by Ann Turnbull
“These are small cuts only,” Lady Weston said. She was picking fragments of glass out of Christian’s hair and clothes. “But you must change this gown, Kit, and have it well shaken out.”
“We have a salve for the cuts,” said Alice. “I’ll take care of her, my lady.”
Lady Weston looked almost as white as Christian. She laid a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “Dear child, what a champion I have in you! But I believe that fellow will put a stop to this rampage. He seems one to go by the rule. Can you walk, Kit? We’ll go inside. Tom, you’d best come too. That bruise is swelling.”
Alice saw that young Tom had a blackening bruise on his cheek and forehead – his reward for the struggle he had put up to save the horses.
She dealt with Christian first, upstairs in her chamber, unlacing her dress and helping her to step out of it and lay it aside to be checked for fragments of glass. She washed the many small cuts on Christian’s hands, wrists, neck and the side of her face, and applied the salve – one they had made together only last week.
The cuts stood out on Christian’s fair skin. When she was dressed again in a fresh gown, the two of them went downstairs to the hall, where Lady Weston, her chaplain and most of the servants were assembled. At the same moment, the leader of the raiders came in from the courtyard. He bowed briefly to Lady Weston and said, “Madam, I have put a stop to the destruction of your chapel, but the altar rail – which I must remind you is forbidden by Act of Parliament – the altar rail is broken up, and some of the coloured windows smashed.” He looked at Christian. “I am sorry for the hurt to the lady. But, madam, if I may speak plainly, you would be wise to be more conformist in your religious observance in these times.”
“You think so, sir?” said Lady Weston. “Well, I too will speak plainly and tell you that I am a woman alone here and unprotected, with only old men, women and children, and no garrison. It is my duty to care for my people and look to their needs, both physical and spiritual—”
“Their spiritual needs might be better served if they were allowed to approach the altar,” said the officer. “However” – he glanced at Alice – “I have called my men off. We have not come here to terrify women. We expected soldiers – cavalry.” He drew out a purse. “Madam, I will pay you for the horses we are taking. We do not prey upon the country as our enemies do.”
He stepped forward and offered the purse to Lady Weston, but she waved it aside. “Give it to my housekeeper.”
At that the man flushed red, and Alice almost felt sorry for him. Mistress Denham came forward. He gave the purse to her, bowed to Lady Weston, and left.
“Arrogant pup,” said Lady Weston. “They say that half the officers in the New Model Army are not even gentlemen, but shopkeepers and artisans.”
She spoke dismissively, but Alice saw that she was trembling. Everyone was shaken. Bess was sobbing, and even Mistress Florey looked distressed.
“The paintings,” Christian lamented.
And Tobias Fairthorne said, “Three horses they’ve taken, my lady, and another two from the farm.”
“They went through the kitchen – stripped it bare,” said Mistress Florey. “Four big hams, and a cheese just yesterday brought from the farm…”
But it was the chapel that concerned Lady Weston most. She went out to see the damage, and Alice and Christian followed soon after. They found Lady Weston kneeling in her pew with destruction all around her. The altar rail was ripped out and smashed in the nave. Jagged holes showed in two of the stained glass windows. All the paintings had been pulled down and trampled, and the carvings of saints and angels hacked with swords.
It was some time before Lady Weston stood up. When she did, she said, “This can be restored, most of it. And the king will triumph over the rebels. He must. These people cannot be allowed to prevail.”
But she seemed to have aged, Alice thought, in the space of a few hours; and she felt for her, with the house and its people to care for, and her husband in prison.
Alice went to attend to Tom Pether’s bruises, and then helped to put the kitchen and hall to rights. In the hall she found her basket knocked to the floor, the leaves and blossoms, so carefully gathered, trampled by soldiers’ boots. While she was picking them up, a boy came from the village with news that the king’s troops quartered there had also been attacked and horses taken.
“So – it all begins again,” said Mistress Florey.
Fifteen
Two weeks later they woke to the sound of drums. The drumming was all around, all over Copsey and the surrounding hamlets, no doubt sounding also in Oxford and Wallingford and Faringdon and Kidlington, all the places where the king’s troops were quartered, calling them to march.
Alice said to Christian, “I must go.”
She was already prepared, her few possessions packed in the hessian bag. She remembered the drums that had brought Robin to her at Tor Farm, and those that had beaten as she left to take her chance in life with him. It was going to be much harder to leave Weston Hall. She knew now what a harsh life she was returning to – this time without love to sustain her. She would miss all the comforts of Weston: the good food, warm fires, and comfortable beds, as well as the people who had cared for her. Most of all she would miss Christian and their work in the still room. And yet her position at the Hall was not as permanent as she had at first believed it could be. The raid had brought home to them all how insecure their lives were. Lady Weston now employed two grooms for her three remaining horses. Either Tom or old Tobias would have to go, and if the house suffered many more such blows other servants would leave. There would certainly be no need for such luxuries as a still-room maid. And Christian might marry, as Lady Weston hoped. If she did, Alice would have no place at Weston.
These thoughts must have been in both Christian’s and Lady Weston’s minds, yet they were reluctant to let Alice go, alone and unprotected.
Lady Weston summoned her and said, “Alice, I fear you are reckless. The proper place for a young girl is at home. You are the daughter of a respectable man who was valued in his community, and your uncle is a yeoman of some standing. You should consider your position, your prospects. These Welshwomen may be worthy in their own way, and loyal, but they are not the manner of people you should keep company with. If it were in my power, I would prevent you from going.”
Alice had no answer to this, and stood silent.
“And yet,” Lady Weston admitted, “I admired your boldness when you stood up to that young Roundhead captain! I would not have you less courageous, child, but I hope you will learn wisdom. Promise me you will come back, if you have need?”
“I will,” said Alice. “Thank you, my lady.”
Now that the day had come, Alice found that she was not afraid, and did not doubt for one moment that she could find her way back to Weston Hall if necessary. She was determined to fulfil her promise to Nia, and eager to see her friend again. In her pack she carried food and beer for the journey and a small parcel of herbs, salves and other remedies that Christian had put together.
“God be with you,” said Christian, and kissed her.
And then Alice set off alone.
As she entered the village she was caught in the crush of soldiers, dragoons and wagons heading east on the Oxford road. Troops were on the move from Faringdon and all the villages around where they had been quartered, and she knew her friends must be somewhere among them. But it would be impossible to find anyone here. She was obliged to begin walking at once, following the flow of people and wagons towards Oxford. Oxford! At last! She remembered how only a few months ago she’d had such dreams of going there with Robin to be married.
“Hey, pretty! Ride with us?” Two carters were grinning down at her. She usually ignored such calls, but from up there she would be able to see. She grasped the hand that reached down for her and climbed into the wagon.
“I’m looking for my husband,” she said. She had already decided on an imaginary husband as her best protection
on the march.
There were bales of clothing on board: soldiers’ shirts and jackets – new issue.
“For pressed men?” she asked.
“Yes, and regulars. All new for the start of the campaigning season.”
The driver swore at someone in the road. The cart jolted, and Alice staggered. But from here she had a better view, over the heads of those marching. She looked at the coats as they moved along. The regiment she was seeking wore blue, but so did many others. It was the colours – the regimental flags – that were distinctive. Here and there, flags showed, but mostly furled. She saw none that she recognized.
She sat down on one of the bales. The younger man, the one who was not driving, came and sat beside her, a little too close. “Lost your husband, have you? Got separated?”
She edged away. “He’ll be looking out for me.”
Ahead of them now she saw the massive earthworks of Oxford with their raw new embankments, and, inside, the ancient spires and the castle on its high hill. She had expected that they would go into the city, but instead they turned aside before they reached it and began moving slowly north-west. More soldiers, both foot and cavalry, joined them, and at last everything came to a halt. It was only then that Alice, staring anxiously around, saw a flag that looked as if it might be the one, some way off, near a line of trees.
“Over there!” she said. She thanked the carters, and allowed herself to be lifted down.
Now she had become part of the mass of people, and it was impossible to see the flag. She could only head out in the direction she had noted. The entire army seemed to be assembling here. She passed farriers, blacksmiths, a surgeon’s wagon, another laden with barrels of water. More wagons were being unloaded of bread, beer, tents, uniforms. Bales of stockings, white, red or blue coats, and knitted caps, were piled in one wagon; another was full of boots and water bottles and snapsacks. Officers in charge shouted orders. Clerks with lists went to and fro.
Alice focused on the line of trees she had seen from the cart and moved towards it, determinedly cutting a path through the crowds. Once, she became caught in the midst of a herd of cattle and a drover swore at her to get out of the way. Slowly she drew closer to the trees. She had found the regiment, but for a long time she wandered about, searching, jostled by soldiers, seeing nothing and no one she knew. And then, suddenly, she was among women, and there were faces she recognized, and familiar wagons – and Mistress Erlam’s voice!
She stumbled towards her old friend over the churned-up ground. “Mistress Erlam!”
“Alice! Welcome back, wench! You look well! I’ve just been talking to your little Welsh friend.”
“Nia?”
“That’s the one.” Mistress Erlam gestured with her arms, holding them out roundly in front of her. “Huge. Any day now. Pity it didn’t come early. Lord knows how she’ll travel, poor girl.”
Alice glanced about eagerly. “Where is she?”
“They’re all over that way. See the red-headed girl?”
“Rhian? Yes!” Alice hurried towards them.
Rhian saw her and shouted, “Lisi! Hei! Bronwen, Nia, dyma Lisi!”
And then they were all around her, hugging, crying, questioning. Alice felt tears spring to her eyes as she clung to Nia and joked about the belly coming between them.
“Oh, Nia, I’ve missed you!” she said.
And Nia asked, “Your child? You weren’t…?”
“I’ve much to tell you,” said Alice. “Not now.”
Now, she simply wanted to enjoy being with them again. Yet even as she embraced the three of them, she was aware, with a feeling of disloyalty, of their grimy skin and dirty clothes, and found herself recoiling slightly from their sour smell.
They noticed the difference too.
“You’ve been somewhere good, Lisi,” said Nia. “You smell of soap and roses. And this gown! Take off your cloak; let me see!”
The gown was the blue one Christian had given to Alice. It was a little mended but made of fine, soft wool – clearly a lady’s garment. The girls stroked and admired it.
“Beautiful,” said Bronwen. “But too good for this field.”
Perhaps it was the dress that made Rhian ask, “Are you married, Lisi?”
“No.” She looked from one to another of them. “I did not come here with Robin.”
Rhian’s eyes widened.
“Tell us while we cook,” said Bronwen. “Before the men come.”
They had already collected branches from the nearby woodland. Bronwen got the fire started with her tinderbox while the others began cutting up meat and chopping herbs and onions.
“Now, Lisi…” said Nia.
And Alice told them everything that had happened to her since they were separated in November: about Copsey, and the inn, Robin, the loss of her baby, and the kind treatment she’d had at Weston Hall.
“Oh!” Nia was almost in tears. “To be all alone in such trouble! If only we’d been together.”
Bronwen was furious, shocked by Robin’s behaviour. “He left you?” she exclaimed. “How could he? When you were carrying his child?”
“He said he’d come back. But he never did. I suppose he was tired of me.” She found that a hard thing to admit, after the love they’d shared. “But, Bronwen, I don’t know. Perhaps something prevented him. You’ve not seen him, I suppose?”
“No. Not yet. But he should have got word to you, no matter what.”
“Perhaps he couldn’t,” said Alice. “Perhaps…”
The possibility that Robin might be dead hung, unspoken, in the air between them.
“He will have come here today,” said Bronwen, “if he is coming at all.”
“Yes.” Alice could suddenly hardly breathe at the thought that he might be near, that she might soon see him again. Her heart was in confusion, full of anger, fear and bewilderment. She would not know what to feel until she knew why he had left her.
“You were lucky to be taken in at that big house,” Nia said later, when they were alone together. “And they asked you to stay on?”
“Yes. But I wanted to see you. I missed you. I wanted to be with you when your baby was born.”
Nia’s eyes glittered again with tears. She could never hide her feelings. She said, “It won’t be long. I’ve been getting pains already.”
“And are you well? Happy?”
“I’m frightened,” said Nia. “Happy, yes, but afraid of what is to come. I’m glad you’re here, Lisi – very glad.”
Alice feared that too much confidence was being placed in her, but then she remembered how, at Weston Hall, she had seemed to have an instinct for healing. She said, “I’ve brought some remedies with me – dried raspberry leaves and some other things that Mistress Christian recommended. So I can make you tisanes to ease your labour. And there’s this…”
She reached into her pocket and brought out a tiny linen drawstring bag. Inside it was a stone: oval, polished smooth, its colour red, streaked with veins of grey. She put it in Nia’s hand. “Shake it.”
Nia did so, and the stone rattled. Her eyes widened. “What’s in there?”
“Another stone, I believe. It grows inside – a stone within a stone. It’s called an eagle stone. Mistress Christian gave it to me. She said it can prevent miscarriage, and will also ensure an easier birth if it’s placed on the thigh during labour.”
She watched as Nia examined the stone. Nia’s hands were small and squarish, with short fingers. The stone fitted comfortably into her palm.
Alice said, “Christian told me her cousin, Lady Grace, used such a stone during each of her labours, and her pain was always much eased.”
“I can feel the power in it,” said Nia, curling her fingers around the stone. “The lady was good to give it to you. It must be very rare and costly.”
Alice saw that the eagle stone was already having a good effect on Nia. She wondered, briefly, if it could be like her father’s dried turtle, a mere talisman; but the stone ha
d been tried with success by other women, and Christian had assured her of its virtues. She certainly intended to use it herself if she ever had need.
“Have you been taking raspberry leaf tea, as I told you?” she asked.
“I have, but it’s all gone now.” Nia kept turning the stone around, looking at it, and shaking it. It had a pleasing rattle. She passed it back to Alice. “Keep this safe.”
“I will. And I’ll make some raspberry leaf tea. You can drink it now.”
She rummaged in her pack, glad to be doing this. It took her mind off Robin, the thought of whom was unsettling. But later, when Bryn, Edryd and Gethin and the other Welshmen began to arrive, she found she was heart in mouth, half expecting to look up and see Robin strolling towards her with his long, easy stride and his warm smile, coming to fetch her as if nothing had happened. She joined her Welsh friends at their evening meal, all the time alert and watching for him, but he never came.
He has left me, she thought. Or he is dead.
The evening was light. They sat singing and telling jokes and stories around the campfire. Alice understood little. Even the bit of Welsh she had learned last year seemed to have deserted her. She felt cut off, lonely and out of place, and began to regret that she had ever left Weston Hall. Perhaps, she thought, once Nia has had her baby, I should go back there.
Nia noticed, and touched her arm. “I’m happy to see you again, Lisi. We all are.”
Alice nodded, grateful. Nia’s sympathy made her want to cry. She wished she could take Nia to Weston with her for the birth. Her friend would be better cared for there. But when she spoke this thought aloud Nia said, “Oh, no! I wouldn’t be easy in that grand house! And I’d never leave Bryn.”
Dusk fell, and they went to their billets. Her friends were in a large barn, and Bryn found Alice a space near by. Alice curled up, using her pack as a pillow and wrapping her cloak around her. Despite Bryn’s kindness, she felt wide awake and vulnerable. Some of the Welshmen had already noticed that she was alone, and she was aware of them watching her. When they spoke and smiled together, glancing her way, she felt afraid, not knowing what they said, whether they might be making lewd comments about her.
