“With bound hands? Hah!”
“I don’t need hands. Your head is so low to the ground I’ll use my knees.”
“Peace, friend,” Peter murmured from his pew. “Must thou goad them so?”
James had almost forgotten about his companion. The Indian was sweating in spite of the chill inside the unheated meetinghouse, the residual warmth of the parishioners almost completely bled away in their absence. The man should be in bed, not here listening to James arguing.
He was about to suggest they release Peter when he glanced behind the man. A woman stood quietly at the back of the meetinghouse by the door.
It was Prudence Cotton, her expression unreadable, her hands clasped in front of her. What was she doing here? And how long had she been standing there?
James didn’t want to stare and draw the others’ attention to the widow, so he strode up to Fitz-Simmons. “Untie my hands, sir. I’ll break the seal and show it to you.”
“You will?”
“If you promise to obey the king’s commission, yes. Can you do that?”
Fitz-Simmons glanced at Stone.
The reverend furrowed his brow, then nodded. “We’ll obey any command that does not contradict a higher law.”
“There is no higher law than the rule of your sovereign.”
“Who is not a despot, as he is anxious to remind us,” Fitz-Simmons said. “Very well, let us see what you have. Untie him, Goodman Knapp.”
Knapp had stopped straining, but now, as he rose and approached, he got a nasty look on his face that only James could see. James braced himself to be assaulted, vowing that he’d make this arrogant little twat pay dearly, bound hands or no. But Knapp came around behind without further ugliness and untied his hands.
James rubbed his wrists, laced up his jerkin, and took the sealed paper from Fitz-Simmons. “I was only waiting for some civility. Was that too much to expect?”
He broke the seal and handed the paper to the deputy governor. Fitz-Simmons and Stone read it at the same time, and then Fitz-Simmons handed it to Knapp.
“This is meaningless,” Knapp said. “Vague words about passing unmolested through the colony.”
James took the paper and read it as if seeing it for the first time. The wording was hardly a surprise; he’d been in the king’s antechamber when it was written by Lord North, and then taken it in himself to be signed by the king.
“And so you have molested me.”
“Only when you disrupted services,” Fitz-Simmons said.
“I was saving my companion from violence. Peter Church is mentioned here too. Men were attacking him. They might have killed him if I hadn’t intervened.”
“What is it that you intend to do in the Bay Colony, Master Bailey?” Fitz-Simmons asked.
“Not be hanged, for a start. Nor trussed up, nor put in the pillories, nor suffer any other indignity.”
“So, to live peaceably?” Fitz-Simmons said. “Any man may do that. You don’t need the king’s signature and seal. So what brings you?”
“First, I demand respect as the agent of the king. So far I have been treated with hostility by the likes of this man.” James nodded at Knapp, who glared back.
“You ate at my table,” Stone said. “You slept under my roof. That’s hospitality, not hostility. No, I wasn’t pleased that Master Church spoke his heretical views in a most odious manner, but I would have treated it with forbearance if you had not drawn arms.”
“He was about to be killed!”
“The reverend is more forgiving than I am,” Fitz-Simmons said. “I think you purposefully disrupted our services, although to what end, I cannot fathom.”
“That’s preposterous. I had no idea. Peter was so well behaved on the Vigilant that I forgot about the peculiar habits of his sect.”
“What do you want, Master Bailey?” Fitz-Simmons asked again.
“I want to know what happened at Winton.”
“Are these details unknown in London?” Fitz-Simmons asked. “The Indians of Sachusett swore they would remain neutral in
“I don’t need hands. Your head is so low to the ground I’ll use my knees.”
“Peace, friend,” Peter murmured from his pew. “Must thou goad them so?”
James had almost forgotten about his companion. The Indian was sweating in spite of the chill inside the unheated meetinghouse, the residual warmth of the parishioners almost completely bled away in their absence. The man should be in bed, not here listening to James arguing.
He was about to suggest they release Peter when he glanced behind the man. A woman stood quietly at the back of the meetinghouse by the door.
It was Prudence Cotton, her expression unreadable, her hands clasped in front of her. What was she doing here? And how long had she been standing there?
James didn’t want to stare and draw the others’ attention to the widow, so he strode up to Fitz-Simmons. “Untie my hands, sir. I’ll break the seal and show it to you.”
“You will?”
“If you promise to obey the king’s commission, yes. Can you do that?”
Fitz-Simmons glanced at Stone.
The reverend furrowed his brow, then nodded. “We’ll obey any command that does not contradict a higher law.”
“There is no higher law than the rule of your sovereign.”
“Who is not a despot, as he is anxious to remind us,” Fitz-Simmons said. “Very well, let us see what you have. Untie him, Goodman Knapp.”
Knapp had stopped straining, but now, as he rose and approached, he got a nasty look on his face that only James could see. James braced himself to be assaulted, vowing that he’d make this arrogant little twat pay dearly, bound hands or no. But Knapp came around behind without further ugliness and untied his hands.
James rubbed his wrists, laced up his jerkin, and took the sealed paper from Fitz-Simmons. “I was only waiting for some civility. Was that too much to expect?”
He broke the seal and handed the paper to the deputy governor. Fitz-Simmons and Stone read it at the same time, and then Fitz-Simmons handed it to Knapp.
“This is meaningless,” Knapp said. “Vague words about passing unmolested through the colony.”
James took the paper and read it as if seeing it for the first time. The wording was hardly a surprise; he’d been in the king’s antechamber when it was written by Lord North, and then taken it in himself to be signed by the king.
“And so you have molested me.”
“Only when you disrupted services,” Fitz-Simmons said.
“I was saving my companion from violence. Peter Church is mentioned here too. Men were attacking him. They might have killed him if I hadn’t intervened.”
“What is it that you intend to do in the Bay Colony, Master Bailey?” Fitz-Simmons asked.
“Not be hanged, for a start. Nor trussed up, nor put in the pillories, nor suffer any other indignity.”
“So, to live peaceably?” Fitz-Simmons said. “Any man may do that. You don’t need the king’s signature and seal. So what brings you?”
“First, I demand respect as the agent of the king. So far I have been treated with hostility by the likes of this man.” James nodded at Knapp, who glared back.
“You ate at my table,” Stone said. “You slept under my roof. That’s hospitality, not hostility. No, I wasn’t pleased that Master Church spoke his heretical views in a most odious manner, but I would have treated it with forbearance if you had not drawn arms.”
“He was about to be killed!”
“The reverend is more forgiving than I am,” Fitz-Simmons said. “I think you purposefully disrupted our services, although to what end, I cannot fathom.”
“That’s preposterous. I had no idea. Peter was so well behaved on the Vigilant that I forgot about the peculiar habits of his sect.”
“What do you want, Master Bailey?” Fitz-Simmons asked again.
“I want to know what happened at Winton.”
“Are these details unknown in London?” Fitz-Simmons asked. “The Indians of Sachusett swore they would remain neutral in
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