Drew folded his arms in disgust.
“He claims ignorance, Your Honors,” Lord Percy continued. “That I will readily grant him. He is ignorant. He is also stupid, brainless, and muddleheaded!”
The room echoed with laughter and shouts. “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” some of the guests shouted, banging their tankards on the tabletops.
“Get to the point,” Drew shouted.
Lord Morgan raised his hands for silence. “Yes, the point. I will get to the point by asking the accused a question. Have you ever taken a trip with your family before?”
“Of course, I have!”
“Of course, he has!” Lord Morgan ridiculed. “And when you have taken trips with your family, who always unloaded the luggage from the carriage?”
“Philip and I,” Drew answered slowly. He was beginning to see his father’s point.
“This time I had to do it all myself while my dumb brother played knight in London!” Philip said. His speech was slurred; apparently he had been sipping the wine while his parents weren’t watching. He wasn’t about to miss out on the chance to ridicule his brother in public.
Lord Morgan raised his hand again. “One stupid son at a time, please!” Turning to Drew, “Can you tell us why I have you and your brother carry the luggage when there are so many able bodied servants around to do it for us?”
Drew knew his father had him. It was common knowledge that some servants, while carrying luggage to the rooms, would shake the bags and listen for the jingle of money or evaluate a bag’s contents by its shape and weight. If they suspected money or valuables, they would pass this information to their cohorts who would waylay the travelers the next day several miles down the road. To counter such thievery, Lord Morgan always had his boys carry the luggage.
“I get the point,” Drew said humbly. “I didn’t think—”
“He didn’t think!” Lord Morgan wasn’t about to let up. “That’s the first intelligent thing the boy has said in years!”
“I made a mistake. I’m sorry!” Drew shouted.
“Now he’s sorry,” Lord Morgan made a pouting face to the court. “Half the thieves in England are lining up between here and Winchester to see which of them gets to rob me first, and he’s sorry!”
Drew turned to leave the room. Lord Morgan grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We’re not done yet,” he said. “I want to know how you got the chalices in the first place, since I didn’t tell you which goldsmith in London made them.”
“I went to Carados’s shop first.”
“But he didn’t have them, did he?”
“No.”
“And what was his reaction when you asked for something he didn’t make?”
“He was angry.”
“Angry?”
“Well, very angry. He said he never wanted to do business with you again.”
Lord Morgan stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I see,” he said. “But how did you know who made the chalices?”
“Mr. Carados thought Simon Bors was given the job.”
Lord Morgan winced. “Simon Bors! But he didn’t have the chalices either, did he?”
“No,” Drew said sheepishly. “One of Mr. Bors’ assistants told me you commissioned Gareth to make the chalices.”
“So now, ladies and gentlemen of the court,” Lord Morgan shouted, “not only are half the thieves in England waiting to rob me, but half the goldsmiths on The Strand will never do business with me again! What have I done to deserve a son like this?”
Howling laughter.
Drew had had enough. It was a mistake bringing the chalices inside uncovered, and it was a mistake for him to leave Windsor without waiting for instructions, but he was determined these people know what he went through to see that the chalices arrived safely.
“Don’t you want to know why I was so late?” Drew shouted at his father, “or why my clothes are torn and dirty? Or why I have a huge gash on the back of my head?”
“There’s more! A tale of adventure!” Lord Morgan cried. He perched on the edge of a table and folded his arms. “Please, thrill us with your exploits.”
“Well,” Drew began, “just outside of London, I was attacked.”
“Attacked? Why would anyone want to attack a poor fool riding out of London, balancing four silver chalices on a book?”
A roar of laughter.
“People see that in London every day!” Lord Morgan added.
The big bellied man laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.
“The chalices were in my satchel!” Drew had to shout just to be heard. “Two thieves attacked me. One hit me over the head. They tried to steal the chalices, but I fought them off.”
The room grew quiet.
“I suppose the thieves were both seven feet tall,” Lord Morgan said.
“No, they weren’t seven feet tall.” Drew began to admit to himself he was arguing a losing cause.
“Tell us more about these dangerous thieves,” Lord Morgan prompted. “They were both grown men, weren’t they?”
“One was a man.”
“And what was the other one? A monkey?”
“One was an old man and the other was a girl.”
“This is my son who would be a knight!” Lord Morgan shouted. “Singlehandedly, he fought off the overwhelming forces of a little girl and an old man!”
“They had a knife!” Drew protested. He picked up the knife from the floor and held it up.
“And tell me,” his father said, “how did you disarm this dastardly duo?”
Drew explained how he protected himself with the bishop’s book. He held up the book and inserted the dagger to show everyone how far the dagger had penetrated the book.
Lord Morgan walked solemnly to his son and took the book from him. He examined them carefully.
“This is the bishop’s book?” he asked.
Drew nodded.
Lord Morgan held the book over his head. “Ladies and gentlemen of the court, the bishop of London’s book! My son has killed the bishop of London’s book!”
Everywhere Drew looked people were laughing at him. Some were holding their sides, while others wiped tears from their eyes. Their faces were red and strained. One man broke into a violent coughing fit.
“In one day my eldest son, the hope of the next generation, has tipped off the thieves of England against me, he has ruined me in London’s business district, and I will undoubtedly be excommunicated because he killed Bishop Laud’s book!”
Drew turned and stormed out of the inn. This time, no one stopped him.
The next morning, as the Morgan family prepared to leave Basingstoke, Lord Percy Morgan arranged for a public ceremony during which he gave the four silver chalices to his friend the mayor with instructions to sell them and use the money for the poor and needy of the city. Secretly, he’d arranged to have one of the mayor’s servants return the chalices to him several miles down the road. Naturally, the arrangement cost him dearly, but under the circumstances it was the only way he could think of to keep from being robbed.
Drew had another fight with his father, this one private. He informed his father he had decided to return to London immediately, without going back to Morgan Hall. Lord Morgan refused, and in light of the previous day’s events, he said he’d have to rethink whether or not Drew should return to London at all. Drew threatened to run away; Lord Percy threatened to disinherit him and give the rights of the firstborn to Philip. If it was just money, Drew wouldn’t have cared. But he couldn’t walk away from Morgan Hall; there was too much history tied into the house and property. He couldn’t let Morgan Hall fall into the hands of his weasel brother. Reluctantly, Drew agreed to return home.
From Basingstoke to Morgan Hall, Drew rode Pirate as an outrider, to keep a watchful eye for any sign of trouble. For Drew it was preferable to being inside the carriage with his parents and brother.
The rest of the ride home was agonizingly slow and boring. When a sudden storm turned the road slick,
the pace slowed to walking speed. Twice the carriage mired in the mud. Both times Drew sullenly helped the servants push it out.
Finally, they approached the city of Winchester, only five miles from home. The Morgan party turned east on High Street and passed the Great Hall, which housed King Arthur’s Round Table. Normally, Drew would have arranged to stop before catching up with his family. Today he plodded by the Great Hall without even a glance in its direction.
The Morgans passed through Kingsgate, one of the city’s five original gates, built in the thirteenth century. As they crossed over the bridge and into the country, Morgan Hall loomed in the distance. A two-story country house, it was one of the finest in England, with only Theobalds and Longleat to rival its magnificence. But to Drew it was the most dreaded prison in England.
Chapter 5
The teasing caress of her fingernail on the back of his hand sent a pleasurable jolt through Marshall Ramsden’s body. His eyes closed and rolled upward as he fought the urge to respond to her playful touch.
“We don’t have time,” he whispered. “We have to get this printed before dawn.”
“I know,” she pouted, as she outlined the ink stains on his hand. “But I was hoping we’d get done early tonight so we could be together.”
Marshall shoved the printing press bed along its runners, sliding it into position under the platen. Going to the side of the press, he reached up with both hands and gripped the bar that would lower the platen and press the paper against the metal type. With a giggle, Mary ducked under the bar and between his arms so that they were face-to-face.
“You’re crazy!” Marshall said with a smile.
“Crazy,” she replied with a playful peck on his lips, “when it comes to you.”
Marshall released the bar and pulled Mary Sedgewick to him.
Any resistance he once had was gone as he passionately embraced his lover, who also happened to be his professor’s daughter and his partner in crime.
Marshall Ramsden, a third year theology student at Cambridge University, was the son of a noted London printer. His father, a hardworking member of the printers guild, had worked his way through the ranks to become one of the king’s printers. In 1611, he was one of a select group of printers chosen by King James to print England’s Authorized Version of the Bible, which came about as the result of the Hampton Court Conference. For Marshall’s father, that printing contract fulfilled a lifelong dream. He was a devout man who deeply loved the Bible. It brought him great satisfaction to think that generations of English families would be guided by copies of God’s Word printed on his presses.
As an only child, Marshall was raised to continue his father’s trade. But even when he was a young boy, he showed more interest in reading what was printed than he did in printing it. And since much of his father’s work was religious in nature, he was exposed early to spiritual writings.
For years Marshall harbored secret thoughts of pursuing a career in theology. He feared telling his father, thinking he wouldn’t understand and might be hurt that his son would desire another profession. Finally, one spring Sunday as the family rode home from St. Paul’s Church, God presented Marshall with the opportunity he needed.
As the carriage crossed the London Bridge, he and his father had been discussing the Scripture reading from the service. It was from the first chapter of Jeremiah’s prophecy. God was speaking to the prophet. He said: “Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.” Marshall’s father said he was captivated by God’s foreknowledge of the prophet. Marshall said he was especially drawn to a verse that appeared later in the chapter, “Behold, I have put my words in thy mouth.”
It was then that he told his father he felt God had set him aside to study and teach theology, that God was putting His words in Marshall’s mouth, not ink under his fingernails. Marshall couldn’t have been more surprised at his father’s reaction.
“I have spent all my life printing what other men have written,” his father said, “hoping that in some small way I could have a part in proclaiming God’s Word to England.” He gripped his son’s shoulders. “And now you’re telling me that God is calling you to spread His message through your words and pen!”
His father paused to gain control of his emotions. “I’m overwhelmed with happiness!” he cried. “My only prayer is that I will live long enough to print your words on my press.”
For whatever reason, God chose not to honor the printer’s request. The senior Ramsden died during Marshall’s second year at Cambridge, but not before he passed on his love for the Bible to his son.
It was this love that motivated Marshall to print Justin’s illegal pamphlets on the Cambridge University printing press. Through his theology professor, William Sedgewick, he was exposed to the teachings of the Puritan preachers. And it was through his theology professor’s daughter that he was exposed to the thrills of romance and the dangers of illegal printing.
The English Puritans believed strongly that the Bible was God’s blueprint for life. There was an escalating concern among them that high church officials, principally Bishop Laud, were steering the English people back to Roman Catholicism. The bishop worked his agenda with a heavy hand. His first task, after being promoted to the bishopric of England, was to present King Charles with a list of the names of English clergymen. Beside each name he had printed an O or a P. Those clergymen who were Orthodox would be promoted as opportunities arose. Those who were Puritans would be passed over for promotion, frustrated, and harried out of the ministry with every available force.
Among the dissenters there were basically two responses to Laud’s persecution. Some felt that the situation was hopeless. They fled the country—first to Holland and then to the New World. Because they chose to separate themselves from the Church of England, they were called Separatists.
The second group comprised those who would not easily abandon their church. They set out on a course to purify the church from this papist influence and so were known as Puritans.
The Puritans were determined and persistent. They firmly believed that God would have them rescue the Church of England. The thought of fleeing as the Separatists had would show a lack of faith. If it took several generations, they were determined to reclaim their churches. Their goal was to base their lives, their churches, and their country on the Bible, not on ritual or tradition.
The Puritans’ weapons were preaching and pamphlets, both of which Bishop Laud targeted. To control the preaching, the bishop instituted a series of reforms that restricted church services to the order prescribed by the Book of Common Prayer. Since preaching is a public form of communication, it was easy to monitor. However, stopping the pamphlets was another matter.
By law, publishing in England was limited to a few London printers and the two university presses, Oxford and Cambridge. All printers had to obtain a license for each publication that was printed on their presses.
These laws drove the Puritan pamphlet industry underground. Penalties for defying the laws were harsh. If a Puritan writer was captured, he was tried in the Star Chamber. Punishment often included the severing of one or both ears and branding on the cheeks with the letters “S” and “L”—for seditious libeler. The Puritans, however, reassigned the letters to different words: Stigmata Laudis— the marks of Laud.
These were the penalties Marshall Ramsden and Mary Sedgewick faced if they were caught. Although they had never met Justin, a pseudonym chosen in honor of an early Christian martyr, they believed in his message. Unlike other pamphleteers, Justin’s style was not antagonistic, nor did he attack Laud personally. His arguments were biblical, reasonable, and powerful. Justin’s commonsensible approach stirred the passions of believers like Marshall and Mary to the extent that they would risk a public trial and branding to see that his words were spread throughout England.
Mary was one of the first to join the Camb
ridge resistance. It was she who introduced Marshall, a more than welcome addition since he knew how to use the printing presses. It was Mary’s task to see that the printed pamphlets were delivered to distribution points near the campus city. And what began as a common passion for the writings of Justin had developed into a more personal passion between Marshall Ramsden and Mary Sedgewick.
Whenever a man and a woman are locked in the kind of embrace that held Marshall and Mary during those predawn hours in the print shop, the universe is reduced to a simple equation: one man + one woman = the entire universe. Kings, countries, schools, politics—all cease to exist. Families, relatives, and friends all vanish as if they were never born. Even time takes a holiday. For the two lovers, nothing else mattered except the singular universe they shared.
The door of the shop slammed open, then slammed shut a fraction of a second later. The sound so startled Mary that she banged the back of her head on the press bar. Leaning against the safe side of the door was a student named Essex Marvell, one of the strangest but most loyal friends Marshall ever had. “Just call me ‘S,’” he said the first day they met. “Everyone does.”
“S” was out of breath, his clothes were wet with perspiration, and he had a look of alarm in his eyes, the kind that kicks a person’s adrenal glands into emergency production.
“They’re coming!” he shouted.
He didn’t have to explain who “they” were because it really didn’t matter. Anyone caught with Justin’s pamphlets might as well hand over both ears and turn his cheek for branding.
Marshall took charge.
“Mary, you can’t be seen. We’ll take care of the plates and the pamphlets.”
Mary hesitated for but a moment, looking at him with frightened eyes, wishing there was time to tell him of her love. Marshall smiled at her. He understood.
“S,” Marshall pointed to the stacks of pamphlets drying on a shelf, “put those in the bag. I’ll get the plate off the press.”
“Should I bar the door?”
“S” asked frantically.
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 5