John Smith, very much alive after all, was just out of three weeks in jail where he had been put for fancying himself king of Virginia. Because he should show his gratitude, he thought that England should show hers, and that the latter was good business, he wrote a "little book" to the Queen telling her how things were. Now, for the first time he told her of the rescue, hitherto kept secret by his discretion. Queen Anne just must do the right thing by Powhatan's girl.
He wrote of how, when he had but eighteen men with him, Pocahontas came to warn him of her father's plot, and "the dark night could not affright her from coming through the irksome woods and with watered eyes, gave me intelligence with her best advice to escape his fury, which had he known, he had surely slain her. Jamestown with her wild train, she as freely frequented as her father's habitation; and during the time, two or three years, she, next under God, was still the instrument to preserve this colony from death, famine, and utter confusion."
The queen was duly persuaded, commanding, "Bring her on." All the court was as keen as the people in the street to get a close-up view of the tamed Pocahontas and her wild retinue. Fastidious Anne saw that these kept their distance, but she offered her plump, white, jewelled hand to Pocahontas.
"What do you mean, Mr. Rolfe," King James scolded John, "by marrying a princess of the blood, you, a mere commoner?"
Royal society tittered behind its hands. Was the king pulling poor John's leg, or was he really jealous of his share of Powhatan's realm? After all, John Smith had been put in jail recently. Rolfe had imported quite a fortune in tobacco, and he had been no fool in marrying Powhatan's daughter who did him honor as Lady Delaware presented her.
"Captain Smith wrote me of your indispensable aid to our forlorn colony, my Lady Rebecca, and I thank you for all my people. For myself, I would say, now that I see how pretty you are, I wonder that John did not speak for himself."
"I was a child when I saved the brave Captain," murmured Pocahontas modestly.
She felt here like the princess whose fairy-tale had come true in climactic palace scenes. There was more of a kind to come because she was now the fashion—having her portrait painted, and numerous engagements sought after. The Bishop of London gave a masquerade ball in her honor, at which she danced with court celebrities. The Bishop, John King, whom Queen Elizabeth had called the "king of preachers," never honored a lady more. Her brother-in-law Tacomoco looked on with more pride than Rolfe, who was too much of a provincial Puritan to enjoy court circles, especially those at which he was improperly snubbed. He was repeatedly confounded by his wife's poise. They went to "Twelfth Night," other theatrical occasions, and one masqued ball after another. Pocahontas's acquiline features were as inscrutable as Mona Lisa's. Powdered and painted, dressed up like an English lady in small tailored hats, and billowing swishing skirts, she kept her face the very mask of fashion, concealing its Indian thoughts.
"The Masque of Christmas" was attended by King James, Queen Anne and Pocahontas. There the queen danced with the Earl of Buckingham and the Earl of Montgomery and Pocahontas had her noble partners too.
In February she would attend the "Masque of Lovers Made Men" as would the King and Queen. The Lord Mayor would be there as well as the Duke of Lenox and Lord Hay, the entertainment being in honor of the French ambassador.