“To kill us,” the old Indian muttered.
Iosco continued, “Christians forgive those who do them harm, so I am going to do what a Christian would; I am going to let all the pale-faces go away, and not harm them. The son of Manteo the Christian will be Christian too. Will Ranteo help him?”
Ranteo looked more surprised than if the skies had fallen. Then he walked over, and stood looking at Virginia for some time; coming back he said, “In that dark night long ago, when the child crouched on the rock to save Ranteo, as a dove might try to save an eagle, the pale lady spoke, and Ranteo promised to be the friend to her child,” he said, pointing to Virginia, “and he will keep that promise now.”
“Thinks Ranteo that Owaissa must go too?” Iosco asked. The old man shook his head. “It is not safe for a dove to be with hungry foxes. The white dove must go,” he said.
An hour later a little group stood on the bank of the James River, known then as the Powhatan flu, on which they were to fly to safety. Iosco was to go with them till daybreak, when he was to return, and send Ranteo to guide them the rest of the way to Powhatan, on the Youghianund flu. They were to conceal themselves during the day. The moon was far on its way, but it smiled on them as they glided swiftly over the smooth water.