“Then we’ll have war again by Easter!” someone rejoined. “Because your king is a liar!”

There was a cheer and a laugh, but most of the crowd wanted to hear what the young royalist would say.

“Let’s go,” Alinor said nervously, as Alys dawdled to listen.

“The parliament men know that they have to agree with the king, and they are going to the Isle of Wight to meet with him,” the young man declared. “He will not be coerced, he will be returned to his throne.”

“Free ale for all!”

“They will demand that he give up the royal militia and accept the rights of the New Model Army.” The young man paused impressively. “He will never agree to this. They will demand a church without bishops. You know what comes of that!” Again, he glared at the crowd. “Where is the Bishop of Chichester today?”

“Slough,” someone said helpfully. “Did you want him? Because he ran away as fast as his feet could carry him.”

Grandly, the young man ignored the heckler. “This is the church of Henry VIII,” he declaimed over the laughter. “The church of Queen Elizabeth. Their true heir, King Charles, will never abandon it. He will restore the House of Lords, the bishops . . .”

“Don’t forget the Bishop of Rome!” someone shouted from the back. “Because the queen obeys him rather than her husband!”

“Come on,” Alinor said to her daughter. “There’ll be fighting soon.”

“Our king will never agree to these demands!” The young man raised his voice, as the two women hurried away. “They cannot force him and we should defend his right to be king. We should say to our member of parliament . . .”

“Can they really force the king to give everything up?” Alys asked her mother as they went down South Street towards the road to Sealsea Island.

“I don’t know,” Alinor replied. “I suppose so. Since he’s in their keeping. But perhaps you can’t keep a king in prison.”

“My uncle says the king should be tried for treason. For starting the war again and calling in the Scots. That was treason against the people of England.”

“Easy to say,” Alinor observed, “but other people say that a king cannot be wrong, since he is the king.”

“Who thinks that?”

Alinor thought of the man she loved. “Some people say it.”

“Well, it’s rubbish!” Alys declared stoutly.

The two walked home, taking it in turns to carry the sack of wool and the bags of salt. A carter on his way to the tide mill overtook them on the road, and let them sit in the back of his wagon on the sacks of grains. The sky was golden with the afternoon light as the wagon turned down the lane to the mill. The waters were lapping at the quay, a breeze picking up the waves in the haven, making the waters look like shirred gray silk.

Alys jumped down to open the yard gate for the cart, and then walked ahead of him into the yard. The sluice gates of the millpond were open, the tide pouring in to fill up the pond, the little birds darting around the pond edge, feeding from the incoming waters. Mr. Miller came out from the barn at the sound of wheels on the cobbled yard and Mrs. Miller came from the kitchen door to see Alinor climbing down from the wagon.

“Here you are,” she said to Alinor. “And home without the trouble of a walk, thanks to one of our customers.”

“Yes,” said Alinor. “We were lucky.”

“Oh, there’s always some man ready to help you out,” Mrs. Miller said.

“Well, we were lucky today,” Alinor agreed. “And look what I bought for you.”

The miller and the wagoner unloaded the sacks of corn, piling them at the foot of the granary doors, ready to be hoisted upwards when the pond was full and the water released to turn the wheel and work the hoist. Alinor handed over the package of lace and watched Mrs. Miller unroll it.

“Now this is very fine,” she said with rare satisfaction. “Very good. Never tell me that you got all this for three shillings?”

“I did!” Alinor said with pleasure. “I hoped you would think it a good bargain. I believe that it really is. Look at the delicacy of the pattern!”

“Chichester market!” Mrs. Miller said. “Who knew there was anything as good as this to be found at Chichester market! I would have thought to go to London for such work.”

“She was an old lady. She was lace making, sitting on a little stool in the middle of the market. She didn’t even have a table,” Alinor said. “But all her things were beautiful.”

“Well, I’m grateful to you,” Mrs. Miller said with unusual warmth. “And did you sell your oils?”

“I did,” Alinor said, showing her the basket with the empty bottles. “And I bought a sack of wool for spinning, and some salt for salting down the fish, so I’ve had a very good day.”

Alys suddenly appeared at her mother’s elbow, and dipped a curtsey to Mrs. Miller. “And you’ve had a fine day!” the woman scolded at once. “Jauntering off all the day and strolling round the market on a workday.”

“We went to Stoney Farm first,” Alinor said, knowing that Mrs. Miller would have to know, and would resent it bitterly if they delayed the news and she heard it from someone else. “Alys and Richard are betrothed. They will marry at Easter.”

“Never!” the woman exclaimed, her mood darkening at once.

“I was sure that you would be pleased,” Alinor prompted. “Since they met while working for you, and were king and queen of the harvest at your harvest home. I knew you would be pleased for them.”

Mrs. Miller was struggling with her envy of anyone else’s happiness. “No reason not to be pleased,” she said irritably. “It’s not as if I put any obstacles in their way. It’s not as if I had him in mind for Jane.”

“No, exactly,” Alinor confirmed. “There is no reason for you not to be happy for her.”

“And yet . . . well, it’s a very good match for your girl. Stoney Farm! Richard Stoney! You’ll be lucky if people don’t say that she trapped him into it.”

“Nobody would be so unkind,” Alinor ruled. “It’s obvious that Richard loves her so much, and she him.”

“Just that it’s such a good match for her,” Mrs. Miller grumbled. “Strolling out of a fisherman’s cottage and getting to Stoney Farm in one jump.”

“There’s no denying that it’s a good match for her,” Alinor conceded. “But she’ll make a good wife to him. She has learned so much good housekeeping from you.”

“She’s learned nothing today, but walking around the market and spending other people’s money.”

“She’ll make it up to you,” Alinor promised, taking Alys’s cold hand. “And now we must be going.”

“I wish you well,” Mrs. Miller said begrudgingly. “I wish you very happy.”

“I know you do,” Alinor replied, and picked up her sacks of salt as Alys hefted the sack of wool and walked beside her mother out of the yard. She left the yard gate open for the carter to leave, and they went towards the ferry together.