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Show 9 The Bishop's man, with two henchmen at his flanks, approached Lathrop demanding to know his name. "John Lathrop," was the straightforward reply. With a look of reproach, he left Lathrop standing in the wake of ugliness. Lathrop heard him say to his sidekicks as he was leaving that the Bishop would think it good news that Leighton's execution had been so poorly attended by any supposed followers. It was evidence that the Bishop's strategy was working. Lathrop stood motionless as the guards carried Leighton, bleeding and fainting, off to prison. It was the last Lathrop would ever see of Alexander Leighton. Was this London? Was this the city that Lathrop and so many other Puritans had hope of becoming a New Jerusalem? Could a city ruled by a fiendish Bishop become a New Jerusalem, a kingdom in covenant with God Almighty? Only this morning, Lathrop had offered a prayer on behalf of Alexander Leighton, that the power of God would sustain him so that he would not suffer more than he could bear. He had read his impassioned book, Sion's Pleja Against Prelacy; somehow a copy of the ill-fated book had reached his hands. The words of his petition had carried an indomitable spirit with them--a spirit that the Bishop had tried and would continue to |