The Judge Hunter

by Christopher Buckley

  “If it’s been three years, surely the trail’s gone cold by now?”

  “Oh,” Downing said, “I shouldn’t expect to catch them. My purpose would be otherwise.”

  “How so?”

  “To annoy them. Let them know his majesty still remembers their lack of fealty.”

  Pepys smiled. “Seems rather gentle. Surely better to tax them than vex them.”

  “Oh, no. I think it would unsettle them no end to remind them of his majesty’s authority. Nothing vexes a Puritan more than superior authority. It’s why they left England in the first place. And now, the monarch has returned. It’s put them in a terrible funk. Their hopes for heaven on earth died with Cromwell.” Downing seemed quite taken with his idea. “In the name of his majesty, open up! We seek the regicides Whalley and Goffe! I can see their long faces. It would be quite . . . sporting.”

  “I expect his majesty would find it so.”

  “The King is droll. I think it might amuse him.”

  Pepys suddenly found himself saying, “If you decide to proceed, I’ve just the man for you.”

  “Ah?”

  Pepys had to keep from laughing. “Well, if the idea is to annoy them, I can’t think of a better person. The one I have in mind has a genuine talent for annoyance. Genius, even.”

  The carriage had reached Charing Cross. Ten of the regicides had met their fate here in October 1660 after the return of the King. The stench of their burnt bowels finally became so noisome that the locals appealed to the Crown to move future executions elsewhere.

  “This fellow of yours,” Downing said. “Send him to me.”

  – CHAPTER 3 –

  Our Own Brave Balty

  Pepys’s initial exhilaration at the prospect of getting Balty dispatched to New England was short-lived. Downing was a man of remorseless cunning. He would see in a minute that Balty was a popinjay incapable of striking fear in a butterfly. Why had he even suggested such a thing? Then he thought: no harm in seeing how far it might go.

  He didn’t tell Balty the real reason Downing wanted to see him. Balty would only tell Esther and Elizabeth, which would cause family mayhem. He told him Downing was considering him for some gamekeeping job on one of his estates.

  “He’s very tight with money,” Pepys said, “so he’s death on poachers.”

  “Oh,” Balty said, “I should love to shoot poachers.”

  “Just say as little as possible. No prattling. Understood?”

  “Entendu, mon vieux.”

  “And no French. He hates the French.”

  “Why?”

  “He hates everyone. Dutch, French, Spanish. Just stand there, nod, and for God’s sake, try not to talk. And if it turns out to be something other than gamekeeping, well, it could only be to the good. Just nod and don’t talk and when it’s over, bow and say what an honor it’s been. And leave. Clear?”

  “Yes.” Balty nodded. “You are good to have fixed this up, Brother Sam.”

  “Well, you’re family, aren’t you?”

  To Pepys’s astonishment, Downing was quite taken with Balty, even charmed. Pepys deciphered this as Downing thinking it would gall the New Haveners even more to be bossed about by a nincompoop.

  When Downing revealed what he had in mind, Balty’s mouth went agape. He looked at his brother-in-law. Pepys feigned surprise and nodded brightly as if to say, Well done, Balty! Your ship has come in at last, old cock!

  Downing wrote out Balty’s commission on the spot, signed and sealed it. He then wrote a letter that he didn’t show to Balty, and sealed it, instructing Balty to give it to Downing’s agent in Boston, one Plantagenet Spong. He would act as Balty’s aide-de-camp and bodyguard. Pepys knew the name must be a pseudonym. He’d done a lot of ciphering for Downing, rendering his messages in code. No one in the spy business used real names.

  Pepys took the stunned Balty to the Legg tavern in King Street and in a celebratory mood ordered Rhenish wine and lobsters.

  “Sir George certainly went lighter on you than he did on me at my school examination. Grilled me remorselessly on Catullus.”

  Balty was subdued. “I . . . It is a bit overwhelming, Brother Sam. New England.”

  “Overwhelming marvelous, I should say. It’s not every day one receives a Crown commission. I confess I’m a bit jealous.”

  “Did you know? Beforehand?”

  “Well, yes. Of course.”

  “You might have told me. Instead of making up that jibber-jabber about gamekeeping.”

  “Brother Balty. You must understand—this is the King’s business. It’s highly confidential.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather be a gamekeeper. Or work at your dockyard.”

  “Oh, come. Testing hemp at the Ropeyard? Tallying barrels of pitch? Instead of a commission to hunt for killers of his late majesty?” Pepys sighed heavily. “I fear, dear Balty, you do not comprehend what a great honor this is.”

  “I don’t say it’s not. It’s jolly lovely. But New England? I shall have to take a ship.”

  “That is the customary way of going. But if you can find a land route to New England, that would certainly be an achievement to eclipse finding regicides.”

  “But what if I don’t find them?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t worry. I suspect Lord Downing’s real purpose in sending you is to remind the recalcitrant Puritan ‘saints’ of New Haven that a new King sits on the throne. I’m sure he’s well aware that Whalley and Goffe are long gone. Probably dead of the rheumatic fever from years of hiding in dank basements. I venture to suppose that your true task is merely to stick to these New Haveners. Let them know all is not forgiven. Remind them of the King’s continuing displeasure.” Pepys grinned. “Make a nuisance of yourself. Shouldn’t be—” He stopped himself. “Puff out your chest, bang on their doors, wave your commission in their faces. Demand to inspect the premises. That sort of thing. Sounds rather a lark. Almost wish I were going with you.”

  “What if they slam their doors in my face?”

  “God help them if they do. Obstructing a Crown commissioner in the course of his duty? Treason! Punishable by death. That paper Downing gave you entitles you to be the biggest pain in the arse in all New England.”

  Balty brightened. “Oh. Well, I suppose. Yes.”

  “I envy you. I should love to make sour-faced Puritans dance to my tempo. I’ve long yearned to see the New World. I hear it is full of marvels. Who knows? You might fall in love with a beautiful Indian princess and decide to stay.”

  “But I love Esther.”

  “Yes, of course. But you might fall in love with New England. You could send for Esther to join you there.”

  “I . . .”

  “They say a man can be anything he wants to be there. I must say, it sounds perfect heaven. Virgin land. Forests teeming with game. Rivers. Lakes. Skies.” Pepys leaned closer and purred. “With all respect to Esther, I am reliably informed that the native women are not only beautiful but complaisant. They hurl themselves at Englishmen. Oh, dear. Now I truly do wish I were going with you.”

  “But there are savages. One hears appalling stories.”

  “No, no, no,” Pepys said emphatically. “All that’s in the past. There was a bit of unpleasantness at the outset, but the savages have been entirely domesticated. Apparently they make very good servants. I wonder—do they put them in livery? Hm. We English have the gift of civilizing our conquered peoples. Unlike the Dutch. Hollanders are constantly at odds with their savages. Always having to put down rebellions. We give ours a nice bit of land of their own and everyone’s content. We keep the peace among the various tribes so they’re not at each other’s throats over beaver hides and oyster shells and wampum and whatnot. You’ll meet one or two, I imagine. I saw a painting of one. Superb-looking chap. Feathers everywhere. Marvelous cheekbones. Some say they’re descended from the Trojans.”

  “How did they get to New England from Troy?”

  “Slowly, I should think. But they are talented
about boats. Some other scholars say they’re the rump bit of the Lost Tribe of Israel. Take notes, Balty! I shall want to hear every detail. In the event you do decide to return.”

  “So it is safe?”

  “Oh, far safer than London. And no plague. You’ll have Downing’s man, Spong, looking after you. I’ve met some of Downing’s men. And they’re not ones to tangle with. You’ll be in the best of hands.”

  Balty considered. “I don’t know how Esther’s going to take the news. Or Elizabeth.”

  Pepys said gravely, “Balty, you must understand, this is a highly—highly—secret undertaking.”

  “I can’t not tell Esther and Elizabeth.”

  Pepys shook his head. “It is imperative that you not tell Esther. Or my wife. It could put your mission at risk. Even your life.”

  “My life?” Balty squeaked.

  “Dear, sweet Balty. His majesty has enemies in London. Do you think Esther and Elizabeth would be able to keep your secret? They would be so . . . proud of you, they’d be shouting it from the rooftops. Our own brave Balty, off to New England to hunt for traitors! Absolutely, no. Under no circumstances must they know the true nature of your business. For your own safety. Once you’re in Boston, you’ll be under this Spong’s protection.”

  “But—what am I to tell them?”

  “Yes. We shall need a legend for you. We shall tell them . . . we shall tell them that I managed to secure a place for you on a . . . survey. Um. Yes. Just the thing.”

  “Survey? Of what?”

  “Forests. You will be scouting for timber. For the Navy’s warships. Certainly we shall be needing no end of timber if we’re to have another go at the Cheesers. New England white pine is far superior to what we get from Norway and Sweden. Taller. You can make an entire mast from a single tree. Norwegian wood requires two. And doesn’t last as long.”

  “I don’t know much about timber.”

  “Dear Balty, let us speak frankly. You don’t know much about anything. Which is why at age twenty-four you are sans career. But no longer. Now you are employed. Gloriously employed!”

  Pepys raised his glass. “A toast. His Majesty, Charles the Second. Long live the King.”

  Balty raised his glass solemnly. “Vive le roi.”

  “And to Balthasar de St. Michel, judge hunter. Let New England tremble at his approach!”

  Balty blushed. “Rather like the sound of that.”

  They clinked glasses.

  Pepys was all aglow. “Another round of lobsters? And another bottle of this damnably expensive wine? I think the Navy Office owes us a celebratory dinner. What say?”

  “I say, Encore!”

  – CHAPTER 4 –

  March 2nd. I cannot but think that Providence itself hath smiled on this strange undertaking, else how could it ever have come about, against all expectations? My heart full to bursting.

  Despite joy at being rid of him, find myself afflicted with strange tender feelings for Bro Balty, which hitherto I have never entertained, as a consequence of his incessant neediness and importunings.

  I pray he will not make a pig’s breakfast of matters and reflect ill upon me. Yet I can foresee no reason why he should not be up to the task of making Puritans yank out their hair, since he has made me yank out mine on so many occasions.

  Tomorrow shall inform my wife. Doubtless there will be a scene. In anticipation thereof, today purchased a pretty pearl necklace at a cost of £4 10s.

  And so to bed.

  – CHAPTER 5 –

  Baltee ’ates Boats

  “New England? New England?”

  Elizabeth Pepys’s round face flushed pink with outrage. Her ringlets jerked and bounced in rhythm with her outbursts. During scenes like this—not uncommon in the Pepys ménage—her French blood dominated the English. “But Baltee cannot support ’imself in old England. No. Non. It is completement absurde. I forbid!”

  She’d been going on now for hours.

  “Nonsense,” Pepys said. “It’ll be good for him. Don’t you want him to make something of himself? Other than a beggar?”

  “You are a ’orrible person, Samuel Pepys.”

  “Well, there’s gratitude, I must say. Have I not been the sole support of your brother all these years? To say nothing of other members of your helpless family? And for this Christian charity I am called ’orrible. I ought to box your ears.”

  Elizabeth had seized one of his lutes, a particular favorite for which he paid the sum of ten pounds. She held it by the neck, brandishing it as if it were a club.

  “Woman,” Pepys commanded, “put that down. This instant. Or you’ll be hearing church bells for a week!”

  She collapsed onto a chair, sobbing. Pepys went to his wife, knelt, and held her and kissed her hand. “My love. What a silly girl you are.”

  “ ’E will never return,” she whimpered.

  Pepys averted his face so she would not see what unalloyed joy this prospect brought him.

  “Tush. Really, what a to-do my sweet darling makes. Why, you make it sound as though he’s going off to war.” Pepys thought, Hm. “There’s talk of war with Holland, you know. If you would really prefer, I could get him a billet tomorrow on one of our warships. Perhaps that would be best. Nothing turns a boy into a man like a good, raging sea battle. Cannonballs smashing through the hull, rigging crashing down on the deck, bits of wood and iron flying through the air like knives. Smoke everywhere. Fires raging. Grappling hooks, the cries of the dying . . .”

  Pepys seized a poker from the fireplace and began slashing at imagined boarders. “The cut and thrust with cutlass and pistol and axe.” Pepys paused in his bellicose miming and said pensively, “Perhaps in the end that would be better for Balty. To be blooded in battle, rather than tromping about forests, marking trees to cut down.”

  “No!” Elizabeth said, weeping anew.

  “All right. If you say. You might be a bit happy for him. It’s a job, darling. How long has it been since your brother had one? The reign of Charlemagne?”

  “Esther is not ’appy about this.”

  “Perhaps. But neither, as it happens,” Pepys said with a trace of acerbity, “is she pregnant. She bloody well ought to be thankful.”

  Elizabeth wiped her tears with her sleeve.

  “Where is New England?”

  “Oh, not far. Just, you know, other side of the water.”

  “Baltee ’ates boats. Always he is vomiting.”

  “Darling, in the Navy, we call them ships. And my job is to help the Navy build them. Which is how I rose to be Clerk of the Acts. Which is how we can afford such a fine home, and servants, and your petticoats, and your baubles and all the rest. As for Baltee’s mal de mer, until I assume the powers of Neptune and am able to calm the waters with a wave of my triton, there’s not bloody well much I can do about that. Maybe a sea voyage will cure him of seasickness. And of his other chronic affliction.”

  “What affliction?”

  “Poverty.”

  Before she could remonstrate, Pepys leaned forward over her lap and kissed her between her breasts, inhaling sweet perfume. “Now, come, my strumpet. Put on that lovely pearl necklace I bought you and see how it hangs on this delectable neck. It was very expensive, you know. What an extravagant husband you have!”

  – CHAPTER 6 –

  March 4th. My wife at first exceeding stroppy on news of her brother’s coming timber quest in Newe England. Threatened me with my lute. Eventually pacified. Exprest pleasure at gift of pearl necklace.

  For dinner a dish of marrowbones, neat’s tongue, a plate of anchovies, and a tart. Also a cheese.

  Played “Gaze Not on Swans” for her on my lute, passingly well.

  Afterward merry in bed.

  And so to sleep.

  – CHAPTER 7 –

  The Devil’s Own Work

  Balthasar de St. Michel looked out upon Boston harbor from the deck of the ship Nymph with a joy greater than he had ever known, having spent the previo
us ten weeks with his head in a bucket while being violently hurled from one bulkhead to another amidst incessant gales. He had lost so much weight that his clothes hung from him like an insufficiently stuffed scarecrow. His pallor resembled a corpse too long awaiting burial.

  During the first of the Atlantic gales, Balty had crawled from below on all fours to the quarterdeck and demanded that the captain turn his ship back to England. Being somewhat occupied trying to keep his ship afloat, the captain ignored him. Balty clung to the mast so as not to be swept overboard and repeated his demand, insisting that as Crown commissioner, he outranked the captain. The captain paid no attention to his ululations. Balty contemplated letting go of the mast and allowing the waves to sweep him into the deep and end his misery. Finally he crawled back to his berth, where he spent the next weeks regretting that he had not chosen to end his life.

  He stood at the head of the gangway, holding on to both stanchions for support as he gathered strength to disembark.

  “Rest assured,” he croaked to the captain, “his majesty shall hear of your contumacy. To say nothing of your atrocious seamanship.”

  “And a good day to you, sir.”

  Balty wobbled down the gangplank onto the New World. He would have dropped to his knees and kissed the ground beneath his feet, except that it was a mire of muck.

  He stood, dizzy and weaving, and beheld Boston Town.

  Elated as he was to be standing on terra firma, Balty was not impressed by what he saw. Boston seemed somewhat shabby. But it did not heave and pitch beneath his feet.

  His nostrils twitched from a sour smell. A building by one of the wharves was smoking. A line of men were passing buckets, one to the next, throwing water onto it. Balty wandered toward the commotion.

  It appeared that the battle was lost. The fire had consumed all but a few beams. A cluster of official-looking men stood nearby, observing the scene with grim faces and much stroking of chins. Armed constables appeared to be standing guard over the charred remains. Odd.