'I am as I always was — '
'Not quite the same, I hope!' Laughing, Lovell cut off her protest, his hand now sliding down her belly as the proprietor who had taken her maidenhead.
It could so easily all have gone wrong at that moment. Juliana was upset and wanted to flee from him. But Lovell only laughed with conspiratorial mockery then — fired by the exchange — he turned more urgently to the activities of a husband, which he this time fulfilled commendably. His bride was left shaken, exhilarated, and as they lay together spent, she heard once again her raucous grandmother: 'Let the man do sufficient that he can boast of it to himself…'
Being Lovell, he would boast openly to everyone — if he chose to do it. Being Lovell, however, he might gain greater pleasure from keeping secrets. Juliana was already enough of his wife to know that.
Chapter Fourteen — Oxford: 1642-43
Juliana Lovell, still uneasy with her new name, arrived in the first month that Oxford was the King's permanent headquarters.
December was not the best time here. Low mist clung to the many country waterways. The hedgerows were dark, the sere trees gloomy of aspect. Houses on the city perimeter had been blown up for strategic reasons, leaving ugly gaps. Tentative efforts were being made to construct fortifications to replace the now-useless medieval city walls, but the hard frosted ground was resisting the tools wielded by thoroughly disgruntled citizens. This was a garrison, crammed to bursting point with soldiery and the great equipment of war. The once-pleasant, meadow-fringed River Cherwell, which formed the upper reaches of the Thames, was already oozing with pestilence as the raw sewage from impossible numbers of people mingled with dead horses and dogs that blocked the current, bobbing amidst oily bubbles under the willows that trailed their slender fingers into waters befouled by butchers' bloody rejects and fermenting horticultural garbage. Smoke from house-fires and minor industries curdled the atmosphere. A miasma of unease seeped through the cobbled streets, from the chilly castle to the Cornmarket where the lead roof had been stripped to make bullets.
Unwelcome to the townspeople, the King had ensconced himself in Christ Church College. Prince Rupert was at Magdalen. The Warden's Lodge at Merton had been earmarked for the absent Queen, should she ever arrive. The colleges sycophantically professed themselves honoured by their noble guests — except when unwanted new masters were dumped on them at royal command. In more humble areas there was frank resistance to billeting, as the domestic routine of the little people's little houses was brutally disrupted. Fear riffled through the winding backstreets. Bullying took over in the taverns. Needless to say, as stationers and booksellers braced themselves for bankruptcy, all the brewers were flourishing.
Her family had wandered about in search of trade, yet Juliana had never been in a university town before. Oxford colleges would have known quiet hours before this unending military crush but the peace of the cloisters had been lost. While the carriage Lovell had borrowed to fetch her from Wallingford forced its way through the cobbled streets, she flinched at the turmoil. Juliana saw that Lovell was excited by the bustle beyond the carriage's cloudy windows. Assuring her she would get used to the commotion, he rattled off a commentary: 'The perimeter defences are being thrown up by the townspeople; everyone between sixteen and sixty has to work one day a week. About one in a hundred actually turn up, of course. I shall not allow you to do it.' Juliana wondered how he would accomplish this autocratic refusal; already she guessed he would give his instructions to her, and leave her to address the authorities. 'Possibly the breastworks will never be complete, but if they are, this town will be the best defended in England so don't fret. There's a Dutchman, de Gomme, supervising the works. Supposed to be brilliant. Let us hope someone has told the herring-eating bastard we're not building dykes but battlements!'
They were now passing Christ Church, almost at their destination. 'Edmund was a scholar at this grand college?'
'Treves? No, St John's. Poxy place, never showed me much welcome, but if you say you are a cavalier's wife they may let you walk around the garden. Some colleges are quite taken over by the army, so watch yourself.'
Juliana felt perturbed. 'Soldiers are dangerous even to their own supporters?'
'Never take risks with soldiers,' replied Lovell in clipped tones. Was her husband a threat to women? Juliana dreaded to ask. 'Christ Church is where the King has found a perch, though its great quadrangle is being used to pasture oxen and sheep.'
'Why?'
Lovell stared at her, and she saw her mistake, one merely caused by inexperience, though he must think her stupid. 'Food, girl!' As Juliana shuddered at what it would mean to be trapped in a city under siege, Lovell continued his review undaunted: 'Gloucester Hall is being used for sword manufacture, there's another grinding-mill out at Wolvercote, gunpowder at Osney. New College holds the armoury and magazine. Magdalen Bridge has been converted into a drawbridge — you saw that — ' Its significance had been lost on her. 'If the enemy come — when they come, I dare say — we can rattle it up cheerily. Magdalen Tower is a lookout and there are great guns in the grove. Their range is a mile and a half. All the schools are being turned over to warehouses for staples — cloth, cheese, coal and corn. It's out with dreamy scholars and in with tailors stitching uniforms…'
Listening, Juliana wondered if all the King's soldiers were this much aware of logistics; she suspected there would be many who merely took orders. Lovell was a complete professional; she was beginning to see how deeply he cared to be efficient and informed. He had made this his world. All over the country men like him who had served on the Continent would be bringing such expertise to bear, on both sides; it boded a long conflict. Orlando Lovell and others like him, who had had no future without a war to fight, were now digging in almost with enjoyment. He was eager to use his talent for organisation — and, presumably, his talents also for death and destruction.
I should have asked, thought Juliana, what his plans are when the civil war is ended. Will he return to fighting on the Continent? Shall I have to go with him, or be left here alone? She convinced herself that his marriage meant Lovell wished to settle to domestic life in England. He had, after all, spoken of mending matters with his family.
There were more pressing anxieties: 'Will you be paid by the King, sir?'
'When there is cash for the purpose. The order has gone out for metal to be brought in. We've taken down church bells for it, and the dear citizens are supposed to hand over their brass kitchenware — ' How fortunate that we ourselves have none, Juliana thought. 'The Mint is coming down from Shrewsbury to produce coins, which will be made out of melted college plate — when the colleges can be pricked into collaborating.'
"Pricked"? You mean, compelled to surrender their valuables?'
'The sneaky masters and fellows try to dodge, but His Majesty has quickly learned to be a beggar. He hardens his heart. St John's offered eight hundred pounds instead of its treasure. Charles thanked them heartily for the money — then took their precious plate as well. The county and the university must pay up over a thousand pounds a week for the upkeep of our cavalry — mind, most of the cash will be for bullets and hay for the horses.'
'So you will be paid, then.' Juliana was still doggedly worrying about rent, food and fuel.
The carriage had stopped, in a winding backstreet, but Lovell, caught up in his discourse, made no move. He gave his wife a wry look. 'One way or another, we'll be paid; depend on it!'