captain Bleud. "Forgive me, sir. I admit I am a bit disappointed. I had a beef with this man throughout the voyage and feel that a quick death is far too merciful for a louse such as this. But," he sighed, "if you wish me to kill him quickly, I suppose I must. You are the one in charge after—"

POW!

A loud gunshot went off. John Rolfe yelped and jumped back, bringing his free hand to his chest to still his racing heart. The English sailor in front of him teetered on his knees as a long rivulet of dark liquid oozed down his forehead. A few seconds later, the man fell facedown to the reddened planks with a loud thunk! He was dead.

Captain Bleud drew his bushy brows together in a look of irritation. "Who did that?" he snapped, peering from pirate to pirate in search of the guilty party.

A cracked voice came from the crowd. "Sorry, cap'n. Me finger slipped," spoke a dirty blond man with a fake wooden foot. He was thin as a rail. Suddenly—thud!—a stocky pirate who had been standing directly behind the murdered sailor hit the ground as well.

Pocahontas's jaw hung open. Two men killed by one bullet and the captain did not seem to take either as more than an inconvenience—even though one was his own man. Bleud turned to the swarthy one at his side. "Bosun, three lashes for Goldilocks."

The blond pirate's shoulders fell. "Well, alright then…"

Bleud turned back to the crew. "Alrighty, men. Toss 'em overboard," he commanded. "No use crying o'er spilt blood, I always say. Mr. Rolfe, I'm sorry the idiot stole your kill. You can have his rum ration tonight if ye like," the man graciously offered.

John Rolfe's shock at the unexpected turn of events dissipated upon hearing this. "Does that mean that we're in, captain?" the Englishman nearly stuttered out.

"Aye, we need a replacement for ol' Talon-Mitts there," Bleud said, gesturing to the dead pirate as the men chucked the body over the railing. "You'll be doing the riggings."

John Rolfe felt his stomach twist. The order made him extremely nervous, as the rigging jobs were the most dangerous on the ship. It would not be easy for Rolfe at all as he had a terrible fear of heights. But if working the riggings was what he had to do to keep Pocahontas safe, then he would. Fortunately, due to reading and observation, he felt he had enough knowledge of the riggings to do the job right. He would just have to be extra careful not to slip—he had to stay alive for Pocahontas's sake. I just won't look down, he told himself as the fear churned like a miniature maelstrom in the pit of his stomach. He gathered himself outwardly and gave Bleud an affirmative nod. "Aye, sir."

"As for the lad," Captain Bleud continued. "We lost our cabin boy a while back and we'll be needing a replacement. Young Tomtom is just about the right age."

John Rolfe felt instant relief. Cabin boys had more menial labors and their jobs tended to be safer, though Rolfe could only guess what had happened to the previous individual. "Yes, I think Tomtom would be perfect for that. I'll help teach him all the parts of the job. Thank you, captain. We will serve the ship and the crew well. Now, if I might ask, where are we headed on our next adventure? Young Tomtom has yet to see much of the known world and I'm sure the curiosity is killing him," the Englishman detailed.

Bleud gave them a smirk. "We're heading down south past Florida way to hijack Spanish ships. They are rumored to carry great quantities of gold from the southern colonies. We captured this vessel for a few reasons. For one, unfortunately, we ran out of rum a week back and this here vessel has a decent supply," he indicated, gesturing to a few crewmen as they carried rum barrels up from below and passed them over to the other ship. "We also need another ship to ambush the Spaniards from both sides. A very effective strategy it is, I tell you! Lastly, the crew was getting crowded on the old Draw. After we load up on gold, we head to Hispaniola for wenches and more rum!" he blared, receiving a loud cheer from his crew. Pocahontas raised a brow, unsure what 'wenches' meant.

A short stout pirate emerged from below deck and quickly shuffled his way over to Bleud at the helm. The captain peered down and spotted him. "Yes? What is it?" Pocahontas and John Rolfe could hear Bleud utter as he bent down to chat with his underling. They could not hear the rest of the conversation until Bleud lifted his head. "Are ye sure?"

The stout pirate nodded. "We found none, sir. And I'm sure we've searched every cabin and compartment. I fear the crew won't be happy about this. They had their hopes up."

"There are still more places to search!" Bleud insisted. Suddenly, he caught sight of John Rolfe and Pocahontas in his peripheral vision. He turned his attention to them, beckoning them forward. "Ah, John Rolfe and young Tomtom, I've got a question for ye two. Have either of you any clue if there were any females aboard this ship when it set sail?"

Several other crew members stopped what they were doing and turned to listen to John Rolfe's answer. "F-females? You mean women?" he uttered in confusion.

"Aye! Of course, I mean women! Did you think we were looking for nanny goats? Me men have been at sea for a long time now. We're desperate! If you know of any lasses that might be hiding on the ship, please let us know so's we can seek 'em out!"

All eyes were on John Rolfe and Pocahontas. The latter tiptoed closer to the Englishman as if making to hide behind him. With her heart pounding, she could scarcely help herself. Rolfe noted this behavior in his peripheral vision and quickly cleared his throat, taking the attention off her. "Actually, captain, when we were taken onto the ship we had hoods over our heads so we could not see anything. There may be a lady or two hiding down below, but I'm not sure. Tomtom and I only ever heard male voices from our prison cell. I believe this ship was intended to carry supplies more so than passengers."

A symphony of disappointed groans and chatter could be heard around the deck. Captain Bleud rolled his eyes at the crew as they became disorderly with their complaints. "Quiet down!" he warned, facing John Rolfe again. "Alright. Thank ye for the info, my boy. A disappointment it is, but I suppose there's nothing can be done about it right now." He turned to shout orders at the grumbling crew before they even quieted down. "Quartermaster, I'm appointing you as temporary captain of this new ship. I want half of you men back on the Draw in less than a minute. Move out!" he decreed.

"Aye, captain!" exclaimed the crew in unison.

"Aye, Bleud!" echoed the quartermaster. Once Captain Bleud and half the crew had returned to the Draw, Flame turned around and began barking his own set of orders. "Riggers up to the riggings. Unfurl the sails. I can feel a favorable wind a-blowing. Hurry it up! Last straggler gets a flogging," he announced sharply, winking at John Rolfe with a sly grin on his face. Pocahontas did not fail to notice Rolfe's green eyes dilating in alarm. He turned on a heel and bolted for the lower shrouds. Apparently, the diplomat could run faster than a young buck from a wolf's jaws when his skin was on the line.

"Tomtom," Pocahontas heard Flame say her fake name. She turned to see him holding a mop and bucket. He tossed both items to her, which she caught. "Swab the deck free of gore. I want to see my reflection in it by daybreak," he instructed, receiving a quick nod from her. He made his way to the helm to steer the ship toward its new destination.