CHAPTER 1

He maketh me to lie down ingreen pastures: he leadeth mebeside the still waters.Psalm 23:2

Badby Village, Daventry, Northamptonshire, England—March 1630

The workday came early for me, as it did with every dawn. As theearly spring sun peeked over the small, rounded hills and denseforests of Badby Village in Daventry, I moved—after a quickbreakfast of raw milk and biscuits—off to our family's farmyard to feedthe small herd of two cows, a handful of skinny chickens, a few sheep,and one poor horse that pulled our plows and our wagons. As for me, Istood taller than average and, with a build like a rooted tree trunk, easilycarried myself to these tasks. My duties, responsibilities, and future wereclear—my Puritan heritage honor-bound me to serve my father, ThomasSmythe, and my elder brother, Jacob, both on the family farm and onthe weaving loom.

My family called me Jonathan, and as the younger son of this tenantfamily, I foresaw my fate sealed into a life of servitude to my elderbrother. On the death of our father, Jacob—at twenty-five the elderson—would inherit our thatched two-room cottage, the farm acreage,and the weaving, with me left to work for him. I would be left withnothing. I would own nothing—not that there existed a great amount toown. For a headstrong twenty-year-old, this eventual servitude did notsit well with me. My father and brother knew well my feelings, dreams,and plans of colonization and independence in the New World.

Our king, Charles I, had started war with Spain in 1625, leaving ourcountry in massive debt and opening up the possibility of colonizationin the New World for adventurous Englishmen such as me. This kingproclaimed reforms that resulted in prosecutions and persecutions forall Puritans who did not adhere to sacramental Anglican Church laws.To make matters worse, the lord of our parish, Lord Kingley, causedconsiderable unrest by his attempts to turn much of the croplands topasture and to restrict our hunting rights in Badby Wood.

Grumbling to myself over my lot, I much anticipated a secret huntingtrip after His Lordship's deer into the surrounding Badby Wood withmy good friend Aaron Carpenter; we had been friends since we wereweaned. Our small family plots of land adjoined each other and thecommon tenant area of Badby Village. At least my father and brother, Ithought, could not deny me the opportunity to put much-needed meat onthe table. To hell with Lord Kingley and his band of ruffians! Poachingdeer was only a minor crime, punishable by time in the stocks if caught.Our plan was to not get caught!

A low whistle caught my attention as Aaron bounded into thefarmyard. Aaron, slightly shorter than I, was well muscled and had thefamiliar curly red hair of the village. I noticed that Aaron carried hisfather's musket with him. A full moon ago, Aaron and I had venturedinto Badby Wood on a scouting mission to choose good game-huntingsites. We'd been brutally chased off by Kingley's hired men. Aaron hadsuffered badly bruised ribs from one of the cudgel wielders.

"A good day to you, Jonathan," Aaron bubbled. Always cheerful, hecould put a smile on my face in my gloomiest moods.

"Aye, but keep the noise down, lad. If we stir the elders, we'll neverleave the village."

"Come, boy, the early start to this day means His Lordship's boysmay be sleepin', so we can sneak past 'em!"

It was a good thought, and Aaron helped me finish off the chores. Myfather and brother had warned me not to touch the musket and shot, butthe sense of adventure overcame my timidity. I sneaked into our thatchedcottage, crept carefully across the main room to the smoldering fireplace,and gently lifted the musket, powder, and shot bags from the mantelrack on the fireplace. My father and mother were snoring peacefully intheir separate alcove off the main room. Brother Jacob was still snoringon his pallet in the loft above them. My two younger sisters were notstirring in their blissful sleep. I eased myself back across the centralroom, soundlessly closed the heavy oaken main door, and ventured intothe farmyard, where Aaron awaited.

"Off we go with us, and may the Almighty keep our powder dry andour shots straight," I whispered to Aaron with a smile.

* * *

We trotted down the well-beaten main road of the village to the edge ofBadby Wood and then quickly disappeared into the cover of the denseforest. Badby Wood had originally been set aside for deer hunting, but oflate, Lord Kingley had further limited access to the good hunting areas.Hired bands of Kingley's thugs now guarded and roamed the woods,searching for poachers, further enraging the villagers. Aaron and I knewfrom our experiences that these thugs were ever vigilant, but we had aplan.

We knew these woods like the backs of our hands. The warm sun hadleafed out the massive oaks, increasing the silence in the almost cathedral-likeforest. We planned to keep away from the main trails through theforest. The dense underbrush and thickets slowed our progress, but weknew that patrols kept their keen eyes on the main trails. We pushedonward toward our hunting site. The sun had slipped over the nearesthilltop, burning off the morning mists. The calls of familiar birds werethe only sounds. As we crested a slight rise, we caught sight of what wehad come for—a doe placidly browsing in the clearing directly in frontof us. She had not caught our scent or noticed our arrival and continuedfeeding. I quickly and efficiently loaded my musket and prepared to fire.Aaron, who was following me, had sighted in on the doe before me andhad already aimed his loaded musket. Our two shots rang out almostsimultaneously. The doe leaped, staggered, and fell. The two shots hadthudded into the doe below the shoulder, instantly killing it. We hurriedto the animal and began field dressing it.

Intent on our tasks, we were heedless to the men noiselessly arriving.The musket shots ringing out in the forest had revealed our locationto one of His Lordship's patrols. A snapping twig alerted me to theapproaching danger. I sprang to my feet, the bloodied knife from dressingthe deer in my hand. Four gnarled and muscular men approached uson the run. Aaron grabbed for his musket, but two of the men quicklyoverpowered and bound him. The other two wrestled me to the ground,punching and kicking me into submission. The leader of the thugs—ascarred Irish ruffian named O'Malley, whom we knew to be quick toanger and merciless, based on a previous encounter—displayed a specialdislike for English Puritans.

"Out for a little hunting, be you? His Lordship don't take kindly topoachers!" O'Malley snarled, spitting in my face and then slamming hiscudgel into my stomach for emphasis. I sank to my knees.

"Come on, boys, let's drag these bastards to His Lordship. He'll dealout the punishment." O'Malley chuckled. They roughly dragged us toour feet and commanded us to move out to the nearest trail. Two of thegang lashed the doe to a stout tree limb in preparation for carrying theevidence back to the manor house.

After an hour of forced march, we reached a two-wheeled pony cartthat the thugs had squirreled away. The men threw the deer into the backof the cart and quickly jumped in. They roped us like animals to the backof the cart. We started off at a brisk pace. Uneven terrain, a warmingsun, and the quick pace of the cart quickly exhausted us both. Staggeringbehind the cart, Aaron let out a yell as he fell face-first onto the back ofthe cart and then smashed his head on a small boulder on the trail. Thecrunch of bone was sickening.

"Stop the cart, you bastards! He's hurt!"

O'Malley looked back, smiling, and whipped the pony into an evenquicker pace. For the next couple of furlongs, I could only watch asAaron was dragged helplessly along behind the cart. Aaron was in mortaldanger, but there was no way for me to help. I tried to pray, as I hadbeen taught, to forgive my tormentors, but my anguish quickly turnedto blinding anger. If I survived—and I would survive—I told myself thatmy vengeance would right these wrongs.

* * *

Aaron's face and upper torso were a pulpy red mass by the time the cartslowed and jerked to a stop in front of Lord Kingley's manor house,Fawnswich Hall. The two-story stone-and-brick manor house, built overa century before, was an impressive structure that included a courtyardand several outbuildings. The sun had reached its zenith, warming thestones of the manor. My pain was only beginning as I stood weaving fromexhaustion, praying for signs of life from Aaron. The only sound was thebuzzing of blood-hungry flies. O'Malley drove the cart into the courtyardand slowly marched to the entryway, knocked quietly on the massive oakdoor, and waited. A well-dressed footman soon answered the knock.

With a sneer as he smelled the odor of bloody flesh, he asked fora reason behind the intrusion. "What brings these stinking carcasseshere?"

O'Malley fawned and scraped in front of the footman. "Aye, we'vebrought a present for His Lordship—two prisoners we caught poachingon His Lordship's land. One resisted and had to be dealt with; the other'sstill breathing. And we offer this fresh deer with regards to His Lordship.We await His Lordship's judgment."

The footman scanned the motley gang, the deer carcass, and the twoprisoners. "Go around to the back of the manor. I will announce you toHis Lordship."

Without further comment, he slammed the door shut. The gangdrove the cart around the manor house to the stable and barns behind it,still dragging Aaron and my exhausted self. Then we waited. Flies soonfound the deer carcass and Aaron's body in earnest, and just as I wasabout to lose consciousness, the footman reappeared, followed by LordKingley. Dressed in a velvet black suit with a wide white lace collar andtopped with a black cavalier hat and feather, His Lordship looked andacted the regal part of one of the king's lords.

After clearing his throat and dabbing at his nose with a lacehandkerchief in repeated attempts to cover the stench, he announcedin clipped tones as if addressing a large assemblage, "What do we havehere?"

O'Malley quickly answered, "Two poachers, Your Lordship. Theyawait thy judgment."

"It seems to me that the one poacher has already received the Lord'sjust punishment"—he pointed to Aaron's lifeless and bound body—"butthe other needs to face his." Turning to face me, Kingley declared, "Whatdo you say in your defense?"

"My friend and I followed the rightful laws of tenancy to hunt BadbyWoods, Your Lordship. We did kill the deer, but ..." I stammered asKingley held up his hand to silence me. Does Kingley believe he has to judgethis crime harshly to stem the rising occurrences of poaching?

"You have said enough to seal thy fate," pronounced Kingley. "Therights of tenancy have been altered and publicly recorded. Take the deerto my kitchen, bury the one knave on common ground in the village, andthen lock this one in the pillory in Badby Village for the balance of theday. I will pen a wood sign announcing his crime to be hung around hisneck. We have rendered fair justice." With the proclamation delivered,His Lordship turned and regally left the yard, followed closely by hisfootman.

Left gaping after Kingley, I screamed, "This was not justice—notjustice at all!" I thought to myself, But vengeance will be mine!

Lord Kingley heard my cry, turned, and wagged his finger at me."Tut, tut, make it two days in the pillory for this ruffian, O'Malley!"Then, with a wry smile, Lord Kingley sauntered back into his manorhouse.

After finding shovels in His Lordship's stable, the gang unloadedthe deer carcass, carried it to the kitchen, and then threw Aaron's bodyroughly into the cart. The footman returned with a hastily scrawledmessage fixed to a piece of thin wood:

COMMON CRIME OF POACHING,PILLORY FOR TWO DAYSSO JUDGED, Lord Kingley.

They hung this board by a cord tightly tied around my neck.

The thugs set off for the village as I stoically plodded along behindthe cart. As we crested a low hill and entered the outskirts of the village,we approached the common burying ground. The gang stopped the cartas a small crowd of tenant farmers and women began to form.

A group of angry village elders stepped forward. One demanded ofthe thugs, "What is this? What could they possibly have done to deservethis treatment? You cannot be dragging our own like cattle behind acart!" Yells from the crowd grew louder as the spectators closed in aroundthe cart. The mood of the crowd quickly turned ugly, for they knew thegang members were thugs hired by Kingley to enforce his rulings.

"Go fetch Goody Carpenter," commanded one of the elders. "Freethe prisoner's bonds."

The gang began backing away from the cart, and I sank to my kneesfrom exhaustion as my bonds were loosened. Anger and revenge swelledwithin me.

Now free, I struggled to my feet. In desperation, I grabbed one ofthe old shovels in the cart and, in a full-arcing swing powered by myremaining energy, brought it across O'Malley's neck! The blow cleanlysliced open his neck, nearly decapitating him. Blood spurted from thehuge gash as he flopped to the ground. Totally exhausted, I again slumpedto the ground.

However horrified the gang members were at the sight of their leadergushing life's blood from his neck, they were able to drag me to the middleof the village and lock my head and arms into the pillory. I was now acaptive to my own follies! A sobbing and shrieking Goody Carpenterclutched frantically at her dead son. One of the cudgel-wielding thugstook the opportunity to aim a savage blow to my head. Pain and blacknesswere the last things I clearly remembered.

As the crowd of villagers began to thicken with angry protestors, thegang members backed quickly away from the middle of the village andtook off running the way that they had come.

"After them!" A few of the more agile members of my village crowdchased after the thugs.

* * *

Still somewhat dazed, I awoke to a pair of sturdy legs standing in frontof me. They looked familiar even to my groggy head, and as I attemptedto crane my head upward to view the person in total, I saw that the legsbelonged to Aaron's younger brother, Samuel. He stood there with hislegs spread, hands nervously clenching an ax. Is he here to avenge hisbrother's death? If so, I would not have blamed him.

With a mighty grunt, he swung the ax downward. I closed my eyes inanticipation of the blow. I felt the wind from the ax as it narrowly missedmy head. He brought the ax head down on the lock to the pillory andsmashed it open. He had come to save me, not to seek revenge.

"Samuel, Aaron and I poached a deer in Badby Woods. It was wrongbut not this wrong." I choked back tears of relief. "The sentence for thecrime of poaching is not wrongful death! His Lordship's thugs capturedand beat us and ended up killing Aaron. It was His Lordship who sentus here—Aaron to be buried and me to the pillory—all for killing a deer!This is not justice but cruelty and vengeance!"

I now fully felt the effects of the beatings, the forced march, the shockof Aaron's death, and O'Malley's killing. I sobbed with grief and anguish,overcome by my own guilt. Suddenly I was free from the pillory.

"Jonathan, I could not stand by and watch you suffer so. Aaron wouldhave done as much."

With his help, I staggered off to my family cottage after taking onelast look back at the site where Aaron's body had lain. In my mind, Icould still hear the sobbing Goody Carpenter.

* * *

"You must leave, Jonathan, and you must leave now!" My father, Thomas,shook with rage. The timbre of his voice left no doubt as to his sincerity."His Lordship's men will be back searching for you in no time. You havecommitted acts of will against God's commandments. You have sinnedagainst the Lord, against your Puritan teachings, and against your family.And, importantly, against His Lordship's recent rulings—like them ornot! We must now face the wrath of His Lordship for standing up foryou. The gang of thugs will report this incident! You must leave for ourfamily's sake, for the village's sake, and for your own!" I had no answer,for I knew well Father's temper. He shook his head in consternation."Anne, tend to his wounds; then I will make final decisions."

My father was a tall, lean man with the shoulders of a man who hadworked hard and long, day and night in the fields. His blue eyes reflectedthe sternness and tenacity of a Puritan elder; his beard was streaked withgray. There was no humor to his face now.