Chapter Five

    Cassius stood at the edge of the clearing and drove temporary stakes into the ground. The clearing was on a rise in an area of deep forest, a tract of land that was being considered to be clear-cut for the following year's crop.

    At dawn on that Monday, the day after the Big-To-Do, Hoke had accompanied Cassius to the fields. As they walked, Cassius had listened to Hoke grumbling aloud, "Goddamned Jarvis can't read French," and "Arrogant prig," and "I'm the one introduced Pompous Pilate to Victor Hugo." Once in the tobacco fields, Hoke informed Mr. Nettle that Cassius would handpick men to build fences and an enclosure in a location away from the barns to conceal the livestock. Cassius had chosen Joseph among the men he knew to be fluent with hammer and saw. Big Gus protested vehemently, going so far as to drive his hand into a burlap sack to raise a handful of wriggling hornworms, as if this constituted proof that Joseph was indispensable to the counterattack on the blight. He misjudged Hoke's tolerance for confrontation and was promptly silenced by Mr. Nettle. Big Gus closed his fingers into a fist, squeezing hornworms that popped and oozed in his grip. Hoke looked away, Mr. Nettle glared, and Cassius concluded that the Driver had severely blundered. As Cassius led the men out of the fields, he saw Big Gus waving his arms in the air, berating Abram.

    It was unnecessary for Hoke Howard to tell Cassius of the need for haste; Cassius had already anticipated this move and by daybreak had designed in his head an enclosure that could be built quickly and strengthened later. Hoke informed him that the livestock would arrive at the clearing by mid-morning. Cassius cordoned off an area with stakes and rope, and at the arrival of cattle and sheep, he compelled them into that area and continued to build around them. The hogs would quickly follow, delivered by wagons. The sound of men and hammers alarmed the beasts and they huddled behind ropes while Cassius built and re-roped to open new space as individual sections of fence were completed.

    He returned to the quarters at sundown to learn that Hoke's urgency had been astute. Captain Whitacre and his empty wagons had rolled up in the middle afternoon and requisitioned a patriotic percentage of their commodities. Hoke had not been able to hide all his grain and other dry goods in time, but Whitacre's primary goal—to reduce Sweetsmoke's supply of fresh meat—had been thwarted, and he loaded thin, weak, and lame livestock into his wagons as well as into the Sweetsmoke buckboard, which he also requisitioned. Frustrated by their meager gain, Whitacre's men targeted the high- stepping bantam rooster who frequented the yard outside the big house. The house servants described the clumsy, off-balance soldiers in full-bore pursuit of the quick cock, who after being cornered more than once, feinted and dodged his way to freedom. Children on the lane mimicked the rooster's moves as their friends imitated the stumbling soldiers. In the end, Whitacre had moved out with less than a quarter of his wagons full, wearing the expression of one who had been obliged to eat an apple acrawl with worms.

    The work of the day had been intense and fulfilling, and Cassius had taken satisfaction in its accomplishment. This rare moment of personal value led him to seek out Jenny and apologize, as he was certain, in his charitable humor, that he would surely salvage their friendship. Cassius found Jenny pulling weeds from between a row of cabbage plants and emerging carrots in the vegetable garden behind the cabin she shared with her sister, her sister's husband, their children, and a blond dog. When she saw him, an expression warped her face that checked his approach. She bent back to the weeds, but a residue of his determination drove him on, even as his prepared apology slipped away. She whirled to face him, eyes blunt with fury.

    You make God angry! Jenny hissed. That little girl's a jinx, she's bad luck!

    He was stunned motionless.

    Who do you think you are? said Jenny.

    After years of friendship and intimacy, the Jenny before him was a stranger. As difficult as it was to define what they had together, it had brought him comfort, as she had accepted him during his complicated times. An invisible wall was now between them, as if the past had never occurred. The feel of her breasts and belly under his hand, the smoky-sweet smell of her breath, her fingertips drifting along his neck into his hair, all these memories became suspect, unreal. Their past now joined other good times of his life that had been crushed or undermined, as if the real world could accommodate only pain and misery and contempt.

    Cassius walked slowly back to his cabin. He stood before the cold hearth and stared at the lightly charred bricks. He attempted to clear his mind, and engaged in the trivial chores of everyday existence. He lit the kerosene lantern from the carpentry shed. He removed his shoes and hung his shirt on a nail hook. He inspected his rations and chose hardtack biscuit and bacon. He ate without tasting, and when he was finished, he tore a segment of tobacco from the oldest drying leaf that hung off the rafters. He rolled the tobacco and without thinking wrapped a small bit of string around its end, then changed his mind and set the fresh cigar aside for another time. Finally, he went for the books he had hidden when Andrew had come to wake him. He brought out The Iliad. He opened it and found that the paper that had been revealed when Andrew dropped the book was in fact three sheets folded so they would not be discovered.

    He read the list of names on the first page, realizing halfway down that he read only white names. These were clients to whom she gave guidance as conjurer and seer. Beside each name was a series of dates and times, appointments. On the second page was a continuation of white names and among them he found Hoke Howard. The third page was arranged differently with only the names of blacks; beside the names were prescribed herbs. He saw Mam Rosie's name, along with a list of a prodigious number of herbs. This was not surprising, as Rose kept a stock of remedies for the children and others. He noted Pet, Savilla, and Banjo George's names grouped together under Mam Rosie, arranged by location to simplify delivery. He saw Maryanne's name, and he remembered that she had initially come to Emoline as a buyer. Toward the bottom, he saw Weyman's name and almost laughed out loud. He knew that Weyman would never admit to any infirmity, much less one that would require an herbalist, yet here was proof. Cassius ran his finger to her prescribed herbal remedy and saw "jalap." From the hours spent watching Emoline prepare her remedies, he knew jalap bindweed was difficult to grow in Virginia's climate, as it thrived in heat. It was not unusual for her to grow special herbs for clients who required regular dosing. The root of jalap was used for purging, often for children, but had to be disguised with something sweet as its taste was unpleasant. Cassius diagnosed Weyman: His friend was recurrently constipated.

    He turned back to the second page, to the name Hoke Howard. The father of Richard Justice might have had cause to visit his former slave. Cassius struggled to imagine them as lovers in the recent past. If that were the case, then it was not impossible that his old master had committed a crime of passion; were Cassius to become the instrument of her justice, Hoke might be his prey. Hoke's last visit had not coincided with her death. He had seen her on the previous day, the 29th of June. It was not impossible that he had discovered she was a spy for the Union. It was not impossible that he had considered it his patriotic duty to end her treason, and it was also not impossible that Hoke had returned unexpectedly on the following day in order to cover his tracks. Cassius allowed pleasant thoughts of revenge to wash over him, but soon brought his mind back to rigor, because this scenario made no sense. Why would a planter bother to cover his tracks? Even if it was discovered he was a murderer, who would hold accountable one of the wealthiest planters in the county for the death of a black woman? Beyond that, Hoke had been deeply moved when he informed Cassius of her death, and that did not suggest a murderer. Cassius knew it was unwise to leap to conclusions, as emotional, half-reasoned explanations rarely resembled truth. Cassius's mind moved to John-Corey Howard's demise at Manassas, the very moment that had supposedly instigated the perception of ill luck that now permeated the plantation. It was not impossible, and perhaps likely, that Hoke Howard was visiting Emoline not for sexual favors but to commune with the spirit of his son, in private consolation.

    Cassius recognized that he wanted Hoke to be the murderer. It fit his fantasies and completed the portrait he had painstakingly created of the man. Reality, even sanity, crept back in. Hoke Howard had controlled Emoline's life for years and had granted her freedom. He had visited her, according to the folded sheet of paper, numerous times in the recent past. This last visit was nothing more than coincidence.

    He perused the top two sheets of paper and found an appointment scheduled for June 30, the day Emoline died. Sally Ann Crowe was to come in the afternoon. Abigail Dryden was scheduled to meet her the day after she had died, on the first.

    All the information swirled and he needed to clear his mind. He knew if he moved on to another subject, the thinking would continue in his subjacent mind, and in time ideas would sort themselves out and be revealed to him.

    He sat in his cabin listening to the busy hands doing night chores. He also had chores, but nothing urgent, so he continued to sit. He reached for the rolled cigar, but again stopped himself, not wanting it, just wanting something, and then he realized he still had the book in his hand. He looked at the spine. The Iliad of Homer.

    Cassius opened the book and flipped through the title page and table of contents to reach Book One. Emoline had called The Iliad a book to savor. He now wanted distraction, and the smell of pages and ink brought back the joy of learning to read.

    The Iliad. At the top of the page, a paragraph described incidents that he came to understand were to play out in the body of the text in rhyme.

    Cassius read the short narrative.

    The descriptive paragraph went on to explain that an argument erupted between Achilles and Agamemnon over the two captives. As it was Cassius's first exposure to the story, he did not immediately grasp the full meaning of the introduction. He began to read the main body of the story, presented in verse, but the words "beautiful captives" stayed with him, hovering as if on the fringe of the page as he read. The language was difficult, but he persisted and soon discovered the rhythm. Here was a man named Atrides, with kingly pride. He glanced back at the introduction. No one named Atrides was mentioned there. He read deeper into the verse and became convinced that Atrides was Agamemnon.

    A simple fact, and yet Cassius found it curious. In this world, men had more than one name. And of a sudden he knew he had heard this before, his mind pulling up Emoline reading aloud The Odyssey. No surprise there, he had not been fully conscious then, in a wounded state of body and mind. The god referred to in the opening was first called Smintheus in the verse, then Phoebus, and finally Apollo.

    He closed the book on his thumb, brow furrowed. He, Cassius, had only one name. If he had to identify himself away from the plantation, he was obliged to say he was Cassius Howard, which informed any stranger that Cassius was owned by a planter named Howard. Emoline Justice had been Emoline Howard. She needed her manumission papers before she could choose a name for herself. What luxury, to possess extra names. What luxury to know your god through many names. It suggested depth and layers of personality.

    Even the god had personality, and never had Cassius imagined a god with moods.

    He reopened the book and read on.

    The poetic text expanded and elaborated the paragraph of prose that opened the story. A hero named Achilles had taken captive two young women. The father of one of the young women, a priest named Chryses, had come to Agamemnon to beg for his daughter's return. Chryses was a Trojan or at least a Trojan ally, therefore an enemy to Greece. Specific phrases in the text caught Cassius's interest.

    For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain

    His captive daughter from the victor's chain.

    The victor's chain. Cassius was intimate with the victor's chain. He had been held by that chain for his entire life.

    The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain,

    We share with justice, as with toil we gain;

    But to resume what e'er thy avarice craves

    (That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.

    Chryses's daughter, Chryseis, was a captive of Agamemnon. Chryses's daughter was now the slave of Agamemnon. Cassius read on, feeling a wave of excitement. Soon he uncovered another reference:

    Do you, young warriors, hear by age advise.

    Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave;

    Cassius again closed the book on his thumb and gazed off in wonder. Agamemnon the king had refused the priest Chryses's plea and sent him away. That was not unexpected. But a great thought had formed in Cassius's mind. If the priest Chryses's daughter was a slave, then was she also black? And if she were black, the priest Chryses might well be black as well. And if Chryses was black, were all of the Trojans black?

    There was no one he dared ask, for any such question would reveal the fact that he could read and reason. He could not brand himself a dangerous man in such an open way. He would have to reckon this out for himself. He read on with hunger, to discover that the old priest's prayer to Apollo on behalf of his slave daughter brought astounding results.

    Thus Chryses pray'd.-the favouring power attends,

    Favoring power, that would be Apollo who attends, answering Chryses's prayer—

    And from Olympus' lofty tops descends.

    Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;

    Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound.

    Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,

    And gloomy darkness roll'd about his head.

    The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow,

    And hissing fly the feather'd fates below.

    On mules and dogs the infection first began;

    And last, the vengeful arrows fix'd in man.

    For nine long nights, through all the dusky air,

    The pyres, thick-flaming, shot a dismal glare.

    Cassius was amazed. This was Apollo. A god, breathing revenge. Using his deadly bow to shoot vengeful arrows. Infecting the Greeks. Cassius struggled to wrap his mind around what he had read, fearing that he had somehow misunderstood, or that the words might rearrange themselves on the page and reveal that he had been taken in by a magnificent jest. Apollo, a god, had attacked the Greeks, spreading infection on behalf of a slave. For nine days. He attacked dogs and mules and then men. Breathing revenge. For a slave!

    Cassius sat back and considered this astonishing thing.

    It had been clear to him for some time that the God of the Bible was in favor of slavery. The masters spoke of it, and quoted the Bible to prove it. Both white and black preachers preached it, admonishing the hands to abide by the will of the masters so that God would be pleased with them. And what was it in the Bible that exhorted this position? As he understood it, it began with the story of Ham, son of Noah, Ham who was supposed to be father of all blacks, Ham who had committed the crime of seeing his own father naked. Cassius had read and reread that portion of the Bible and had been outraged to discover that the evidence for Ham's blackness was not on the page. It appeared to Cassius that the planters had manufactured this concept for no other reason than to explain Cassius's lack of worth. He did not even try to understand how seeing your father naked could be a crime so heinous as to condemn an entire race of human beings. It would take a white man to understand that.

    He had then looked for other Biblical evidence that might offer whites a reason to believe God was on the side of the planters. The most obvious appeared in a passage he had memorized, Ephesians 6:5, Servants, be obedient to those who are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in sincerity of heart, as to Christ. That passage was read aloud in sermons, word for word. As a boy, Cassius had liked the words, not fully understanding them but warmly believing that he was somehow protected by the words. Even as a man, on the rare occasions when he attended services, Cassius would unconsciously mouth the words along with the preacher. But Cassius no longer needed to accept white man's sermons on faith, because Cassius could read. A further examination of Ephesians suggested a very good reason for the planters to wish to keep blacks from that vile habit. The white preachers may have read Ephesians 6:5 accurately and aloud, but they did not read aloud any later passages from Ephesians, conveniently ignoring Ephesians 6:9, And to you, masters, do the same things to them, giving up threatening, knowing that your own Master also is in heaven, and there is no partiality with Him.

    Perhaps God's intention was not that blacks were meant to be slaves. And yet, when all was said and done, slaves they were. As they were incessantly informed, God was all-powerful and all- seeing. If God was all-powerful, then it followed that God preferred blacks to be slaves. Cassius drummed his fingers, another thought stealing in. Perhaps the power of God was controlled by the white man, and they had bent God's intentions to accomplish white needs. He let that thought go, not knowing how the idea that God could be manipulated might apply to his oppressed life, as that suggested that if he knew a way to contact God, he (and He) might remedy the situation. Certainly he had heard the argument that slavery was their test on earth, and when life came to an end and they reached that other place, they would be rewarded. But no white man seemed inclined to suggest that he would happily share Heaven with his black slaves. Cassius had often wondered how his life of bondage would work to his ultimate benefit.

    The Iliad gave him an alternative. The Iliad presented a different god altogether. Apollo could not be ignored, not even by white men. Apollo, with his vengeful bow, actually freed slaves. This brought Cassius a small smile.

    He realized with a shock that the feelings he had for the God of the Bible were similar to his feelings for Hoke Howard: dread and relief. Dread because of the absolute power Hoke had over him, relief when any approval or kind gesture allowed him to feel somehow worthy and therefore hopeful. Finally he wondered if the God of the Bible also experienced crushing responsibility.

    Cassius stood up and felt a string of spider silk across his forehead. He tried to wipe it away, but after his hand had crossed his brow, he still felt the tiny pull. He wiped again, this time with more determination, and now felt spider silk on his ears and across the backs of his hands. Suddenly he was doing a childish dance, rapidly brushing both hands from his neck to his nose to clean the feeling off his skin. And when the feeling was finally gone, in the ensuing moment of quiet he thought about how Quashee risked her reputation by spying to learn about him, and he thought about Emoline who risked punishment to teach a slave to read. He thought about Apollo bringing plague to free a slave, and he thought about the strange fact that the life of an enslaved black was worth more than the life of a freed black, and he knew as he had known for a number of days now that he would hunt for her killer. It was the danger of recognizing that he had a choice. Friday he would return to town without an official pass to see who might have an appointment to meet Emoline the spy.