Alice in Love and War (4 page)

“Alice,” he pleaded, “be kind to me, eh?” He looked at her slyly. “You girls don’t mind the soldiers, do you?” He seemed excited by the sounds from above.

Alice struggled, broke free, and yelled, “Aunt! Aunt!”

At once he let her go, and slipped away. The sounds from the hayloft abruptly ceased. Alice ran to the kitchen, where her aunt said, “What’s to do? Did I hear you call?”

“No. Nothing,” mumbled Alice. She did not want another beating. She kept her head down and glowered as she went about her work.

Her aunt made a sound of impatience. “I can do without moping wenches.”

But Alice remained in low spirits. It was three long days since the army had left. She could not bear the waiting.

She went into the parlour and took up her sewing from the basket beside the settle. It was plain work, hemming sheets and pillow covers; work she could do while her mind was elsewhere. Often, when alone like this, she would daydream of escape from Tor Farm. Sometimes, in her imagination, she would find a ruined cottage on the moors, restore it and sweep it clean, hang lavender and rue from the beams. There she would try out remedies from her father’s book, gather herbs, study the movements of the moon and stars, become a wise woman – perhaps even, in time, an apothecary; for her father had told her that female apothecaries were not unknown.

That was one dream of escape. Another was love – a man who would marry her and take her away. Today she set down her sewing and opened the only other book in the house, the family Bible, and turned not to the New Testament but to the Song of Solomon.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine…”

Oh, Robin! If only…

On Friday, the fourth day, she found an excuse to walk the mile and a half into the village. She hoped she might hear some news there.

She saw wagons and horses in the fields, and a few soldiers, but no sign of the army’s return. The women were still about. A group of them were at the well with their pails, jabbering in some foreign language and taking over the space. A few village women waited impatiently and muttered together. One of them – the hefty maidservant from Hannaford’s, the cobbler’s – lost patience and snatched the leather pail from the hands of one of the strangers and flung it away, pushing the woman in the chest so hard that she stumbled back against her companions.

At once an affray broke out. A woman launched herself at Hannaford’s servant, punched her and pulled off her cap. Others joined in from both sides. Soldiers came at a run and separated the two groups. The village women reclaimed the area around the well, hands on hips, shouting complaints to the soldiers about being overrun by Welsh whores. Those from the camp began to move away; but one – a small sturdy girl with brown hair curling below her cap – hung back, and Alice recognized her as the one who had lost her pail. It lay on the other side of the street, and she could see that the girl did not want to pass the village women to retrieve it, let alone queue again for water.

Alice knew how it felt to be unwelcome. She ran and picked up the pail herself and took her turn at the well behind the last of the gossiping women. When it was full she walked across to the group of army women and offered it to the girl, who looked at her with gratitude and said,
“Diolch yn fawr,”
and then, in English, “Thank you.” Her friends nodded to Alice and the group moved on.

The village women had watched this exchange with disapproval. Alice felt their eyes on her as she returned. No one challenged her, but Hannaford’s servant said loudly, “Foreigners! Soldiers’ whores!” And she spat.

Alice didn’t think the women had looked like whores. They were not tricked out to display their charms like some of those she’d seen last time. Their clothes were plain and modest in style, and much mended, though far from clean. She wished she had asked the girl if she had news of the army. She’d wanted to, but the girl’s foreignness had put a barrier between them. Later, in the village, she heard nothing but speculation, along with stories of plunder and of two young sisters raped by soldiers, which made her realize they had been lucky at Tor Farm.

The next day, the army returned. Alice heard the drums and ran outside, along with everyone else. They saw the distant column of men coming along the road from Tavistock.

Jenefer said, “Reckon they beat the rebels? Don’t look defeated, do they?”

Mary Newcombe agreed. “But, God willing, they’ll be gone for good soon.”

Alice turned away, afraid her anxiety for Robin would betray her. It was hours later when at last the billeted men appeared at the gate of Tor Farm. And he was there! Uninjured, by the look of him. They exchanged a warm glance. She wanted to fly into his arms, but was forced to wait all through supper and after, when the men demanded beer, and their leaders – Robin among them – sat drinking by the fire.

But his eye was on her, and as she passed he caught her hand and whispered, “The shepherd’s hut?”

And she nodded, trembling.

He left soon after. She waited a short while, then slipped out through the scullery door. The evening was mild, the air full of midges. Watch appeared and barked, wagging his tail.

“Hush!” She put a hand on his head, glanced around, then set off quickly up the tor.

Robin was waiting for her in the shadow of the hut wall. Their arms went around each other.

“I was so afraid you’d never come back,” she said. “You’re not injured? Not hurt at all?”

“No.” His rough cheek scraped hers; he smelt of gunpowder. “Soldiering’s mostly waiting about, wondering what they’ll tell us to do next.” His hands were on her body. “And wishing we were somewhere else. Lie down with me, love?”

They went into the hut and lay on his coat, kissing and straining close to each other. Alice felt as if she could never get close enough.

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” she said. She couldn’t explain how much.

This time, when they made love, it did not hurt, but everything was overshadowed by her fear of losing him. She had never felt such intense happiness and misery before.

“They say we’ll leave soon,” said Robin. “I doubt it’ll be tomorrow. Perhaps Monday.”

Alice felt desperate. “What can we do?” She had a mad idea that they might run away, hide, find some wild place where only love mattered. “I shan’t be able to bear it when you go,” she said.

He stroked her hair, kissed away her tears. “I’ll never forget you, Alice.”

But that made it worse! She wanted to be loved, not remembered. She only cried the more, and nothing he said could comfort her.

The next morning the soldiers went out early and stayed in their encampment. Alice accompanied her aunt and uncle to the village church. She saw great activity in the camp – a sign of change that made her fear Robin was right and the whole army would be gone tomorrow.

That afternoon she waited in increasing anxiety for him to arrive at the farm. But it was not until suppertime that the group of soldiers came trudging up the steep track. Once again she was obliged to serve food and beer to them, maddeningly close to Robin but watched by her aunt. After they had eaten, several of the men fell asleep, and Alice’s uncle, ousted from his own chair, sat nodding on a bench, exhausted after a long day’s work on the hill. Sarah slipped away, presumably to her pikeman in the barn.

Alice and her aunt lit candles. Alice thought she would never have another chance to be alone with Robin; never even say goodbye. It was dark – too late to go up to the tor, even if they could get away unnoticed. Once, he caught her eye and cast an enquiring glance upwards at the ceiling. Alice, shocked, gave a little shake of her head. She wouldn’t dare! Not with her aunt here.

The sergeant told how they had stormed Plymouth’s defences with little success, and had left the Devonshire general Sir Richard Grenville to continue the assault.

“The king moves on to Okehampton tomorrow,” he said, confirming Alice’s fears. He belched, and looked around at the attendant females. “Where’s Sarah got to?” And then he announced loudly that he needed to piss, and went outside.

Soon after, a rumpus broke out in the yard: men’s voices, loud and angry; Sarah screaming; Watch barking. Everyone ran to the door – except Alice and Robin, who turned to each other. He seized her hand and made for the stairs.

“No!”

Alice resisted, but only for a moment. This might be their one chance. She followed him up.

Behind the curtain, on his bed, they began to kiss. The darkness enfolded them in an illusion of safety. She heard the others come back in, Sarah sobbing and protesting, Mary Newcombe scolding. The men continued to argue, and Watch to bark.

Robin held her close. “I’ll miss you.”

And Alice thought how he’d be gone in the morning and she’d never see him again. Unless… “Take me with you!” she said.

He laughed, his mouth against her hair. “I wish I could.”

“No! I mean it! I’ll march along with you. There are women in the camp – soldiers’ girls. I saw them. Take me with you, Robin.”

Now he understood that she was serious. “No, Alice, no. That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know what it’s like, camp life. Those rough women… You’d hate it. It’s not for the likes of you. You’d want to go home, and then what would I do with you?”

“I don’t care how hard the life is! I’m not afraid of that. Robin…?”

He breathed out heavily, took her by the shoulders, looked into her face. “Listen, sweet: I’ll come back to you, when the war’s over, when I can.”

She felt her eyes brim with tears. She wanted to be with him
now
. “Don’t you love me?”

“Of course. But … it’s difficult.” In the darkness she could not see his expression.

“There’s nothing for me here!” she whispered passionately. “
Nothing!
My aunt and uncle don’t want me. I hate this place. And I love you, Robin.”

He made a sound between a sob and a sigh. “Alice, I can’t—”

“Please!” She flung her arms around him, kissed his face and neck until she felt him respond, kiss her back and give in.

“Oh, Alice!” he said. “It won’t be what you imagine.”

But she didn’t care. He would take her; that was enough.

“We leave soon after dawn,” he said. “Can you get out without your aunt seeing?”

She met him halfway down the track into the village. She had brought a hessian bag with her, containing a spare skirt, bodice and linen, her red winter cloak, and her father’s book. There was also a purse full of coins – her aunt’s butter money. She felt guilty about that, but knew she might need it. She had never had any money of her own, and they owed her a dowry.

She was in terror of being pursued.

Robin said, “You could still go back if you’ve a mind to – before you’re missed.”

“You don’t want me to, do you?”

“No.”

But she thought he looked uncertain. “Robin? You haven’t changed
your
mind?” He must take her with him now; he
must
. She had burnt her boats.

He seemed to make a decision then; he took her hand and walked down to the camp with her while his friends joked and whistled. The camp was spread over several fields. Drums were beating and companies already forming up.

Robin led her to a field where there were wagons laden with officers’ boxes and chests; with rolls of canvas, tents, cooking equipment and other supplies. This, she saw, was where the women were. And where Robin would leave her.

“I can’t stay,” he said. “You hear the tattoo. Mistress Erlam’s here.”

He brought her to a woman of Jenefer’s age who was directing the packing of stores of beer and cheese. Mistress Erlam was broad and heavy-featured and looked formidable to Alice. It was clear that she knew Robin well; she exclaimed and smiled and clasped him in her arms. But she seemed astonished when he introduced Alice and explained why she was there. She looked at him disapprovingly, Alice thought; and he appeared somewhat hangdog. But she shrugged her shoulders and turned away while they said goodbye to each other.

It was brief enough: a quick kiss, and a promise to meet up when they made camp at Okehampton.

And then Alice was left standing in a field full of strangers.

“Get in this wagon and hide yourself,” said Mistress Erlam. “If anyone asks, I haven’t seen you.”

Four

Alice
hid inside the covered wagon, squeezed between damp-smelling bales of cloth, for several hours, while the army got under way. Robin had warned her it would be slow. The cavalry would go first, then the foot. There were sheep and cattle to be driven along, and the huge ox-drawn wagons of the artillery and ammunition trains laden with cannon, shot and casks of gunpowder; then the baggage train, full of provisions – food, medical supplies, tents and clothing – the officers’ belongings and the closely guarded sumpter wagons containing the king’s private possessions. The camp followers were always the last to leave.

Once, she heard a familiar voice, Matt’s, from the farm, asking after her – “A girl of sixteen years, of middle height, fair complexion…” – and almost had a change of heart, for she was beginning to feel frightened at what she’d done; and she liked Matt, who had always been friendly.

But then came Mistress Erlam’s voice, dismissive. “Could be anyone.” And Matt’s, apologizing for troubling her. Alice thought of her life at the farm: her aunt’s cold anger; her uncle; her constant fear of rape. Matt wouldn’t be able to protect her from all that. She inched back, out of sight.

The boy was gone now. Alice felt afraid and yet excited. Robin had already left; through a slit in the canvas she’d watched the infantry move slowly out of the village. Robin! She pictured him on the march: his long agile stride, his dark looks, the bandolier across his body, his sword and musket at his side. And she imagined meeting him again that night. They’d be together, without fear, with no need to hide. Everything would be different. They would belong together.

“You can come out now,” said Mistress Erlam.

Alice climbed down, and almost at once the train began to move. She became part of a column of people walking: women, farriers, armourers, sutlers, cooks. Dragoons – musketeers on horseback – rode alongside as guards. Alice kept close to her new protector. Some of the women around her were foreign; some were clearly whores; all seemed to move in their own groups, and she was not part of any of them.