“We will wait and watch. If they come south from the rivers of the Pamets, we will stop them.”

Autumnsquam sucked on the pipe and passed it to another. “If they come south, they will know that we are not women.”

vi.

“In the name of God, amen,” intoned William Brewster from the half deck. His had been one of the first and strongest of the Saints’ voices, and he had become eldest of the elders.

“ ‘We whose names are underwritten, the loyal subjects of our dread sovereign Lord King James, by the Grace of God of Great Britain, France, and Ireland King, Defender of the Faith, et cetera, Having undertaken for the Glory of God and advancement of the Christian Faith and Honour of our King and Country, a Voyage to plant the First Colony in the Northern Parts of Virginia, do by these presents…’ ”

Saints and Strangers had assembled on deck, in a cold mist, in the bay of a cold wilderness, to hear the reading of the agreement. One hundred and two souls would be asked to obey, though only the men had been asked to sign. The wife, after all, was the man’s chattel and would do as she was told.

Kate Hilyard jammed an elbow into her husband’s ribs. “Thou’d better sign if thou knows what’s good for thee.”

“I don’t care how handsome it’s writ, I ain’t signin’,” whispered Jack Hilyard.

“… solemnly and mutually in the presence of God and one another, Covenant and Combine ourselves together in a Civil Body Politic, for our better ordering and preservation and furtherance of the ends aforesaid….”

“I’ll bind meself to nuffin’,” added Jack. “I wants a free hand.”

“Give a man like thee a free hand, Jack Hilyard, and afore long it’ll be down every dress in sight.”

Kate was near twice as wide as her husband, and more than once had she laid him out when he grew too ardent or too drunk. She might once have been beautiful, but life in the London streets did naught to preserve beauty. Her skin was reddened by beer and wind, except in the dirt-caked creases around her neck. Her nose bent strangely where her father had broken it with a shovel. And she was missing several teeth. But whenever Jack returned from the sea, she laughed with him and drank with him and surrounded him with her love. And she had given him the strong son now perched in the ratlines above them.

“ ’Tis a fool’s bargain,” Jack said louder.

“Then thou be the one to make a mark on it,” said Kate.

“ ‘And by virtue hereof to enact, constitute and frame such just and equal Laws, Ordinances, Acts, Constitutions and Offices, from time to time, as shall be though most meet and convenient for the general good of the Colony, unto which we promise all due submission and obedience.’ ”

“Them’s the words I don’t like.” Jack now spoke out for all to hear.

Elder Brewster stopped reading and looked up. Heads turned all around.

“What words?” demanded William Bradford.

“ ‘Submission and obedience.’ Those ain’t in me”—Hilyard wiped the film of mist from his beard and thought after the right word—“lexicon.”

“They are in the lexicon of any man who wishes to see the face of God,” said Ezra Bigelow, who stood near Bradford.

Jack Hilyard pointed into the gray sky. “There’s the face of God”—he pointed to the hook of sand that surrounded them—“and there”—his hand shot toward the bay, where two humpback whales were spouting—“and there most of all.”

Ezra Bigelow came off the half deck and pushed his way through Saints and Strangers. “ ’Tis because of thy voice that this has been writ.”

“I won’t sign,” said Jack Hilyard.

“Thou wilt,” ordered Ezra Bigelow, in tone as cold as the mist, “in the name of God.”

“We compel no one.” William Bradford threw off his heavy wool cape and hat and came down the deck.

He was one of the youngest of the leaders, raised and trained by Brewster, nurtured by Scripture, a scholar of Hebrew and Greek, yet as tall and rawboned and hardheaded as one of Jones’s own seamen.

If this plantation had a future, thought Jones, it rested with Bradford.

“Let it be Goodman Hilyard’s choice,” he said. “A community is well served that has an outsider to look upon and pity.”

Kate Hilyard jumped in front of Bradford. “We’ll take no pity from no one, Will Bradford, whether Jack signs or not.”

“ ’Tis his own decision.” Bradford turned his back on Hilyard and looked at the others. “His fate is in the hands of the Lord, within our community or without.”

“You’d like it if I didn’t sign, wouldn’t you?” shouted Jack Hilyard.

But Bradford did not respond. Nor did Bigelow, who followed Bradford back to the half deck.

Christopher Jones knew the Saints to be courageous men of simple faith and true innocence. Only men of faith and innocence would hope to plant a colony in the wilderness with so few skills. But here was the skill that would hold them together. When it came to defending their power, they could be as shrewd and hardheaded as English bishops. William Bradford knew instinctively the way to bring Jack Hilyard into the fold. Ezra Bigelow, for all his declaiming, knew precisely when to be quiet.

And Jack Hilyard was left shouting like a fool. They hoped he would not sign so they could exclude him and his family, was that it? Well, he was as good as they. And what right did they have to compel any man to sign? He would sign only if he felt like it.

“Jack!” cried Jones, to save him further embarrassment. “Act as thou wish amongst the elders, but on me ship, act the seaman.”

“What be you tellin’ me, sir?”

His wife whacked Hilyard on the shoulder. “He’s tellin’ thee to sign the agreement.”

“A pledge of submission and obedience?”

“ ’Tis done by every seaman on this ship,” said Jones.

“ ’Tis done by every woman on this ship on the day she marries,” said Kate.