“It’s true,” William Goffe ruled. “It never looked like a country for settling, it was like Africa or the East. Somewhere that you’d visit to make a fortune and be glad to get home alive. All the early settlements died or gave up.”

“Aye, just so. But now this pickthank comes to my door and tells me that the land is empty—empty! So the English have the right to everything, that he wants to be a master. Doesn’t even know how much land there is. Doesn’t know beyond Hatfield, won’t ever go upriver for fear of not getting back before dark. Doesn’t even know how many natives there are. Thinks he’s a hero to get as far north as Hadley. Thinks he’s deep in an empty wilderness when he comes through the town gate to my lot. Doesn’t know nowt!”

William Goffe laughed at Ned’s indignation and poured a glass of small ale for him from a jug on the table. “He’s got you rattled,” he remarked, and waited for the rueful warmth of Ned’s reluctant smile.

“He’s the sort of man who decides what side he’s on, when he sees who’s winning,” Ned warned them. “The sort that welcomed you as heroes, like they did in Boston when you got here, but then as soon as they heard the death sentence from the English courts, decided that they’d rather send you back to England for trial. No heart for one side or another. No heart at all.”

“I suppose so,” William agreed. There was a pause as he poured more small ale. “Who’s like us?” he asked in the old drinking oath they had picked up from the Battle of Dunbar when they had defeated the royalist Scots and won a victory for the common men of England and the Commonwealth.

“Damn few, and they’re all dead,” Ned replied.

They clinked glasses and then fell silent for a moment.

“No free-born Englishmen would ever send us back,” Edward said. “I know they didn’t dare to defy the king’s proclamation openly; but they passed us hand to hand in secret till we were safe here.”

“I don’t know how they can bear a king in England,” William said. “After living in freedom! After godly rule!”

“Would you go back to fight against Charles the Second?” Ned asked curiously.

“I’d sail tomorrow. Wouldn’t you? I wait for the call, I expect it, any day now.”

William laughed shortly. “Well, it’s a feud now! What with naming me as unforgivable, putting a price on my head, and hunting me down through the old world and the new, spying on my wife and daughter! Executing my brothers-in-arms! I’ll never forget hiding in the cave from his spies. I won’t forgive living here, hidden by friends, ducking into the cellar at the first hint of strangers, putting all of you in danger as well as myself.”

The men were silent, thinking of the old battles they had won and the final battle they had lost, that had driven them into exile.

“I suppose I’d fight against him if I had to,” Ned said slowly. “If I was called. But I’d hoped to leave the old country and the wars of the old country, and live in peace. It’s not that England was ever a kindly mother to me or to mine.”

“No wife?” Edward asked, missing his own wife, Mary, in distant England.

“No wife,” Ned confirmed.

“No family at all?”

“I have a sister and her children. Poorly treated and poorly lodged. A sinner, like us all, but God knows more sinned against.”

The men fell silent.

“Anyway,” Ned said more cheerfully. “You’re safe now. The minister keeps his faith, Mr. Russell will never betray you.”

“He’s a good man,” William confirmed. “But I think we’ll take to the woods for the summer season; it’s weary work staying out of sight, living in a town but not being part of it. Hearing them practice the drills against attack and knowing they don’t know the first thing to do. They’ve not even built palisades! An enemy troop could march right in.”

“You can hide in the woods near me and I’ll keep you supplied,” Ned offered.

“Near you, or deeper into the forest,” William said. “Maybe even back to the coast. Anywhere that King Charles can’t send men to find us.”

“It’s been more than twenty years since we beheaded his father,” Ned said. “Surely there must come a time when the king offers pardons.”

“Not him!” Edward exclaimed. “This is a man who dug up his dead enemies and hanged their corpses. Cromwell himself! Our commander and the greatest men that ever served their country? Dug out of his grave and executed for spite. What good does he think that does? Raising the dead to slight them? It’s superstition like a fool, it’s little more than witchcraft.”

“Stupid,” Ned replied, whose sister had once been swum as a witch. “I can’t abide that sort of thinking.”

JUNE 1670, LONDON

As soon as James had gone, Sarah ran upstairs and brought her grandmother down to the parlor. Tabs laid the table and brought in the dinner—a venison pie from the nearby bakehouse, and a plate of oysters.

The family bowed their heads as Alinor gave thanks for the food. “And may my brother have as good a dinner and be as light of heart as we are tonight, in the new land that is his home.”

“Amen,” everyone said. Alys glanced at her mother. They had always named Rob when they said grace, but now Rob was gone and his widow took up her fork and waited to be served.

“Are they starving you at Mr. Watson’s?” Alys asked her son as he sliced the pie and gave himself a good portion, oozing with dark rich gravy.

“No, they set a good-enough table, and us counting house lads eat with the family, but there is nothing in the world like your small ale and shell bread, Ma.”

“Madame Piercy takes nothing but tea and bread and butter at dinnertime,” Sarah volunteered. “She says true ladies have no appetite. We girls go out to the pie shop every day.”

“Then how will you ever save your wages?” her mother demanded.

“Ma, I can’t. Between ribbons and dinners, I can’t make it stretch.”

“When I was your age, I only bought ribbons from the Chichester fair and that never more than once a quarter.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “But I’m surrounded by shops, Ma! It’s like poaching was for you. Everywhere I turn, there is something to pick up.”

Alinor smiled. “Don’t you believe her! Your mother would have sold her soul for cherry ribbons,” she said. “And surely you’ll earn more when you’re a senior milliner, Sarah?”

“Yes,” the girl confirmed. “And I’ll bring it home, I promise.”

Alinor turned to Johnnie. “And is Mr. Watson pleased with you?”

“He’s pleased with nothing,” Johnnie answered. “With the court so much in debt and the king such a spendthrift, all he can see, all anyone can see, is more taxes ahead. Taxes for all the City merchants to pay for luxuries at the court.” He turned to his mother. “D’you want me to look at the books with you tomorrow?”

“I’d be glad of it,” she said. “If you’re not too tired. You do look pale, my boy.”