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The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe	By : WhiteTigress Category: +M through R > Pocahontas (Disney) > Pocahontas (Disney) Views: 2803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Pocahontas, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Blood Draw
- 2-A Pirate's Life is Not for Me
- 1
- 2
(Author's Note: Sexual content will not take place in this story until much later, but there will be a lot of sexual tension leading up to it.)
The sunlight lingered on the horizon as the ship sailed through calm waters, heading westward. The peace was broken again when Meeko loosed his stomach contents over the bow of the ship for the fifth or sixth time. Pocahontas looked concerned, as her furry friend was looking thinner and thinner by the day. The raccoon normally had quite a large appetite, but he seemed repelled of food lately.
John Rolfe walked up behind Pocahontas. He had a look of concern on his face as he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently alerting her to his presence. “He’ll be alright, Pocahontas,” he said. “We’ll make landfall any day now.”
It was late summer and the winds had been unusually kind throughout the journey. Storms had been frequent, but relatively minor. It seemed that some supernatural force was smiling upon them during the return voyage, though Pocahontas still felt impatient about the length of it. She just wanted to get home.
Pocahontas turned to glance at Rolfe and smiled lightly. His voice had been her source of reason and assurance for the last few months. Homesickness had been her constant companion throughout the seemingly endless months of the trip to England. She had no one to talk to regularly, as her brother-in-law Uttamatomakkin had taken an unexplained oath of silence until the beginning of the summer season. She suspected it had something to do with a lost bet, but was not inclined to say anything.
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 Rolfe had not discussed the future, despite their 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 within the pit of her stomach as she stared blankly down at the frothing saltwater. She was afraid to voice the question because somehow the thought of rejection was unbearable. Plus, was it even considered proper for a woman to bring the subject up first?
On the other hand, she was charmed by his clear intention not to dishonor her. They had 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.
In the back of her mind, Pocahontas wondered how he could stand it. He seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve at times, but at others his thoughts seemed impressively well guarded. The latter event would make Pocahontas desperately wonder what was going on in his head.
As she was absorbed in her thoughts, the diplomat gently lifted her chin and kissed her for the umpteenth time that day. She kissed him back almost passionately before she remembered it wise to hold back. 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 Rolfe to the realization she had something serious on her mind—other than Meeko’s wellbeing, of course. He held one of her slighter hands in both of his as he politely inquired, “What’s the matter, my dear?”
She softly pulled away and placed her hands 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?” she murmured.
Rolfe smiled widely. “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 then pointed it at her. “We are going to forge a lasting peace, is what we’re going to do. No more of this troubling instability in the relations between your people and the settlers. The laws laid out in this document will ensure that.” He finished and smiled broadly, as if he had answered her question to perfection.
To his surprise, she frowned. Pocahontas was well aware of the plan. She had watched the King’s scribe draft the order herself, as she had watched the King add his signature to it. That was when the obvious occurred to Rolfe. “Oh,” he murmured, flushing slightly as he glanced down at the deck. He poked his fingers together nervously. “You meant… beyond that?”
When she nodded coyly, Rolfe cleared his throat. “Right, right. Well, my dear. That all depends upon your father,” he explained, trying to sound affirmative. When he 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 don’t think I could bear it.” She leaned her elbows down on the tall railing and ran her hands through her long hair.
“Not to worry,” Rolfe replied, sticking the King’s 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, “but it should increase our chances significantly.”
Pocahontas turned to face him fully, interested. He took 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. Patience. Besides, the Rolfe family has a tradition of long engagements. 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 she gave Rolfe a forced smile regardless to show 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 did in fact have every intention to make her his wife, if her people allowed it. Hundreds of other resultant 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 it 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 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, as Rolfe and Pocahontas saw a flash of light beneath the formation, followed by a deep but distant rumbling.
“Looks like we’re going to have a spot of rain,” the Englishman said nonchalantly. His attempt at making light of the situation failed as he could see the muscles in Pocahontas’s throat contract.
Overhearing the conversation, Captain Blackwell strutted over. “Is that not the understatement of the week, Mr. Rolfe? Looks like we’re in for some rough weather, indeed,” he said 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 fast.”
“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,” Rolfe countered, crossing his arms defiantly.
“I thank you your confidence, Mr. Rolfe. We’ll do our very best, that’s for certain,” Blackwell replied, before plodding down to the lower deck and shouting a bunch of orders at the crew. The sailors spurred to life and shuffled around the deck to prepare the ship as fast as possible.
“Come along, dear. Let’s get down below before the rain starts,” Rolfe said, taking a hold of her arm.
For a moment Pocahontas did not respond, as she stared into the dark belly of the storm. The wind whipped her hair into a frenzy, though she hardly noticed as she barely mouthed the words, “Angry spirits…”
Rolfe was forced to hold onto his red hat to prevent the powerful gust from tearing it away. He gave her a quizzical look, and waved his hand in front of her face to get her attention. “Pocahontas, dear? Are you alright?”
Pocahontas blinked in surprise and turned to John as she snapped out of her stupor. “Yeah, I think so,” she replied, a bit shaken. She felt she had almost had a vision, and that concerned her. But there was no sense in worrying about something one could do nothing about, so she hurriedly followed him below deck as the first heavy droplets slapped the mast of the ship.
…
Pocahontas and 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 Rolfe’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 particular fans of the beverage. As the voyage neared its end, the ship had run out of fresh water. Hopefully more would be caught in the new rainstorm above.
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 to be without a lot of drunken crewmen singing annoyingly loud songs and stepping on tails and paws.
Rolfe stared into his mug of ale with a slight 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. Plus, 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 follow you soon enough,” 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, the King had given him a new but important duty. He was to observe, record, and draw anything and everything in the New World for placement into the prestigious royal archives.
It seemed if James had to send one of the most 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, Rolfe was to become an archivist. It was not a bad proposition, as the man had always enjoyed writing and drawing in his spare time. So far, he had recorded to the T all the stories Pocahontas had told him about the mythology 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 Virginia.
Unfortunately, the motion of the big storm waves did not help to steady his hand. He could not even read a book or he would be sure to develop a headache in due time. Rolfe 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 around. 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 the status of the storm 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 Rolfe had somehow taken her mind off of her worries and made her feel more assured of his devotion, so it did not take long for her to drift off.
At peace, she began to imagine the days ahead, when the tensions between the settlers and natives would hopefully vanish for good. In a colorful whirlwind, she suddenly found herself back in the carefree days of her childhood, 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?” Rolfe inquired, leaning over and giving her an odd look on account of her fascination with the ripples. He was about the same age as she, a realistic version of the young boy in the paintings she had seen in the full-grown man’s London townhouse. As she looked up at him, he smiled down at her. “You said you wanted to show me something,” he said in a young-sounding voice.
She giggled and splashed him, earning some laughter from him in turn as he held up his hands. 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. With spring in full bloom, the two children rolled in the grass, swam in the river, played in the gully, climbed trees, and ate fresh mulberries. They even played some of her favorite games, such as Hunter’s Trap, The Tricky Fox, and The Adventures of Glooskap. John played the hero, of course. Pocahontas enjoyed the more mischievous roles.
At the end of every day, Pocahontas routinely ended up at Grandmother Willow’s grove. This day was no different. She climbed up the gnarled roots, glancing over her shoulder to see that John 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.
“But there’s nobody here but us,” John replied, looking around as he reached the top. The sounds of the forest stopped as the birds fell silent, and a sudden gust of wind gave Pocahontas an unexpected chill.
When she turned to face Grandmother Willow, the old woman’s face appeared in the bark as expected. Instead of the kind expression she usually wore however, the face looked terrified. “Pocahontas, wake up! You are in danger, child!” the old tree spirit cried as the sky turned blood red through the canopy leaves.
Pocahontas’s heart thundered as she looked at John, who was equally frightened as her, and grabbed a hold of him. They held onto each other as the earth began to quake and both cried out in terror. A frightful wind fueled by angry spirits blew again and Rolfe’s face morphed into its adult form as the man shook her awake.
“Pocahontas, wake up! We’re under attack!” the Englishman cried, pulling her out of bed.
The young woman felt her heart pounding in her chest as she awoke in a fearful frenzy. “Wha… what’s going on?” she slurred in a state of grogginess. She found herself whisked up off of the floor into his strong arms as he carried her out of the room—Meeko, Percy, and Flit in hot pursuit.
“Pirates, Pocahontas. It’s the Blood Draw. There’s too many of them and we can’t fight. We have only one chance to survive, but you’ll have to do precisely as I say. 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 men howled in wicked laughter. One side was losing, and John apparently knew precisely which.
Before she knew it, Pocahontas found that John had carried her all the way down to the empty brig on the lowest level of the ship. He placed her on her bare feet on the chilly, wet, muddy floor and dropped a large bag he had been carrying on his back 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 my easy, I’m afraid,” he instructed. 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.
She did as he 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 said in a reassuring manner.
When the trousers were up, he 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 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 said, turning her to face him. “I’m afraid 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. An unbearable question welled up within her: Would he still think her beautiful without it? The anxiety grew like a sickness in the pit of her stomach, but her fear of the attackers overwhelmed it by far. She 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 light as a feather. She turned around to see him toss the ebony locks in a privy barrel, effectively hiding the evidence where no one would look.
He returned to her side. “Now give me your necklace. 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, and hid 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.
He turned to her with a slightly alarmed expression. “They’re coming. It’s time for your first serious acting lesson, Pocahontas,” he said as he shoved her into one of the cells, closing the iron bolt behind them.
She heard a rip as he tore his own fine silk collar in two, and then observed as he bent down to gather some of the filthy, muddy mess 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 a first 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.
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 have, 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 knees trembling.
“Yes, you can. I know you can. You can do anything. If you can convince a powerful King 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 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. I’ve had more practice with theatrics.”
“What about Meeko, Percy, and Flit? Will they be killed?” Pocahontas suddenly inquired, the fear returning.
“Not likely,” he quickly replied, settling next to her. “They usually take animals as pets, or sell them—especially exotic ones. It’s our own skins we need to worry about.”
Pocahontas gulped, but nodded. The three animals in the room did the same.
Boisterous noise could be heard just outside the door. “They’re coming! Get ready!” John instructed. Pocahontas stooped down, trying to look as much like a lethargic, underfed, hopeless prisoner as possible. Flit made himself scarce—his small size giving him a notable advantage. Meanwhile, Meeko squeezed through the bars and copied Pocahontas’s demeanor. Percy, on the other hand, just hid in an empty barrel, whimpering slightly.
…
The door shuddered moments before two menacing men burst into the room, followed by two others bearing lanterns. “Aye, what have we here, then?” came a sinister voice. Looking up, 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 did not leave survivors, some of the boldest crewmembers had taken it upon themselves to be seen in the flesh on occasion so that rumors would abound. They staked their cutthroat careers on their reputations. Finley Flame was one of these vile men.
Plain old ‘Flame’ was the hideous Quartermaster’s fabled nickname, on account of the 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, sending a shiver down Pocahontas’s spine.
Rolfe uttered a feigned gasp and jumped to his feet, the look of surprise on his face eerily convincing. “Sir, can it be that we are in the honored presence of Finley Flame, legendary Quartermaster of the Blood Draw?” the Englishman uttered, appearing star-struck as he clung to the prison bars.
The fiend could scarcely suppress a flattered grin. “Aye, that you are, lad. Heard of me, have you? And who might you be? You have the appearance of British gentry. What is a man of your stature doing muddied and miserable in the deep, dark brig?” the man inquired, a sure tone of curiosity in his rasping voice.
“Please, do not remind me of the life of delusion I once lived. I am a traitor to the throne of England. My companion and I,” Rolfe gestured to the copper-skinned ‘boy’ on the floor beside him, “we were to be shipped back to the colonies for public execution. He is the son of a great chief with whom the King 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?” Flame inquired, sheathing his sword. The three mangy accomplices followed suit—a good omen, thought Rolfe.
“John Rolfe, sir. Or it was. I should like a change of name, as I no longer honor my origins,” he 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 the crew. We will work hard, as we want nothing more than to wreak havoc on the accursed English. How much 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. The hesitation was only a show—Rolfe could tell the plan had already succeeded, at least with these four. Even in his request for parlay, the diplomat 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. Rolfe 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, lad. I’ll take you to see the Captain, but I should like to know the Indian prince’s name first, if it is pronounceable,” Flame replied, observing the ‘boy’ with a look of dark curiosity.
“Come along, lad,” Rolfe said in an enthusiastic voice, turning to Pocahontas. He offered her a hand, which she took, and 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 survival’s sake.
“Me, Tomtom,” Pocahontas said in a deeper than normal voice, going along with Rolfe’s idea to pretend her English was poor. As Rolfe had suggested, she preferred 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.
Rolfe nodded, hiding his relief at how well Pocahontas had taken to the 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,” the man said. “Nice and short.”
Flame nodded. “Aye, a good name it is. Sounds almost like a Thomas, does it not?” he commented.
Rolfe smiled. “Indeed, it does.”
“And that strange creature, what is it?” Flame inquired, pointing to Meeko.
Rolfe looked down, surprised. “Oh, that is something called a ‘raccoon.’ It is from Tomtom’s native land. Look at the bands 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!”
Flame leaned over to get a better look. “Yes, I should certainly like to show it to the Captain at some point,” he murmured. “However, it does not look so well. Is the beast ill?” the Quartermaster inquired, poking at Meeko’s rump through the bars with the tip of his boot. Meeko shifted a bit, but was too lethargic to react much.
“A bit of food poisoning, is all. The wretched crew tried to feed us a bowl of spoiled oysters that they didn’t want. Tomtom and I were wise enough not to eat it, but the animal was very hungry. However, raccoons are known to be quite hardy. He should most certainly recover in due time,” Rolfe replied.
The Quartermaster nodded. “Right, then,” he 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 large rose thorns pierced through the skin around his eyes. He was the tallest one there, and the most muscular and fierce-looking. Spike-Eyes muttered not a syllable and turned to go carry out the Quartermaster’s order.
When they were freed from the brig, Flame slung an arm roughly 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 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 ye a bit so the other men won’t eat you up alive and spit you out again.”
Rolfe blushed. “That would be much appreciated,” he replied hesitantly, trying to suppress a nervous impulse.
Pocahontas frowned slightly. She did not like to see Flame manhandling 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 Rolfe on the way up, explaining the rules of the pirate’s life 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 his response to their request, so she would have to be at the top of her game.
…
The boisterous noise of drunken men grew louder as they neared the deck. Flame hurrahed as they emerged up top, joining the pirates’ victory chant. 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, and her blood ran cold. She glanced over at Rolfe, who did not appear to be outwardly afraid.
Suddenly the smell hit her—the scent of blood was thick in the air, and she felt a sticky liquid tack under the oversized boots 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 kept her gaze up from the deck and gritted her teeth against the stench.
If it were not for a microscopic flinch in Rolfe’s brow, Pocahontas would have thought him indifferent to the bloodshed. It so appeared that he was more practiced at guarding his features than she could have ever imagined. It was a skill that seemed to be present in many Englishmen of the upper crust, forced upon them by society.
Pocahontas sighed as they were led through the crowd toward the leader of the marauding band. As they made their way through, 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 even saw them. His Bosun, a tall, angular beast of a man, noted their presence first and tapped Bleud on the shoulder, pointing them out to the gruff commander.
The Bosun held Pocahontas’s attention the longest. She had never seen a man of his kind before, for his skin was many shades darker 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. Almost as tall as Uttamatomakkin, he had a frightful, solemn demeanor. He was neither old nor young. Perhaps he was in his mid-thirties, she thought. His eyes seemed to be able to pierce armor, and Pocahontas had to suppress the urge to tremble under his intent gaze.
She shot a glance at John, who was still talking amicably with Flame. He seemed to notice the dark man’s presence, but was not taken aback. Perhaps he had seen such people before, or he was concealing his surprise. Pocahontas had no way to know.
“Halt!” Bleud abruptly ordered, stirring the pirate crew to silence.
Pocahontas and Rolfe stopped in an instant, and the Quartermaster stepped forward by way of introduction. Flame bowed to the Captain in a flourished gesture. The formality seemed to serve the sole purpose of making the crew laugh, and they did so rather loudly. “Good Captain, turns out Blackwell had a few prisoners down in the brig, both 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 James, they have humbly requested a parlay with ye.”
Flame’s announcement had snapped Pocahontas out of her fixation with the hard-faced Bosun. She began to observe the other crewmembers. They seemed to be a mix of races, though most were white or close to it. The Bosun’s appearance was by far the strangest she had yet seen, however. Despite their differences, the crew had clearly formed a unique culture all their own.
Pocahontas’s curiosity was tempered by her fear. These were not good people. And now she knew precisely why Rolfe had turned her into a ‘man,’ and 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.
“Request accepted,” Bleud replied, and she thought she heard a quiet sigh of relief coming from Rolfe. Pocahontas was glad that the Englishman was obscured from the Bosun’s piercing gaze in that instant. The moment ended when Flame stepped aside to allow the ‘prisoners’ to come forward.
Rolfe stepped up first, followed by Pocahontas. Out of fear, she stayed slightly back, though not enough for her timidity to be noticeable. She watched as the Englishmen cordially removed his muddied red hat and held it to his chest. “Great Captain, the tales of your unimagined deeds have 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, or was, 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. Like you, we want nothing more than revenge on the English. Isn’t that right, Tomtom?”
Pocahontas bowed her head in an affirmative manner, something she had seen Uttamatomakkin do many times. She decided her brother-in-law would be her model for the man’s role she was playing at. It made sense—the less she spoke, the less likely she would be to give anything away.
“Hmm,” Bleud replied, his face betraying no conclusions. He licked his chapped lips as he considered the appeal. Observing him, Pocahontas noticed numerous feathers woven into the brown hair on his face. His skin was darker than the average white man’s too, so 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,” he finally said.
“Understood, Captain. Perhaps only time will allow us to prove our devotion. Again, I am not opposed to a bit of backbreaking labor if that’s what you require of me,” Rolfe replied. “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, and Tomtom has much potential given just a few short years. Currently, he is no older than fifteen and cannot handle a man’s workload just yet.”
Pocahontas felt a bit bothered by Rolfe’s last statement for some reason she could not determine, though she knew perfectly well how much he wanted to protect her. If he knew the labor involved in corn cultivation however, he might think otherwise.
She 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. She would show John that she was not helpless in the face of adversity. It was not just about her pride though—she did not want Rolfe to have to bear the full burden of their predicament alone.
Bleud was silent for a moment following Rolfe’s promises, but his blackened teeth suddenly showed up in an ominous grin. “I’ve got a better idea, my boy.”
Rolfe perked up, his face a mix of interest and apprehension. The pirate Captain abruptly howled into the crowd, giving Pocahontas a start: “BRING FORTH THE PRISONER!”
A battered man was dragged from the throng, a handkerchief gag across 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 treatment of her, she sensed the depth of his pain and pitied him for it.
“If you’ve the gall to join me crew, lad, then kill the scum. We’ve had our fun with ‘im, now he’s all yours,” Bleud replied. Unsheathing his sword, he tossed it deftly by the hilt to Rolfe, who readily caught it.
Pocahontas almost gasped as the full weight of the order sank in. She saw Rolfe’s Adam’s apple bob in apprehension. It was clear he had never killed anyone before. He held his face firm, but she could tell his skin was gathering a thin sheet of sweat.
After he got over the initial shock, Rolfe quickly and loudly cleared his throat. “Right, then!” He deftly spun the sword around in his hand, bringing 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, unable to stop herself from 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 most 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 Rolfe sucked in a breath.
The beaten captive’s eyes shot open, and he looked directly at Pocahontas. The sailor had to look her up and down a few times before recognition dawned in his visage.
She gritted her teeth in fear 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.
Pocahontas gasped, as Rolfe turned his head and his eyes instantly met hers. The man’s green orbs expressed volumes that she knew he could not say aloud. He would not let this man expose her. If he had to be cruel in order to do that, he would be.
Members of the crew chuckled at the show of violence, and Rolfe turned away from Pocahontas to Captain Bleud. “Forgive me, Captain. 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. Rolfe yelped and jumped back. He immediately brought his free hand to his heaving chest to still his racing heart as he stared down at the prisoner. The English sailor in front of him teetered on his knees as a long rivulet of dark liquid oozed down his forehead. A few delayed seconds later the man fell facedown to the reddened planks.
Bleud drew his brows together in discontentment. “Who did that?” he snapped, peering from pirate to pirate looking for the guilty party.
A voice came from the crowd, “Sorry, Cap’n. Me finger slipped.” It was a dirty blond man with a fake foot. Suddenly—THUD!—a pirate directly across from the murdered sailor hit the ground as well.
Pocahontas’s jaw hung open. Two men killed by one bullet, and the Captain still appeared mostly nonchalant—even though one of the victims was his own man. If anything, the development seemed like an annoyance to him. He turned to the swarthy man at his side. “Bosun, three lashes for Goldilocks.”
The blond pirate’s shoulders fell slightly. “Well, alright, then…” he murmured pathetically as Bleud turned back to the crew.
“Alrighty, men, toss ‘em overboard,” Bleud 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.”
Rolfe’s shock at the unexpected turn of events dissipated upon hearing this. “Does that mean we’re in, Captain?” he nearly stuttered out.
“Aye, I need a replacement for ol’ Stump-Foot there anywho,” Bleud said, gesturing to the dead pirate as the other crewmen chucked the body over the railing. “Ye’ll be doing the riggings.”
Rolfe felt his stomach twist. The order made him extremely nervous, as the rigging job was the most dangerous on the ship. As Rolfe had a terrible fear of heights, it would not be easy for him at all. But if working the rigging 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 assured himself, though the fear churned like a miniature maelstrom in the pit of his stomach. He gathered himself outwardly and gave Bleud a firm nod. “Aye, sir.”
“As for the Injun,” Bleud continued. “We lost our Cabin Boy a fortnight back. We’ll be needing a replacement, and he’s just the right age.”
Rolfe felt instant relief. Cabin Boys had more menial labors, and their jobs tended to be safer, though what had happened to the previous individual, he could only guess. “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 venture? Young Tomtom has yet to see much of the known world and I’m sure the curiosity is killing him,” the Englishman continued.
“We’re heading down south past Florida way to hijack Spanish ships. They are rumored to carry great quantities of gold from the southernmost colonies. We captured this vessel for need of another ship, in order to ambush the Spaniards from both sides. That, and the crew got a bit crowded on the old Draw. Thereafter we head to Tortuga for wenches and rum!” Bleud cried, receiving a loud cheer from his crew. Pocahontas raised an eyebrow, unable to decipher the meaning of the word ‘wenches.’
Before the boisterous crew even quieted down, Bleud turned and started shouting orders. “Flame, I’m making you a temp captain of the new ship. I want half of you men back on the Draw in less than a minute. Move out!”
“Aye, Captain,” exclaimed the crew in unison.
“Aye, Bleud,” echoed the Quartermaster. When Bleud and half the crew swung back over to the Draw, Flame turned around and began shouting the orders. “Riggers up to the riggings. Unfurl the sails. I can feel a favorable wind blowing. Hurry it up! Last straggler gets a flogging,” Flame announced sharply, just before he winked at John with a wicked grin. Pocahontas did not fail to notice Rolfe’s eyes widen just before he turned and bolted for the riggings. The Englishman could run faster than a young buck from a wolf’s jaws when his skin was on the line.
“Tomtom?” Pocahontas suddenly heard Flame call her fake name, and she turned to see him holding a mop and bucket. He tossed both items to her. “Swab the deck free of all the gore. I want to see my reflection in it by daybreak,” he instructed, earning an instantaneous nod from her. Then he disappeared to instruct the others.
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The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe