Free Alice in Love and War by Ann Turnbull

frighten her.
    She did not see Nia again until the day they left Sherborne, but that morning she went to join the other camp followers, and found her friends.
    Nia hugged her. “We’ve missed you, Lisi.”
    And Alice felt guilty because she had not missed them at all and had thought only of Robin.
    Now she noticed that Nia looked pink around the eyes, as if she had been crying. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asked. “Tell me, Nia. What’s the matter?”
    Nia bit her lip. “My courses have not come. Not last month either.”
    “You are with child…?”
    Alice thought, then, of her own lovemaking, all the last week; this could happen to her too. And she realized, seeing Nia’s face, that it would be momentous, terrifying; not at all to be wished for.
    “Are you sure?” she asked. “Do you keep count of the days?”
    “No. I’ve always looked at the moon. That’s how I remember. I think it’s two and a half months since I last had any bleeding.” She gave a little gasping sob. “I ought to be happy. I love Bryn. And I want a child. But I’m so afraid of giving birth – and on campaign! I’d always thought I’d be at home for that.” Her voice broke. “We’ve tried to be careful, but – oh, Lisi, I wish this wasn’t happening now!”
    Alice said, tentatively, “There are herbs you might try. Parsley…”
    “I’ve tried it. And jumping off a wall.” She managed a smile. “This one means to be born. I won’t try anything else; I see now that it is God’s will. But Bryn is anxious for me. He says when we reach our winter quarters he’ll find me somewhere safe, among women, where I can stay on after the army leaves in the spring.”
    “That might be wise,” said Alice, knowing what her friend would say, because it was what she herself would have said.
    “I won’t be left behind,” said Nia. “I won’t let him go on without me.”

Eight
    Alice and Nia scurried along a cobbled street in Salisbury, heads down against the driving rain. They were looking for a cobbler’s shop they had been told was near. Nia spotted it first – its sign, with a shoe painted on it, swinging in the wind. Because of the wild weather the shop counter had been pulled up, but the door was opened to their knock.
    “I’ve nothing for the likes of you!”
    The shoemaker was hostile, and Alice realized he had taken them for vagrants, they were so patched and bedraggled. But when they produced money and he’d bitten and tested it, he was glad enough of two new customers. Alice’s feet were sore from the sharp stones of the road. It was mid-October. She had been following the army now for over a month and the soles of her shoes were worn through. Nia wore sturdier boots, but even these were in need of repair. She showed the man how the upper of one of her boots had split from the sole.
    He set to work while the two girls sat on a bench and waited, since they had no other shoes. Alice tucked her feet under her skirts, ashamed of the holes in her stockings. She was made aware, here in town, of how dirty she had become. It was an effort to wash, in public view, in the cold wet fields. There was dirt under her fingernails and ingrained in the skin of her hands. The hem of her gown was muddy, and the skirt was stained with grass and grime and had a long tear that she had mended with thread of a darker brown. On the march she was no dirtier than anyone else, but here respectable people stepped away from her.
    “Parliament troops have been around,” the cobbler remarked. “Manoeuvres. Reckon a battle’s coming?”
    “We don’t know,” said Nia. “We follow our men, that’s all.”
    The man’s wife watched them from an inner room. She was hanging children’s linen around the fire to dry. Two little boys played with wooden blocks, and a baby lay whimpering in a cradle. Now and again the woman rocked the cradle with her foot, and the baby’s cries briefly subsided.
    Alice saw that Nia was looking at the