Free 1609, Winter of the Dead: A Novel of the Founding of Jamestown by Elizabeth Massie Page A

is looking for you and I told him I knew where you were. I saw you go into the woods.”
    â€œSmith is looking for me?”
    â€œYes.”
    Why? Maybe Samuel’s sick and he needs another page for a while. Maybe Smith’s tent has torn and needed stitching. Surely it’s nothing more than a menial task.
    But maybe it is something important.
    Nat snatched up the musket and followed Jehu back to the clearing. His heart beat heavily with expectation and he forgot how hurt he was. He glanced once over his shoulder and thought he saw eyes again, watching him intently from behind a tree trunk. But then Nat blinked and the eyes were gone.
    Men were finished with the midday meal and were back at work. The steady thumping and cracking of axe and hatchet filled the air. Gentlemen paced about, sipping from their mugs, dabbing their noses, avoiding the suggestions by the council that they try their hand at digging for shellfish along the riverbank or shaving bark from the trees.
    But what caught Nat’s eye immediately was the shallop. It was back in the water again, and a number of men were inside, dressed in helmets and armor, grasping oars, readying to set off on another exploration. Several bundles of provisions were in the boat. Smith stood by the shallop, talking to one of the soldiers and pointing up the river. Nat hurried over.
    â€œAh,” said Smith, turning to Nat. “I need you to come on this trip. Bring your cloak and get into the shallop. Keep that helmet and musket and take up armor. We leave in just a moment.”
    Nat hurried to where he’d left his cloak hanging on a prickly branch of a pine tree. Richard was still slinging his axe, but he stopped when he saw Nat.
    â€œI’ve been chosen,” Nat said.
    Richard wiped his face. “Chosen for what?”
    â€œTo go on an expedition up the river with John Smith!”
    Richard threw down the axe. “You? They asked for you to go instead of me? But I’ve already proven myself! Where are they going?”
    â€œDoes it matter? An adventure. Now I must go. They are nearly ready to leave.”
    Richard grabbed his axe and slammed it into the wood with so much force that a huge shower of splinters rose into the air like a swarm of locusts.
    Nat couldn’t help but grin. Richard was such a child sometimes. But down at the shallop, as Nat put his musket inside, Smith said, “Oh, please ask the Mutton boy to come, too. I need him on this trip.”
    Nat’s grin fell. He walked halfway back to Richard, waved at him, and jerked his thumb in the direction of the shallop. Richard understood. With a whoop and cheer, he ran for his gear and joined the others by the river.
    The shallop was pushed into the water, everyone took a paddle, and they headed northwest.

10
    May 19, 1607
    T HE SHALLOP WAS more comfortable than the pinnace, although it was in no way a luxury ship. There was a bit more room, and with so many men rowing, twelve on each side, none had the full brunt of the task. Nat sat near the back between two men he did not know. He didn’t talk to anyone, but followed the others’ lead in dipping, pulling, and lifting the oar through the river’s bright water.
    Richard was near the front of the boat next to Smith, and he was rowing, too, although he could barely keep up.
    Why did Smith want him along? Nat wondered. He surely is no help at all.
    In the humidity off the river, Nat’s face, arms, and back were quickly covered in a slick sheen of sweat, and his arms grew tired with the motions. But he would die before he let the men know this. He was acting a sailor.
    He felt good. He felt free.
    Men near the back of the shallop gossiped about the precious metals they hoped to find on this particular trip, while in the front, Smith directed loudly, boasting that it would not be long before he helped them discover a short passage to the Pacific Ocean and secured himself yet more fame in the eyes of all