Sir Francis was still attempting to push Lysbeth behind him, but without success, for the trooper who had originally attacked him called for help from a couple of less fuddled companions, and they had little difficulty in pulling Sir Francis aside. The trooper immediately moved in and seized Lysbeth by the arms. She did not scream, but stood straight, looking at him with fierce hatred in her eyes.
Without a word, he began to pull her from the room. She resisted, but he was far stronger than she was, despite his drunkenness, and feeling her resistance he suddenly stooped to pick her up and fling her over his shoulder. The cheers and jests of his companions followed him as he carried her kicking out of the room and along the passage.
Screams of terror were now coming from various parts of the house where the luckless maids had been carried. The soldier with Lysbeth opened the door of one room, then with a muttered oath turned round and went further along the corridor. A frightened Lysbeth could see the room illuminated by candles as he turned his back on it. One of the kitchen maids, a girl no older than she was herself, was lying on the bed, a bloody gash on her forehead. She was obviously unconscious. The trooper standing naked by the side of the bed was busily stripping off her clothes. Lysbeth felt sick with rage, and began struggling with renewed frenzy, but her captor merely laughed, and staggered further along the corridor. Eventually he found an unoccupied room and, going in, flung Lysbeth down on the bed. Immediately, before he could stop her, she leapt off on the far side. She looked round for a weapon with which to defend herself, and saw with relief that they were in Arthur's room. She knew he kept a silver-hilted dagger on the table near the window, and she sped quickly over there while the trooper, startled at her sudden movements, and unprepared for them, was staggering round the end of the bed, lumbering after her.
Lysbeth backed towards the table. A quick glance had shown that the dagger was there. It was not even in its sheath, for which she breathed a sigh of relief. She put one hand behind her, holding the other in front as if to ward off her assailant. She picked up the dagger and stood there, holding it hidden in a fold of her skirts.
The man approached. She allowed him to grasp her left wrist with his left hand, and then he put his right hand out towards her shoulder. He came closer, and Lysbeth had to use the utmost restraint not to scream with horror as she felt his hot breath on her cheek. Then with a sudden movement she brought up the dagger and, thrusting with all her might, stabbed him in the chest.
She was faint with terror, and the noise the dagger made scraping along the man's ribs horrified her still further. His grip on her relaxed, his eyes bulged, and he slid with scarcely a moan to the ground. Lysbeth stared in horror at what she had done, tinged with relief that she had escaped his lustful advances. She moved shakily to a chair and sank weakly into it, staring with a horrible fascination at the crumpled body of the soldier. A short laugh came from the doorway and, startled, she leapt to her feet and turned to face this new peril. She recognised the man who stood there holding aloft a candle, as the leader of the Parliamentary troop. With a gasp of fear, she leant down and tugged at the dagger which was still in the dead soldier's body. With a sucking noise it came free in her hand, but she ignored that as she turned, her heart beating with renewed terror, to face the intruder.
*
To her surprise, he did not attempt to come into the room, but spoke gently.
'Fear not, Mistress. I mean ye no harm.'
The meaning of his words did not at once penetrate Lysbeth's understanding. She stood there, the dagger held in a threatening posture.
'I will not harm you,' he repeated in a stronger voice.
Lysbeth shook her head slightly. She had understood the words, but did not believe their meaning. He smiled a little grimly.
'I congratulate you, Mistress.'
He took a couple of steps into the room, and Lysbeth retreated as far as she could towards the window.
'I will not harm you,' he repeated.
'If you come any nearer, I will deal with you as I have with him,' she said, speaking slowly and hoarsely, never moving her eyes from his face.
'Come, my dear, you have shown a brave spirit. Do you wish to go in peace?'
Lysbeth frowned. Her brain was slowly beginning to function again.
'I, go free? Leave? Do you mean you would let us go?'
In surprise at his offer she dropped the hand holding the dagger to her side. The man did not attempt to approach her.
'You are valiant, Mistress,' he said. 'I respect and would reward such. Come, let us find your parents and you may all leave the house. I regret the necessity for requisitioning it from you.'
Lysbeth flashed a scornful look at him, but was too weary and distraught to argue with him.
'Can I really trust you?' was all she asked.
He inclined his head in reply, and held his hand out to her. With a sigh, she moved towards him, but let him see that she retained the dagger. He smiled at the implication, but courteously held open the door and ushered her out. Sounds of struggling, women's screams, and raucous male laughter came from various parts of the house, and Lysbeth turned suddenly to the man.
'Call off your soldiers,' she pleaded. 'Do not let the maids suffer.'
'I am risking my authority with the men by saving you and your parents,' he replied somewhat harshly. 'I cannot take all their sport away from them. If I tried, they would mutiny. Now, give me that dagger.'
Lysbeth accepted this with resignation, handed over the dagger, and allowed him to lead her back to the room from which she had been forcibly carried earlier. Her parents were still there, her mother not having been subjected to the same indignities as the maids. The menservants were mostly lying on the floor, having been secured with cords. One or two of the older ones had been tied to chairs on which they were sitting. Sir Francis and Lady Fenton were sitting on the bed, and Lysbeth saw with horror that their feet had been tied together to prevent them from moving.
The leader of the troop led Lysbeth into the room.
'Untie the cords that bind their feet,' he ordered her, 'quickly and quietly. The rest of you, not a word.'
Lysbeth did as he bade her, and the leader then motioned to the three of them to precede him from the room. Sir Francis would have refused, beginning to argue that the servants should also be freed.
'Be silent,' the leader ordered him. ' 'Tis enough I release you three. Your daughter and wife have been spared till now, but unless you go quickly I cannot guarantee their safety. The servants will be released tomorrow. I give you my word.'
Reluctantly, Sir Francis was forced to accept this, and after a few words of thanks, regrets, and farewell to his servants he followed his wife from the room. The commander of the troop took them down the back stairs, and out through a side door from which the barricades had been removed. Once outside the house, he turned and spoke quickly.
'Get you to the village. If you can, find transport there. 'Twould be well for you to leave immediately. If the men discover your escape, they will be seeking you. Go. Leave as speedily as you can.'
Without another word he turned and left them, going back into the house. Lady Fenton began to suffer the effects of reaction, and was sobbing, with Sir Francis' arm round her. Lysbeth helped support her mother.
'Come,' she said quietly, 'we must do as he says.'
*
The three of them set off cautiously towards the drive leading down to the village. They kept as much as possible in the shelter of bushes and trees, and were so preoccupied with finding their way, and evading any possible sentries, that they had gone several hundred yards before they chanced to look back at the house. It was Lysbeth who looked over her shoulder, and what she saw caused her to drop her mother's arm and turn with a cry.
Her parents looked back to see what had alarmed her, and they too cried out in amazement. One of the ground-floor windows that had so recently been boarded over was illuminated by a fiery glow, and flames were licking round the edges
of the windows, round the stonework.
'We must go back,' Lysbeth cried in anguish. 'We must try to stop the fire.'
Sir Francis shook his head. 'It is too late, my dear, those brutes would not allow it. They do not care what happens so long as they get their way.'
'But the servants, they are tied up! They cannot escape!'
'We can only hope the fire is put out, or the men release them,' he said dejectedly, all the spirit having left him for the moment.
'We cannot leave them like that,' Lysbeth burst out. 'You cannot go back, you must look after mother. Take her to the village. I will go, I will do what I can.'
She ignored their protests and set off, running swiftly back along the drive, making no attempt this time to conceal herself. By the time she came up to the house several more windows were alight with the flames, and it was obvious the revelry inside had ceased. The troopers were pouring out of the doors, and most were standing watching helplessly, too drunk or uncaring to attempt to fight the fire. Several of the maids were there also, either alone or being helped by the kindlier troopers. Lysbeth ran to that side of the house furthest from the flames. It was the way they had so recently left it. She tried the side door, which was fortunately unbarred. Running in, she found this part of the building deserted, and was able to make her way unhindered to the room where the menservants were imprisoned.
No sentry had been left on guard, and the door was unlocked. Lysbeth burst in, and with a gasp threw herself down beside one of the men, struggling frantically at the knots which secured his wrists. She succeeded in untying them, and while he was rubbing his wrists to get the circulation back, she attacked the bonds of another. The first man was soon able to release himself by untying the ropes that bound his legs, and then he turned to release the others. Within a few minutes which seemed an eternity they were all free. The younger ones, with circulation more quickly restored, gave their assistance to the more elderly, and obeying Lysbeth's hurried instructions they followed her out of the room and out of the house.
By now the flames had gained a fierce hold over at least half of the house, and the servants gazed in horror at the sight which met their eyes when they came round the corner. Several of the maidservants who were standing or sitting around espied the men, and ran sobbing to join them. Some of the troopers were half-heartedly attempting to quench the fire, but by now it had too strong a hold for the few buckets of water they produced to have any effect.
Lysbeth realised this, and when several of the servants began to move towards the fire, she called them back peremptorily.
'It is a waste of time. You must leave it. Get the women and yourselves to the village as quickly as possible.'
They nodded, and made their way off in small groups.
Lysbeth did not dare to wait. The troopers were aware the servants had escaped, but had not yet done anything about it. It was unlikely they wished them to die, and there would be no point in recapturing them now the night's entertainment had been ruined.
With a last look at the house which had been her home, but which promised to be a mere shell by morning, she set off down the drive and made her way wearily to the village. As she reached the first cottages she heard her name called, and found one of the cottagers' sons, a lad of about seven years old, waiting for her by the garden wall.
'Mistress, in here,' he hissed at her, and thankfully she passed through the gate and up a short path to the cottage, where she found her parents being ministered to by Jean, the little boy's mother. They were exhausted by their exertions of the day and the terrors of the night, and needed little urging to snuggle down into the beds hastily vacated by the children. Lysbeth slept a long deep sleep, and the sun was high in the sky when she woke.
A little girl had been sitting by the side of her bed watching her, and it took Lysbeth several moments to recall how she came to be in this strange room. When she did, she sat up with a cry of alarm, and child’s mother appeared at her side.
'There, there, Missee, 'tis well, bide awhile.'
'My parents? Where are they? How are they?' Lysbeth asked anxiously.
'They are well, do not fret,' Jean answered. 'Your mother has eaten and is still resting in bed. Your father has gone out to see what has happened. Now, I'll bring you some ale and some fresh new bread. Jinny.' She called to the little girl, who smiled at Lysbeth and followed her mother out of the room, to return almost immediately with a mug of ale. Lysbeth accepted it gratefully, for she had eaten nothing since midday the previous day. The ale was followed by some bread with honey, and after a hearty breakfast Lysbeth insisted she was none the worse for her experiences. She rose, dressed, and went out in search of her father.
One of the older boys, a lad of her own age, was sent to accompany her, but she had gone no more than fifty yards from the cottage when she saw her father returning towards it. She ran up to him.
'Father, how goes it?'
'It is all burned and they appear to have ridden off,' he answered. 'Come, my dear, there is no point in looking at the ruin. We must make plans for the future.'
He turned her round firmly and led the way back to the cottage. They went to the room where Lady Fenton was lying, and sitting there began to discuss what was best to do.
*
Chapter 6
Sir Francis had already decided on a plan.
'First,' he told his wife, 'I will take you and Lysbeth to your brother John in Yorkshire, and then I go to join the King.'
Lady Fenton looked up in alarm. 'But you are not a soldier, Francis. What can you do? Besides, you do not care for the King's cause overmuch.'
Sir Francis smiled grimly. 'It is now my cause. If the rebellion is fed by such rabble as attacked us yesterday, then the sooner 'tis crushed, the better, and it will only be put down if men support the King.'
Lysbeth was too shattered to say anything. She was torn between her hatred of the Royalists, nurtured over the past months, and her sudden hatred of the Parliament troopers, new and yet most violent.
At that moment a loud knocking was heard on the cottage door, and after a few moments Jean put her head round the door to say a friend had called. Sir Francis looked up in surprise.
'Why, who can that be?'
'It is Mr Bridges,' she replied. 'He has just arrived and is most upset at the news.'
'I will see him in the kitchen,' Sir Francis replied somewhat grimly, and telling Lysbeth to stay with her mother, he went out. Lysbeth could not hear what was going on, and had to restrain her impatience for half an hour, after which time her father came in, bringing Tom with him.
'Lady Fenton, Lysbeth,' Tom exclaimed as soon as he had greeted them. 'I cannot tell you how distressed I am at the treatment you have received, and at the loss of your house.'
Lady Fenton inclined her head, but said nothing.
'I am so ashamed,' Tom went on, 'that it should be the troops of Parliament who've treated you so.'
'It is none of your doing, my boy,' Sir Francis said reassuringly. 'It was not your troop.'
'Indeed, no! They would never behave so,' Tom rejoined somewhat vehemently. 'But I fear some of the riff-raff have joined the army. They are not all joining because they believe in our cause. They see it as an excuse for plunder and gain. I do express my sympathy, and I will do my utmost to ensure that Parliament makes reparation.'
'I would be grateful for your good offices,' Sir Francis replied, then he turned to his wife. 'My dear, Tom has proposed that he provides us with an escort to Yorkshire. It would be wise to travel with an armed guard. What say you?'
Lady Fenton nodded wearily, but Lysbeth sprang up.
'Father, if we have Parliament men guarding us, we shall be attacked by Royalists! Would it not be better to travel alone?'
'Tom suggests that he and three trustworthy men he has with him shall come. Not dressed as soldiers, but simply as extra strength to defend us. Tom knows I go to join the King, but he is still anxious to perform this service for us.'
Lady Fenton smiled. 'It is indeed good of you, Tom, since we now appear to be on opposite sides.'
'That is one of the unhappier things about civil war,' Tom answered. 'Even families are divided. I shall not attempt to argue our cause. I wish simply to act as any friend would.'
Lady Fenton smiled on him warmly, and they began to make plans. Tom wished to leave immediately, thinking the sooner they were out of the district the better, and Sir Francis agreed with him, both to escape the possible vengeance of the troopers, and so that he could take his new-found enthusiasm as quickly as possible to the King. Lady Fenton declared she felt well enough to ride that afternoon, and luckily the horses they had removed from the stables the previous day were still safe in their various temporary homes in the village.
As Lysbeth had seen to the disposal of these horses, she offered to go and collect those they needed for the journey. There was nothing to pack apart from the food Jean insisted on preparing for them. Tom went with Lysbeth and she found his own men were waiting outside the cottage. He quickly gave them orders, not explaining the situation, merely telling them they were to ride as escorts, and to prepare for this. He and Lysbeth then rounded up some of the horses. Tom suggested they should lead some as well as taking three to ride.
'They are about the only things left you can carry away with you,' he told her, 'and if one of the ridden ones goes lame, 'twill be useful to have spare mounts.'
Lysbeth approved this suggestion, and they quickly collected a dozen horses. With Tom and his three men to help, they could easily manage this number, and in a very short time Lady Fenton was bidding farewell to the villagers who had collected to wish them God-speed. Sir Francis made a short speech telling the villagers he now proposed to join the King, and would welcome any who wished to follow him. He appointed a meeting place, and with fond farewells, for he was a much loved landlord, they set off.
Civil Conflict Page 5