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    A Civil Conflict
    A Civil Conflict
    A Civil Conflict
    Ebook191 pages3 hours

    A Civil Conflict

    By Marina Oliver

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    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.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMarina Oliver
    Release dateDec 6, 2011
    ISBN9781466084216
    A Civil Conflict
    Author

    Marina Oliver

    Most writers can't help themselves! It's a compulsion. Getting published, though, is something really special, and having been so fortunate myself I now try to help aspiring writers by handing on tips it took me years to work out. I've published over 60 titles, including four in the How To Books' Successful Writing Series, and Writing Historical Fiction for Studymates.I have judged short story competitions, been a final judge for the Harry Bowling Prize and was an adviser to the 3rd edition of Twentieth Century Romance and Historical Writers 1994. If you want to find out more about your favourite authors, consult this book. I once wrote an article on writing romantic fiction for the BBC's web page, for Valentine's day.I have given talks and workshops for the Arts Council and at most of the major Writing Conferences, and helped establish the Romantic Novelists' Association's annual conference. I was Chairman of the RNA 1991-3, ran their New Writers' Scheme and edited their newsletter. I am now a Vice-President.As well as writing I have edited books for Transita, featuring women 'of a certain age', and for Choc Lit where gorgeous heros are the norm.I was asked to write A Century of Achievement, a 290 page history of my old school, Queen Mary's High School, Walsall, and commissioned to write a book on Castles and Corvedale to accompany a new circular walk in the area.Most of my Regencies written under the pseudonym Sally James are now published in ebook format as well as many others of my out of print novels which my husband is putting into ebook format. Our daughter Debbie is helping with designing the covers. For details of all my books and my many pseudonyms see my website.

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      Book preview

      A Civil Conflict - Marina Oliver

      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

      Revised 3rd May 2016

      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 themselves, 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

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