The Judge Hunter

by Christopher Buckley

  “New Haven?”

  Winthrop and Huncks smiled.

  “Forgive our rudeness,” Winthrop said. “No, that is New Amsterdam. On the island of Manhatoes.”

  Balty examined it. “Um. So it is. Yes.”

  Winthrop’s finger moved east from Manhatoes along a shoreline. “Here”—he paused—“New Netherland meets New England. The border. Such as it is.” He circled a large area. “All this bit—considerable, fifty thousand acres—is the property of a Dr. Pell, of Fairfield. Bit of a no-man’s-land.” Winthrop chuckled. “Not that Dr. Pell regards it as such. Mrs. Hutchinson perished here. Anne Hutchinson. Are you aware of her?”

  Balty didn’t have the energy to pretend. He shook his head.

  “As fine a woman as this land has produced. As fine a woman as any land has produced. As brave, if not braver, than any man I’ve fought alongside. Colonel Huncks will agree. She died in ’43.”

  “What happened?”

  “Long story. She was banished from the Bay Colony by Governor Endecott.”

  “Why?”

  “Antinomian heresy.”

  Balty stared.

  “General disdain for authority. Didn’t sit well with the Puritans.”

  “No, shouldn’t think.”

  “She did a bit of wandering. Ended up seeking protection from the Dutch in New Netherland. Governor at the time was Kieft. Disastrous man.”

  Huncks nodded.

  Winthrop went on: “He provided her refuge—in the heart of Siwanoy land. The local tribe. Their headman, Wampage, warned her she should leave. She didn’t. Like I said, brave. Perhaps too brave.

  “The Siwanoy butchered her, six of her children, a son-in-law, half dozen servants. They spared one of her daughters, a girl of nine named Susanna. Probably because of her red hair. When she was ransomed three years later, she didn’t want to return. Not uncommon. Wampage sold the land to Dr. Pell.”

  Balty’s eyes went wide. “Do you mean to say, an Englishman—a doctor—bought land from someone who massacred an Englishwoman and her entire family?”

  “Yes.”

  “But . . . it’s monstrous!”

  Winthrop’s face tightened. “Perhaps you’ll have the opportunity to express your indignation to Dr. Pell directly.” He returned to the map. His finger traced the coastline.

  “Here is New Haven. And there is Fort Saybrook, at the mouth of the Great River. Here endeth the lesson in geography.”

  “What’s this?” Balty pointed to a long island designated “Sewanhacky.”

  “The Long Island. Sewanhacky’s the aboriginal name.”

  Balty’s eyes fastened on the body of water between Connecticut and the Long Island. The map indicated it as “The Devil’s Belt.”

  “The early English sailors called it that, on account of the abundance of rocks. Most now call it the Sound.”

  “Is it noisy?”

  The guard opened the door. “Governor, sir. Narragansetts coming in. Five. Bearing tribute, from the smell of it.”

  Winthrop sighed. “Not again. Keep them outside, James. Give them tobacco. Have Winchell and Wheary fetch hides. Fox and beaver if we have any left. And two fathoms of wampum. The black-eye, not the white. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Very good, sir.” The guard closed the door.

  “You may prefer to remain inside, Mr. Balthasar,” Winthrop said.

  “Uncas?” Huncks said.

  Winthrop nodded. “Second time this month. His loyalty is . . . unappeasable.”

  “It’s a wonder there are any Pequot left. Assuming they are Pequot heads. Wouldn’t put it past Uncas to substitute.”

  “I prefer not to think about that.”

  “Heads?” Balty said. “What’s all this about?”

  “We had a war here, Mr. Balthasar. Many years ago. The English allied with the Narragansett and the Mohegan against the Pequot. A fierce tribe. They allied with the Dutch. The war was concluded to our advantage. But despite the years that have gone by since, the Narragansett persist in a . . . you could call it a protocol . . . that was encouraged during the war. I have told our Narragansett brothers, again and again, that it is no longer necessary, or even appropriate, to the maintenance of harmonious relations. But they persist.”

  Balty stared. “Do you mean to say . . . they bring you heads?”

  “Heads. Hands. Feet. It’s their belief that the soul resides in the head. If the head is severed, the soul cannot enter into the afterlife. Without feet, the soul cannot walk to paradise.”

  “And you accept these heads? And other tokens?”

  “Refusing would give insult.”

  “But it’s barbarous!”

  “Mr. St. Michel. My wife’s father was dragged on a sled from the Tower of London to Charing Cross, where he was hanged, cut down alive, disemboweled, his privy parts cut off and burnt before him. His head was then cut off and his body quartered, the parts impaled on pikes around the city. What would you call that, sir? Now if you will excuse me, I must receive my guests.”

  Winthrop and Huncks went outside. The breeze blew through the opened door. Balty doubled over and retched. He heard voices. Winthrop’s.

  “Neen womasu sagimus!” My loving sachem!

  Another voice said, “Neemat Weentrop!”

  – CHAPTER 13 –

  A Bit of a Tit

  Balty kept to himself on the bow of the shallop, or whatever the bloody boat was called. Huncks stayed by the stern with the crew and soldiers Winthrop had sent with them.

  Toward dusk the wind dropped. Huncks walked forward.

  “We’ll stop here for the night. Tomorrow if the wind’s fair, we should make Fort Saybrook by nightfall.” He threw the anchor over the side. The shallop swung parallel to the sandy riverbank. Behind it a steep cliff rose above thickets.

  “Have a swim.” Huncks peeled off his shirt and sat to tug off his boots.

  “I don’t care to swim.”

  “You mean you can’t swim. Too bad. It’s refreshing.”

  “I didn’t say I can’t swim. I said I don’t care to swim.”

  Huncks continued stripping. Balty saw how powerfully built he was. His body was covered with scars. He dove into the river, came up on his back, and spat out a plume of water like a figure in a fountain as he swam to the sandy bank. He climbed out and disappeared into the bushes. Balty went back to musing on the morning’s hideous revelations.

  The men in the stern began shouting and pointing in the air. Balty looked up and saw a stick twirling toward the boat. It landed on the deck with an un-sticklike sound and began to wriggle and writhe.

  The men roared with laughter. Two soldiers drew their swords and poked at it. Confronted at one end of the boat by a hubbub, the snake chose to make its way to the quieter other end.

  Balty cursed and jumped to his feet. Undeterred by profanity, the snake continued its advance.

  “Shoo! Shoo!”

  Balty’s impression of a housemaid admonishing a cat brought fresh convulsions of laughter from the men. The snake came closer. It paused a few feet from Balty, coiled, reared it head, and made an unpleasant rattling sound with its tail.

  Balty gripped the boat’s forestay and pulled himself off the deck. The men found this, too, wildly amusing. The snake struck at Balty’s dangling feet, tongue flicking.

  “Help! For God’s sake! Someone do something!”

  Huncks pulled himself aboard. He stamped his foot on the deck to distract the snake. It turned to him. Huncks held out his left hand as a target, wiggling fingers. The snake went for it. As it did, Huncks’s right hand shot out and seized it behind the head.

  He held the snake aloft. Its body curled around his forearm in a pantomime of the Laocoön. The men cheered. Huncks bent, kissed the snake on the back of its head, pulled it free of his arm, and heaved it into the air. It landed on the sandbank, where it lay for a while, probably wondering what on earth that was about, then made its way back into the bushes.

  Balty
lowered himself onto the deck. “Damn it, Huncks!”

  “Indians call them wishchalowe. Frighteners. But I see you need no translation.”

  Balty swung. Huncks sidestepped. Balty went overboard.

  He came up spluttering and flailing. Another grand entertainment for the men. What a rich evening of theater!

  Huncks regarded Balty thrashing at the water.

  “Thought you said you could swim.”

  He reached down and pulled Balty onto the deck. Balty sat, wet and gasping.

  Huncks handed him his flask. Balty took a long pull on it, athwart his morning vow to abstain forever from spirits.

  * * *

  They lay on their backs on the deck looking up at the stars. It was a clear and moonless night. Orion drew his bow to aim at Taurus and the Bear. Faithful Sirius, dog star, followed at his heels. All was calm on the Great River. Even so, Huncks had posted watches throughout the night.

  “Are we expecting to be attacked?”

  “Sometimes they swim out and cut the anchor line.”

  “Why?”

  “For the rope. And to let us know they’re here.”

  After a pause, Balty said, “I didn’t mean to offend the Governor. But this business of heads . . . it’s horrid. And by the way, you might have told me.”

  “What?”

  “That Winthrop’s father-in-law was one of the bloody regicides. Really, Huncks.”

  Huncks shrugged. “He’s made his peace with it. You heard him talk about how matey he and the King were together in London. The same King who ordered his father-in-law’s execution.”

  “See here. You seem a decent chap. I don’t think you have a very high opinion of me. But I am doing my best, you know.”

  “I’ve not said a word.”

  “No, but you’re always keeping things from me. You burned Downing’s sealed letter back in Boston. Yesterday, you and Winthrop were huddling like conspirators. And this morning when I came in, you were in a great hurry to roll up that map or whatever it was.”

  “It’s nothing. Habit. Tell me, is she as toothsome as they say?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Lady Castlemaine.”

  “How should I . . . well, I suppose she must be. His majesty certainly seems to think so. Installing her at the palace, royal bastards everywhere. Not much fun for her majesty. She probably can’t even see them, what with those great Portuguese skirts, constantly tripping over them.”

  “I’m a bastard.”

  Balty sighed. “Sorry. I can’t seem to put a foot right today.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  “Actually, I did know you’re a bastard. Throwing that damned adder at me. Treating me like the village idiot.”

  “Well, you are a bit of a tit, aren’t you?”

  “Perhaps in these woods of yours I may be somewhat out of context. In London, where I dwell among civilized society, I assure you, I am not a tit.”

  “Ce n’est que la verité qui blesse.” It is only the truth that hurts.

  “How it is you speak French? And Latin? And quote Scripture and Shakespeare? And why does Winthrop address you as ‘Colonel’? If you insist on being mysterious, fine, but you might provide me with some information as to who you are. It would only be the decent thing,” Balty added in a tone of hurt.

  Huncks said nothing. Balty rolled onto his side to sleep and pulled his blanket over him.

  “Good night, then,” Balty said huffily.

  After a while, Huncks spoke.

  “I was put into training for the ministry. Not my choice. At the Harvard College. Same as where Downing went. Didn’t last a year. Got sacked for being drunk on the Sabbath. Took up soldiering. Turned out I had some talent for it. As much as I had for drink, anyway.

  “Served in the Bay Colony militia. Went well enough. After a spell, I left. Fetched up in Hartford. Soldiered for Winthrop. He recommended me to his cousin, Downing. Which is how I came to be burning down Endecott’s mint just as you were arriving in Boston. And how I come to be escorting you through the forest and down this fine river beneath these stars.”

  “So it was you burnt the mint.”

  “Um.”

  “And what are your instructions with respect to me?”

  “You’re precious cargo, Mr. St. Michel. I’m to keep you un-et by catamounts and return you to London in one piece. After our business here is concluded.”

  “And what is our business here?”

  “As your commission says—to apprehend the judges.”

  “Look here. I may be a tit, but I’m not a complete nincompoop. There’s something else going on here.”

  “Is there? My instructions seemed straightforward.”

  “You’re as straightforward as that bloody snake you assaulted me with.”

  “Tell me about your relative, Mr. Peeps.”

  “He is a personage of the very highest rank.”

  “Like Henri Quatre and Louis Treize.”

  “I wish you’d stop banging on about that. The Navy would not function without Brother Sam. His cousin—and very great patron—is Admiral Montagu, First Earl Sandwich.”

  “Should I be impressed?”

  “Yes. It was Montagu escorted the King back to England from Holland to be restored to the monarchy. Brother Sam— Mr. Pepys—was aboard. He is on intimate terms with his majesty.”

  Huncks considered. “Why’s he want to get rid of you?”

  “Who?”

  “Peeps.”

  “What can you mean?”

  “No matter. Good night.”

  Balty sat upright.

  “I ask you again, sir—what do you mean by such a contemptible assertion?”

  “Good night.”

  “This is a calumny.”

  “Good night, Balty.”

  “How—why do you call me that?”

  Huncks yawned. “It’s what Mr. Peeps calls you, isn’t it?” Huncks rolled to his side and pulled the blanket over him. “Dream sweetly. Wake me if Indians cut our anchor line.”

  Balty fumed in the evening chill beneath the unconsoling stars.

  – CHAPTER 14 –

  So-Big-Study-Man

  “Is there anything I should know about this governor?”

  Balty and Huncks were in Guilford, standing on the threshold of the house of New Haven Governor William Leete.

  “Is he related to any regicides? Will a delegation of savages be interrupting us at tea with a basket of severed heads?”

  Huncks ignored the taunt. “Leete obstructed the hunt for Whalley and Goffe. Probably hid them in the basement of this very house. When he got word that his majesty was displeased, he shat himself and wrote him a kowtow. What does that tell you?”

  “That he’s a traitor.”

  “No, Balty.”

  “Don’t call me that. That name is reserved for my friends. In whose company you are not included.”

  “What it tells us is he’s weak. And fears the King. As you bear the King’s commission, the very sight of you ought to make him soil his britches again. Unless you reveal yourself to be a tit.”

  “Finished?”

  “Yes.”

  William Leete, Governor of the New Haven Colony, received his visitors with smiles and punctilios befitting Balty’s station. On learning the nature of their business, his face collapsed like a pudding left out in the rain.

  “Another regicide hunt? But Whalley and Goffe have long since fled.” He added lamely, “If ever they were here.”

  “Mm,” Balty said in the censorious tone of a displeased schoolmaster, a tone he knew well from experience. He snapped his fingers at Huncks, who handed Leete Balty’s Crown commission in all its sealed and vellum glory.

  Leete examined it. A heavy man, he began to sweat. Balty took this as an encouraging sign.

  “Of course,” he stammered, “I shall assist you in every way. But I fear you have come very far, Mr. St. Michael, to little avail.”

  “Michel.�
��

  “Forgive me. Yet there is no news of the judges Whalley and Goffe.”

  “I shall be the judge of that.” Balty sniffed.

  Balty paced the room, eyes darting about. He tapped on the wall. Stomped on the floorboards. Leete stared, wide-eyed.

  Balty grinned and said enigmatically, “I congratulate you, Governor. A most . . . capacious house.”

  * * *

  Next morning, Balty and Huncks set off on the fifteen-mile ride to New Haven, having spent the night at a tavern. Governor Leete had pointedly not invited them to stay.

  “Was it necessary, looking under his infant daughter’s bed?” Huncks asked. “There wasn’t room enough in it to hide a rabbit, never mind two regicides.”

  “I was making a point.”

  “Looking up the chimney flue—was that also making a point?”

  “During Queen Elizabeth’s time, Roman priests hid in chimneys. Rather rum, this Crown commissioner business.”

  “I’d tread more gingerly when we call on the Reverend Davenport.”

  “Why? Didn’t he too hide Whalley and Goffe?”

  “Probably. But he’s the grand pooh-bah here.”

  “Let the saints of New Haven tremble before the King’s majesty.”

  “If they tremble, it’ll more likely be from rage. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but we ride into the enemy’s camp. And they’ll be waiting for us. Your new friend Governor Leete will have sent a rider to alert them. As for the king’s majesty, don’t expect bows and curtseys. They detest the King here. Better hold on to this.”

  Huncks reached into his saddlebag and handed Balty one of his pistols.

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  Balty peered into the muzzle.

  “Jesus, man.” Huncks snatched the pistol back. “Tell me, Mr. St. Michel, do you possess any talents?”

  “They’re not going to shoot a Crown agent.” Balty sniffed. They rode in silence for a while. Balty said, “Would they?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  The King’s Highway emerged from the woods and there before them lay New Haven at the head of its great harbor.