CROATOAN: Part V Death of a Soldier

By James Olds

I am an ardent student of American history, as a matter of fact, that most colonists came here chasing a dream or more strongly we came chasing the essence of love, either in search of or escape from. This, then begs a closer examination of what this term "love" truly is. If we take the Biblical description of "love", which is probably what most

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brilliant Books Literary
• Release date: Feb 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889450542

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 by James Olds.

ISBN 979-8-88945-053-5 (softcover)

ISBN 979-8-88945-055-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88945-054-2 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America.

Brilliant Books Literary

137 Forest Park Lane Thomasville

North Carolina 27360 USA

Preface

Istarted writing this book, maybe not for the standard reasons that a man might write a book, but, you see most of the men that I have had the fortune or misfortune of knowing in my life seem to be uncomfortable in discussing, even in the most casual of terms this basic concept of love. Perhaps it infringes or their concept of manhood, or for a myriad of different excuses. But, I have come to learn that there is one simple fact in life, we all seek to find our own concept of love. Even this begs the question, how do we, individualy, define love? By this very question, I don’t mean the preverbeal one night stand but rather the true definition of love as only our heart and our very soul can define. In my own personal quest I find that the 1990’s Bryan Adams song Everything, I do, I do it for you probably professes everything I mean by love. All my life I have searched for that one special person that we could truly wrap or embrace this moniker on. After three marriages, which I am not proud of, each time I thought I had finally found true person. One, in fact after eight and a half years of marriage and two children, I came to find did not even know the color of my eyes. After another marriage, I truly felt that I had found that one special person that shared this feeling with me. This is the person that I started writing this book for. I actually started the first chapter over several times and perhaps the first chapter, as one reviewer told me was rather academic but I felt that it lead in was necessary to present the proper image or tone for the remainder of the book. But, to my dismay, when I actually got about halfway through, I presented it to that one special person as a gift thinking that she would find it as precious as I did and what I was hoping for. When she did not even open it under the excuse of you know I don’t read anything unless I have to, I began to understand that my search continued. It was not until I was diagnosed with MS (Multiple Sclerosis) and lost even the ability to stand, that I relized that my efforts over the years was all one sided. This shocking development did not come bursting on to the screen until late one night, around 3 AM to be more exact, that this presumably the love of my life attempted to murder me with a pillow over my face! Now, to an ordinary person this may not sound that bad but to a quadriplegic, this is just as threatening as a gun or knife! At any rate, all of that can be for a different discussion.

In an attempt to describe my own personal search for love, I chose a part of American history that I fear may be lost on many. As an ardent student of American history and native to the Tidewater region of southeastern Virginia, I have had a long fascination when it comes to the issue of the lost colony. After numerous visits to the site, it appears to be most strange and intriguing that the colonists who were from the sixteenth-century urban England would place their strongest weapon, a ship’s cannon, pointing out to sea, rather than inland to provide some form of defense against the presence of hundreds of Native Americans that most textbooks fail to mention.

At any rate, as the book suggests, my search for true love continues, even though I am now confined to a wheelchair. I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I had in writing it!

Chapter One

…death of a soldier

"T he two lovers had patiently waited for nearly a fortnight for this amorous interlude. Carefully planning the secret rendezvous at his retreat south of Kent they had been in the throws of passion for most of the afternoon. Near dusk and only after making a disaster of the available bed linen they took a momentary break in celestial delights. The Lady Throckmorton had gone off to search for an area to refresh her self whilst Sir Rawley took the opportunity to catch up on some sorely unfinished official business.

When she re-entered the room, he was sitting with quill in hand at a small secretarial near the foot off the bed. She approached and playfully plopped down on the edge of the bed, just within reaching distance of her prey. Although they were already considered advanced in their years, a younger passion flowed between them.

Darling she said with the sweetness of honey in her voice. Which surprised her at first, giving away to a shy smile even when it came forth from the lips. It was to her surprise that she could muster such utterance after tumbling for at least two turns of the sand glass. Nonetheless, she brushed it off as she started to run her milky-white fingers through his hair, when are you coming to bed? Quite honestly me love, me thinks you can find a better place to poke your quill than that bloody ink well.

Just a trifle my love, I shan’t be much longer.

From where he was sitting he sealed his words by laying his quill down and leaned his head back so it just barely rest on her scantly visible bosom. He kept his eyes closed for a moment to slip into tranquility as she stroked his hair. Her soothing touch was a delightful way to close out a day. He could smell her, fresh and clean with a slight touch of perfume. Ah, some day I may make these arrangements more permanent. He thought to him self as he held still soaking in her closeness.

Come, my love she said after a while with an almost purr on her lips. Come to bed.

He re-opened his eyes and leaned forward. Yes my love, I shall. First, though, I must complete this dispatch to Drake. Now be a good little wench and refresh our goblets, eh what?

She released her hold from his hair and stood daintily, giving a playful curtsey with the fringes of her nightgown, she responded. Yes me Lordship. Her turn was quick and with a calculated flip of her long drawn back hair it brushed against his head covering his eyes, causing him to loose sight of the parchment and quill. It was just enough, not to provide aggravation, but to let him know she was there waiting…

Her hair slowly released its grip as she moved away. Smiling, he went back to his task.

…and in conclusion Sir Drake, all preparations seem to be in good order for the completion of our operational privateer platform. In good hast send forth the command for Gilbert’s re-supply of the garrison and White to begin preparations of further civilian settlement expeditions to the north into the land of the Chesepians.

In Her Majesty’s Service,

Sir W. Rawley

The Lady Throckmorton returned carrying two goblets filled with a rich dark burgundy. She placed his goblet down on the secretarial just as he blew the remains of the dusting powder from his finished product. After gaining assurances that the ink was dry, he carefully folded the parchment. Pushing his index finger ring into the sealing wax, he applied his seal and mark to the dispatch, exclaiming, there now, all nice and tidy, the Queen’s business be done.

The Queen, the Queen, all for the Queen, isn’t it me pet? questioned Lady Throckmorton as she placed her goblet down on a near by bed table and threw her self openly across the plush bed. It was just enough to reveal her pinkish white breast from under her clothing. Blimey, the Beast be off in all Her glory on holiday, yet She still possess you to the point where you forsake this?

Caution be prudence me Lady. The Queen is off, this is true but these stone walls retain what they hear.

He picked up his goblet and took in a large swallow of its warm contents. As he did so a strand of hair fell out of place and lay across his cheek. Using his billowy blouse sleeve he wiped away the remains of the wine from his lips and across his cheek to clear the annoying strand, as he studied his prey.

Thou tempts me mistress as if possessed from another world. As a mere mortal man, how do I resist?

Resist is only a word; nay, a mere thought subject to debate amongst the learned. What I offer, Sir Knight is not open for such.

Open, me Lady? Pray now, if not open for debate, what may it be open for?

Smiling with anticipation of what may come from this verbal joust, she arranged herself in such manner as to present a more alluring target. In order to continue the connotations she responded by saying So pretentious for an adventurer and Knight!

Aye, me Lady, but is not pretension a word open for debate?

Smiling once again the Lady Throckmorton answered, Aye me Lord, pretension is a word and if ye wish to debate I will find yet another means to quench my thirst.

So, you now thirst?

Aye, a thirst; a thirst for love and all that it brings. She said with a laugh. Throwing her head back, she continued. A thirst so mighty that it consumes me. A thirst that possesses me to where I think I am to burst; burst for a thirst.

What, he started as he moved closer to the bed where she laid, prey tell, what matter of nectar may quench such a thirst, me Lady; that thirst would possess you so?

The answer he received was simple, yet its message driven home without question.

You’re quill, me Lordship.

Tossing the goblet without care, a metal clang answered his gesture as the goblet struck the adjacent wall. Leaping into bed the lovers embraced briefly amidst the ruffled bed sheets. Breaking free momentarily from his grip, she rolled over and blew out the candle.

H ow can this be? We have been at this endeavor for nearly a year and still we have inadequate vessels to support this mission exclaimed the Duke as he tossed the latest status report across his already cluttered desk. The desk itself had been shipped in from his estate in northern Spain prior to his arrival. Taking six stout ship masons to carry it in, the desk was solid as stone. Made from the finest of Spanish Walnut from his northern home, it cast a magnificent shadow in the otherwise sparse Master Shipbuilders’ office at the Royal docks of Cadiz.

Standing in the middle of the room, as required in the presences of the Don, the Master Ship Builder was obviously nervous. Sweat dripped from his hair and down the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from the left side to the right. He knew nothing of the Don and had not the pleasure of his acquaintance until this morning. All he knew was that he had the Royal Mandate and that was enough.

Being of simple roots himself the Master Ship Builder took no pleasure in the invasion of his office by this landed gentleman. He himself had risen, through hard back-breaking work, from a position, first as a lowly laborer on the docks to his present after many years of service. The office had been bestowed upon him by the late Santa Cruz in appreciation for those years of service and dedication to quality. He had known the late Santa Cruz and often worked closely with him. When the notice of his death reached the docks he took it unusually hard. Now, I get to have this gentleman tell me my business?

I see no plans for the construction of additional ships or the procurement of sufficient provisions the Don continued ranting. Throwing his arms into the air the Don turned his chair around so that the back of which now faced the Master Ship Builder. Continuing his professions of gloom the Don continued as if he were speaking to an unseen friend. "How does his Majesty expect me to sail an invasion fleet substantial enough to seize a country the size