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“As Jehovah wills it, so shall it be.”

  “Why must you do this Michael? Why you? What compels you, what drives you so?”

  “I have made an oath on it Richard Mead, a sacred oath. Do you understand what such a pledge means?”

  Mead glared at him.

  “Oh aye,” he sighed. “I know fully what THAT means may God forgive me!”

  Without being aware of it, both men had risen from their chairs and had been gesticulating furiously. Both now subsided.

  “Again you speak somewhat strangely Richard,” said Michael quietly. “Would it help to talk? I think myself a good listener.”

  “Are you now to be my confessor master Jew?”

  “Surely sir that is a role for a papist, those who you seem to disapprove of so vehemently. No, no confessor I. But I know that a sympathetic ear is often as good as any medicine.”

  Mead prowled around the room for a moment or two, his brow deeply furrowed.

  “It is a long tale and not a pretty one,” he finally said. “Are you not tired?”

  “I am not too tired to listen to a troubled soul. And, just as I am no confessor, nor am I judge. I have no right to condemn any man.”

  “I’ll remember you said that!” snorted Mead. “Well then, sit ye down and you shall hear of it.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Richard’s father James was in an ill mood. He frowned at the meal before him and remained silent and withdrawn. Richard’s mother took the initiative.

  “Elizabeth, you will say grace for us today.”

  “Yes mother,” said the young child with a nervous glance at her father.

  She recited the litany halting momentarily as, tongue poking out between her lips in concentration, she struggled to remember a word. Richard silently mouthed the word to her, winked, and the job was done. Supper over, father seemed to awaken a little but he was still clearly perturbed. By and by, Elizabeth was sent to her bed having been sternly reminded to say her prayers, ALL her prayers. Richard had a harness to repair before retiring. He took his leave of his parents and went to the stable. Then he discreetly crept back to eavesdrop. His father, though always a serious man, was uncommonly out of sorts today and Richard was anxious to know why. He also knew that his parents would not openly discuss awkward issues in front of him until a course of action had been decided upon, hence the subterfuge. He arrived under the window as his mother began her interrogation. A patient, God-fearing and hard working woman, she could not abide secrets, least of all from her husband.

  “So then husband, will you tell me now what ails you? Your countenance this day is enough to curdle milk.”

  Richard grinned. Only from mother would father tolerate such impertinence. He could hear his father pacing up and down.

  “I am the King’s loyal servant,” father stated puffing vigorously on his pipe.

  “And who could doubt it?” asked mother.

  “Wife, I feel my loyalty is being sorely tested. I feel as if I am being pulled in two directions at once.”

  “Hush James,” cautioned mother. “Keep your voice down. Your words might be misunderstood.”

  “I have been to our church to speak with Christopher Pitkin. He is working therein for the preacher. What I have seen there disturbs me greatly. The altar table has been moved. It stands now at the east end of the church, no longer can we encircle it.”

  “Why has this been done?”

  “It is the order of Archbishop Laud.”

  “The King’s spiritual advisor?”

  “Just so. But there is more. Christopher has been building a fence, a ‘pale’ it is called. A year and more has he and his son William been at work on the task, constructing the thing bit by bit as a shepherd constructs his hurdles. Now he is assembling it in the church.”

  “I have heard nothing of this. His wife, God rest her soul, said nothing before she passed on.”

  “In secret has it been done. It is my belief she knew nothing of its building.”

  “Why in secret? Chistopher Pitkin is a man of rare talent, a God-given talent truth be told when it comes to the fashioning of wood. Is he not proud of his labour’s outcome?”

  “He is. But it is not the craftsmanship that is array, it is the purpose of this fence, this pale.”

  “And what is that?”

  “There are those who say it is to keep animals, dogs and such from the table, but I do not believe this to be so. Nay, it is to keep ordinary people away from the altar. It seems Archbishop Laud does not think us worthy to come to close to the Lord without his leave.”

  “He cannot do this!”

  “Oh but he does, and he does so in the King’s name. Not only this, idols and pictures of a richness such as I have never seen are being placed within our simple church. I tell you woman, this is but one step from popery!”

  “The King is no papist.”

  “No, perhaps not yet, but his wife is and I am thinking that it is His Majesty’s wish to bring us nearer to the Church of Rome.”

  “Parliament will never allow it.”

  “Hah! Parliament is it! Did the King not dissolve it when it displeased him by withholding money? Did Parliament prevent him raising Ship money, a disgraceful tax, from people such as we who live nowhere near the sea? No, Parliament will say nothing.”

  “Then who will?”

  “May the Lord forgive me, but I’m thinking that sooner or later, the people of this land must. With or without Parliament, the King must be made to see reason, he must listen, or the realm is lost. Even as we speak, Ireland is in flames with Protestant settlers being butchered at every turn. I tell you wife, this cannot go on.”

  Richard considered his father’s words as he lay abed that night. There was an undeniable unrest in the land; it was palpable even to him in this quiet little hamlet they called home. He was quite a learned lad, for which he had his father’s discipline and his mother’s boundless common sense and love of reading to thank. She also seemed to come by uncannily accurate gossip at regular intervals. Thus he knew that over the sea whole countries were being ravaged in the name of religion. Could England come to such a pass? Surely not. Not since the days of Elizabeth and Mary had such hatred visited the realm. Ah but wait. Had not the papists tried to kill the King’s own father along with the whole of Parliament in the Gunpowder Plot? But why then would the King show favour to those who would have killed his own kin? It made no sense. He would visit the church of St Martin and see this ‘pale’ for himself, perhaps then things might become clearer.

  The following day, his tasks largely done for the while, Richard took himself down to the village. On his way he passed a Puritan preacher haranguing a group of locals. Among the crowd he spied Wil Pitkin, son of and apprentice to, master carpenter Christopher Pitkin.

  “What cheer Wil!” beamed Richard playfully clapping his friend on the shoulder. The two had been friends for as long as anyone could remember. Find one and you’ll find ‘tother the villagers said. Somewhat reluctantly, it seemed to Richard, Wil had detached himself from the throng and fell in step with his pal.

  “Are you free from your toil?” asked Richard.

  “For a while. Father is making a new batch of varnish and there is nought to be done until the first coat is dry.”

  “Is this the fence you speak of?”

  “Pale you dolt, it is called a pale.”

  “May I see this wondrous work?”

  “If you must,” shrugged Wil.

  “By the Lord, you are glum today Wil Pitkin,” sighed Richard. “What’s to do? Has the lovely Joanna found another, more decent beau?”

  “She has not. Where would she find a better man than I in these parts pray tell?”

  “Well then, what ails you, you misery?”

  ‘Come and perhaps you will understand.”

  They traversed the crossroad and entered the church through a side door.

  “Will the preacher not mind?”

  “He’s away visiting old Hanna, her wit
h the broken leg. Now, look you here.”

  Gradually, Richard’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Although he worshipped every Sabbath, lately, and only with his father’s grudging permission, he had been attending a meeting house in Harefield instead of his own parish church. Harefield’s chapel was plain and somewhat dour. Mary Thorhill, who worshipped there however, was not.

  As he focused on his surroundings, he realised that a considerable transformation had come over his local parish church. It was an old building, part Saxon and part Norman, strongly built in stone and with a high square bell tower. There were some stained glass windows, small and not elaborate, yet well made and attractive when clean. A parting of the clouds outside caused rays of light to enter these same windows and illuminate the interior bringing newly painted frescos and gilded statues almost to life. Now too it became clear that the altar had indeed been moved and in addition was covered by a huge and vibrantly coloured cloth of white and gold. On it were placed cups and chalices of silver and gold and over all towered an enormous and brand new cross of gold upon which hung an effigy of Christ carved in what appeared to be ivory. Richard’s jaw dropped. Never had he seen such a display of wealth. And here? Here in his little village? He took an involuntary step forward towards the splendour but Wil caught his arm.

  “Nay brother, you can go no further. See, there before the altar are the pews for people of note. All others must now sit behind. And what divides the two? Look you!” said Wil pointing angrily. “When complete, yonder pale will separate the altar and the ‘worthy’ from the likes of you and I. No longer are all equal in the eyes of the Lord, not in this realm anyway!”

  Richard was still in awe of the sights before him. He drew nearer to the almost completed pale.

  “It is magnificent!” he exclaimed running his hand along the superbly crafted woodwork.

  “Think you so? It is designed to match yonder speaking perch,” said Wil indicating a huge new pulpit looming towards the pews of the ordinary folk in an attitude of such intimidation that Richard was quite taken aback.

  “Come,” said Wil, “Let’s away.”

  Outside once more they were passed by the puritan preacher they had seen earlier.

  “Do you see brethren?” ranted the man in black, ‘Do you see where those in power would take us? To idolatry! To Papism!”

  The two friends moved away and sat on a wall near the pond. Richard was confused by what he had seen. He’d always been taught that religion was a matter between a man and God. Preachers existed to facilitate worship, but the act itself should be kept simple else it must surely be distracted and thus diluted. Richard observed that Wil seemed even more troubled than he.

  “Your father must be proud of his work, you too,” he ventured.

  “Then why pray do I feel so uneasy?” frowned Wil. “It is my duty to do my father’s bidding yet now, since mother died, that cursed fence is all he lives for. The Lord alone knows what he would do if it was broke, it would break his heart.”

  “I think it is wondrous. Perhaps that is how a church is supposed to look when funds permit.”

  “Hah! Your father would disagree I’m thinking, particularly when his taxes are paying for the like!”

  “Ah, I did not consider that. Wait though; are you saying that all churches are to be thus adorned? Why the cost would be … unthinkable!”

  “Archbishop Laud says it shall be so, and he speaks for the King.”

  “Then so must it be indeed then. We are the King’s men are we not?”

  “There are those who question it. No, I mean not the rabble-rousers and troublemakers. I speak of decent, honourable men of consequence. They fear the King is being ill-advised and must be saved from himself if needs be.”

  “Shssh now! Such talk leads on to other words, which in turn leads to charges of treason. If the King wills it, then there is an end to debate.”

  “Perhaps not. I have heard that Parliament is refusing to grant the King funds to fight the Scots unless His Majesty places restrictions on Laud’s activities.”

  “How can a King be refused? You have been reading those damned tracts again I find!”

  “The country is heading for trouble Richard. I for one would not be happy to be told how to worship the Almighty, not if the manner of it went against my conscience.”

  “Conscience is it? Is this the boy, now the young man, who has drunk, fought and caroused over half the county with me?”

  “This is different. I tell you Richard, I am seriously considering where my allegiances lie.”

  “You would not go against your father for shame! And he is a King’s man as is my father. Forget this foolishness Wil. Nothing will come of it, you mark my words, all this fuss will be resolved soon enough. We are Englishmen for heaven’s sake, we do not draw a sword over such issues!”

  “I hope and trust you are in the right of it Richard. Yet if it does come to a quarrel, I fear we may both have to choose a side and draw that sword of which you speak.”

  “Never in life brother!” scoffed Richard. “Anyway, I must away to my father’s stable or it will be the worse for me. The King himself could not save me from his wrath should I shirk my duties. I will see you anon Wil, and for the love of God, stop fretting about nothing!”

  Wil watched his friend walking back across the field and shook his head. Richard was the King’s man right enough but what of Wil Pitkin? Where do my allegiances lie if I am truthful to myself he wondered? He withdrew a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and read the tract yet again.

  When men put themselves above the word of God and tread down the people they are sworn to protect, is it not time for an honest man to consult his conscience and reach for his sword?

  Is it indeed worried Wil?

  Events go from bad to worse; a momentum is gaining. The King attempts to introduce a new Prayer Book, part of his vision of one united Kingdom cemented together by a single method of worship. So convinced is King Charles that, being the King, he must obviously be in the right, any one attempting to suggest that he might be making a mistake is scornfully dismissed out of hand. Charles attempts, without any discussion or debate, to impose his new Prayer Book on the Scots as a first step. The Scots reject it utterly and violently. Charles is outraged. Do they not know he is ordained by God? An army is raised and despatched north to bring the Scots to heel. The result is a disaster, so much so that Charles is forced into making a deal to bring about a peace. Yet Charles has no intention of keeping to the terms of the truce. The Scots must be taught a lesson and to that end the King approaches Parliament for money to raise a new army. The very notion of this act is an anathema to him. Every other monarch in Europe could simply demand the necessary money; he has to ASK for it! But ask he does. And this is what a number of members of Parliament have been waiting for. The King’s request is refused unless certain conditions can be guaranteed. Led by Mr Pymm and his supporters, a list of conditions is presented to His Majesty. Without these conditions being met, no money will be forthcoming. Conditions? They have the effrontery to issue conditions to the King? Charles is appalled by the very idea. But if that alone was not enough, a study of these conditions rendered His Majesty incoherent with rage, his habitual stammer making him virtually speechless.

  Primary amongst the list was a demand for an end to Charles’ policy of ‘High Church’, of the glitter and ceremony Archbishop Laud was so diligently introducing at the King’s behest. Next was a further demand, not a request, a DEMAND, that the King desists in his desire to introduce his new Book of Common Prayer. The King didn’t bother with reading further. The whole thing was intolerable. He was King; he did not have to take heed of anyone. Only he knew what was right for the Kingdom that much was plainly obvious. Then Charles makes a dangerous error of judgement. With the list of conditions crumpled up in his hand, he marches a company of soldiers from his palace in Whitehall to Parliament, his intention being to arrest Pymm and his followers and have them dragged to the
Tower. But he is too late. Already warned by a sympathiser in Whitehall, Pymm and his companions have fled. Seething with frustration, the King orders Parliament to be dissolved and closed.

  The King’s contempt for Parliament, and thus for the people themselves is now clearly apparent to all. England, and with it all of Britain began sliding down a very slippery slope. Many can see the anarchy looming ahead. None want it yet none seem able to stop it. People are beginning to take sides, some of their own volition; others find themselves being propelled into it by events outside of their control. Mobs supporting one side or the other take to the streets. Damage is done and people are hurt. The madness spreads. No longer confined to the cities and towns, vandalism and violence enter the shires and villages. Soon the anger, the frustration, the built up fear and suspicions spreads its tendrils into even the most docile of hamlets.

  “Did you hear Dick? Did you hear about the Black Horse?” cried an excited Wil.

  “I heard of a gang of ruffians breaking the heads of some loyal workers doing nobody any wrong if that’s what you mean.”

  “Those ‘ruffians’ as you call them were God-fearing men trying to bring the misled back to the fold.”

  “With cudgels? They were thugs bent on provoking the King’s loyal subjects and if they come back this way again they will learn that it is they who are misguided!”

  “And how will that be done pray tell?”

  “In the same manner that they started the issue, with a well-fashioned spade around their thick, cropped, Roundheads, that is how.”

  The two glared at each other each reluctant to go further into debate yet unwilling to concede any point of issue.

  “It is going to be King or Parliament Dick. Sooner or later, that and that alone is going to be the choice.”

  “I believe you are right Wil. I never thought it would come to this. I still pray that this madness can yet be stopped.”

  “How? We have a King who will not listen to his people, who would see us all in ruination rather than admit his errors. He must be made to see the folly of his ways and now, God help me, I believe that only force of arms can achieve this, it is our only recourse.”