Alice in Love and War

by Ann Turnbull

  “We are all from one village, near Y Trallwng – Pool, the English call it. Rhian and I are sisters, and Nia is married to our brother Bryn.”

  “Who I love and adore and would not be parted from!” said Nia. “Oh! How I cried when he said he’d joined up and was going to war. We’d not been married a month!”

  “Then why…?” asked Alice.

  “We are poor. Everyone in the village is poor. The men are farm labourers. We all work for Sir John Leal, on his land, and live in his cottages. Sir John’s men came recruiting. Free uniforms: good strong shoes, two shirts, a coat and breeches. And the pay is good too – when they get it.”

  “But … why would he recruit his own workers and send them away?”

  “To find favour with the king! These gentlemen, they promise the king men, foot soldiers, a regiment. Their honour requires that they keep their promises.”

  “And they hope to be rewarded when the rebellion is over,” said Bronwen more cynically. “The young men all joined up together. Truth is, they had little choice, our landlord being loyal to the king, and it being his wish.”

  “But – oh, we three did cry and complain!” exclaimed Nia.

  “We did,” said Bronwen. “And then we agreed between us that we’d go too, and look after our men and each other.”

  “Rhian and Gethin were not even married then,” Nia said, with a teasing glance at the golden-haired girl. “Gethin is always slow to make a move; needs a push, he does.” Rhian blushed. “Well, we pushed them into it, got them wed, and here we are.”

  Alice felt her loneliness melt away as their chatter surrounded her. If I’d had such a group of friends, she thought, or a sister, I might have been happy, even at Tor Farm. But what would these girls think of her? Nobody had pushed her, got her wed, before she ran away with Robin. Would they call her a slut? Would they still want her to walk with them?

  The miles seemed less tiring that day, and the time passed more quickly. A large part of the king’s army was Welsh, and there were many of their women on the march. Although they did not all know each other, or come from the same places, they formed a distinct community. It was strange to be in a crowd of people all talking in a foreign language, but Nia made sure to translate if anything interesting was said.

  “You speak English well,” Alice said in some surprise, for surely these girls had had no schooling?

  “Oh, that’s because we are from near the border,” said Nia. “Y Trallwng is just inside Wales, and the traders come and go from Shrewsbury. But some of the Welshwomen here speak no English at all.”

  Alice had never heard of Y Trallwng or Shrewsbury. I would like to see this kingdom, she thought, all laid out on a map. I would like to know where I am, and where Wales is, and Ireland. And Oxford. Yes, especially Oxford, because Robin’s home is near there.

  In mid-afternoon they paused near Crediton, and the camp followers took advantage of the brief stop to sit down and eat. Alice had water – she and Robin had refilled their leather bottles from a spring that morning – but she had only a bit of hard cheese and stale bread to eat; and nothing for the next day. Many of the others, she saw, fared little better. She looked out for Robin, but he did not appear, and neither did any of the Welsh girls’ husbands. They were probably far away. The army, like a great untidy snake, straggled for miles along the country roads. Word came back to them that the king and his generals and Lifeguards were riding into Crediton and would dine there, and then the king would travel in state to Exeter that night.

  “We are to move on, to the far side of Exeter.” It was a soldier – one of their guards – who passed on the news. “So it’s wine and soft beds for the officers and a cold field for the rest of us, I reckon.”

  He was right. Their destination was a small village, unable to provide lodging for an army. By the time the women arrived they found the camp established over several fields, fires lit, huts being built.

  It had been a mild day, but now, as the light started to fade, the September evening air struck cold. People went into the patches of woodland all around and began cutting branches. Some soldiers from the ammunition train appeared carrying a broken gate and several posts. Her friends got out knives and headed for the woods.

  Alice stood still, uncertain what to do. Should she wait for Robin? She could see a lot of activity some way off, soldiers moving about, and hear orders being shouted.

  Nia ran back to her. “Come with us, Alice. The men will be building huts and putting up the officers’ tents. We make our own shelters. Come and help. Do you have a knife?”

  Alice did, though it was a meat knife, not as robust as the ones the women were using. She was surprised at the speed with which they built simple lean-to huts. When the frames were made they stretched pieces of hide over them, tied them in place and pegged them down.

  “We’ve done this often before,” said Bronwen.

  And, indeed, all the women were establishing their own shelters, whether huts, rough tents or covered carts. Some way off were a few carriages: officers’ whores, Nia said.

  “We’ll help you make a hut, if you like?” offered Bronwen.

  “I don’t know…” Would Robin expect it?

  Some of the other women had got fires lit. There was a warm savoury smell on the air, and she became aware of how hungry she was. She realized that the women were cooking together for their men. Several large communal pots were in use. Her friends began talking in Welsh to the women around one of the fires.

  Then Nia exclaimed, “Bryn!”

  Three soldiers were walking towards them. Nia ran to a young man, dark like his sister Bronwen, and with an open, amiable face. He looks kind, Alice thought; a good man.

  “This is Bryn,” Nia told Alice, smiling from one to the other, “and there is Bronwen’s husband, Edryd. And here’s Gethin.”

  The men were dressed in worn, patched uniforms. All were dark, small but strong-looking; all – at first sight – rather alike. Alice felt shy as they acknowledged her with nods.

  “Will you eat with us, Alice?” asked Bronwen.

  But Alice had seen Robin. She shook her head, stammered thanks and apologies, and ran to Robin’s embrace.

  “We’ve been hut-building,” he said. “Are you hungry? The cooking fires are lit now.”

  He tried to lead her in that direction, but it seemed rude to walk off so abruptly, and Alice said, “I’ve made some friends! Come and meet them.”

  The Welsh group were now clustered around their fire, talking together in their own language. Robin threw a glance in their direction and said, “Those Welsh? Don’t trouble with them, sweetheart. They’re clods, the Welsh. Can’t tell one end of a musket from the other.”

  “But the women have been kind to me!” Alice insisted. “Come…”

  She felt hurt on their behalf. But already he was leaving, drawing her towards his own group. She glanced back and waved an apology, but in the gathering dusk she could not see whether her new friends had noticed.

  At Robin’s fire there was meat. Someone had shot a rabbit, and others had requisitioned bread and turnips from one of the nearby farms. She ate gratefully, sharing Robin’s bowl, since she did not have one of her own. I must get a bowl, she thought, and a spoon; and I must learn to forage and make myself useful. She kept quiet in the presence of Robin’s companions. Will and Jacob, they were called; she remembered them from Tor Farm. She was aware of their eyes on her, and suspected that they were thinking about her and Robin together; and it made her feel ashamed and uneasy. Across the field, in the darkness, she saw the lights of other fires and sparks flying up. From where her Welsh friends were sitting she heard snatches of song; and, despite being with Robin, she felt almost regretful that she had left them.

  When they had eaten, Robin got up and drew her away from the fire, his arm round her waist. “We won’t sleep in the huts,” he said. “There’s a barn in the next field – I got a lad to hold us a place.” He gave her a squeeze. “We’ll be w
arm enough there.”

  She looked up at his face. “My courses have come today.”

  “Ah.” She heard the disappointment in his voice. Then he laughed, and hugged her again. “Well, that’s good news! You don’t want a child yet, do you?”

  “I would like to be married first,” she said.

  “Of course.” But he said no more on that. “The word is,” he told her, “that we’ll stay here a few days. So you can rest awhile.”

  When they reached the barn, there were women loitering by the entrance, looking for business. They ignored Alice and Robin. The place Robin had found was set back, softened by hay. But there were other men all around, and more coming in all the time, some with the whores. Alice felt glad she had the excuse of her courses and could simply lie wrapped in Robin’s arms.

  Perhaps we’ll go into Exeter tomorrow, she thought.

  Six

  “Exeter?” said Nia. “You’d be lucky! The officers might go into the city, but not the men. We are always stuck in places like this: wet, muddy and surrounded by sheep.” She laughed. “I don’t know why I left Wales!”

  “You do,” said Alice.

  Nia had told her something of their life in Wales: a life of unrelenting labour on the land, morning till night; of damp cottages with only one room; of little pay, few rights, and no chance of improvement. Life in the camps did not seem hard or difficult by contrast; and they enjoyed the freedom of the open road and the companionship of a larger group of people. Alice could understand how they felt. For herself, it was not so easy to adapt. Her feet ached from walking and she missed the comforts of Tor Farm – the good food and clean beds. But I am free now, she told herself. Free, and with Robin, as I wanted.

  In fact she saw far less of Robin than she had hoped; his time was taken up with drill and weapons training. Alice saw him only in the evenings – when they ate around a campfire with his companions – or at night, in the barn, where there was little privacy. She wanted to cook for him, to feel that they belonged together, but the army rations were mostly prepared by soldiers in a field kitchen. Some groups of English soldiers’ women cooked together, but she was too shy to approach them. Instead she stayed with the Welshwomen, those who had first been kind to her. She was glad of their friendship – especially Nia’s – in this rough, unfamiliar world. Nia became her constant companion, taking her around, introducing her to people and translating what they said.

  The army had now been encamped near Exeter for three days and looked set to stay longer. Alice had been surprised that there was no fighting, no sign of the enemy, but Nia said, “Oh, it’s usually like this! We go weeks without so much as a skirmish. They spend all their time looking for each other, sending out scouts, waiting.”

  This morning the sun was bright, and Alice and Nia had joined a large group of women washing clothes in the stream at the bottom of the field. They beat the linen on flat stones and rinsed it in the water that ran rippling over the pebbles. It felt good to see the sun for once and to enjoy its warmth. A woman along the line began to sing, and the song was taken up and set the rhythm for the pounding of the linen. Alice soon learned the tune and hummed along, but the Welsh words were impossible to catch.

  “Did you sing at home, Lisi?” asked Nia.

  She had taken to calling Alice “Lisi”, which she said was short for Alice in Wales. Alice liked the name; it made her feel as if she belonged.

  “At home in Bideford we sang,” she said. “But at my uncle’s it was only when we went to church. I’ve missed it.”

  The song changed, to something with a more romantic melody. Nia, Bronwen and Rhian all joined in, rinsing and wringing out the linen with strong turns of their wrists.

  Later they strung lines between the shelters and hung the clothes to dry. Alice had washed Robin’s shirt along with her own shift. She was glad to do it; glad to hang the two garments side by side to dry. It made her feel as if Robin were already her husband.

  Nia teased her. “You’re like the girl in the song.”

  “That last one?” Alice tried to remember the tune, but it had gone. “Tell me the words.”

  Nia began teaching her the song. It was about a girl who was at the riverside, washing her lover’s shirt, when a knight came by and asked if she would sell it.

  “But of course she won’t sell,” said Nia. “‘Not for a hundred pounds,’ she says, ‘not for two hillsides full of sheep, not for two fields of oxen under yoke, not for all the herbs of Llandewi, trodden and pressed, not for anything would I sell the shirt of the boy I love.’ You’ve got Robin’s shirt there, Lisi. Wouldn’t you say the same?”

  “Yes,” said Alice, laughing. “I would!”

  When all the linen was blowing on the lines, they rested, sharing beer and some oatcakes that Bronwen had bought from one of the traders. Bronwen, Alice realized, saw herself as the one responsible for the three – now grown to four with the addition of Alice. She was a strong, quiet woman, protective of her younger sister Rhian, who seemed shy and childlike – “A bit of a daydreamer,” Nia said fondly. Rhian was playing now with her kitten, a little bold black thing with startled eyes. It crawled around her shoulders, tangling in her hair, then sprang down into her lap, breaking the oatcake she was holding into flying fragments.

  “Oh, Rhian!” Bronwen sounded exasperated.

  Rhian had been given the kitten on one of their expeditions around the village and farms when they knocked on doors, seeking food. She had bought a jugful of milk too but, as Bronwen pointed out, some of their milk now went to the animal.

  “There were five of them, all to be drowned,” Rhian had said. “I only took one.”

  “We should go around the farms again before we move on,” said Nia, “though I doubt they’ll have much to sell.”

  Alice knew the farmers must be preparing for a hungry winter. The harvest was ruined; and the army had already swept through these villages in July on its way west, eating everything, “like the plague of locusts in the Bible”, one woman had said, “and now here you are again”. Robin had told Alice that these same people, or others near by, had beaten and robbed the captured rebel foot soldiers as the king’s men forced them to march east from Lostwithiel. There was no love here for soldiers of any army, and still less for the women they called “Welsh whores” or, as often as not, “Irish whores”. They could not tell the difference but particularly hated the Irish, remembering the stories they had heard of how Irish Catholics had attacked and butchered English Protestants only three years before.

  Alice fared better on these forays. She was young and not yet as dirty and ragged-looking as the others, and she spoke the local dialect. She often came back with some bacon or cheese when others had been refused.

  On one occasion she and Nia came to a house where a woman was in pain with a toothache. Alice felt sorry for her, and struggled to recall one of her father’s remedies. “Daisy roots,” she said, “and salt. Pounded together, strained, and mixed with the leaves of sweet flag. I think that was all. It makes a juice.”

  She helped the woman dig up roots and pound the fibrous mass in a mortar while Nia went to gather flag leaves. “You breathe it in,” she said. “The scent eases the pain.”

  The woman was grateful, and gave Alice a pudding in a bag, in addition to the milk she and Nia had come to buy.

  “You could be useful in the women’s camp,” Nia said afterwards.

  “But I don’t know much! And I’ve no supplies. Besides, there must be apothecaries with the army – and other women who have some knowledge.”

  “Oh, there are. Sian, she’ll pull teeth and give you powders to bring on your courses or tisanes for the rheum; and Anwen can see your future in the stars. But I’d trust you more than most, Lisi. You have a gentle way about you.”

  Maybe, thought Alice. But she was wary of putting herself forward, and perhaps antagonizing the likes of Sian and Anwen. She was young, a newcomer here, and a foreigner in the Welsh camp. She’d respond quie
tly, she decided, if and when the need arose.

  The next day, the girls planned to go afield, foraging for autumn berries and nuts.

  Mistress Erlam tossed Alice a bundle. “Try these on. You don’t want to attract the attention of men while you’re away from the camp.” There was a pair of breeches, well worn and patched, and a felted cap of dark red wool.

  Alice climbed into the covered wagon and took off her skirt. She bunched up the length of her shift and stepped into the legs of the loose knee-length breeches. She removed her woman’s cap of linen and put on the felted one, tucking her hair inside it. The breeches felt strange, and she was embarrassed by the sight of her stockinged calves, exposed like a man’s.

  She emerged shyly, and Mistress Erlam clapped her hands in delight. “You look like a boy player on the stage! You could leave off your stays and put a few more pins in your hair. But you’ll do, from a distance.”

  Alice found her Welsh friends clothed in the same way. She felt afraid at first; she knew the king had forbidden women to dress like this. But as the day wore on she found she could climb trees, clamber over gates, stride across small streams, all without the need to pick up her skirts. She experienced a great sense of freedom.

  The group of women had split into pairs. Alice was with Nia. In a woodland clearing they found mushrooms. They ate some raw, brushing the dirt off them and savouring the pungent, earthy flavour, then laid the remainder in a flat basket, taking care not to break or bruise them. They picked cobnuts and crab apples at the edge of the woods. Then Nia exclaimed, “Mwyar!” and led Alice across a rough field to a hedge where ripe fruit hung in glossy clusters: blackberries.

  “No one has been here!” she said in amazement.

  Most of the blackberry bushes around the camp had been picked clean by locals. Here the fruit was so ripe it burst and stained their fingers purple. Nia lined her basket with soft leaves and they dropped the berries in gently.

  “They are too ripe to save,” said Alice, and Nia agreed.