When Jacob spoke again, the fog was clearing and reason was slowly returning. ‘What is your name, brother?’ the Ranter asked gently.
‘Thomas. Thank you for the food.’
‘The Ranters believe that nature’s bounty should be shared. We found you in the forest. We have treated your injuries. Where were you going, Thomas?’
‘I was running away. Where are we?’
‘We are in the hills above Speightstown. Did you come from there?’
‘Nearby.’
‘Do you work there?’ asked another voice.
Thomas glanced up. The face and voice were familiar. Someone he had met in the market, perhaps. ‘I do. I am indentured.’
‘Indenture is slavery,’ said Jacob quietly. ‘The Ranters do not condone slavery.’
‘All men and women are free,’ said the young woman who had given Thomas the bread and fruit. There was a chorus of agreement.
‘God is in all of us. Submission to the rule of others is wrong.’
Not feeling up to a discussion on faith and morality, Thomas nodded politely. The Ranters must have sensed his mood because after a while Jacob began to play a flute while the others danced naked around him. Among the dancers was the man who had asked him if he worked in Speightstown and when Thomas looked at him, it came back to him. The little man with thin wispy hair and watery eyes was none other than the Reverend Simeon Strange himself. The parson who had declaimed so mightily against the Ranters had become one of them. Thomas wondered if any of the other dancers were parsons or even members of the Assembly. For all he knew, Walrond or Bell could be among them.
He was in trouble. By now the brutes would be searching for him. If they found him they would flay the skin from his back. He knew he should do something but had no strength for it. He looked at the sky. It would soon be dark. Despite his ankle, he should go.
The music and dancing came to an end and the Ranters gathered up the remains of their food. The young woman who had spoken against submission to the rule of others took Thomas’s hand and helped him to his feet. ‘I am Catherine,’ she told him. ‘It is too late for you to leave now, Thomas. You must spend the night with us.’ She was right. Better a night with the Ranters than another alone in the forest. Thomas allowed himself to be led by Catherine along a path through the trees to another clearing where a circle of neat shelters made of branches and palm fronds had been erected.
‘There is a place for you here, Thomas,’ said Catherine, indicating one of the shelters. Thomas ducked inside. It was dry and cool and more fronds had been laid down to make a floor. Even if it rained he would be quite comfortable for the night. When he smelt cooking, Thomas emerged from the shelter and found that a fire had been lit in the centre of the ring and the Ranters were preparing to eat. While the men gathered wood for the fire, two women stirred a large pot simmering over the flames. Thomas breathed in the aroma and realized how hungry he was. When the food was ready it was ladled by one of the women into wooden bowls and handed out by Catherine. Each Ranter sat with their bowl and platter around the fire.
When she had served everyone, Catherine came and sat beside Thomas. ‘Are you familiar with the Ranters, Thomas?’ she asked between mouthfuls.
‘I have heard of you but know little of your ways.’
‘Would you care to know more?’
‘If you would care to tell me.’
‘Ranters reject the teaching of the Church. We believe that God exists in every living creature and that man is thus free of sin and of his own laws.’
‘Should a man not be punished for robbery or murder?’
‘He will be punished by God.’
‘Do you not believe in any form of government?’
‘We believe in the freedom of the spirit.’
‘I see,’ said Thomas, although he did not. Ranters sounded very like anarchists, albeit peaceful ones. ‘And why are you here?’
Catherine bit off a chunk of bread and chewed it thoroughly before answering. ‘There are some in England who fear our ways. When they passed laws against what they call blasphemy and adultery, it was to give them an excuse to prosecute us. Some of us chose to come here to practise our beliefs.’
‘Are you free to practise them here?’
‘For most of the time, we are. There are always a few who seek to interfere. We turn them away.’
‘I notice that Simeon Strange is one of you.’
Catherine giggled. ‘Simeon spoke vehemently against us until God persuaded him to join us. Even now, his faith is fragile and from time to time he turns against us once more. We tolerate this because we believe that he will see the truth once and for all when God wishes him to.’
‘Does his congregation not object to his being with you?’
‘I doubt if Simeon has told them.’
Catherine had finished her dinner and turned to sit facing Thomas. ‘And you, Thomas, how did you come to be on this island?’
While Thomas told Catherine the story of his arrest and indenture to the Gibbes, she sat in silence and listened. Not once did she interrupt with a comment or a question. ‘What a wonderful listener you are,’ he said when he had finished the story. ‘Listening is a great skill and much undervalued.’
‘We are taught to listen,’ she replied. ‘Our leaders insist upon it. They teach the art of deep listening.’
‘What is deep listening?’
‘It is listening beyond the words. Listening to the tone and the manner of the one speaking. That way, we learn the truth.’
‘Do they insist upon the removal of your clothing?’
‘That is a matter of choice. In this warm climate we choose to hide nothing from each other.’
While Thomas and Catherine had been talking, the other Ranters had gone to their shelters. None of them went alone. When they were the only couple left by the fire, Catherine rose and kicked earth on to it to kill the flames.
‘Come now, Thomas,’ she said, ‘it is time to rest.’ Thomas followed her back to their shelter and lay down on the palm fronds. Catherine lay on her side facing him and put her arm around him. As she gently stroked his neck, he realized how much he craved the comfort of another body. It had been a long time. Catherine sensed it and did not hurry, nor did she mention the scar on his cheek. She was slow and skilful and when it was over, she whispered, ‘Sleep peacefully, Thomas. Wake me if you need me again.’
The Ranters had chosen their camp site well. The insects and the singing frogs must have preferred lower, wetter places and Thomas slept untroubled by either of them. Some time in the night he woke and felt for Catherine. She moved closer but did not wake. Before he fell asleep again he thought, as he always did in the night, of Polly and Lucy. He thought of England without a king. And he thought of Tobias Rush.
When dawn broke Thomas stirred again. Catherine had gone and for a moment he did not know where he was. He scrambled out of the shelter and stretched his arms. His ankle was much improved but he still felt drowsy. If it were not for his family, he could easily stay here with his new friends. The Ranters had much to recommend them.
Gradually the Ranters emerged from their shelters and began preparing breakfast. Simeon Strange was one of the last to appear, his arm around Catherine’s waist. She smiled at Thomas and asked if he had slept well. ‘Like a baby, thank you, Catherine,’ he replied. ‘I am grateful for your kindness but I must soon be on my way. It might be dangerous for you if I were found here.’