“Orders? What are you talking about?”
“You’re the judge hunter. My remit was to prepare the way for Colonel Nicholls. There are your judges. What do you propose?”
“They look more like beggars.”
“Um. Fresh air seems not to have agreed with them. Still, preferable to the Reverend Davenport’s root cellar.”
“I thought we weren’t after them.”
“We weren’t. We seem to have stumbled into a forest rich in game.”
“I don’t care about them, Huncks.”
“What about your commission?”
“Damn my commission.”
“And your knighthood?”
“Damn that.”
“You’re blithe. You used to preen at being made Sir Balthasar de St. Michel. What happened to him?”
“Seem to have lost him somewhere.”
“You’ve gone native.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You came here to catch killers of a king. Now you care only to avenge the death of farmers.”
“Yes, all right. But what now?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Huncks studied the scene. “I’ll circle around right, see if there’s a back way into that rock. Look for me to come out where the judges did.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll see.”
“What kind of plan is that?”
“The only one I can think of at present.”
“Well, it’s pitiful. What am I supposed to do while you’re spelunking?”
Huncks pointed to a thick tree. “Put yourself behind that and wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For things to happen. You’ve got two pistols, don’t you?”
“Yes?”
“Well, use ’em.” Huncks grinned. “If you decide after all you want the knighthood, shoot the judges.”
* * *
Thankful opened her eyes, felt the throb of pain at the back of her head. Sitting up, she saw Huncks’s pistol in her lap. She looked about for signs of a struggle. Nothing.
She stood, and saw the footprints in the rain-wet path. She followed them to the fork, where she saw the other foot- and hoofprints, and ran.
– CHAPTER 49 –
Repent
Repent crouched over the fire, its heat inflaming the scar on his forehead, turning it livid. He put a fingertip to it and traced along it.
He was a boy then, proud that the white sachem So-Big-Study-Man took an interest in him, teaching him English and the Great Book, to make him a good Christian. He wanted in return to make a gift for So-Big-Study-Man. But what could he give him? Then one day in the graveyard of the New Heaven whites he saw on the stone the face with wings for ears and knew this would make a good gift, carved into his face.
But when he presented So-Big-Study-Man with his gift, he became angry and shouted at him and called him names from the Great Book, names of evildoers and devils. He said this was a great sinning, that God was angry. Images made God angry. God brought down thunder and lightning to destroy images. God might destroy him now.
He told So-Big-Study-Man that he did not understand. If God hated images, why did the whites put images on the stones of their dead, of angels, man-birds who carried the spirits of their dead into the sky three days after they were put into the earth?
So-Big-Study-Man became even more angry and struck him, again and again, on his face. The scar opened and bled. His eyes filled with blood so that he couldn’t see. So-Big-Study-Man stopped hitting him and said he must have a new name, a name that would make God less angry. The name he would have from now on was Repent.
He remembered this name from the Great Book. It was what the sachem Moses of the long-ago time told his people when he saw them praising a cow. Moses told them they must repent or he would not bring them to the promised place. If they did not, he would leave them in the desert to die of hunger and thirst and be consumed by the flaming tree.
So he took up the new name, hoping that this would make So-Big-Study-Man happy with him again. But the whites looked at him in a strange way, and would laugh when he passed. He thought this was a good thing because they never laughed, these whites.
For a time it was better between him and So-Big-Study-Man.
Time passed. One day when he was no longer a boy he saw the girl with gold hair. She was kind to him. He wanted her, but she had a husband. So he became a friend of the husband’s and took him on a hunt and put him with the snakes.
He went to the girl and said now they could be together. She cried and threw stones at him, which made him angry, after all he had done so that they could be together. So he took her and put his seed into her so that she would have to be his wife. But she ran away and went to the whites and tried to make trouble for him.
He went to So-Big-Study-Man and asked him to make her be his wife, but he would not do this. The woman was a Quaker, a Christian she-devil, and Repent must have nothing more to do with her. He said that there would be trouble with the whites because of the dead husband. Repent must go away from New Heaven and stay on the land the whites had given the Quiripi.
Then one day Jones came with gifts, two fathoms of black-eye wampum and pommy and jugs of burning water. He told Repent that two Owanux had come to steal from the graves of the Quiripi. The Quiripi must kill them. But the Owanux escaped. The white farmer hid them and mocked him by making false graves. The white farmer and his woman and boy suffered for this.
Then Jones came again and said that So-Big-Study-Man and the New Heaven whites were not pleased by the suffering of the farmer and his family. Repent must now come with him.
They went through Siwanoy and Munsee land to the Island of the Hills where the Swannekens had made their settlement. Jones said the Owanux grave stealers had gone there to hide, and they must find them and finish killing them. This would please So-Big-Study-Man and the whites.
But he killed only the Swanneken soldier who would not give up the Owanux, and again they escaped. Then came great ships with many soldiers. Jones said these had come to make war on the Swannekens and take their land. He said that this was not a good thing, even though Swannekens were a bad people. The Owanux across the sea had a new king, an evil king who worshipped images. After his soldiers had killed the Swannekens and taken their land, they would come to New Heaven to make war on So-Big-Study-Man and all the whites, because they refused to worship images. So he and Repent must leave and warn them.
When they were almost to New Heaven, Jones said they must go up the red hill and warn the two holy Owanux who lived in the cave there. Repent asked Jones why they were holy. Jones said it was because they had killed the father of the new Owanux king who, like his son, was evil.
They would camp tonight by the cave with the holy Owanux. Tomorrow Jones would return to the whites in New Heaven and warn them, while Repent must return to the Quiripi land and stay there.
Repent told Jones he would help him fight the Owanux when they came to New Heaven. But Jones said no, he must stay with the Quiripi and not show himself again in New Heaven. This was what God wanted.
Repent stopped tracing the angel on his forehead and lowered his hand. As he did, he saw movement in the trees beyond the fire.
* * *
Huncks made a wide circle through the trees to the back of the rock, where he found a cleft. Great slabs of stone were at irregular angles, making passage difficult with one hand holding a pistol. Huncks made his way in.
Inside was pitch-black, with a rank, damp smell. The ground felt soft under his feet. He crouched to feel. Blankets. He continued groping his way forward. His boots slipped on the slick rock, and he caught himself.
Coming to the opening he drew back the hammer of his pistol, and eased himself out.
The regicides were facing away from him, at Jones, and didn’t see him. Jones’s eyes went wide. He went for his pistol.
“If you please, Mr. Fish.”
Whalley and Goff
e wheeled. Goffe started to bolt, but was restrained by his father-in-law.
“My business is not with you gentlemen,” Huncks said. He addressed Jones: “The Indian—where is he?”
Jones made no reply. Huncks walked to him and put the muzzle to his forehead. With his other hand he removed Jones’s pistol from his belt.
“Count of three, I’ll make a cave of your head.”
“Huncks!”
Balty was twenty feet away. Repent stood next to him, Balty’s own pistol to his head.
“Sorry, old man. Didn’t hear him.”
Jones grinned and opened his mouth to speak. Huncks stuck the barrel of his pistol into his mouth.
“Pray, silence.”
“Shoot him,” Balty said. “Then shoot Repent. You’ve got two pistols. Repent’s only got one.”
Repent whacked Balty on his bandaged ear with his pistol. Balty recoiled in pain.
Huncks understood: Balty was telling him: Repent only got one of my pistols.
He said to Jones, “I shall remove this impediment to your speech. And you, sir, shall instruct your friend to lower his weapon. Agreed?”
Jones nodded, teeth clicking against the barrel.
“Put down the gun,” Jones ordered.
Repent ignored him.
“Damn you! Do as I say!”
Repent lowered the pistol.
“There,” Huncks said. “Much more congenial.”
Huncks studied the way Repent held the pistol. Had he ever fired one? It was possible he hadn’t. The one Bartholomew gave him as a peace offering—Huncks’s own—was disabled. Unlike the Dutch, who’d sell anything to anyone for a price, the English enforced strict laws against providing Indians with firearms.
Might Repent miss at this distance? If he could provoke him to shoot, Balty would have a chance to get his other pistol.
Huncks turned his back on Repent and walked to Whalley and Goffe, to put more distance between himself and the Indian. He tensed for the shot. But Repent didn’t fire. This told Huncks two things: he wasn’t adept with a pistol, but was smart enough to know it.
Huncks addressed himself to the regicides.
“Lieutenant General Whalley. Major General Goffe. We’ve not been introduced. Hiram Huncks, Colonel, late of the Connecticut militia. At your service.”
“He’s not here to serve you,” Jones said. “He’s come to kill you. He and his mate over there.”
“I beg to differ, sir,” Huncks said. “We came to kill you. And your red friend.”
It came to Huncks: Goad him.
He made a face of disgust. “Christ, but he stinks! I can smell him from here. How do you stand it?” Huncks laughed. “But then, you’re no bouquet of roses, are you? We should have left you in that field covered with fish guts. You’d have made a fine dinner for the beasts. They’d still be gorging on you.”
Huncks turned sideways to make a smaller target. He spoke to the regicides as if delivering a lecture on local customs and traditions.
“Of course, nothing stinks worse than a Quiripi. Filthy tribe. Mind you, that’s not their worst quality. They’re thieves. Cutthroats. Cowards. Skulkers. Not warriors. That one there, he buried a family alive. Father, mother, and young boy. Really, Jones, you have deplorable taste in catamites.”
“How dare you!” Jones roared. “I’m no sodomite!”
“Come, Jones,” Huncks tsk-tsked, “all Connecticut knows of your unnatural proclivities.”
Huncks turned to the ashen-faced regicides as if adding a footnote.
“He buggered a cow. They hang you for that, here. Bribed the judge. What a scandal! I’m sure neither of you gentlemen would have been susceptible to bribes in your capacity as judges.”
Jones was trembling with rage. Huncks resumed his lecture.
“Ask any of the tribes here. They all abominate the Quiripi. We’ve many noble tribes in New England. Respected, honored. Great warrior tribes. Mohawk. Pequot. A very great tribe, the Pequot. Siwanoy. Munsee. Narragansett. Wampanoag. Splendid, all. Ask any of them what they think of the Quiripi and they’ll tell you the Quiripi are a tribe of dogs. Stinking, filthy, cowardly dogs. Who sell themselves to the white man, cheap. To be his slaves.”
Balty realized what Huncks was up to. Repent’s jaw muscles were grinding, eyes gleaming with hatred. Balty poised to lunge for his other pistol, on the ground.
The silence was broken by a thunder of hooves. Torches flickered through the trees. Whoever it was, was coming hard and fast, no thought for stealth.
Six armed riders burst from the trees into the clearing and reined in their mounts.
The man in front leaned forward in the saddle and took in the scene before him. He looked at Jones, at the judges, at Repent and Balty. His gaze settled on Huncks.
“You?”
“Well, well, the Dependable Feake,” Huncks said. “A very great honor.”
Huncks walked behind the two regicides and put his pistols to the back of their heads. He whispered, “Forgive me, sirs, but as you see, circumstances press. I shall not harm you. You have my word. In return, I ask that you give our visitors every impression that I might.”
* * *
Thankful watched from behind a tree beyond the circle of firelight. Huncks’s pistol felt alien in her hand. She had never held one.
Huncks said to Feake, “Do I gather the purpose of your visit is to inform the Generals that the English Navy has arrived?”
Feake signaled his men to dismount.
“You’re outnumbered,” Feake said.
“I disagree, sir. The Indian there may have Mr. St. Michel as hostage. But I have these fine gentlemen. Your hostage may be valuable, to be sure, being his majesty’s commissioner. But mine are no small prizes. Indeed, it’s a privilege to hold pistols to such distinguished heads.”
Huncks called out to Balty, “No disrespect intended, old man. You’re a lovely hostage. If they kill you, there’ll be nothing left of New Haven but elm trees, and Magistrate Feake and his constables here hanging from them. Whereas if I shoot my hostages, his majesty’s like to rename the town after me. New Huncks. Fine name. What say you, Dependable? Does it ring for you? New Huncks?”
“Shoot them both,” Feake ordered his men.
The constables looked at each other. One said, “Sir, the judges—we might hit them.”
Huncks recognized the voice. It was Bartlett, the young sergeant who’d come to arrest Thankful at the Cobbs’ farm.
“Then shoot that one!” Feake pointed at Balty.
Still the men hesitated. Feake dismounted, muttering.
Huncks called out, “Sergeant Bartlett? That you?”
Bartlett said diffidently, “Yes, Colonel.”
“Good to see you again, Amos.”
Feake, apoplectic, shouted, “Bartlett! I gave you an order! Shoot that man!”
Huncks said to the constables, “Think it through, lads. He’s walking you to the gallows. An English army’s coming.”
“You, Repent!” Feake screamed. “Shoot that man!”
Repent raised his pistol to Balty’s head.
“No.” A woman’s voice, from the darkness.
Thankful stepped into the circle of firelight, just as Balty had first seen her that day at the worship house, only now her belly was protuberant with child.
No one moved.
She walked toward Repent. Repent’s eyes fixed on her belly. She stopped ten feet from him.
“Repent,” she said.
The Indian stared. She put her left hand to her belly.
“Here is your child, Repent.”
A storm raged across his face.
Thankful brought her right hand from behind her back. In it was Huncks’s pistol, hammer cocked. She put the muzzle to her belly.
“Let him go, Repent. Let him go or I will kill thy child.”
Repent’s eyes blazed.
“She’ll do it!” Feake shouted. “She killed the Cobbs. She’s mad!”
“N
o!” Huncks said. “He killed them. Lay down the gun, Repent. It’s over.”
But it wasn’t.
Overwhelmed by exhaustion and the horror of what she had threatened but had no intention of carrying out, Thankful fainted and fell to the ground.
Repent fired. But his gaze fixed on Thankful, he failed to see that Balty had removed his head from the muzzle. Balty lunged for his other pistol.
Repent walked to Thankful. He picked her up and held her in his arms with tenderness.
Balty raised his pistol. “Put her down, Repent.”
The Indian stood motionless, looking into Thankful’s face. He turned and began to walk toward the nearby cliff.
Huncks shoved the regicides aside and bolted after him. Feake grabbed a constable’s musket and fired. Huncks spun and staggered. Then righted himself and, turning to face his attacker, assumed the formal posture of a duelist, aimed, and fired. The ball opened a hole in Feake’s forehead.
“The judges!” Jones shouted. “Protect the judges!” The constables ran to Whalley and Goffe and formed a cordon of musketry around them.
But there was nothing to protect the judges from. Huncks, clutching his side, stumbled after Repent.
Balty was right behind the Indian, who was now striding with deliberate, almost ceremonial steps.
Balty didn’t shoot, fearful of hitting Thankful. Realizing Repent’s intention, he ran ahead of him to block his way.
“Repent! Stop! Please!”
Repent was now twenty feet from the cliff. He kept coming, eyes blazing, scar livid in the moonlight. He bent forward to gather momentum.
Balty raised his pistol. “Please, Repent!”
The Indian quickened his pace, tilting forward, becoming a battering ram, Thankful limp in his arms.
Balty threw away his pistol and braced to intercept him.
In the next instant there was an explosion from behind. The angel burst from Repent’s head, splattering Balty with brains. But the Indian’s body still came at Balty, colliding, knocking him backward.
Balty teetered, flailing, trying to regain his balance. Then a hand grabbed him and another hand got Thankful, pulling them back from the abyss.
The Judge Hunter Page 27
