Civil Conflict Read online

  A CIVIL CONFLICT

  BY

  MARINA OLIVER

  In the turbulent 1640s, English families and friends were divided by war, their loyalties fragmented. Lysbeth was one who came to hate both factions.

  Her first encounter with the realities of war came when she clashed with Sir James Howard, a Royalist officer, requisitioning sheep to feed the army.

  Opposing her Royalist family, she turns for reassurance to her childhood friend, Tom Bridges, who is a soldier for Parliament.

  As the conflict grows, she experiences Parliamentary atrocities, witnesses the bloody carnage of the battle of Naseby, and is threatened by the unbridled, battle-weary soldiers in its aftermath.

  She has to resolve the turmoil of her own emotions, influenced by the two men who, in their different ways, have helped to shape her life.

  A Civil Conflict

  By Marina Oliver

  Copyright © 2011 Marina Oliver

  Smashwords Edition

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  First print edition published 1975 by Robert Hale.

  See details of other books by Marina Oliver at http:/www.marina-oliver.net

  AUTHOR NOTE

  I now live not far from Naseby. We sometimes go to a restaurant in the village of Kislingbury, called Cromwell's Cottage. Oliver Cromwell spent the night before Naseby battle in the village, reputedly in this building. These men were tough. It's twelve miles from Kislingbury to Naseby, so they had to journey this distance before the battle.

  A CIVIL CONFLICT

  BY MARINA OLIVER

  Chapter 1

  The little black pony and his green-clad rider trotted decorously out of the steep lane edged with dry-stone walls. Then, as they reached the open moorland the rider gave a whoop of joy, and touched her heel to the pony's flank. Needing no further encouragement, the pony set off at a brisk canter up the slope towards the belt of trees which sat round the summit of the hill like a collar.

  When they reached these trees Lysbeth reined in reluctantly. She had enjoyed the freedom of the canter, but now must pick her way carefully along the narrow paths through the trees. It was not an easy task. There were many roots stretching across the path, and low branches which she had to duck to avoid. She was concentrating on guiding the pony through the dim labyrinth and thus for a few moments did not notice the noises coming some distance from her left. Gradually they impinged on her consciousness, and she halted the pony the better to listen.

  There was a rustling and the snapping of breaking twigs, but it did not sound as though someone was moving through the undergrowth at the side of the path. Lysbeth looked round in concentration, then she heard an odd snuffling and snorting followed by an unmistakable sob.

  Lysbcth loved to comfort all creatures in distress, so, utterly unafraid, she leapt from the saddle, hooked the reins over a convenient branch, and plunged through the undergrowth in the direction of the noises.

  Within a few yards she had discovered the cause. Sitting with his back to her in an attitude of utter dejection was an ancient, bowed, grey-haired man. Lysbeth halted, narrowing her eyes as she peered through the gloom, then she stepped forward, letting out a gasp of amazement, for she had recognised the man. It was Ebenezer Hobbs, a shepherd employed by her father. At the sound of her approach he looked up, and the fear in his eyes halted her in her tracks.

  'Why, Eb, what is it?' she exclaimed.

  He did not reply, but held out a gnarled hand as though to ward her off.

  'Eb, what makes you so unhappy?' she persisted, and took the hand which was held out towards her, kneeling down at his side.

  'Why, Missee, I be afeard,' he muttered at length.

  'Eb, tell me what you are afraid of. How can I help you unless I know what it is? Please, Eb.'

  Gradually, in response to her persuasions, he began to tell her his troubles. Once he was well under way the story came flowing, interspersed with cries of 'What shall I do?'

  'Well, Missee Lysbeth, 'twas not my fault ! I swear I could do nothing!'

  'No, no,' she encouraged him. 'I am sure it wasn't your fault, but tell me what it was. Tell me what happened.'

  ' 'Twere they soldiers,' Eb muttered.

  'What soldiers? Where are the soldiers? What happened?'

  'I were in Springdale – ye know where I mean? Over the hill here and by the stream?'

  Lysbeth nodded. It was a place but half a mile away, and she went there often.

  'Go on, Eb.'

  'I were there wi' the sheep, lookin' after 'em, and suddenly a band of ruffians came upon me. They were ruffians,' he insisted vehemently, 'though they be fine-dressed gentlemen.'

  'What did they do?' asked Lysbeth, puzzled.

  'I be trying to tell ye. 'Twere not my fault. I couldn't stop 'em.'

  'No, no,' she reassured him. 'Couldn't stop them from doing what?'

  At last, with a wail of despair, the old man blurted it out. 'They took the sheep. They took your father's sheep!'

  'What? But why?'

  'They said 'twere for the King.'

  'The King? But what need has he of our sheep?'

  Ebenezer shook his head dolefully.

  ' 'Twas what they said,' he muttered. 'I suppose the King needs to feed his army, like all commanders.'

  'His army? But, Eb, surely his army is not near Lancashire?'

  'Nay. But there be troops going all over the country drumming men to join the King's army. I suppose 'twere one of 'em.'

  Lysbeth pondered. She had, of course, heard something of the quarrels of the King and Parliament, and the raising of the Royal Standard at Nottingham that summer of 1642, but so far she had heard nothing of recruiting in this district.

  'Are you sure they were the King's men?' she asked suddenly. 'Could it not be someone else making it an excuse?'

  Ebenezer shook his head at her.

  'They said they came from my Lord Derby. They showed me a piece of paper, but I canna read, and it meant nought ter me. When I protested they said they were acting under orders of Lord Derby. I told 'em they must see your father, but they laughed at me. They said they had no time for such formalities, that the King's soldiers could not wait for their supper, and so they pushed me out of the way, they took my staff, and they drove the sheep off wi' 'em.'

  'Well, of all the – ' Lysbeth exploded with anger.

  'What will your father do, Missee?' Ebenezer quavered. 'Will he turn me off? Will he turn me and the wife out of the cottage? I'm sorry. 'Twere no fault of mine! I could not help it!'

  Lysbeth turned to him swiftly.

  'Of course you couldn't, Eb!' she said gently. 'My father will understand that. He'll have no thought of turning you and Sarah out. Eb, come home now, let me help you. Why were you sitting here?'

  'I were afeared. I were afeared to go home and tell Sarah, and tell Sir Francis that I'd lost his sheep.'

  'You did not lose them,' Lysbeth said firmly. 'They were stolen. Stolen by ruffians, whatever they call themselve
s, King's troopers or not, and you were not to blame. What could you do? An old man against many armed soldiers. Come, let me help you home, then I will go and tell my father. But did you see which way they went?'

  'Aye!' The old man nodded. 'They went further down the valley, towards the south.'

  Lysbeth nodded, then briskly getting up herself, she urged him to his feet, then, supporting him, she led the way back to the path where her pony was tethered.

  'Can you manage if I lead the pony as well?' she asked anxiously. It was a long walk to the cottage, and she did not want to have to waste time coming back to retrieve the pony. To her relief, Ebenezer nodded, and straightened himself somewhat.

  'I be not hurt, Missee,' he said to her. 'I were just downhearted and afeared.'

  'There's no need for either,' said Lysbeth firmly, unhooking the reins and pulling her pony round to retrace the way they had come.

  Now Ebenezer refused her help, but she walked on at his side, ready to offer assistance if it proved necessary. Soon they came out of the trees, and crossed the open moorland where she had so recently been cantering gaily. They reached the deep lane which threaded its way down the side of the hill, and after a mile or so, came to a few scattered cottages, each set in its own small plot neatly laid out with the autumn vegetables. At the second cottage, Lysbeth stopped, tied the reins to the gatepost, and went up to the door with Ebenezer. Before she reached it, a rosy cheeked, buxom woman had opened the door, and stood there looking anxiously at them.

  'Why, Eb, what is it? Are ye hurt?' she asked anxiously, meanwhile bobbing a curtsy to Lysbeth.

  'No, don't be concerned, Sarah,' Lysbeth answered. 'Eb is all right, it's just that some ruffians who pretend to be the King's soldiers have stolen the sheep, and Eb is naturally upset, and was afraid my father would turn him off.'

  Sarah's eyes grew wide with apprehension, and she looked worriedly at Lysbeth, who shook her head gently.

  'You have no need to fear. Has my father ever treated anyone unjustly?'

  Sarah shook her head reluctantly.

  'Well, then,' Lysbeth continued, 'he is not like to start now.'

  'But the sheep?' Sarah whispered.

  'What are a few sheep?' said Lysbeth somewhat impatiently. ' 'Twas not Eb's fault, and my father will know that. Now, Sarah, you must forget this, and look after Eb. He needs a hot drink, and should sit by the fire or go to bed. Come, let me see you looking after him, then I can leave him, and go and explain to my father.'

  Thus gently ordered about, Sarah started bustling round the fire, and Lysbeth persuaded Ebenzer to sit on a stool in front of it.

  'Now you must stay here today,' she said firmly. 'I will see my father, and either he will come to ask you about it, or I will come to fetch you. Till one of us comes, you ought not to go out. Do you promise?'

  'Yes, Missee Lysbeth,' Eb replied, and smiled tremulously at her.

  She patted him on the shoulder, and he covered her hand with his own for a moment.

  'Thank you, Missee. I am sorry to cause ye so much trouble.'

  Lysbeth grinned suddenly. 'That's nothing, Eb,' she reassured him. 'It's nothing to the trouble those soldiers will be in once my father gets after them.'

  *

  Then, with a brisk wave, she went out of the cottage and, using the gate as a mounting block, hopped quickly back on to the pony.

  But she did not continue down the lane towards her home set in the pleasant valley below. She turned back, following the lane up the hillside, back to the moors. Once on the open ground she set her pony into a canter again, but this time skirted the trees at the top of the hill, until she came to the other side, where another stretch of open moorland lay before her. She crossed this swiftly until she came to a steep slope. Making her way cautiously down this amongst the boulders strewn on it she came to the main path leading through Springdale. Turning southwards, she made her way as quickly as she could along this path, and within half an hour came upon a group of about a dozen soldiers moving slowly with a flock of sheep in front of them.

  Narrowing her eyes, Lysbeth estimated that the sheep stolen from her father had been augmented by several other flocks. She pursed her lips angrily and rode without hesitation alongside the men. They looked at her in some surprise, for unescorted young girls of obvious breeding such as Lysbeth was usually kept well out of the way of bands of troopers. Lysbeth, unconscious of their stares, was appraising them rapidly, and she soon selected one, taller and more richly dressed than the others, as the leader. She hailed him.

  'Ho, you there! You on the grey. I wish to have speech with you.'

  Astonished, the man turned, and Lysbeth found herself looking at a dark, handsome and humorous face.

  'You wish to speak with me?' he echoed, an odd inflection in his voice. 'Why, Mistress, I would be delighted. Will you not come closer?'

  I,ysbeth frowned. She was sure he was laughing at her.

  'What I have to say is no laughing matter,' she retorted, glaring at some of the others who were chuckling. 'You lead this – this, er, band?' she queried haughtily.

  'Why, yes, Mistress, I have that honour,' the man replied, bowing slightly to his companions.

  'Then may I ask why you have stolen my father's sheep?' she flung at him angrily.

  'Stolen?' he repeated, his eyebrows raised.

  'What else do you call it, to come and round up a flock of sheep that do not belong to you, and drive them off?'

  'But everything belongs to the King,' he said gently.

  'Those sheep, or some of them, belong to my father,' Lysbeth persisted.

  'The King is father to us all,' the man went on.

  'Do not mock me, Sir. You know well what I am talking about. You have stolen our sheep and I demand that you return them.'

  'But we have need of them,' he answered, still gentle.

  'What right have you to take them, whether you need them or no?'

  'I have the right given to me by my Lord Derby, though I do not see why I should bandy words with you about it.'

  'Show me your authority!' she demanded.

  At that, the man frowned, and his face took on a severity that hardened it. He had been leaning over towards her, gently answering her, but now he straightened up.

  'I do not have to show any authority to children,' he said curtly. 'You are wasting our time, the King's time. Now I ask you to leave. If your father has any complaints against us, I suggest he comes himself to Lord Derby's headquarters instead of sending a feckless child to make his protests for him.'

  Lysbeth for once was speechless. She stared up at his face, then looked round at the others, to find most of them grinning at her discomfort. Looking back at the leader, she became even angrier to find he too was regarding her with amusement. Unable to find any further arguments, she brought her pony round, and rode hastily away from the group, reddening with anger as she heard their laughter following her.

  As she rode home she relived those minutes of argument, blushing at the thoughts of her impetuosity. She had ridden after the troopers with no thought, but knew that when she had to confess this to her father he would be angry with her for her imprudence. However, she was certain that he would he even angrier at the theft of his sheep, and at the brusque way the soldiers had treated her, so she made her way home us rapidly as possible.

  *

  Chapter 2

  Lysbeth came down the lane from the hills, passed hastily through the village, then swung through the gateway into the driveway of her home, Fenton Hall. It was a square, medium sized, stone-built house, with the hillside rising steeply at the back, and in front a gentle slope towards the river which burbled down the valley. Lysbeth went hastily round to the stables, where she dismounted and handed the pony over to a groom.

  'Do you know where my father is?' she asked.

  'Why, no, Miss Lysbeth,' the man replied. 'He went out more than two hours ago, and said he was going into the town. Methinks he will not be back for some time.'
/>
  'Confound it,' Lysbeth muttered. 'Do you know where my brother is?'

  'He left before Sir Francis, but did not say where he was going,' the man replied.

  Lysbeth thanked him, then turned slowly towards the house. She was impatient to pour out her story into ears which she hoped would be sympathetic. She wanted her father to take immediate measures to recover the sheep, or to punish the thieves. Her brother Arthur, she knew, would have been indignant at the treatment she had received, for they were unusually close, and he had always fought her battles. But with them both out, and not knowing when they might return, there was only her mother, and Lysbeth was wary of approaching her with such a tale. It was not that she feared a lack of sympathy, but having thought over her behaviour on her ride home, she realised that she had as usual been impetuous, and would deserve any reproaches that came to her. She wished, naturally, to put these off for as long as possible and until she had obtained her father's support. When she went into the house, she made her way cautiously to her own room, from the window of which she could see the drive, and she waited there impatiently watching for the return of either her father or her brother. It was several hours before she glimpsed her father riding alone up the drive. She hastily tidied herself, and timed her descent into the hall to coincide with his entry from the stables. She ran up to him, and he put an affectionate arm round her shoulders and hugged her.

  'Well, my little Lysbeth, and how have you occupied yourself today?' he asked, smiling down at her. This pretty daughter of his was a delight to him, and he treated her leniently.

  'Father, I must speak with you,' she said, somewhat breathless from the hug.

  'Must it be now?' he asked. 'I have much to do.'

  'Please, Father, 'tis indeed urgent.'

  He smiled down at her serious face. 'Very well, my dear. Come into the book-room.'

  He turned and led the way into a comfortable though small room which was lined with books and had some deep cushioned chairs.

  'First,' he said to her, 'I must ring for wine. Then you shall tell me what worries you, though you must make haste. We have guests coming for the night, and I must prepare to receive them.'