Civil Conflict

by Oliver, Marina

  'Something, my dear, that does happen in wartime.'

  Lysbeth stared at him aghast. 'I do not believe it. Surely all soldiers are not the same?'

  He smiled down at her quizzically. 'You heard it displayed, my child. When the needs of war drive men, they all become beasts. Now, we have much to do. Lysbeth, go and rouse the maids. Matthew, go and find all the menservants, bring the grooms in. I will see everyone in the dining hall in twenty minutes.'

  'Yes, Sir Francis.'

  The old man shuffled off, and Lysbeth, with a frightened look at her father, sped up the stairs.

  'My daughter!'

  His voice halted her, and she looked back enquiringly.

  'Try not to alarm your mother,' he ordered her, 'but get all the women down here as soon as possible.'

  She nodded, and ran quickly up the stairs. Some while later, the group of frightened maidservants and a dozen or so men were gathered in the dining hall. Sir Francis came in and smiled briefly before addressing them.

  'My friends, methinks you all know by now what happened a short while past?'

  Nods and mutters were exchanged. His voice broke over the small sound.

  'The Parliament's army has demanded I turn over the house to them. I am not minded to do so. They would not accept the help I did offer them, and I deem it necessary therefore not to allow them to take what I would not give. Are you willing to help me defend the house?'

  'Father,' Lysbeth spoke before any of the servants could. 'Do they really mean it? Can they do such a thing?'

  Her father looked sadly at her. 'My child, you have so far in this war seen the brutality of one side only. Now, I fear, you are going to see that both sides can be unjust and cruel.'

  A mutter of agreement came from the servants, and one of the maids stepped forward.

  'Last time I went home,' she volunteered, 'I heard of the Parliament troops taking possession of several houses, and they did not pay. They left them in a dreadful state, filthy, with furniture broken, and all the stores destroyed.'

  Lysbeth stared at her then, aghast at this unwelcome confirmation of the brutality of the side she had been supporting, sank wearily on to a stool. Her father regarded her with sympathy, then turned again to the servants.

  'Will you help me to defend the house? I would not constrain anyone against his or her will. If you do not wish to help, for any reason, you can pack some things and go while there is yet time.'

  'What of the women?' asked Matthew. 'Should you not send them away, Sir?'

  'I think not. I trust that when they see we mean to resist them, they will not consider it worth their while bothering us. But in that event, if they find our women in the village, they might take revenge. I think, on the whole, they would be more secure here, where there are men to protect them.'

  The servants looked at one another, but quickly agreed, by nods and quick murmurings. Matthew spoke for them all.

  'They would not leave you at a time of peril, Sir Francis. You and yours have treated us well, always, and now you need our help.'

  ' 'Tis true!'

  'Aye.'

  'We'll show 'em!'

  *

  Warmed by this display of loyalty, Sir Francis threw off his normally quiet manner, and began to issue orders. The maids were sent scurrying to the village and outlying cottages requesting help. The men were set to shuttering and boarding up windows, and forming barricades against all the doors. They worked feverishly throughout the morning. The maids returned with reinforcements, then prepared food while some of them, under Lysbeth's direction, took the horses in the stables down to the village and distributed them amongst the villagers.

  When they returned to the house it was to find that one small door only could be opened to admit them. They went into the strange house, with boards across all the windows in the downstairs rooms, making them gloomy as night. Heavy furniture had been dragged in front of the doors and windows, their ghostly shapes looming in the shadows.

  Lysbeth went to find her father, who was supervising additions to the barricades. She reported that the horses had all been taken to safety.

  'Good lass!' he commanded her briefly. 'Now everyone is to eat what they can, and then the women are all to be kept upstairs. Can you attend to that?'

  Lysbeth nodded and went back to the kitchen quarters, where she found food prepared. On her instructions, they all sat down and she joined them at the kitchen table, but none of them could eat much from excitement and apprehension. Lysbeth's mother, upset by the commotion early in the morning, had remained in her room, and Lysbeth saw to it that she had all she required. The men came into the kitchen in turn, and ate what they could. At last, Lysbeth shepherded the women upstairs. For greater security they went up to the attics, where Lysbeth told them to remain. She herself went into her mother's room, to find Lady Fenton outwardly calm, accepting this disruption to her life with fortitude.

  A little after midday, while they were trying to distract one another by reading aloud, they heard the sound of hooves coming up the drive. Lysbeth sprang quickly to the windows which overlooked the front of the house, and to her horrified amazement saw a group of at least a hundred horsemen approaching the house.

  'We shall never hold them off!' she breathed to herself.

  'Lysbeth, do not show yourself at the window,' her mother ordered, and she obediently drew back behind the curtains.

  'I can see through the crack here,' she reassured her mother. 'I must see what passes.'

  Her mother smiled faintly, understanding, and Lysbeth watched the riders come up the drive and spread out over the lawn in front of the house. The man who appeared to be the leader dismounted, and stepped unhurriedly across to the door. He knocked, just twice, and then there was a pause. Another double knock came, and a longer pause. Then he stepped back and, raising his voice, called to the unresponsive listeners.

  'We demand entry in the name of Parliament.'

  There was no response. The demand was repeated, and yet again, then the man, looking round at the troopers, shouted, 'They have had their warning. To it, lads!'

  The soldiers began to reconnoitre, several of them rode off into the distant parts of the gardens, while others spread out surrounding the house. After a few minutes of this activity, they gathered on the lawn and received instructions from the leader who had been standing there sardonically surveying the front of the house.

  Lysbeth watched, puzzled. Would they attempt to break in? How could they do it? How would they start?

  The men dismounted, but the horses, instead of being led round to the stables, were tethered to a fence which separated the formal gardens from the parkland, and was about a furlong from the house. Then more of the troopers appeared on foot, carrying various garden tools and farm implements. Distributing these, the troopers set to destroying the plants and ornamental trees in the garden near the house. Some of them, with axes, went into the orchard which was just visible from the window where Lysbeth watched, and began chopping down the fruit trees. For some time this seemed to be the only activity, and then Lysbeth noticed smoke coming from beyond one side of the house.

  'Mother! Have they set fire to the house?' she queried. 'There is smoke coming from beyond the east wing.'

  'Go and see if you can tell what is happening, child,' her mother asked, and needing no further bidding, Lysbeth sped to a room on that side. Looking out she saw smoke coming from behind the stables, then she could hear the sound of the crackling, and to her horror saw flames appearing from inside the stables and licking at the wooden doors. Within what seemed but a few seconds the whole of the stable block was blazing. Lysbeth watched helplessly, fury in her heart against these wanton wreckers. The only shred of comfort she could derive was the fact that the horses had been removed. So great was her fear and fury against the troopers she was ready to believe they would not have rescued the horses before firing the stables.

  Risking her father's displeasure, Lysbeth ran hastily down the stairs,
and found him in the parlour peering through a knothole in one of the planks over the window.

  'Father, they have fired the stables,' she whispered to him. He turned to her, looking distraught and weary. 'Yes, my child, I knew that.'

  'Oh, 'tis horrible ! How can men be so destructive?' Lysbeth began to sob, and he put an arm comfortingly about her shoulders.

  'Do not worry, my child. God will avenge everything. Now cease your weeping, and go back to your mother. Leave us down here. Methinks they will attack the house next. I fear I was wrong to imagine that they would go meekly away.'

  *

  Lysbeth obeyed him, and retreated to her mother's room. From time to time she went to rooms overlooking other sides of the house, and reported that the troopers were making a most thorough job of destroying as much as they could of the gardens, the outbuildings, the orchards. She visited the maids in the attics and did her best to soothe and comfort them. Though some of them were very young and ignorant village girls, they behaved remarkably well. One or two were sobbing quietly, but the rest were sitting talking with each other or saying their prayers. Lysbeth was thankful she did not need to worry about calming or controlling them. It was now almost sunset, and the activity around the house seemed to be subsiding. Suddenly there was another loud battering on the door, but it was not repeated. Instead the voice of the leader came.

  'Have we shown enough to prove we mean business?' he shouted. 'Are we now to turn our attentions to the house and those within it?'

  Silence answered him. Lysbeth, peering through the window, saw him shrug and then beckon to the men who had gathered behind him. Silently, menacingly, they spread out round the house, and soon Lysbeth could hear banging and hammering as they attempted to break down the doors. The tinkling of glass accompanied this hammering as the panes on the windows were broken.

  She turned to her mother. 'We cannot hold them off, they must break in somehow. Our barricades are not strong enough.'

  'Do not fear,' Lady Fenton answered, 'your father has done his best. He will defend us as far as he is able.'

  She had scarcely finished speaking before the sound of crashing timbers came to their ears. It was obvious the boards over one of the windows had given way. They listened in terrified silence, but there was nothing different for at least two minutes. Then a shot rang out – the first that had been heard. Lady Fenton clutched her robe to her, and began to mutter prayers to herself. Lysbeth risked being seen and peered boldly out of the windows, but she could not see where the activity was taking place. With a glance at her mother, who seemed preoccupied with her prayers, she quickly left the room and ran along to the top of the staircase. There were several men in the hall, all her father's servants, and they were looking towards the door of the book-room. Lysbeth waited, holding her breath painfully. Then there was the sound of another shot, the splintering of wood, and the tinkling of more glass as it fell to the floor A harsh voice then penetrated the door of the book-room which was closed.

  'Do you surrender?' it demanded.

  A quiet reply of which the words could not be distinguished followed. Lysbeth knew her father was in that room, and she suddenly began to pray as fervently as she could that he would not be hurt. Then, after the hours of preparation and the tension of waiting, everything happened at once. A crash came from the opposite side of the house. The men in the hall spun round, and several of them made for the door of the dining hall. Before they could reach it there was the sound of several shots, a scream rang out, and then running footsteps across the room. The door was flung open, and a couple of troopers, their pistols pointed, stood there.

  'Drop all your weapons!' a voice ordered, and the servants, startled and untrained, did as they were told, backing into a corner of the hall, huddling together for safety.

  With a snort of laughter, the two troopers came out into the hall and were followed by many more. One of them approached the book-room door and kicked it in, and by craning over the banisters Lysbeth could just see her father standing in the middle of the room, facing the leader of the troop. He glanced over his shoulder, and immediately realised the situation. With a resigned shrug, he handed the sword which he had been holding to the man in front of him.

  'There is little resistance I can now offer,' he said regretfully. 'I would ask your mercy for my family and my servants. Allow them to leave. They have but obeyed my commands. With me, do as you wish.'

  The soldier took the sword and laughed unpleasantly.

  'We'll see about that,' he answered. 'Stay here. Two of you, guard him.'

  He went into the hall and gave rapid instructions, sending men off in various directions. 'Bring everyone you find down here,' he ordered briskly.

  The men scattered, several of them making for the stairs. Lysbeth ran hastily back to her mother's room and flung the door to, locking and bolting it. She turned round to see that her mother had risen from bed, and had put on a robe.

  'Mother, you will not go out to them?'

  'What else can we do, child?' her mother replied. 'They are in the house, are they not?'

  'Yes, but, Mother, what will they do? We can stay here – '

  'Child, it is useless. You must not show you are afraid.'

  'I am not afraid,' Lysbeth replied. 'I am angry, so angry! I thought the Parliament troops were well behaved. I thought they had the good of the people in mind, but they are as bad – no, they are worse than the Royalists! At least they sometimes paid.'

  'Come, my dear. We cannot discuss the rights and wrongs of this rebellion now. Let us join your father.'

  Reluctantly, Lysbeth accepted there was nothing else to do. She unbolted the door and unlocked it, and she and her mother stepped out into the corridor just as one of the soldiers was approaching the door. Already others were bringing the maids down from the attics, and Lysbeth and Lady Fenton joined in the sad procession down to the hall. Once there, they were herded to one side. Sir Francis came and put his arms round his wife and his daughter.

  'I am sorry, my dears,' he began, but was brusquely told to hold his peace by one of the troopers who was guarding them.

  After a short time of waiting, the leader was satisfied no more people were to be found in the house, and, stepping up a couple of stairs so that he towered over them, he began to harangue them.

  'Resistance to Parliament is useless, as you have discovered, my friends,' he began. 'Indeed, it is what the King and the misguided fools who support him will soon discover, too. Now we have had to use force to obtain what we wanted. We do not like using unnecessary force, Sir Francis Fenton. You will be made to pay for it. But before that my men need refreshment. You will be locked safely away until after we have fed.'

  *

  Chapter 5

  They were shepherded hastily into one of the upstairs rooms. Troopers were posted outside the locked door and below the windows to prevent attempts at escape, and they huddled together, listening to the noises made by the troopers downstairs. Judging by the time that elapsed, the troopers were making a hearty meal, then the sounds of singing came clearly to the group locked in the room. This grew wilder and wilder and was interspersed with raucous shouts which seemed to become more and more truculent. It was obvious the cellar had been ransacked and the troopers were making merry on Sir Francis' wines. He looked anxiously around. He was only too well aware of what was likely to follow, but he said nothing, not wishing to increase the distress that already existed, by the threats of further indignities and violence.

  By now it was almost dark. No lights had been brought to the prisoners, but as they were in a room facing westwards they had the benefit of the last streaks of light. A further half-hour passed, during which time it became completely dark. Downstairs the noise grew in volume, and became rougher and less friendly than it had seemed hitherto. Suddenly there was comparative silence, but a few minutes later the prisoners heard footsteps approaching along the corridor outside their room. A sudden burst of laughter was heard, and they huddled
together in groups inside the room. A fumbling outside the room was heard, the scraping of the key in the lock, and after a couple of drunken attempts failed to turn the key, the sound of an argument as one man was pushed aside to make room for a less tipsy companion. He turned the key immediately, and the door was flung open, showing to the frightened group inside half a dozen troopers illuminated by the light from the large candelabrum one of them held up high.

  'Oho, there you are. 'Tis sport we want, my beauties,' one of them jeered. He grabbed the candelabrum and staggered into the room, swinging it about to light the faces around him. The light flickered over several of the menservants, and then showed one of the comeliest of the maids. The trooper brought his candles nearer, and his watchers saw a drunken smile of satisfaction cross his features.

  'You'll do for me,' he said, and thrusting the candles at one of his companions, he grasped the girl by the wrist and jerked her forward. She screamed, and one of the grooms who was her sweetheart stepped forward anxiously in a forlorn attempt to protect her. The other troopers immediately surrounded him and held him back, while the first soldier dragged his captive, alternately screaming with terror and pleading piteously, from the room. Laughing drunkenly, the trooper with the candles held them up and in his turn surveyed the prisoners.

  Sir Francis had, on the entry of the troopers, stepped in front of Lysbeth, and with one hand held behind him, was pushing her as far back out of sight as possible. But something in his expression or attitude must have betrayed him, for the trooper, peering in the candlelight, came closer, then, with a sudden jerk, pushed Sir Francis out of the way, to reveal Lysbeth's scared but beautiful face peering over his shoulder.

  'Methinks I'll take you,' the soldier said. 'Out of my way, you fool,' he snarled at Sir Francis, who had tried to interpose himself again.

  'Release my daughter!' Sir Francis ordered, with a steely note in his voice Lysbeth had never before heard.

  The prisoners had been so absorbed watching what was going on they had failed to notice that other troopers had come up the stairs and were entering the room. These brought with them more candles, and their objective was obvious. They made immediately for the group of maidservants, and began inspecting them like cattle at a market. Some were dragged away, screaming with terror. A couple of fights developed where troopers had laid simultaneous claims to a girl.