Free Alice in Love and War by Ann Turnbull Page B

Margaret Evans, travelling with the king’s army, from her sister Elizabeth Evans of Newell near Buckingham, the eighteenth of September, 1644 .
Dear Sister, Master Holdom at the parsonage writes this for me, it being necessary to tell you in all sorrow that our mother has departed this life but is gone into that greater life of the spirit which is the reward of true believers.”
    Alice looked up to see tears in the girl’s eyes. “I am sorry,” she said.
    “Read on,” the girl replied.
“She fell sick of a fever and died this Saturday last, and was buried at St Martin’s beside our brother Richard. She spoke of you at the end, and forgave you, and wished that you had never left home, as I do wish also, dear Meg…”
    The girl dashed a hand across her face. “Would you write me an answer? If I can find paper for it? I’ll pay you.”
    “Yes. Of course,” said Alice.
    That evening she told Robin about the girl and her letter, and how she’d felt pity for her. He was with his friends, and joked, “You could make a living there, sweet – writing letters home for drabs.”
    His friends laughed, but Alice felt hurt on behalf of the bereaved girl.
    Next day they moved off and marched towards Andover. The women, camped in fields a few miles outside the town, saw nothing of the fighting, but they heard distant sounds of gunfire and saw smoke rising on the horizon. By nightfall the town was in Royalist hands and the enemy in flight. From the lanes all around came shouts and the clash of weapons as the defenders were pursued and taken prisoner.
    Alice stayed with her Welsh friends while she waited for Robin.
    “There will be more fighting tomorrow,” Bryn predicted. “We’ll go after the rebels.”
    But for now they celebrated, singing, joking and playing music; a group of the men lined up and linked arms and, despite their long march, danced while the onlookers clapped and sang.
    Over the next week there were skirmishes and movements of troops all around. Alice heard names: Newbury, Basing House, Donnington Castle.
    “What’s happening?” she asked Robin. “We go round about the same places, day after day. Nothing makes sense.”
    “We don’t try to make sense of it,” Robin said. “We obey orders, go where they send us.”
    “But will there be a battle?”
    “How should I know?”
    He stared moodily at the ground. He’d been distant with her lately, as if there was something on his mind. She supposed it was all the extra drills and alarms, the prospect of fighting to come. It made her feel very alone.
    “I’m afraid for you,” she said, and put out a hand to him.
    He shook it off. “Then you should not have come with me!” Her obvious hurt seemed to provoke rather than soften him, and he said roughly, “This is war, Alice; not some game.”
    “I know.” She spoke in a small voice and turned away, afraid she might cry and so anger him more.

    They were woken next morning by the drumbeat that she now knew was to summon the men to their quarters. Word flew about that the enemy had been sighted, drawn up on the hills to the east of Newbury. There was a ferment of activity in the camp, but it was nightfall before the fighting began. Alice huddled with the Welsh girls, all four of them crowded into Bronwen’s shelter, listening to the guns: the distant sound of the rebels’ cannon, and the deafening roar and flash of their own. When all was quiet for a while they fell asleep, lolling against each other, only to wake again towards dawn to the sound of more cannon fire. The air was full of smoke.
    The sounds of battle continued on and off all day. Mistress Erlam called on Alice to help make ready with linen strips and salves. The surgeon would deal with the officers and those who were badly wounded, she explained, but those with lesser injuries would be sent to the women’s camp. Alice was glad of the work. It took her mind off her fear for Robin. His harshness of the evening before had only made it