and to the beasts of the earth: and the fowls shall summer upon them,

and all the beasts of the earth shall winter upon them.

He was breathless now and looked up at the unmoving indigo sun. Then Nat Turner clawed through the bushes in front of him and stepped out onto the edge of the waters of Cabin Pond.

The sad-eyed girl, Charlotte, was waiting there for him.

Chapter 52.

Sad-eyed Charlotte-she was tiny, not much more than a girl. "I know where they meet. I know where they go-Nathaniel Francis and his friends. You can find them at the still on Sunday nights, drinking at Waller's." She pleaded with him. "Let me help. Let me go with you." She had overheard Sam and Dred speak of the revolt; she always kept her ears open. She knew the meeting place. "I've been waiting for the sign."

"This is no battle for women. We will all most likely die."

"I am already dead, Prophet Nat. Don't women want to be free? Don't women suffer enough to fight?" Charlotte cried as she confessed to him the things that had been done to her.

"We will come back to the Francis place for the rest of his heirs. It is the judgment of the Lord; no heirs are to be left alive."

"I can help you," she told him. "I can make your way clear. And Mother Easter and I can make provision for you."

He patted her head. She bore too much burden for such a small girl. But her eyes said she had already seen too much, been hurt too much. Her dress poked out in front of her. Charlotte lifted her head in defiance. "No child of mine will die a slave. Please. Let me help."

He walked with her to the clearing where others were waiting. So many betrayals. So much heartbreak. "Judgment will begin with the house of the Lord," he told them. "No heirs can be left alive. We must destroy the root." Nat Turner knew the faces and he knew their stories-their suffering was his-they were one. Too many beatings and too many brinings. He looked at sad-eyed Charlotte. Too many rapes and violations. He looked around at all the men. Too much cruelty-whippings, amputations for missing quotas-and too many deaths.

"We are not murderers! We are innocent men! We are men of peace forced to take up arms against our brothers to save our lives. They have forced our hands."

A man in rags, his head bowed, spoke up. "Is there no other way?"

For years Nat Turner had pleaded the same thing himself. He looked at the speaker and then at the other men. "What haven't we tried? Haven't we prayed? Haven't we begged? How many times have we asked them, begged them to turn? What else could we do to reconcile?

"How many times have we prayed for a deliverer? G.o.d has heard our prayers. Look at the sign." He pointed at the indigo sun. "We are to be our own deliverers! We are G.o.d's hands here on earth." Nat Turner looked back at the man. "We cannot turn back now. No matter what happens, we are victors.

"G.o.d has decreed that the time for mercy is over. If we do nothing, they will continue to kill us. They kill us daily, wrapping themselves around us like vines-choking our wives, our sons, and our daughters, our dreams, our faith, and our land.

"Like them, we are all children of G.o.d. They are our brothers, but they have asked our Father to deny us. They show us no respect. They say we are mindless, heartless." Nat Turner looked at Hark and Yellow Nelson, the preacher. "They say we are animals who deserve nothing. Animals." He looked at Will, Sam, and Dred. "But G.o.d is our Father and we are His sons. We are men of honor, and where He leads we will follow-even if He leads us to death. It is a reasonable sacrifice for our freedom, for our children, for our seed who will follow."

Then Will stepped into the clearing. Nat Turner looked at Sam and Dred, also captives of Nathaniel Francis. They shook their heads; neither of them had told Will.

Nat Turner had seen Will when he preached on Sundays. He was a silent, solitary man, but Nat Turner had heard his story-the loss of his family, of his wife and little daughter. He had seen the war on Will's face-the war between anger and hurt. He knew that Will, like many others, was looking for a way out, for deliverance, a way to make the pain go away-even death-his own death or the death of others. "Why are you here?"

"I am as willing to die," Will said, "as anyone." Nat Turner looked into the eyes of the Death Angel. It was settled then. Will's presence was the last sure sign of the judgment of the Lord.

Nat Turner looked into the other men's faces. "G.o.d has remembered the covenant He made with our forefathers-with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. His spirit is among us to rescue us from our enemies." When Nat Turner looked away from Will, Charlotte was gone. "We are the army of the Lord, come to ransom His people.

"We are his obedient servants-judgment will begin at the house of G.o.d." They worked through the details. They would do their work at night. When the morning came, what happened would be a mystery to the captors who survived. "We will not kill those who have no part in this battle unless we have no choice. If we are discovered, it is kill or be killed-we have no way to hold prisoners."

He planted his feet. "We will rape no women. We will destroy and steal no property. We will not return the evil done to us. We will behave with honor; we are soldiers of the Lord.

"But to our enemies, we will give no mercy; they have shown none. The Lord has said to kill all those whose feet walk upon the ground, those who say they are His children but mock the truth and love of G.o.d."

The men were quiet, their eyes focused. "The darkness will cover us. We will not falter. Even the night will be light around us." Most of them would die-captives and freemen. The Artis brothers, both Cheroenhaka Nottoway, Hathc.o.c.k, and even white Berry Newsom had come to join them. "We must be in our places. We must hold our tongues. We must follow the plan; each man's life-your brother's life-depends on it. We are comrades. We are patriot brothers and servants of the Most High G.o.d." They would divide into squads. Each would have its responsibilities.

His scythe in his hand, Nat Turner swept his arm in front of them. "In ten days, the night of the sickle moon, when it gives its least light, we will begin." During the ten days' time, they would make preparations. "May G.o.d bless the solemn work of our hands, and may He have mercy on each one of our souls."

They made plans. There were too many places and too much distance; they could not all go together. The leaders would meet at the first location to commence together. They agreed on the farms they would target. They made plans for the captors they would take at Waller's still.

As he looked at the men around him, Nat Turner saw some men weeping. On their faces he saw joy and sorrow, fear and courage. Other men's faces were set like stone. This was the beginning, the end. "No turning back!" Nat Turner told them. "We have the sign. The time for mercy is over. Take axe to the root!

"Wake up, men! Awake from the living death. Come forth from the tombs where you have been buried. Feel the muscle and sinew come alive on the bones. Feel your hearts beginning to beat again." He lifted his arms in the air. "Your strength is come, the blood begins to flow. Your minds awaken. 'Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.'" The men in front of him began to stir. "Your hearts are pounding now! Feel the hope, feel your heads begin to rise!

"You are men now, lively men-mighty men, mighty warriors of the Most High G.o.d! Feel the strength in your legs-your ankles, your knees, your loins! Come forth! Come out of your tombs! Come out of your prisons! Shake off the grave clothes! Feel the power in your arms! Feel the courage, the power, the Spirit of G.o.d surging through you! 'Who is this King of glory? The LORD strong and mighty, the LORD mighty in battle.' Lift up your heads!"

Nat Turner saw the men before him gaining strength, gaining courage. "In their lifetimes our white brothers received good things while we received trouble, but now G.o.d says it is our turn and we will have our promised portion. They have made pledges of freedom for all men to G.o.d; they must keep their vows!" Some of the men were cheering. Some of them were shaking their fists.

Nat Turner quieted them. "Be sure of what you are doing. It is dangerous business. We are forced to take arms against our brothers. They are well armed; we will suffer. It is a hard thing, but most of us will bleed. Most of us will die.

"Some others will have the courage to join us along the way-warn them. More will stay behind to clean up and minister to the dead. But don't doubt: Most of us will die, and if we survive the revolt, we will most likely hang." The men were quiet now, some of them shifting foot to foot. "It is a hard thing to hear, but what choice do we have? What do we have to lose? I can promise you no reward here, but for your service to the Lord, I promise you that you will join me in the first resurrection."

When they were sobered, Nat Turner lifted them again. "Lift your heads, men, mighty men of G.o.d! Rise to defend our families! Rise to defend our humanity! Rise to defend our dreams!

"We rise to fulfill G.o.d's judgment! We rise in service to the King of kings! We are the great and powerful army of the Lord!"

There would be no Ethiopia for him. This was his final homeland now. "Rise as men of spirit! This is our native soil. We have paid the price for it! This is the land where we have toiled. This is the land where we have spilled our blood. We will have what has been promised us. Arise, men, to arms!"

Chapter 53.

Cross Keys Predawn, August 22, 1831 The captive warriors had farm instruments-swords made from scythes, like Nat Turner's, and axes-clubs made from fence posts, hammers, and tree limbs. They met at Cabin Pond to baptize one another and pray-victory prayers and prayers of absolution-except for Will, who stood apart from the rest of them.

When the night was black, ten days after the day of the indigo sun, beneath the sickle moon they made their way to the Travis farm. Nat Turner touched the pa.s.ses he had written for any who might escape after the revolt, so they could travel-no black man could be on the road without a white man's written permission. He had wrapped the pa.s.ses in a rag and tied them tightly around his waist.

Nat Turner stood outside of Sallie Francis Moore Travis's house with Will and the others. This was the beginning of the revolt, of the resurrection of his people; he would cast the first blow. The dogs were silent, as though the animals conspired with them.

Nat Turner secured the ladder against the side of the house so that he could enter the second-floor window and then open the front door to the others. He began to climb. He could not think about Sallie or her family; they had not cared about the suffering of others. There was no doubt: G.o.d had given two signs-the eclipse and the blue sun. The witnesses sang to Nat Turner as he climbed. "Lift up your heads... and the King of glory shall come in."

"Who is this King of glory?" The moon was barely a sliver against the black sky. Silently, Nat Turner stepped through the lace curtains, through the window. "The Lord strong and mighty, the LORD mighty in battle." He was no longer a man; he was an instrument in His Father's hands. Nat Turner stole down the steps and opened the front door. He was a servant bound to do his Master's will.

Will and the others, silent as coming winter, crept in and went to their work. Nat Turner reclimbed the stairs with Will. They made their way down the dark hallway to the bedroom. "Who is this King of glory? The LORD of hosts, he is the King of glory."

Nat Turner and Will stood on either side of the bed over Sallie and Joseph Travis. Nat Turner had known her all his life. He put thoughts of her as a child out of his mind. Instead he saw her at the church house with the whip in her hands. He saw her teaching her son to be an oppressor.

She did not own him. She had held him and his people captive long enough. He was no man's property. He was a warrior priest sent to ransom his people. He belonged to G.o.d.

No turning back; it was kill or be killed. Nat Turner raised his sword, his scythe, to do the will of the Sovereign Lord, to strike the first blow for freedom. "You have given no mercy and so you shall have none: This is the Lord's judgment." Sallie opened her eyes. She recognized him. Then Will. Her husband awakened. Nat Turner raised his sword higher. "'He that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.' This is the judgment of the Sovereign Lord!"

His sword cut through the soft flesh of her neck and severed her head from her body. The warm blood sprayed and covered his hands. Will lowered his axe and made short work of Travis. A grim smile on his face, Will raised and lowered his axe over and over again, as though he was no longer thinking-like a wheel turning on a mill, a grim smile on his face. Will stepped in close so he was baptized in the blood.

On the floors beneath them, the others took care of Sallie's son, Putnam Francis Moore, and her nephew, Joel Westbrook. Nat Turner was no longer a man; he was an instrument in the hands of G.o.d. He was a patriot, a warrior now, a comrade to his brothers. He closed himself to what he had seen and done and kept his mind on moving forward.

They left the Travis farm. Nat Turner could not think. If he did, he would go mad. He was not a farmer or a preacher now; he was a soldier. They were Knights Templar executing a plan of battle.

Nat and the other captives made their way in the dark on foot, over the paths and traces they knew. They waded through the cornfields and skirted among the trees.

They smelled the blood, all of them. They saw the death, all of them. They felt the power of men with blood and life and death on their hands. They were at once exhilarated and exhausted. But they must stay true to the work ahead of them; they could not let down the others.

They pa.s.sed the Widow Harris's place and Will, raising his axe, turned to go in. Nat Turner touched Will's arm and shook his head, no. "We are G.o.d's army," he whispered. "We must stick with G.o.d's plan. Only His judgment. The Lord's will be done." They made their way to the home of Salathiel Francis.

Chapter 54.

They listened for every sound, every snap. Any creak in the darkness might be a group of captors who had discovered them. Every rustle in the brush might mean they had been betrayed. "Be with us, Lord," Nat Turner whispered. Maybe he had told too many people. Maybe there was a spy among them. An owl screeched. Wings flapped. Nat Turner stopped. Was it really a creature, or a man with a gun?

They ran again, straining to hear; their nerves on edge. Nat Turner glanced up at the stars. He might never see them again. A cloud pa.s.sed over the sliver of moon, and then they were in perfect blackness.

When they reached Salathiel Francis's, as they'd planned, one man pounded on the door. The others waited among the corn that grew from the fields up to Salathiel's small ramshackle cabin, covering the window, the walls of the shack, everything except the front door. Red Nelson answered.

When the matter was put to him, he joined them. He awakened Salathiel. The man was a giant. When he stumbled outside, half-asleep, it took several men to hold him.

Nat Turner raised his sword. "'He that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.' This is the judgment of the Sovereign Lord!" They dispatched Salathiel Francis quickly.

They divided then-the leaders left to join their squads and render judgment on the others, as they had agreed. Nat Turner had Will now, and he needed to keep the man with him. Yellow Nelson needed someone strong, and they had decided Hark would be the one.

The two of them, Nat Turner and Hark, embraced as brothers. Nat touched his hand to his waistband. "I could give you a pa.s.s now," he whispered to Hark. "You could get away. Head for the Dismal Swamp, get on a boat. Women from all over the world." Nat Turner hoped his friend would take the pa.s.s. He hoped one of them would get away. "You could be gone before anyone discovers us."

Hark shook his head. "I understand now. You came back for me, brother. Why would I leave you now?" They shook hands.

Hark looked over his shoulder. "Don't look after me sad-eyed." Hark smiled. "You will see me again."

"We will meet at the great oak."

"Or at the first resurrection." Hark nodded, still smiling, though his eyes were sorrowful. "If I don't see you again, know this-women are my delight, but you are my brother-you made me a better man."

Words never failed Nat Turner, but he was bereft. "Keep your eyes open," he whispered. "And your head down."

Hark was still smiling when he turned, calling over his shoulder. "Why be careful now? You've been trying to get me hanged since the day we met."

Nat turned with his team and began to make their way to his sister-in-law's, Elizabeth Turner's farm.

Harriet

Chapter 55.

Boston 1856.

Harriet jumped to her feet, pressing her napkin to her mouth. This was the portion she did not want to hear. She did not want to hear about blood and deaths. She looked at William; he rose to his feet.

There was no anger on his face; instead he seemed troubled by her alarm. "Would you like to stop now? We don't have to go on."

Harriet could not speak. Her chest heaving, she worked to hold back the tears. She did not like to think of bloodshed or war, not even for a worthy cause.

She looked at William. She did not like to think of the man that she was conversing with as a murderer. She did not want to think of him covered in blood.

Harriet turned and walked toward the window. So many had already lost their lives-she did not want to believe that the only path to liberty was a crimson-stained one.

England had managed to abolish slavery without bloodshed. Something must be done here. Someone, someone must be found who might turn the country from the b.l.o.o.d.y path down which it seemed headed.

Behind her, distress in his voice, William spoke. "I mean you no harm. We can stop now." His concern sounded sincere.