Jamestown (The Keepers of the Ring) by Angela Hunt, Angela Elwell Hunt

tossed it over his shoulder and turned to display it, dark and gleaming against the bronze cast of his skin.
    Inside the hut, Fallon gritted his teeth, pained at Opechancanough’s cleverness. Such a gift demanded an equally extravagant present in return, and what did Gepanocon have to rival such a magnificent cloak? To refuse the gift would be an insult to the brother of the Powhatan chief, and to offer a gift of less value would demean the werowance of the tribe at Ritanoe.
    Opechancanough held the cloak toward the werowance of Ritanoe, and Gepanocon paused only a moment before accepting it. He stepped forward, flung the cloak around his shoulders, then revolved slowly so his people could admire their chief. When he had finished, he bowed his head carefully and stepped inside his hut. The anxious crowd murmured while Fallon waited to see what the chief would do.
    Finally Gepanocon returned, carrying in two hands a gleaming copper pot big enough to cover a man’s head. Fallon recognized it—one of the men from Ocanahonan had fashioned it from fine copper only a week ago and presented it to the werowance. ‘Twas Gepanocon’s most prized possession.
    Opechancanough received the pot with a solemn bow, then handed it to a lesser warrior as the party of traders withdrew from the village. Fallon turned away from the sight and sank in a despairing heap on the floor. Gepanocon had meant to deceive, but he’d been caught in a trap. If Opechancanough had come to trade, this mission had failed, but if he had come to learn whether any of the English still lived, he had of certain accomplished his goal.

Chapter Five
     
     
    The Powhatan warriors ran through the forest like deer, hurrying northward toward the great chief’s village of Weromacomico. When they arrived, five days after their visit to Ritanoe, Opechancanough told his brother and the elders that the attack upon the clothed men had failed; the English still walked the land and worked the iron. Worse yet, the Englishmen at Ritanoe made copper arrowheads and pots for Gepanocon, who would surely rise up against the Powhatan when the time was right.
    “No!” Powhatan thundered, rising from his blanket on the floor of his hut. “We will destroy Ritanoe and all in it, including the clothed Englishmen!
    “We should not kill them,” Opechancanough said, taking a seat in the circle of elders around the chief. He looked around to make certain that every elder listened, then he spoke with calculated concern. “It is said that Wowinchopunk hath seen more boats with big guns in the land of the Paspahegh. The clothed people continue to come; we cannot fight them all. But if you take these clothed men at Ritanoe and hold them in your village, the others will listen to you.”
    “We will fight them one city at a time,” Powhatan said, his face flushing as his hand closed around his war club. The dark line of roached hair that ran from his hairline to his neck vibrated softly in his anger. “First, Ritanoe, then Paspahegh.” He gestured to one of his braves. “Run from village to village and let the drums call for a war party. Any man who wishes to strike the war post with me shall be rewarded, and Ritanoe will be no more!”
    Pressing his lips together to smother a smile, Opechancanough said nothing as the runner hurried to gather men for Powhatan’s war party. He would let his brother strike uselessly at the Indian villages. The Englishmen would continue to come in the winged ships.
    And he would wait for his vengeance. The hate within him was a living thing, demanding to feed, but he had learned how to discipline his appetite. Unlike his brothers, Opechancanough had learned that patience was an invaluable element of strategy.
     
     
    “What are you doing, Fallon?”
    They were on the bank of the river, and Fallon gave her a brief smile before returning his attention to his knife. “I’m marking this tree with an ‘F’ for Fallon,” he said, running his sharpened