The high constable told Christopher Matthews to continue. Had the high constable known what the curate was about to say, he would have declared Drew guilty and been done with it.
Matthews cleared his throat.
“As I was saying, according to English law there is little doubt that Master Morgan is guilty of being a vagabond. However, there is a higher issue at stake.”
Ambrose Dudley grunted his disagreement.
“Hear me out, good scrivener. For we know you to be a good Christian man.” Ambrose Dudley visibly started when the curate addressed him directly. “Master Dudley, how long have you lived as a resident of Edenford?”
Dudley went rigid. “Three years,” he replied curtly. “For one year and two months as town scrivener.”
“Three years and two months we have known this man,” Matthews said. “With minor exception, he has fulfilled his duty with distinction. He attends church services faithfully. Even considering his actions regarding Drew Morgan, we can only conclude that he is doing what he thinks is best for Edenford.”
Puzzled faces appeared all around, especially on the face of the high constable. There was no question among the people regarding the character of Ambrose Dudley. What they didn’t understand was why the curate would be saying these things now.
In answer to their puzzled expressions, the curate said, “I say this to make it clear that the issue at hand is not the performance of the scrivener’s duty, for as always he has done his job with our best interests in mind according to English law. However, I contend that the real matter at hand is not whether Drew Morgan is a vagabond by English law, but whether the English law regarding vagabonds violates God’s law!”
Ignoring the anticipated verbal reaction from the crowd and before the high constable could stop him, Matthews pressed on.
“According to English law, it is unlawful to travel the roads of England as a wanderer, not having a clear destination or a permanent place of residence. If Abraham, God’s chosen father of the nation Israel, was alive today and subject to English law, he would be standing next to Master Morgan right now!”
Opening his Bible the curate read, “‘By faith Abraham, when he was called, obeyed God, to go out into a place, which he should afterwards receive for an inheritance, and he went out, not knowing whither he went.’ In fact, according to English law, the entire nation of Israel would have to be arrested!”
Again the curate read, “‘And the LORD made them wander in the wilderness forty years.’ Both Abraham and the entire nation of Israel would be guilty of breaking English law. It makes me wonder, whom else would we have to arrest?”
The curate posed the question rhetorically, however a soft voice answered him from the pews.
“We would have to arrest Jesus! Our Lord Himself admitted He was a vagabond.”
It was Nell.
Quoting from memory, she said, “Jesus said unto him, ‘The foxes have holes, and the birds of the heaven have nests, but the Son of man hath not whereon to rest his head,’ the Gospel According to Matthew chapter 8, verse 20.”
Another voice, this one husky and masculine from the back.
“All of us should be arrested,” David Cooper said. “Doesn’t the book of Hebrews say we are all strangers and pilgrims on the earth?”
The high constable slapped the communion table with his hand several times.
“The curate is the only one recognized to speak,” he said.
Then addressing the curate, “I will grant you that there have been other wanderers. However, they lived in a different time and a different place. This is England, in the year of our Lord 1629. And it is against the law to be a vagabond.”
Matthews nodded.
“My point is this: As Christians, what should we do when God’s law and England’s law do not agree? Which law should we obey?”
The constable was unnerved. This was clearly a question he did not wish to rule on. He glanced back at Lord Chesterfield for help. Chesterfield stared back at him, his face expressionless.
For several moments the high constable sat motionless, his head propped up by his arm resting on the communion table.
“You still have yet to demonstrate that God’s law says anything regarding vagabonds that is contrary to the laws of England,” he said. “The references you cite merely point out that the laws of biblical days are different from the laws today. You have not convinced me that God has given any specific instructions regarding vagabonds.”
The constable sat back in his chair, pleased with himself.
His victory was short-lived. The curate opened his Bible to a place marked with a piece of paper. It was then that Drew realized this was anything but an impromptu defense. The curate had carefully orchestrated the proceedings to this point.
“From God’s law as found in the book of Leviticus chapter 19, verse 34, ‘But the stranger that dwelleth with you, shall be as one of yourselves, and thou shalt love him as thyself: for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.’ This is God’s law regarding a sojourner, a traveler like Abraham or like Drew Morgan.”
The high constable scratched the top of his head. He looked at Drew as if trying to understand why all this fuss was being made over him.
Looking to the back of the room, the high constable said, “Lord Chesterfield, this is your town. I defer to you. The boy seems harmless. What would you have me do with him?”
Lord Chesterfield sniffed, obviously unconcerned about the matters at hand.
“I care not what you do with the boy,” he said.
Upon hearing that Lord Chesterfield didn’t care how he ruled, the high constable said, “In the case of Drew Morgan, it is my ruling that we should welcome him into Edenford as a stranger according to the dictates of God’s Holy Word.”
The brief celebration that followed was meager. Celebrating was confined to the Matthews family and a smile from David Cooper. Many of the people were disappointed, for the ruling meant there would be no punishment to add to the Market Day excitement.
In the years to come, Drew’s trial would be overshadowed by the more memorable event of the day, Lord Chesterfield’s announcement.
Following the trial, Lord Chesterfield went to the front of the church. There was a general buzzing among the townspeople.
On behalf of the town, the curate offered condolences regarding Chesterfield’s missing son.
Lord Chesterfield acknowledged the comment with a casual nod and cleared his throat. Then he informed the people of Edenford of two items of news that affected them directly. First, by order of King Charles, a tax to support the English navy was to be increased from fifty pounds to seventy-five pounds. This increase would compensate for the twenty-five-pound decrease in ship money required of neighboring Tiverton.
Second, the people were informed that John de la Barre, a prominent Exeter clothier who had purchased the largest share of Edenford’s serges, had been granted a protection by the king. In other words, not only would the town not receive the 850 pounds the clothier owed them, but they could not take legal action against him.
The double blow to the town’s economy was catastrophic. It destroyed more than a year’s worth of work, and the people were powerless to do anything about it.
Edenford wasn’t the first town to be affected this way. The king’s action in these matters was not arbitrary. His rulings against Edenford followed a clear pattern. As in so many other villages, the king had ruled against them because they were Puritans.
Chapter 13
The prey had defended the predator. This irony of his trial was not lost on Drew. Had Christopher Matthews remained silent and let the obese constable and the scarecrow scrivener do their jobs, he could have saved himself from the long arm of Laud. But then, the curate didn’t know he was defending his enemy.
A quiet week had passed since the trial. Drew was lying on his bedding in front of the fire in the curate’s sitting room. As he reviewed the events in Edenford, he came to one conclusion:
Christopher Matthews was making his job easy.
He took mental inventory of the evidence he had against the curate: The man had libeled King James, accusing King Charles’ father of immorality; and the church communion table was not properly placed, nor was it railed off. This was an irrefutable charge. The whole town witnessed its abuse by the high constable during the trial. Even if none of the townspeople would bare witness against their curate, there was always Lord Chesterfield. He saw it too.
The thought of the lace covered lord made Drew wonder if Lord Chesterfield recognized him at the trial. For an instant it seemed as if he did. Now Drew wasn’t so sure. That led to another thought, a disturbing one. Would Lord Chesterfield testify against the man who was instrumental in his highly profitable wool business?
A noise at the head of the stairs diverted Drew’s attention. It was the sound of a heavy book closing followed by the scraping of a chair pushed across the wooden floor. Drew guessed it had been over an hour since Nell, Jenny, and the curate had said their goodnights. However, there was still a light coming from the curate’s study. He was probably working on Sunday’s sermon. Drew let out a sigh. He wished the curate would go to bed. He didn’t feel safe decoding a message from Bishop Laud until everyone was asleep.
He’d received the message early today, delivered to him by— who else?—Christopher Matthews. The curate said the courier had been told Drew might be found in either Tiverton, Exeter, or Plymouth. The curate saw it as God’s providence that the courier happened to inquire about Drew while passing through Edenford. Of course, Drew knew divine providence had nothing to do with it. The courier had been told exactly where Drew could be found.
Drew looked upstairs again. The light was still burning. Was the curate going to stay up all night? Drew unfolded the paper bearing the bishop’s message. He reasoned the chances of his being interrupted at this late hour were few and decided to risk it.
The familiar round numbers on the page made Drew homesick for London—the library at London House, the round cook’s meals, the late night talks with the bishop about knights and adventures. All these things stood in sharp contrast to his present shabby surroundings.
Opening his Bible, he stretched out on his belly in front of the fire and decoded the message. It read: (50/1/3) (53/2/3/1–8) (20/11/5/11–18) (53/2/5) (60/4/17/1–9) (50/4/1/4–21).
I thank my God upon every remembrance of you. Let no man deceive you by any means. The wicked shall fall by his own wickedness. Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, I told you these things? For the time is come that judgment must begin. Dearly beloved and longed for, my joy and crown, so stand fast in the Lord, my dearly beloved.
Drew frowned. The message disturbed him. Sitting up, he read it again. Why was the bishop concerned about the mission so soon? The message was couched in friendly talk, but still there was clearly a measure of doubt in the bishop’s mind. Let no man deceive you. What made the bishop think someone was deceiving him? Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, I told you these things? Drew strained his memory to identify the conversation to which the bishop was referring. Was he referring to their discussion following Marshall Ramsden’s trial? That could be it. Maybe the bishop was concerned that he might get emotionally attached to Christopher Matthews. Or was someone feeding the bishop erroneous information?
Then there was the sentence about time: For the time is come that judgment must begin. Was Laud saying his time in Edenford was short? If so, how short? And why?
Even though the message concluded with a sentimental ending, which he had come to expect, it disturbed him that Laud had doubts about his ability to complete this mission.
As the last of the flames in the hearth died, leaving only glowing embers, Drew placed the coded message in the front of his Bible, lay on his back, and stared at the darkened beams running from wall to wall across the ceiling. He thought fondly of the bishop, the man who called him away from the misery of Morgan Hall, one of two men responsible for his deliverance—his grandfather being the other. The one called him away; the other sent him away.
Abandon ship! Abandon ship!
He smiled as he remembered his grandfather’s words. Now that he had been away for several months, he couldn’t understand his attraction to Morgan Hall. Let Philip have it. In time, he’d build something grander, something that was his and his alone, something no one could take from him.
Of course, at that time the greatest attraction of Morgan Hall was the admiral. Drew wondered if he would have stayed had his grandfather not died.
Never had much use for those religious types.
Wasn’t that what the admiral had said about the bishop? Drew chuckled softly. He wondered if his grandfather and the bishop would have been friends had they met.
They’re so much alike, Drew thought, both passionate idealists, wanting glory for England at any cost. The bishop fought for England’s glory through the church, the admiral on the sea.
Another similarity between them was that they were both alone. Neither had close friends. Well, the admiral had John Hawkins and of course Georgiana, but that was before Drew’s time; and the bishop had Timmins, hardly a friend though, more like a trusted adviser. To his knowledge Drew was closer to both men than anyone else. He was good for them. And they were good for him.
From humble beginnings both the admiral and the bishop had risen to the pinnacle of their professions. The admiral was a shipbuilder’s son, and Laud came from a family of clothiers. This is what Drew admired most about them: they were strong men who would not be denied their dreams, passionate men who knew what they believed and who were willing to fight for it, no matter what the cost.
Just then an uneasy realization lodged in Drew’s mind, a coldwater realization, the kind that douses the fire of grandiose thoughts. Then, before he had time to digest the first realization, it spawned a second one, equally disturbing. Drew’s eyes darted back and forth as he wrestled with the twin disturbances.
The first disturbing realization was that he, unlike the admiral and the bishop, had no strong beliefs to fight for. Who ever heard of a knight without a cause? The bishop fought to preserve the Church of England, a cause for which he would willingly die. The admiral fought to protect England from Spanish aggression, a noble cause for which he nearly died. What am I fighting for? England? The king? And who am I fighting against? Who are my enemies? Grandfather hated the Spanish, Laud the Puritans. Whom do I hate?
He thought of Marshall Ramsden and Mary Sedgewick and felt no hatred for them. What about Christopher Matthews? Jenny? Nell? Are they my enemies? Drew found it difficult to imagine them being a threat to England’s crown, nor could he muster any hatred for them. The things they stood for were crazy and their actions were illegal, but the Puritans weren’t the seditious plotters of rebellion he expected them to be. His lack of passion against his enemy disturbed him.
The second disturbing realization, born out of the first, had to do with the fact that he was alone. Not only did he not have a cause, but neither did he have a friend, someone his age he felt close to.
In his stronger moments Drew told himself he didn’t need anyone else. But there was something inside him that longed to be close to others, a wife certainly, but also male friends. He had none.
He envied Christopher Matthews, a man surrounded by love. He loved his daughters and they loved him. He had close friends, David Cooper for one, but the whole town seemed to love him. It seemed that even God loved him! Drew had never seen a man so openly love God and live in the certainty that God loved him.
Who loves me? The closest persons in my life are the bishop and Eliot. Who else? Nobody. Whom do I love?
His lack of an answer made him feel even more alone and empty. Like two specters, these twin disturbances haunted Drew most of the night. He had no cause and he knew not love.
Drew stirred fitfully as sleep finally overtook him. His last thoughts were of Nell Matthews.
The old wooden chair cre
aked as Nell leaned back and shoved her journal to the back of her father’s desk. She angrily rubbed her tired eyes, then folded her arms across her chest. The journal, a quill, and an inkwell were bunched in front of her, together with her Bible and a few sheets of blank paper. The journal lay before her, ready to receive her daily spiritual reflections. The page was blank and that infuriated her. It wasn’t for lack of thoughts, since her mind was cluttered with them. It’s just that they weren’t spiritual thoughts. They were thoughts of Drew Morgan.
“Well, now, what can we do for God this day?”
Christopher Matthews’ hands were folded on top of his Bible following the morning prayers and daily Bible reading. He looked from person to person seated around the table, expecting an answer.
Drew was still pondering the Bible reading. In the passage Jesus had healed a man born blind. The healing attracted great opposition, for reasons Drew didn’t understand. He wanted to ask the curate to explain, but Nell would probably look at him like he was a dunce, so he didn’t ask. The thing that he liked about the story was the way Jesus stood up to His enemies. Something Jesus said so impressed Drew he asked the curate to repeat it so that he could write it down, no matter what Nell thought of him.
I must do the work of him who sent me, while it is day. For the night comes when no man can work.
Jesus was a Man with a mission. Like Drew’s grandfather and the bishop, Jesus had a mission to fulfill and no one could stop Him.
There it was again—mission. It seemed like everyone had a mission. Everyone except him.
Then, almost miraculously, the clouds in his mind parted, and he saw his mission. He saw it clearly. What have I always wanted all my life? Adventure and glory. The life of a knight!
I want stories to be told about me, young boys to want to be like me, my name to be mentioned alongside Arthur, Lancelot, Gawain. My mission is myself! I will build myself a reputation of fame and wealth and glory. How can I fulfill this mission? By earning the gratitude of king and court. The king is the dispenser of glory and fame and wealth. And if the king wants Puritans in exchange for these things, I will give him Puritans.
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 19