It was not a house built by a normal Englishman, that at least was clear. It was a domed-ceilinged square hut, roofed and walled with leaves, floored with woven mats and deerskins spread on the earth. In the centre of the hut was a small fire with a tiny heart of red which kept the hut warm and filled it with light, acrid smoke. On the walls were hung the skins of animals, and a basket half-woven, and other baskets bulging with goods. The only light filtered in through the hole in the roof above the fire, and flickered at the skins which curtained the door. John swung his feet down to the floor and took two cautious steps to go out.

At once a brown-skinned child popped his head inside the room, took one look at John standing, and, without moving, without taking his eyes from the Englishman, opened his mouth and let out a yell. John froze to the spot, heard running footsteps and then a woman stood behind the child, her hand on his shoulder, and another woman behind her, poised with a bow raised and an arrow on the string.

John dropped to sit on the bed, spread his hands, tried to smile.

‘Hello,’ he said. He nodded, trying to look reassuring, peaceable. ‘Hello.’

The two women nodded in reply, saying nothing. Remembering the weeks of silence from Suckahanna, John did not make the assumption that they could not understand him, although their eyes remained blank and black.

‘Thank you for bringing me here. The canoe was too strong for me. I was trying to get to my friend’s house – Bertram Hobert – but the current swept me away.’

Again they nodded, saying nothing.

‘Is Jamestown anywhere near here?’ John asked. He wondered if he had been swept far below the town, down to the edge of the sea perhaps. ‘Jamestown? Anywhere near? Jamestown?’

The woman with the arrow on the string smiled briefly. ‘Nowhere near,’ she said. She spoke with a strange Welsh lilt to her voice.

‘You speak English!’ John exclaimed.

She did not nod or smile, nor did she release the tension on the bowstring.

‘I am a peaceful man,’ John said. ‘I was trying to farm outside my house, on my land beside the river. I went hungry, and I burned my hand. I was going to find my friend to get help. I am a peaceful man. I am looking for an Indian girl, an Indian woman. Suckahanna.’

Neither of the women responded to the name.

‘I want to make her my wife,’ John said, plunging in. ‘If she will have me. I have come back to Virginia –’ He broke off. It occurred to him that perhaps in their ignorance they did not know the name of their country. ‘I have come back here, from my home, to be with her.’