A Woman of the Road and Sea

by Amy Wolof

  “More alchemy?” I smiled.

  The captain looked at each of us in turn, as if assessing our strengths.

  “Hmm,” he said. “Carnatus, you will come with me. I may require your bulk.”

  “Three-to-one you won’t need it,” Carnatus replied. “Think on it—me, a drover! Is there anything more absurd?”

  I looked at the giant as he stood in his long red coat, fringed sash, and green breeches which buttoned down the sides.

  “Probably not,” I answered, as he trailed after Jeffries (reluctantly) to a nearby field. Gad, who had been dismissed, then re-hired by his master, looked relieved as he trotted back, freed of his shepherd duties.

  “‘Morning,” he greeted our company: now just me and Aventis. “Cpt’n says I’m ta watch ye like a hawk. ‘Never leave ‘em alone,’ he says, ‘especially today.’”

  “Such trust,” I remarked. But was Jeffries really wrong to suspect us? I knew that for myself, a moment alone with Aventis would surely not exclude Cupid.

  As I sought to catch my friend’s eye, we seemed to share the same thought: How difficult could it be to distract the simple Gad?

  “How could I forget?” I asked, hitting my brow with mt hand. “There is a gorgeous French wine in the cave just waiting to be drained.”

  “Let’s to it!” cried Gad from his seat by the fire.

  Striding to the cave entrance, I slid past the old paymaster’s wagon and pulled out what I sought. It was not a moment before I emerged cheerfully, holding forth three silver goblets and two bottles of Latour. The last were of course marked with Jeffries’s private label.

  “Lor’!” Gad exclaimed upon quaffing this nectar. “I ain’t ever had anything like it! It’s

  Like—”

  “—Angels dancing on your tongue?” asked Aventis.

  “Yeah, tha’s it. Kind o’ reminds me . . . of spice and tobaccer and such . . .”

  “He has passed us!” I cried, giving Aventis a wink. “Gad is now a true expert.”

  We both knew that the poor fellow had no chance against our wiles.

  Indeed, somewhere between his fifth and sixth cup, Gad’s head fell onto his chest. The fitful sound of snoring told us he was off to the land of Nod.

  “That was almost too easy,” I said, feeling a thrill run through me so that the flesh prickled on my arms.

  “Yes,” said Aventis.

  I could tell from his expression that he waged an inner war: Should he follow his head, and Jeffries; or me, and his heart?

  “It is near midday,” I said, my pulse sounding in my ears.

  With a shaking hand, I took his and made for the forest. We could have crashed through like Cromwell’s Army and still not have awoken Gad.

  “Well?” Aventis asked as I stumbled between trees.

  “Well . . .” I thought quickly. “Is it not the day’s custom to make the first person you see your valentine?”

  “And to give them a present,” he said. “I suppose when we woke this morning, the other was the first seen.”

  “Yes,” I said, breathing deeply to slow my heart.

  “By the by,” he asked, “where exactly are you taking me?”

  “You shall see,” I said with my most dazzling smile. How I wished I were dressed as Margaret, soft in skirts and blouse. But if I saw my plan through, no raiment would be required—not from either of us!

  I followed the sound of water and headed down a bank, finally halting before a small stream swelled with yesterday’s rain. Pulling on Aventis’s sleeve, I brought him down to the grass with me.

  “Aventis,” I whispered, seizing the brim of his hat and hurling it off his head. Before I could check myself, my arms were round his shoulders, and my lips met his soft ones in a heart-stopping kiss.

  “Je-Jeffries . . .” he murmured, a wild light in his dark eyes.

  “Damn him,” I hissed, untying the cravat around his neck. “How will he ever know?”

  I threw off my own hat and let loose my long hair. Staring into his face, I tried to conjure the spirit of Margaret: she with a full woman’s body and a woman’s frank desire.

  “This is my present to you,” I said, casting off my coats. “I have but myself to give.”

  He gave me a smile as I touched his face: the one most dear to me in the world. Responding to my touch, he threw off his coats, breeches, and boots, leaving only a black shirt which I removed with ease.

  “Ah, Margaret,” he said softy, as he unwound the tight cloth which served to bind my breasts. “For so many years I have dreamed this! You cannot know.”

  “I do,” I said, and after that, no words were spoken. I felt his lips on mine as we both lay on the grass; tried not to cry out as his hands and mouth explored my breasts. He half-rose and moved downward, his mouth on me for so long and the pleasure so intense that I actually strove to break free. He would not have it and held me in place as a new sensation swept through the whole of my body. That was when I opened my eyes and saw him in all his magnificence.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered, and after I nodded yes, I felt him deep inside me. He proved a skillful lover, never forsaking my needs in favor of his own. At last, I felt him move violently, then utter a small cry as he pulled away to lie beside me.

  “I did not hurt you?” he asked, and I felt my already great love for him grow.

  “No,” I whispered. “But I thank you for asking. Not one in a hundred men would.”

  He kissed me, then padded to the stream where he filled his hat with water. Returning, he gave it to me, along with his cravat.

  “You think of all,” I said, my hands trembling at the thought of what had just happened. “No regrets I am not Her Majesty?”

  “Not a one,” he grinned, retaking his place beside me. “You are real and present—she was but a pampered Infanta.”

  “Ah.”

  I snuggled into his chest, breathing in his smell now spiced with that of the woods. I confess that at that moment, I never wanted to go: wanted to extend our stay here until we both should die.

  “We must leave,” said Aventis.

  At least he looked reluctant.

  “No.” I said.

  “We cannot remain.”

  “Why?” I then posed an old query. “Cannot we simply flee?”

  Aventis smoothed back his long hair.

  “Jeffries,” he said.

  “He is worse than a Newgate gaoler!” I cried. “Why should we remain apart? On the chance that we might squabble?”

  Aventis, at least ten years older than I, could not suppress a smile.

  “In this world,” he said, putting his coat over my shoulders, “I can tell you that nothing is certain. I have been with women I thought were my life’s partner, but then some quarrel or matter of state always rose to part us.”

  With all the spirit I had, I shook my head back and forth.

  “Margaret,” said Aventis. “Can we not just enjoy today? Appreciate what has passed and preserve it as a memory?”

  I looked down, still shaking my head.

  “It’s not enough.”

  “But the captain—"

  “Bah!” I spat. In my pique, I subtly turned traitor. “Jeffries is not what he once was.”

  “What?”

  Aventis looked more alarmed than he had during the Fire of London

  “What I meant . . .” Should I curtail my speech? My debt to the captain was such that I should have done so. “After drilling it into my head that we don’t fire unless shot at, he did so himself! It pains me to say it, Aventis, but he is no longer fit to lead. You, however—”

  “Stop!” Aventis cried, the word echoing across the stream. I could see that his fury equaled his recent passion. “Where would we be without Jeffries? You, beaten daily and wed to a brute; me, hanged for my faith. Have you forgotten the captain’s good deeds? Are you so self-engrossed that to get what you want, you would usurp his command?”

  It was then that my tears fell.

/>   “Aventis, forgive me!” I cried. “I was crazed by my love for you. Please, dismiss my hot words and forget again. Without Captain Jeffries, I would surely be dead.”

  Aventis took my hand.

  “Of course, I excuse you, Margaret: your nature is wild and free. I only ask that in our company, we remain as loyal as brothers—or, in your case, a sister.”

  An old image flashed in my mind, obscuring Aventis’s face, and I saw my three friends in a circle, blades crossed in a triangle, as Jeffries recited: “In the spirit of Claude du Vall, we vow to stand together.”

  “Companions to the last,” I finished.

  “To the last,” said Aventis.

  A Sudden Malady

  I barely remembered dressing or stumbling back to our camp. All I knew of Jeffries’s return was that he was alone and bore a wide grin.

  “Them cows is gone?” Gad asked. He had clearly recovered his senses.

  “Indeed,” said Jeffries. “I trust all is well here?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Gad. “I had a sip of Latour and thought I had flown to heaven!”

  “I’ve no doubt you did,” Jeffries smiled.

  At that moment, up came Carnatus, his massive shoulders slumping.

  “My life is done,” he groused. “Me, a son of York, reduced to the state of a drover. Might as well become a butcher and further my bovine trade.”

  “I have something here,” said Jeffries, “which will expel all gloom.”

  He dropped a handful of coins into the giant’s glove.

  “As it so happens,” said Carnatus, “I do feel a lift in spirits. Almost as if a bright rainbow had broken through the clouds!”

  We continued our banter—and exploits—over the coming months. After Ned’s ambush in Middlesex, Jeffries considered London forbidden to us for now. He settled for the Heath, which I watched turn with the seasons: pink wildflowers in spring, and dry yellow grass in summer. Though I was annoyed with the heat, it was not uppermost in my mind: rather, it was Jeffries, who scrupulously kept me apart from Aventis. If he had any real suspicions, he graciously kept them to himself.

  One cloudy day in March, I became aware of something odd. As I sat down to eat in our camp, I attempted to down some venison, normally one of my favorites. Yet, this morning, I found it repulsed, causing my stomach to rise.

  “Are you ill, Megs?” asked Aventis, glancing at me with concern. I saw him forcibly hold back his hand to prevent it from reaching mine.

  “Perhaps you oughtn’t ride,” said Jeffries. “I am sure we remaining three can exact our toll on the roads.”

  “No, no,” I protested, setting my plate out of sight. “I am perfectly well—as well as anyone here.”

  Alas, I spoke an untruth. When we made for the Exeter Road, every pothole was torture. Still, the sight of a promising coach, drawn by two stocky Shires, caused me to spur my mount and block the conveyance’s path.

  “Stand and deliver!” I yelled, but it was I who failed to stand . . . and “delivered” in the form of vomit which splashed over my boots.

  “Megs, retreat!” Jeffries ordered, and I turned my horse, feeling both sick and mortified. What the devil was wrong with me? I wondered. In all my years with the captain (and they were fully twelve now), I had been shot, burned, and kidnapped, but never taken sick. Not even in London during the year of the Plague!

  “May I suggest,” said Aventis, “that you see a doctor?”

  My friends had abandoned the coach to escort a feeble me.

  I tried to summon a laugh, though my stomach rebelled.

  “How is that possible?” I said. “I’m a wanted ‘man,’ remember? My escape from Tyburn has kept a price on my head.”

  Aventis sighed, looking more afflicted than I.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “you could appear as Margaret.”

  “Perhaps,” I agreed, but knew that I would not. I vowed to stay with him and the others as long as I was able.

  And yet, after a week, I imagined they wished me gone. One overcast afternoon, as we trotted over the Heath, Aventis heard me groan. I put a hand over my breasts: though bound with their usual cloth, they were swelling beyond constraint!

  “I say, Megs,” said Aventis, leaning over his horse’s neck, “if you continue to grow, you’ll be wearing Carnatus’s shirts!”

  I knew that he spoke in jest, but in my present humor, I set on him like a she-wolf.

  “It is your fault I am deformed,” I cried, “for you are the one responsible. If I could repeat that day, I would not have let you so much as touch me!”

  “Megs,” he said, going pale. “Margaret. I did not expect—”

  “Men never do!” I cried. “You may go on merrily while I bloat like a whale!”

  “Please,” he begged, “you must allow me to aid you. We can endure this together—”

  “Ha!” I yelled, my bile ascending to my brain. “Can you crawl into my body? Relieve me of this cursed burden?”

  I saw his eyes swim with tears.

  Good! I thought, let him suffer. God knows I certainly was . . .

  By July, I had abandoned all self-governance: I yelled at Carnatus for carving the meat too thick, then sulked for days when Jeffries kept me behind. Aventis displayed real courage even to ask how I was, for I wanted to thrash him—not with fists, but steel. My mood was darkened by constant humiliation: having to unfasten buttons at the top of my breeches and adopting the habit of letting my shirt hang loose. As bad as all this was, I knew the time was coming when my state would be so apparent that even Gad would gawk.

  It was thus that on a September night, while my friends slept round the fire, I took up a secret pack, and, harnessing my mount in darkness, led it away from our camp.

  “Farewell,” I whispered. Farewell, Captain Jeffries, who has been so good to me; farewell, Carnatus, who became my friend after all. Most of all, farewell, Aventis, for, despite my harsh words, I still loved him as much as ever.

  By the time I reached the Great Western, I thought I had made peace with not seeing my friends again. But as soon as I mounted, I nearly sobbed aloud. This is how it must feel, I thought, to die and sunder all ties with Earth. I knew I could easily leave its soil—but not the people I loved. For these, I would kick, scream, and struggle for merely one moment more.

  In my heavy state, my journey could but proceed slowly. I found I had to stop frequently to relieve the strain on my belly.

  When, after three days, I arrived in Essex, I felt relief flood my gross body. Keeping my mount at a walk, I cried out as I found a dusty path which led me through the green world to our camp and hidden cave.

  “Thank God,” I breathed, sliding clumsily from my saddle. Epping Forest would serve nicely for the rest of my confinement. It was really my only choice. Moll was forbidden to me as the wife of Jeffries—so was Sally, who had disowned me. If she saw me as I was now, a woman guilty of the worst sin, she would spit in my face!

  The next few months were worse than being hanged at Tyburn. Though I kept alive by trapping small game and depleting our cave’s ample stores, I longed for some variation. Though I was wretchedly ill in the mornings, at times I had strange urges: for a bowl of rich mushroom broth, or oatmeal porridge with mint leaves. I loathed my mounting girth, while a strange force within me—that of new life stirring—often kicked at my belly, a reminder of my shame.

  God, I hated myself! How I loathed my own weakness! Worse still was the lack of company: of my three friends and their banter—even those at the Whale with their drunken, off-key singing! The sole sounds I heard in Epping were the occasional rustle of deer, or the merry chirping of birds, so at odds with my misery. How I longed for a human voice! I would have paid even Gad to have someone at my side . . .

  “Where are they?” I asked aloud. Where were my three friends? But I knew my question was really: “Where is Aventis?”

  I knew that with his fine mind, honed by years of study, he could well deduce where I was. His failure even to att
empt to find me hurt more than any shot could.

  Why? I asked myself, as I sat by a stream in November, swaddled in layers of blankets. When that small life kicked, I cursed, and, despite myself, dwelt on some Verses familiar from childhood:

  “Flee from sexual immorality,” they went. “Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.” Then: “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: impurity, lust, and evil desires. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming.”

  As I clutched my stomach, I shivered. Had I not sinned greatly, in the eyes of the Church and God? Was I not guilty of the crimes of the flesh, and thus going to Hell?

  “Please Lord, let the child come,” I prayed, staring at a reflection of this strange misshapen woman. When it did, what would I do, both during its birth and after? In truth, I had not a notion.

  As I sat there, something else happened. I felt an explosion of wetness beneath my unbuttoned breeches. Dear Lord—was I dying?

  I was afraid to move until the next day when a pain struck my belly.

  “No,” I breathed. “Please . . . I beg you to stop.”

  The stabs only increased. They began to come with rapidity, and I panted like a winded deer. Should I sit still or lie down? Attempt to walk briskly so that the child came sooner? No celibate monk in an abbey could have been as untutored as I!

  “There you are!”

  I heard a relieved voice behind me and recognized it at once.

  “Aventis,” I whispered. “Did Jeffries permit you to leave?”

  “Well . . .” he said, taking a seat beside me. The mere sight of his face served to quell some of my panic. “I knew your time was nigh and so I told an untruth: that you’d gone back to the Whale. I also said, God help me, that you were in danger from Ed—”

  “Ned,” I interrupted.

  “Yes. And required help. But if all of us appeared, he would surely have us arrested.”

  As Aventis explained, I felt life kick at my womb.

  “Aventis,” I said quickly, “I know nothing of childbirth. I had no mother to teach me—no real female friends . . .”

  “It is all right,” he said, taking my hand in his. “I am no midwife but at the Abbey, we took in some girls in distress. I believe I can assist.”