Civil Conflict

by Oliver, Marina

  'You were very brave, my child. But they are gone now. 'Tis over.'

  'Thank you for shielding me. I did not realise what they were at, and was surprised to see a sword but a few inches away from my face!'

  'We can be thankful they did not search in a more thorough fashion. They would have done had they been my soldiers!'

  She laughed weakly. 'Then I am relieved I am on your side, Sir!'

  'Are you? At last?' He looked at her with a strange expression, and she struggled to sit up in the confined space.

  'I know not who is in the right, Sir, but all of you are in the wrong!'

  It was his turn to laugh, and then they set about clearing the way out of their hiding place. Sir James crawled out first and went to the door to make certain the soldiers had truly gone, but they were not in sight. He turned to re-enter the barn, and Lysbeth saw with concern that he was limping badly.

  'Does your wound pain you?' she demanded.

  'Aye, a little. I was plaguey stiff this morning, and my exertions have not helped.'

  'Let me see the wound.'

  Sir James made no demur, and Lysbeth swiftly undid the bandages, to find that the wound was again bleeding, and the flesh around the gash looked puffy and a dark unhealthy colour. Without a word, she retrieved the water bottles from the hiding place Sir James had made for the saddlebags, and set about bathing and bandaging the wound.

  'You must try to rest, and move as little as possible. I fear you have hurt it again.'

  'Do not be concerned. I will do.'

  Lysbeth did not answer, but finished the bandaging. Then she fetched the food they had, and spread it out beside Sir James. Both of them were hungry, but they realised it was all the food they had, and ate sparingly. When they had finished, Lysbeth suggested she go and search for the horses.

  'I hope they will not have strayed far. And we will be in a sorry plight if we do not recover them.'

  *

  Sir James nodded, and she set off at once. There was no one in sight, and she went quickly through the wood, along the path the horses had taken. There were no other paths through the wood, and soon she emerged on the far side, to open pasture land on which a number of cattle grazed. There was, however, no sign of the horses, and though Lysbeth searched for long, she came across no trace of them, and at last had to confess to herself they had gone, either strayed out of sight, or captured and led away by soldiers or countryfolk.

  Making her way slowly back, she pondered on the next move. It was clear Sir James would not be fit to move for scveral days, but they had to have food, and if possible more horses for when he was able to go on. She decided to go and ask for help from Harry and Joan, who had sheltered her and Mistress Weston before the battle and who supported the King. She knew they would not betray her, and that she would be able to reach their cottage undetected, now the soldiers were likely to be moving away from the area.

  Having decided this, she quickened her pace for the last half mile, and almost ran into the barn to acquaint Sir James with her plan. He listened carefully.

  'You must try to avoid villages, and any soldiers you see.'

  She nodded. 'Will you be safe here? Try not to move, or the wound will never heal.'

  He smiled at her anxiety, and she prepared to leave. She set the remaining food beside him and refilled the water flasks, then, with the sun by now high in the sky, set off to walk the few miles to Harry's cottage.

  Several times she espied troopers, in groups, mostly, but sometimes singly or in pairs, and had to hide until they had gone past, or make detours to avoid them. It took much longer than she had anticipated to cover the distance, but eventually, late in the afternoon, she arrived and knocked on the cottage door. Joan opened it, and threw up her hands in surprise.

  'Why, Mistress Fenton, whatever do you here, and so bedraggled?'

  'May I come in, Joan? I am weary.'

  Joan bustled round, fussing about Lysbeth, and urging her to eat, not asking any more questions, but with ill-concealed glances of curiosity, especially at Lysbeth's torn and dirty habit.

  After a brief rest, Lysbeth told Joan all that had happened, and learned that John had safely escorted Mistress Weston away. Harry came in during the recital, and listened gravely.

  'What shall you do?' he asked as Lysbeth came to the end of her story.

  'We must remain hid until Sir James is well again. I hoped you might provide us with food.'

  'But of course,' Joan put in. 'And clothes too, more suitable for you if you mean to look like country folk.'

  'You cannot carry all back tonight. Tell me carefully where the barn is, and I will bring most of it to you on the morrow.'

  'Oh, Harry, could you really do that? Without danger to yourself ?'

  'Aye, be not afraid. I have a nephew in that direction. I often visit him.'

  'Thank you. I am most grateful, and so will Sir James be.'

  'Do not worry yourself. Now, Joan, have you food for Mistress Lysbeth to carry back now?'

  ' 'Twill soon be packed. I have also a healing ointment you must take for his wound, and a draught to make him sleep sound. I will put them in a basket, and here is a dress for you to change into, and a shawl. Go you now and put thcm on, and I will mend the habit ready for Harry to bring to you tomorrow.'

  Joan bustled about, and Lysbeth went up the stairs to change into the dress, a simple linen one that she guessed had been Joan's many years ago. When she returned to the kitchen, Joan had packed a basket with food and some ale, also the medicines she had promised.

  With many expressions of thanks, she set off on her long journey back to the barn. She was tired after her exertions and the long walk she had already undertaken that day, but carrying the basket of food she set out determinedly. This time she was more fortunate in seeing no Roundheads, so she could make her way straight back to the barn, but it was dusk nevertheless when she reached there.

  *

  After a quick look round to check she was unobserved, she slipped thankfully through the door and peered around her.

  'Sir James?' she asked quietly. No reply came, but it was too dark inside the barn for her to see much very clearly, so she made her way cautiously over to where Sir James had been lying.

  To her horror, she heard groans as she approached.

  'What is it? Are you hurt? Are you ill?'

  There was no reply, but more groans and the sound of someone moving restlessly on the hay. By now Lysbeth's eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and she could distinguish the vague shape of Sir James lying on the hay. She quickly knelt beside him and caught his hand as he flung his arm out. To her dismay she felt how feverishly hot it was. She felt for his brow and laid her hand on it. He was burning with a dry fever. He did not respond to her queries and, frightened, she realised he was in delirium.

  Leaving him for a while, she went down to the stream while there was still some light and filled all the water bottles they had. Hurrying back, she took linen Joan had provided and bathed his face with the cool water. Gradually his restless movements ceased, though his fever did not abate. Lysbeth sat anxiously beside him, and at intervals throughout the long night heard him stir in delirium. She unbandaged the wound and applied Joan's ointment liberally, but she could not force the draught between his lips, and was afraid of causing him to choke if he took it while unconscious.

  At one time Lysbeth became truly frightened, for he began to talk wildly, and tried to sit up. Exerting all her strength, she pushed him down on to the bed of hay and talked urgently to him, trying to penetrate his unconsciousness, but it was of no avail, his ravings continued. Lysbeth could disinguish little that made any sense, apart from the repetition of a girl's name. Sir James called constantly for Mary, and Lysbeth could distinguish at times the odd phrase, 'Mary, my dear,' 'Love Mary,' 'My sweet.'

  Fortunately, these periods of talking and attempted movements lasted only short times, and in between Sir James appeared to sink into a somewhat troubled sleep. Lysbet
h bathed his face frequently, and covered him with hay to keep him warm. As dawn crept into the sky, and the first shafts of light penetrated into the barn, she roused herself from a semi-stupor and anxiously felt his skin. To her intense relief he was somewhat cooler, and his sleep appeared more natural. He was less restless, and so she settled herself to sleep for a while.

  It was several hours before she awoke, and the sun was high in the sky. Remorseful at having broken off her watching, she looked across at him to find he had his head turned towards her. He was awake and lucid. He smiled when he saw she was awake.

  'I fear I have caused you some trouble!'

  Lysbeth shook her head in denial. 'I brought some food back. Would you like some?'

  Nodding, he attempted to sit up, but found to his dismay he was too weak to support himself. Lysbeth stood up quickly. 'Lie there,' she commanded anxiously. 'You were in a high fever all night. You must not move.'

  She busied herself with preparing the food, and handed him some, helping him to support himself while he ate and drank. As she knelt there with her arm round his shoulder she felt herself trembling, and was furious at this symptom of weakness.

  'Try to sleep,' she said to him somewhat curtly when he had eaten his fill, and regarding her with a strange expression in his eyes, he nodded, took Joan's draught, and settled down, soon falling asleep. Lysbeth was too restless to follow his example, so she went outside and found a place where she could sit, hidden from any passer-by, yet able to watch for Harry. It was late in the afternoon before she saw him approaching. She stood up and waved, and he came across to her. He carried a large bundle, and she took it from him while he dismounted from his pony and hitched it to a small tree near by. Then she led him into the barn.

  Sir James was awake, and was introduced.

  'I thank you for coming to our aid.'

  'You look as though you need care,' Harry said straightly. 'But methinks you will be safe here for a while. The Roundheads seem to have moved off.'

  'I cannot move far at the moment,' Sir James agreed ruefully, 'but in a day or so I will be up on my feet. Can you assist us till then?'

  'To be sure.' Harry began unpacking the bundle he had brought. 'Here are clothes,' he said. 'As soon as you can, change into them, and get rid of your own. Mistress Lysbeth, here is a cloak that will cover you. 'Tis rough, but will hide the habit, which looks too fine.'

  He pulled out the habit Joan had done her best to repair, but it still looked, though shabby, too fashionable and rich for a country girl such as she hoped to appear.

  Harry had brought food sufficient to last several days. They thanked him profusely, but he shrugged their thanks aside.

  'You will be safe enough here. I will come again in a few days to see how you do, then if you are fit to move we will make plans to get you away.'

  With an abrupt farewell, he went out, and Lysbeth ran after him to thank him again.

  'Fear not, lass,' he said to her, smiling. 'Methinks you'll be safe now.'

  *

  Lysbeth watched him ride away, then returned inside the barn, and hid the food so that it could not be seen if anyone entered.

  'Why do you not sleep?' Sir James asked, watching her in this task. 'You slept but little last night, tending me. Try to sleep now while you can.'

  Lysbeth, exceedingly tired, needed no persuading, and was soon snuggling down in the hay, and almost immediately asleep. Sir James lay for a long time looking across at her, and wondering at the strange circumstances that had brought them together into such a plight.

  Several days passed. Sir James slowly recovered his strength, but fretted at his inability to move around and the slowness with which he recovered. His wound was healing and the fever had left him entirely, but it was a tedious time for them both. Lysbeth once attempted to discuss politics with him, but it had not been successful. They had begun when she had asked him what had happened during the battle when the cavalry had disappeared from her sight.

  'We found the baggage wagons,' he answered shortly, 'and the soldiers were looting. The Prince and his officers could not drag them away and back to the battle for a long time, time that was ill-spent.'

  'Did they not realise the battle continued?'

  'Aye, they probably did,' he said heavily, 'but they were short of rations, were not allowed to plunder, had received no pay for a long time, and thought 'twas too good a chance to miss.'

  'They are all the same,' Lysbeth began angrily.

  'You do not regard soldiers with favour, do you?'

  'Can you blame me, Sir? Both sides are as bad as each other. They both plunder and take what they can without paying for it.'

  'That is true to some degree,' Sir James answered, 'but you do not understand what conditions are like, how pressed the King has been for support.'

  'Why do you insist I cannot understand?' Lysbeth demanded. 'Is it because I am merely a woman?'

  He raised his eyebrows, then the smile which altered his face and made it so attractive gradually spread over his face.

  'How old are you, Lysbeth ?' he asked gently.

  'Old enough to understand! And I am a woman, Sir.'

  He nodded gently, but she was convinced he mocked her.

  'You obviously feel it a waste of time to talk seriously with me,' she flung at him, and hastily left the barn, to walk off her ill temper in the woods.

  After that they avoided anything which could have caused disagreement, and their conversation was necessarily circumscribed. The days passed slowly. Only one incident broke the monotony. This was early one morning when Lysbeth had gone to the stream to wash.

  She saw a small group of troopers, about five or six of them, coming towards her. They were coming from beyond the barn, and she did not dare make her way back. She looked round hastily. Would they search the barn? She had no time or method for warning Sir James, and decided it would be best to draw them away. Deliberately, she stood up and, singing, wandered slowly down the bank of the stream.

  Glancing back cautiously, she saw they had reined in and were watching her. She quickened her pace, and was relieved to note they came riding after her. The stream continued for some time across the flat meadow, but then, where the ground began to drop away sharply, it had carved a pathway for itself round the edge of some rocks. These were concealed by bushes at the top, and at the bottom of the slope was a small wood. As she approached this place, which she had found a few days earlier, Lysbeth quickened her pace to a run. Reaching the bushes which hid her for a short while from the following troopers, she slid down behind the rocks. There was a small overhang, and just enough space for her to fit herself in beneath this. Praying the soldiers would assume she had run to the wood, she waited there, her heart beating so loudly she pressed her hands to it to still the sound. Anxiously she listened, and heard the troopers pass by. They clattered down the path and disappeared into the wood. She peered out from her hiding place in time to see the last of them swallowed up by the trees.

  Not waiting for them to return, she scrambled back to the higher meadow along the bed of the stream, and bending as low as possible so as not to be visible on the skyline, made her way swiftly back to the barn, to slip aside and fling herself breathlessly down on the hay. Sir James enquired anxiously what was amiss, and she explained what had happened.

  'I was able to lead them off,' she said. 'I doubt if they will connect me with the barn.'

  'Good girl!' he praised her. 'You are proving as able as many a soldier.'

  'I am not a child any more,' she insisted, for it rankled that he usually treated her as such.

  He smiled, but said nothing, which irritated her still more, and they did not exchange many more words that day.

  *

  They had been in the barn for a week. Harry had supplied them with food, and Sir James was now able to move about fairly easily. He began to take longer walks away from the barn in order to strengthen his muscles, and they hoped that within a few days they would be able to begin
their journey to Yorkshire. They had argued about this on several occasions.

  'I can make the journey by myself once you are well and I can leave you,' Lysbeth had stated firmly.

  'I promised your brother,' Sir James replied equally firmly. 'I admit you have saved us during the last few days. I would have been lost without you. But on a journey you need protection.'

  'You must not feel so obliged, Sir James. I can manage on my own.'

  'You need protection, child,' Sir James had retorted, temper for once showing in his voice.

  'I wish you could accept my age,' Lysbeth almost shouted at him. 'I am seventeen, no child, and I will not be called such. I will not be treated as such.'

  'I apologise, Mistress,' Sir James replied, with exaggerated courtesy. 'I promised your brother that I would escort you to your aunt and uncle. You could allow me to keep that promise.'

  Lysbeth was silenced.

  'Very well, Sir,' she said eventually, 'but only under protest.'

  'I do not mind your protestations, as long as you accept my company.'

  Having reached this agreement, they began to plan the journey, but decided it would be a few days more before Sir James was fit to go any distance. Harry had discovered where he could borrow horses for them, and was prepared to obtain these when they were required. Meanwhile Sir James concentrated on restoring his strength, and they relieved the monotony of the days by exploring the surrounding countryside dressed in clothes Harry had provided for them, so that they appeared nothing more than a couple of rustics.

  It was during one of these walks, when Sir James had disappeared into a farmhouse to purchase eggs, and Lysbeth was sitting idly on the wall outside watching some ducks on a pond, that they met with their next adventure.

  Lysbeth was dreaming, somewhat sleepy in the hot sunshine, when a voice right at her shoulder almost made her fall off the wall.

  'How do, lass?' the voice had said, and she swung round apprehensively, and found herself staring down into the face of a Roundhead. He wore the distinctive red coat that Oliver Cromwell's men sported. As Lysbeth turned her face to him, he lifted his eyebrows in appreciation.