Alice in Love and War (3 page)

Her heart was racing with more than the exertion of the climb as she set off at mid-morning, after slipping away from the farm. The tor was her special place, where she came to be alone, to weep, or think, or simply sit and gaze into the distance. It was over half a mile from the farm, and she took the long route, skirting the edge of the circle of old stone houses rather than crossing it. These houses were foundations only: hut-sized rings of flattish stones enclosed in a larger circle. They were ancient, perhaps not built by humans. The pixie rings, people called them, and were wary of entering the enclosure.

Robin had the sense to climb from the other side and not be seen following her up the open hillside. When she saw him approach she wondered again what she had set in motion, what he would expect of her. Fearful of being observed from the farm, she sat down out of view with her back against a large stone.

He dropped down beside her, breathless from his climb. “What a place you’ve chosen! Windy, wet and in view of everyone!”

“Not if you stay low.” And then she blushed, wondering what he’d make of that remark. But it was true that although it had stopped raining, the ground was wet and she could feel the damp through her skirts already.

He took off his coat and spread it out. “We can sit on this.”

It obliged them to sit close together, touching. He put his arm round her. Alice felt breathless, intensely aware of his body next to hers, of the feel of his arm encircling her.

“That’s a fine view,” he said.

The moor stretched out before them: green turf and grey rock, sheep calling, a wide, pale sky.

Alice drew breath, found her voice. “It’s misty. On a good day you can see for miles.”

“Which way is Plymouth?”

She pointed.

“We might be going there. I heard talk.”

She tensed, and his arm tightened around her.

“How long will you stay here?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Till the king and Prince Maurice and their generals come to a decision. It won’t be long, I fear.”

They turned towards each other, their faces close; and then both his arms went around her and he began to kiss her in a way that was gentle and exciting, and as different as could be imagined from her uncle with his wet, eager mouth and bristly chin.

Robin must have untied the strings of her bodice for she felt his hands, warm and sudden, on her flesh. The pleasure she felt was mixed with a fear that things were going too fast, that she should not be here, alone with him: and she tried to cover herself and said, “I can’t stay long … my aunt will miss me—” but he interrupted her with kisses.

“Truly,” she said, “I must go back.”

“In a while.”

And he drew her down with him on the coat and they lay close together and kissed. She liked that, and the feel of the breeze on her bare shoulders; but when he began to reach under her skirts she stopped his hand. He laughed, and his breath tickled her ear; he did not try again.

When they sat up he brushed earth and twigs of gorse from her hair, and set her cap back on her head. “There! A modest maid!” She giggled. He kissed her once more. “Come here again? Please?”

“My aunt will have her eye on me…”

And yet she knew she would contrive a meeting, somehow. There was so much excitement in being desired by this man, and the longing to be with him – to escape, to be loved – was so strong. She had never felt like this before, and was amazed at her own boldness. “I don’t know when,” she said. “You’ll have to watch me.”

“I will.” And he grinned, making her laugh.

She had no chance to be with him again that day, but the next morning her aunt sent her down to the village on an errand. The village was now the centre of the encampment. There were soldiers all around the streets and byways, and among them she glimpsed Robin, along with others from Tor Farm.

She saw women too: the women who followed the army. Some, with painted faces and dresses cut low almost to show their nipples, she knew at once to be whores. But there were also homely looking women there, one holding a small child by the hand. She wondered, uneasily, if Robin knew any of these women; if he used the whores. Surely, she thought, he would not?

And, indeed, he took no heed of the women, and when he saw her he smiled and came straight towards her. He walked back with her to the farm, taking her hand as soon as they were out of the village. Some of his friends overtook them and called out, chaffing him; but he only laughed and kept hold of her, and swung their joined hands. Alice felt a rush of happiness to be out with him like this, acknowledged by him in sight of his companions.

As they walked he talked to her about his time in the army: shocking stories of men hanged for pillaging, of duels between officers, accidents with muskets – men’s fingers blown off – and he made her laugh with tales of townsmen chasing chickens in a farmyard, his own attempts to build a waterproof shelter. Once, they stopped and chatted with a group of soldiers, and he stood with his arm round her, drawing her into their circle. She felt admired, approved of, as she never did at Tor Farm, and proud to be seen with such a handsome man.

When they came in sight of the farm he let go her hand and she ran on ahead, and so arrived alone.

That evening, after supper, they met briefly behind the dairy. He pressed her against the rough stone wall and kissed her with a passion that startled her. She felt him grow hard, and he whispered, “Alice, please… I’ll be going away soon…”

And his hand went again to her skirts, but again she caught it and said, frightened, “No, I can’t, not—”

And then they heard someone coming, and sprang apart.

The next day, Sunday, Alice was miserable. In the morning the soldiers went down to the village for a service led by the army chaplain. Alice had hoped to go to church, so that she might meet Robin afterwards, but her aunt saw through her plans and said she would not allow Alice and Sarah loose in the village on a Sunday, ogling soldiers; they could go to evensong later with her. Mary Newcombe was angry because the soldiers had killed and eaten five of her chickens. She harried Alice and kept her constantly at work in the house. Alice found no chance to speak to Robin that day, and neither did he seem to seek her out. All through evensong she brooded on their last encounter, and thought, I told him no; I denied him; and now he thinks I don’t love him. He’ll reject me, find another girl…

On Monday morning he was nowhere to be seen. The soldiers’ beds in the house were empty; there were no men in the kitchen. Alice had heard, at dawn, a distant drum tattoo from the village. Now, barely able to speak for dread, she asked Jenefer, “Have they gone? Struck camp?”

“Eh? No, young mistress.” Jenefer glanced up from the ashes of last night’s fire. “But a bunch of them took off to the village, early.” She looked slyly at Alice. “Your lad among them. They’ll be back, don’t fear. They left their shirts and hose with me for washing.”

Alice breathed again. And, indeed, Robin returned in the afternoon, but he was deep in conversation with his fellow soldiers. She knew something must be afoot. It was evening before she found out what.

She made her way up the tor, her desperation to speak to Robin overcoming any fear of passing the pixie rings at sunset. The afternoon had been fine, and the low sun lit the moor with a mellow golden light. It was too wet from yesterday’s rain to sit on the earth, but she leant against a rock and watched the way he would come – if he came at all.

When she saw him she forgot all reserve and ran into his arms.

He kissed her eagerly. “Oh, Alice, I’ll be sorry to leave you!”

She looked up at him, shaken. “You’re going soon?”

“Tomorrow, early. Now, listen, Alice.” He held her against him as tears sprang to her eyes. “We go to Plymouth. But the wounded will remain, and the baggage, and many of the men. So we won’t strike camp here. We’ll come back.”

She wiped her eyes, and sniffed. “What will you do there?”

“We’ll storm the defences. The town is in rebel hands.”

“Cannon? Artillery?” The images terrified her.

“Yes.”

She tightened her arms around him. He was perfect, unmarked, unhurt, alive. But tomorrow?

He said, his voice muffled by her hair, “There’s a shepherd’s hut I passed…”

Alice knew what he wanted. For her own part, she would have liked more courtship, more time, a promise of marriage. But the country was at war: there
was
no time; and soldiers, by their nature, were bound to be passing through. She wanted so much to please Robin, to be loved by him. If she agreed to this, then surely he would love her more, come back for her? And even if he did not … there was a fear always in her mind that one day soon her uncle would succeed in taking her by force. If I’m to lose my virginity, she thought, then let it be to Robin, who is handsome and desirable and the man of my choosing.

She followed him into the small stone enclosure. It was almost dark inside. The roof was partially fallen in, and the hearth cold, but the earth floor was mostly dry. They lay down together on his coat, and in no time he had unfastened her bodice and she heard him loosening his own clothing. He kissed her, and she felt his hands on her breasts, and then under her skirts, between her legs. She put her arms around him, slid her hands beneath his shirt, strained closer to him. She felt a warmth and softening throughout her body as he moved to lie on top of her. It hurt a little when he pushed inside her, but she didn’t mind; she knew she had pleased him. She clasped him in her arms and felt his heat and sweat and the weight of him and the pounding of his heart.

Afterwards, when they lay with their arms around each other, she thought about what she had done and felt both elated and scared. Would it show in her face, she wondered, when she went back to the farm?

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No – not much.”

“I tried not to. I knew you were a maid.”

Were
. She had given something of herself away to him; lowered her market value, her aunt would have said. But her aunt did not love her; whereas Robin… She asked, tentatively, “Do you love me?”

He drew her closer. “Of course. And I’ll come back to you, never fear.”

Three

The
next morning, before dawn, Alice heard the distant drum again. She knew now what it meant. She sat up. Jenefer was lying, as before, across the doorway. On an impulse Alice rose, squeezed past her, opened the door and began to edge out through the narrow gap. Jenefer murmured and opened her eyes, but Alice thought, What does it matter? She knows already. And she ran barefoot to the stair room, where she could hear movement behind the curtain.

“Robin!”

He pulled back the curtain, seized her in his arms and kissed her hungrily. He was half dressed. She felt his heat through their two layers of linen: shirt and shift. As his hands went under her shift she realized, with shock, that the other man who slept there was awake and watching.

“Robin, don’t…”

He released her – and at that moment, to her terror, the curtain was whisked open from outside and something tossed in. It was Alice’s clothes and shoes.

“Get yourself dressed,” Jenefer hissed. “Mistress is stirring.”

The racing of Alice’s heart subsided – but only a little. She pulled on skirt and bodice, provoking a soft whistle and laughter from the other man. She put her stockings in the pocket under her gown and pushed her bare feet into her shoes. One last kiss, and she ran downstairs, where Jenefer was stirring pottage over the fire.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Thanks were due, but she disliked being beholden to the maidservant. Nor did she like the way Jenefer smirked in response.

Afterwards Alice could not believe she had behaved so shamelessly with another man looking on. She had thought only of her longing to embrace Robin before he left. Now, she avoided catching the eye of any of the men as they came down to eat, and stayed in the scullery as much as possible. Robin gave her a brief smile once, when her aunt’s back was turned, but when breakfast was over and the soldiers began to assemble in the yard his attention was elsewhere. They marched out, leaving behind two wounded men, an empty larder and a pile of dirty linen.

Before her aunt could involve her in washing linen, Alice climbed the tor and stood looking down on the village. Up here she could give vent to her tears. She saw manoeuvres of men, horses and gun carriages taking place, and heard drums and fifes. The colours fluttered in the wind. Soon the crowd formed itself into a marching column and began to move away.

Be safe, she prayed. Come back to me.

When they were gone she walked down the hill, and back into the old routine of life at Tor Farm. Only nothing was the same.
She
was not the same; and her existence there – which had once been like a familiar injury, to be rubbed and complained of, but borne with resignation – now seemed unendurable.

She thought all the time about Robin; tried to imagine Plymouth, its defences, the fighting that would be taking place there. How long would the king stay? Days? Weeks? She wondered too – a little cold fear – whether she might be with child. She’d heard it could happen the first time, if the girl had been willing. And I
was
willing, she thought. But he’d marry her, for sure, if she was with child. He’d said he loved her. And he’d talked about marriage. “You’ll marry, won’t you?” he’d said, the day they’d met in the dairy. She went over and over that conversation now, pondering the significance of it. All her knowledge of love came from romantic ballads or the gossip of Jenefer. Both sources were full of passion, betrayal and yearning. Love, it seemed, was never easy.

Sarah, bereft of her sergeant, had found consolation with a pikeman, one of the wounded soldiers who remained behind. Alice stepped into the barn one day and heard their grunts and gasps coming from the hayloft overhead. As she turned to leave, her way was blocked by the bulky figure of her uncle. She dodged, trying to avoid him – “I’m looking for eggs” – but he pulled her into the shadows and forced his wet mouth on hers. She pushed at him in disgust.