Page 63 of Dark Tides
“And where was he going downriver in the dark?” Ned asked.
John shifted his gaze, looked over at the hills, shrugged. “Taking a message… I don’t know.”
“The Massasoit is still unhappy with the Council at Plymouth?” Ned asked. “He’s talking to other tribes? I spoke to the minister and he said he would warn the Council.”
“Your Council speaks to him as if he were one of their servants. I translate their words, I hear them speak as if we are theirs to command. They snap out orders as if we are slaves, as if this land is not ours; though they know they are newcomers. It has been ours since the rising of the first sun shone first on us, long before Englishmen came.”
Ned fetched two cups of root tea. John gave him a pinch of tobacco from the pouch at his belt and they both filled their pipes and smoked in silence. The aromatic cloud kept the insects away from their faces, and they were both aware that the smoke was sacred in the religion that neither practiced. Together they watched the sun set on their left behind the high terraces of the river, as the sky slowly turned from cream to darkness.
“Your friends will come back next moon,” John said. “It’s not been a good summer for them.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
John shrugged. “Who knows? They have discontent in their blood.”
“Will you bring them?”
“As I promised.”
“Thank you.” Ned hesitated. “They’re not happy?”
John shrugged. “They eat well enough and they are warm and dry. The women take them extra food sometimes. But they miss their homes. And they say they will never get home to England, not while this king is on your throne.”
Ned nodded. “They were two of the judges that executed this king’s father. He forgave those who fought—I was in that army—but he said the judges must die.”
John nodded; it was part of his law that a life should be paid fora life, so that part of the story did not surprise him. But a rebellion against a leader was unknown. “You took up arms against your own king? And they killed him?”
“He was a tyrant,” Ned tried to explain. “In my country we have an agreement about what kings may do. Even though they are kings. We had a parliament—like the General Court here. But he did not respect them, so we fought him and caught him and then we executed him.”
“I have heard of this. Did your friends smash his head? With a club?”
Ned choked on shock at the picture John conjured up and laughed awkwardly. “No, no,” he said. “We beheaded him. With an ax.”
It still sounded barbaric. Ned wondered that he had never thought of this before. “We built a scaffold, outside his palace,” he said, thinking that everything he said made the execution sound worse. “It was a proper trial. Before judges, many judges.”
John looked incredulous. “We’d never kill a king.” He shook his head, disbelieving. “You are a most violent people.”
“I’m not explaining it well,” Ned said. “Don’t tell people—it’s more complicated than I can say.”
“But you crucified your God as well?”
Ned tried to laugh. “That wasn’t us! That was years before!”
John shook his head. “You are a strange people to us,” he said. “I was raised in an English family and studied at Harvard, but I don’t think I will ever understand you. I translate between my people and the people of my raising—English—and I know the words, but the meaning!” He broke off.
“An Englishman’s word is as good as an oath,” Ned said stiffly.
John shook his head. “We both know that’s not true,” he said.
Ned felt anger rise and then he slapped his guest on the shoulder. “God forgive us,” he said. “You’re right. God help us, indeed. We speak falsely to you and to each other. We’re sinners indeed.” He got to his feet and fetched the jug of small ale; but he paused before he poured a cup. “I’m forbidden from giving you liquor,” he said, “for fear that I cheat you while you’re dead drunk. We are trying to be good neighbors, you know.”
“Oh, get me drunk and buy my land.” John held out his cup. “I’ve gotan eight-acre plot in a praying town; it’s only mine if I obey your laws and deny my people’s faith. I go between my angry ruler and yours. Get me drunk, steal my land, and throw me onto the streets of Plymouth.”
Ned poured the small ale. “They don’t want your eight acres in Natick. You know what they want: the great lands near Boston. So the city can grow and spread.”
John nodded. “I know it. We all know it. But this has been our land forever, tracked with our feet, the animals we hunt are the kin of the animals our ancestors hunted. They are kin to us. We belong here. We can’t sell.”
“Are you agreed?” Ned asked curiously. “Are you coming together as people say? To resist us?”
