Free Alice in Love and War by Ann Turnbull Page A

baby. Nia was sure now that she was with child and, despite her fears, was happy enough about it. Alice had bought dried camomile flowers and a tiny piece of ginger root from one of the army apothecaries; with these she was able to make Nia a tisane to relieve the sickness she had begun to feel in the mornings.
    “Take it every day,” she said. “And later, when your time is near, I’ll make you raspberry leaf tea. It will ease the birth.”
    “I’m glad you’ll be with me, Lisi.”
    “I’m no midwife.”
    “No. But I trust you.”
    Nia had been greatly impressed by Alice’s book, the one her father had left her, and which Alice had consulted on the properties of camomile and raspberry. Nia, who could not read, even in her own language, had turned the pages reverently, exclaiming when she saw a drawing of a plant she recognized, such as dandelion or fennel. Alice realized that for Nia the book was almost a magical object.
    “These herbs and their uses are all God’s work,” she assured her. “My father taught me how God has given us signs to show us which plants to use.”
    Nia understood. “Like woundwort? With its flowers like drops of blood?”
    “Yes! And lungwort. And aspen leaves, which help those with the shaking palsy.”
    Alice knew how important it was for Nia to have faith in her, to believe she could achieve what both of them wanted. Once, as a child, she had asked her father about the dried turtle that hung from the ceiling of his dispensing room.
    “What is it for?”
    “What do you think it might be for?”
    She regarded the strange creature from foreign seas. “Some remedy. Something very powerful – rare and costly.”
    He smiled. “It has no medical use whatsoever.”
    She looked at him shrewdly, to see if he was teasing her; but he was not. “Then why…?”
    “It gives my customers belief in me. They see it hanging there and, like you, they think it must be some rare medicine, or perhaps a charm.”
    “Isn’t that cheating?”
    “Not at all. If they don’t believe in me they may not get better. It helps their recovery.”
    “Then it is a medicine!”
    He had laughed then. “You are sharp, Alice. Yes, perhaps it is.”
    Thinking now about Nia and her unborn child, Alice became aware of a familiar ache in her own back and thighs, and thought, My courses will come soon. It was a burden lifted; and yet, after her week of love with Robin at Sherborne she had half hoped to find herself with child, so that he might make haste to marry her. Here, in Salisbury, would surely have been an opportunity, but Robin had said nothing. Of course he’s busy, she thought. The army may move on to battle at any time. His mind is on manoeuvres and drill. He’ll marry me in the winter, for sure, when the campaigning season is over. She wished, though, that she felt closer to Robin: close enough to argue, quarrel, kiss and make up, as the Welshwomen did all the time with their men. Instead she took delight in his affection when it came her way but never really knew what was in his mind.
    The cobbler had finished. He gave them their shoes, and they went out again into the rain and scampered back to the outbuildings where they were lodged.
    Later that day Alice saw a few of the soldiers standing in groups holding letters, some helping others to read them. There was great excitement. It seemed that a carrier with letters for Salisbury had brought mail to the army – most of it for officers and much of it months late.
    None of Alice’s friends could read, and she was not surprised that they had no news from home. But a young woman came to her, holding a letter. She had the hard, blank face of a whore, but she spoke diffidently to Alice. “They say you can read. Would you read this to me? I’d be much obliged.”
    Alice took the letter, embarrassed, and fearful too, wondering what news she might be required to pass on.
    The handwriting was difficult, and she stumbled often as she read aloud:
“To