Late August,1622 Near Jamestown Settlement, Colony of Virginia
Victor Slate crept through the brush towards the cornfield the Powhatans were camped by. They had cultivated the cornfield the spring after the massacre of three hundred forty seven colonists of the Jamestown settlement back in March, believing that the white man would now leave them in peace to live as they always had. The settlers had reorganized and consolidated, and after receiving manpower and supplies from England had vowed to have their revenge. This was not the first act of retribution, but it would be the largest so far. Over a hundred and fifty Indians were gathered here to collect a bountiful harvest of corn. The main attack was over and the women and children were being herded towards a large fieldstone barn that had been built by the original settlers. The great structure was framed with huge live oak timbers and the roof was of slate, a community barn meant to withstand the test of time.
“Slate!” Captain Tucker called to him. Slate came running towards the attack commander. “We canna’ feed the useless mouths of heathen bairns through the’ winter,” Tucker said, “th’ women be useful as slaves an’ to help our women in th’ settlement.” Tucker pointed to the bayonet on the end of Slate’s musket. “You knows what needs to be done.” The children were being herded into the barn while the women were tied together outside, and Slate, his head down, trudged slowly towards the stone structure.
Captain Tucker and most of the others were still sweeping the brush for stragglers and Slate closed the barn door behind him. Will Stringer was inside as well, and a look of hate suffused his features. Will’s wife and two sons had been killed in the massacre. “Will, wait!” Slate called out to his friend, but it was too late. With a maniacal glint in his eyes he had already bayoneted several small children and Slate leaped to stop him. When he was in mid-leap Will turned and ran his bayonet through Victor’s stomach. He stood and looked down at his once friend.
“Nobody be stoppin’ me from my vengeance for my Mattie and the boys,” he said through angry tears,”else they be deaded like thee Victor Slate!” As Victor lay dying in the mud and blood that was the barn floor, a pair of red eyes watched from the dark rafters.
It was silent in the barn, the torn and bleeding bodies of the children silent…Will had taken his hunting knife and slit the throats of every one of them before he left. He spoke no more to Victor, not even looking as he left the barn. Moments into the silence a figure fluttered from the rafters to kneel beside the dying Victor Slate. “Such valor should not go unrewarded,” a woman’s voice breathed into his ear. He felt his head lifted and a glimpse of the pale face and black hair of an incredibly beautiful woman passed before his eyes before he felt the momentary sting of something sharp at his neck. He felt an extraordinary thrill, almost like the thrill he felt before he sent his seed into some tavern wench with loose thighs, and then Victor knew no more.
Present day, Grove,Virginia
Clothilde was wracked with guilt, a guilt the counselors had persuaded her was founded on absolute nonsense, but nevertheless returned to her when she was alone with her thoughts too long. Adam had been a domineering bastard, and the relationship had turned from cruel to dangerous…she had no choice but to leave him. It had been an ugly separation, but a necessary one. Her guilt came from the feeling that she could have somehow changed him. A year’s counseling and a move back to Grove, Virginia, the town she grew up in, had helped tremendously.
She sighed. Days like today were unavoidable, and the counselor’s recommendation had been to surround herself with sights and scenes that brought back good memories. Chloe, as her friends had called her in her childhood,
Victor Slate crept through the brush towards the cornfield the Powhatans were camped by. They had cultivated the cornfield the spring after the massacre of three hundred forty seven colonists of the Jamestown settlement back in March, believing that the white man would now leave them in peace to live as they always had. The settlers had reorganized and consolidated, and after receiving manpower and supplies from England had vowed to have their revenge. This was not the first act of retribution, but it would be the largest so far. Over a hundred and fifty Indians were gathered here to collect a bountiful harvest of corn. The main attack was over and the women and children were being herded towards a large fieldstone barn that had been built by the original settlers. The great structure was framed with huge live oak timbers and the roof was of slate, a community barn meant to withstand the test of time.
“Slate!” Captain Tucker called to him. Slate came running towards the attack commander. “We canna’ feed the useless mouths of heathen bairns through the’ winter,” Tucker said, “th’ women be useful as slaves an’ to help our women in th’ settlement.” Tucker pointed to the bayonet on the end of Slate’s musket. “You knows what needs to be done.” The children were being herded into the barn while the women were tied together outside, and Slate, his head down, trudged slowly towards the stone structure.
Captain Tucker and most of the others were still sweeping the brush for stragglers and Slate closed the barn door behind him. Will Stringer was inside as well, and a look of hate suffused his features. Will’s wife and two sons had been killed in the massacre. “Will, wait!” Slate called out to his friend, but it was too late. With a maniacal glint in his eyes he had already bayoneted several small children and Slate leaped to stop him. When he was in mid-leap Will turned and ran his bayonet through Victor’s stomach. He stood and looked down at his once friend.
“Nobody be stoppin’ me from my vengeance for my Mattie and the boys,” he said through angry tears,”else they be deaded like thee Victor Slate!” As Victor lay dying in the mud and blood that was the barn floor, a pair of red eyes watched from the dark rafters.
It was silent in the barn, the torn and bleeding bodies of the children silent…Will had taken his hunting knife and slit the throats of every one of them before he left. He spoke no more to Victor, not even looking as he left the barn. Moments into the silence a figure fluttered from the rafters to kneel beside the dying Victor Slate. “Such valor should not go unrewarded,” a woman’s voice breathed into his ear. He felt his head lifted and a glimpse of the pale face and black hair of an incredibly beautiful woman passed before his eyes before he felt the momentary sting of something sharp at his neck. He felt an extraordinary thrill, almost like the thrill he felt before he sent his seed into some tavern wench with loose thighs, and then Victor knew no more.
Present day, Grove,Virginia
Clothilde was wracked with guilt, a guilt the counselors had persuaded her was founded on absolute nonsense, but nevertheless returned to her when she was alone with her thoughts too long. Adam had been a domineering bastard, and the relationship had turned from cruel to dangerous…she had no choice but to leave him. It had been an ugly separation, but a necessary one. Her guilt came from the feeling that she could have somehow changed him. A year’s counseling and a move back to Grove, Virginia, the town she grew up in, had helped tremendously.
She sighed. Days like today were unavoidable, and the counselor’s recommendation had been to surround herself with sights and scenes that brought back good memories. Chloe, as her friends had called her in her childhood,
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