This happy interlude was soon ended, however, for Arthur came to tell her the armies were to rendezvous at Stow. Many of the ladies were to follow, and Lysbeth pleaded to be one of them, so Arthur arranged for her to travel with Mistress Weston, a motherly woman whose husband was one of the Captains in the Prince's cavalry. They moved from Oxford, taking lodgings in cottages on the way, and followed the army to the meeting at Stow on the eighth of May. After this, Prince Rupert went off towards Leicester, while Goring returned with his army to the west, no agreement having been reached on what the next move was to be. The Prince and his army captured Leicester at the end of May, and, against Rupert's advice, the King began to return to Oxford to relieve the siege there by Fairfax. They were resting near Daventry, when news came that Fairfax was moving towards them with his Parliamentary army, and the Royalists began to move northwards again.
Lysbeth, with Arthur and the Westons, was billeted in a small cottage a few miles from Market Harborough the day after the army had moved from Daventry.
'Why does the Prince retreat?' she had asked Arthur, puzzled.
'He wishes to draw Fairfax more to the north, then choose the time to attack. If we could join with Montrose, 'twould make a vast difference to the King's prospects. Besides, we are fewer in number than Fairfax, for Goring, though recalled with his cavalry, has not yet arrived, and there is doubt that he will obey the order.'
That night they were all awakened by knocking at the cottage door, and Lysbeth came downstairs to find a soldier excitedly talking to Arthur in the kitchen.
'The Prince is making a stand, and the army is mustering at Harborough,' Arthur told Lysbeth briefly, then turned to the soldier. 'Right. My thanks to you.'
The soldier hurried away to pass on the message, and Arthur's servant, John, a small wiry man some ten years older than Arthur, began to help him with his cuirass and helmet.
'This time we must win, and end this horrible war,' Lysbeth said to him, as she sank on to a stool by the fire.
'With God's help, Lysbeth,' he replied, as he belted his buff leather jacket and submitted to John's ministrations.
'I am suddenly afraid, Arthur. The Prince does not want to fight. What of the fewer men?'
'Be not concerned. We can defeat Fairfax with fewer men.' Arthur was unwilling to admit his own worries to Lysbeth. He was aware that the Parliament army had considerably greater numbers than the King, but even he did not realise the King was outnumbered by fourteen thousand to less than eight thousand.
'Where is Fairfax now?'
'It appears he reached Guilsborough late last night, and some of his troops reached Naseby and captured some of our patrols. The King has decided to try and hold the Roundheads on some high ground two miles or so south of Harborough. That is where I must ride.'
'Aye, Sir,' John put in. 'We've a longish ride, and will have to hurry, Sir. Your sword, Sir, and your pistols. Nero is waiting outside. He's excited already, he can sense a battle.'
'A true war horse, Nero,' Arthur laughed, as he came over to Lysbeth and bent to kiss her. She clung to him for a few moments, then reluctantly released him.
'Fare you well, my dear. God keep you.'
'Be of good heart, Lysbeth.'
He turned and strode out, stooping to the low lintel. Captain Weston came downstairs and left, too. John followed them and shut the door, leaving Lysbeth alone in the kitchen
*.
She began to muse over the sudden changes in her life in the past three years, from the time she had first been aware of the war, the destruction of her home and that of her uncle, the deaths of her parents, and now the fact that she was sitting in a cottage and two armies were converging but a few miles away, preparing for what might be the decisive battle of the war.
Her reverie was interrupted by the cottager's wife, who came through a small door from the rear.
'Why, Mistress, will you not go back to bed? 'Tis yet an hour till dawn. You need to sleep.'
Lysbeth looked up, startled.
'Joan! I had forgotten where I was.'
'Will you take a mug of soup before you go up again?'
'No – yes, Joan. And some meat and bread, please. I must go out as soon as possible.'
'Go out? Are you mad? Oh, I beg your pardon, but – '
'Please, Joan. I will dress whilst you prepare it, and tell you my plan as I eat.'
Lysbeth rose and climbed the stairs, and Joan, after staring at her in dismay, began to prepare the food with a disapproving clatter. As she set the bare table she grew more and more disturbed. Whoever heard of such a thing! A fine lady going out alone, before dawn, and the two armies only a few miles away! She began to rehearse arguments with which to dissuade Mistress Fenton, for although they had been in her cottage but a few hours, uninvited and inconvenient guests, she liked the handsome pair.
The meal was ready as Lysbeth reappeared on the stairs. She was dressed in a black riding habit, and her long dark hair was no longer loose, but coiled neatly round her head. She drew the stool up to the table and began to eat. Joan had just plucked up courage to begin her arguments, and had opened her mouth, when Lysbeth turned to her.
'I must go, Joan,' she said. 'I have had the strangest feeling, a presentiment, for many days now that I must not be separated from my brother. I am sure this battle will be decisive. If only we could truly defeat those men, we could return home.'
'But of course the Prince will win, Mistress. What need for you to venture out there yourself? Why not bide here in safety, where your brother will know where to find you ?'
'I must go.' Lysbeth looked pleadingly at her for understanding. 'I feel my presence is necessary, that we must not be parted, else some evil will befall him.'
'But you cannot ride with him, my dear. You must be parted.'
'I must get as close to the battle as I can, and he will feel my presence.'
'But, the danger to yourself!'
'Joan, please, no more. I must do it. Try not to dissuade me. If harm befell Arthur, and I were here, I could never forgive myself. I cannot explain. I am not one to pay regard to omens and suchlike, but this feeling I have is too strong to be ignored. Please understand and help me.'
'I can see there'll be no stopping you. Very well, but let my Harry come with you. You cannot go alone.'
'No, Joan. You need a man here for protection. But thank you.' She stood up. 'Now I must go. Polly is in the shed?'
'Yes, Mistress. I will saddle her for you.'
'No, Joan. Stay you here. I can do it myself.'
Lysbeth straightened her shoulders, smiled at Joan, and went through the door leading to the tiny garden. There was just enough light from the cottage doorway for her to pick her way along the narrow path towards the large shed at the other end of the garden. Inside the shed a lantern glowed and as she opened the door she could see Joan's husband, Harry, sitting with his back to her, eating a hunk of bread and meat, and with a mug of ale beside him. He did not turn as she went in, assuming it was Joan, and he was startled to hear Lysbeth's voice.
'Good morning, Harry. I've come for the mare.'
'What! Mistress Fenton!'
Lysbeth smiled at him,, and took the saddle from the bracket. She had turned to where the mare was tethered and was lifting the saddle over her back before Harry recovered from his astonishment.
'Here, Mistress. You can't do that.'
'But I am doing it.'
She smiled and allowed him to finish saddling the mare. His badly concealed curiosity afforded her the first amusement she had known since the prospect of the coming battle had loomed over her. When Harry had bridled the mare, he led her outside and helped Lysbeth mount. With a wave of her whip she set off eastwards towards Market Harborough, glancing backwards to see him, making with all speed for the cottage door. Smiling, she urged the mare to a gentle trot, not daring to go faster in the darkness.
*
Lysbeth was determined to get as close to the fighting as she could. She could not explain even to herself why she had this desperate urge to be as close to Arthur as possible. Now she was riding in the general direction of Market Harborough, intending to leave the road and ride cross-country as soon as it was light enough to make this practicable, and so come up with the army. She had not thought beyond that. She did not wish to make her presence directly known to Arthur, but had a vague idea of concealing herself as near to the fighting as possible, with the hope that if the need arose she would have the opportunity of helping him. She also felt that by merely being there she would be helping Arthur in some way.
Lysbeth had ridden for nearly two miles before it was light enough to urge Polly to a canter. There was a heavy ground mist, and she dared not risk laming the mare. But as soon as it was safe to do so, she quickened her pace, and by the time it was light enough to see more than a few yards ahead, she was within a mile of Market Harborough. Halting Polly, she looked round her, considering what best to do. There was a track ahead, leading off to her right, and it looked well used. She knew the battle would be to the south, and decided to strike off in that direction now, rather than risk getting caught up with the remnants of the army nearer the town. Soon she saw in front of her the houses of a small village, with folk stirring amongst them as they made ready for the day. She did not want to be observed, and managed to skirt the village without being noticed. From the far side she could see more clearly across to the east, where she expected the army to be situated.
And there in the distance she saw what she had come to find. An army preparing for battle. To the girl, it looked a most confusing array, brilliant with many colours, men and horses milling about in no apparent order. They were too far off for her to distinguish much detail, and she was looking against the sun, just beginning to climb out of the mist which was being dispersed by a strong breeze. Lysbeth dismounted and led Polly into the shelter of a clump of trees. She tied the mare to one of them, and went to the edge of the copse where there was a slight rise in the ground from which she could get a good view of the army and its preparations. It seemed an age to Lysbeth before the army settled into some sort of order, but then it suddenly seemed to fall into a pattern, just as the last few stitches set in a tapestry made sense of the picture, and blocks of men solidified as the regiments formed. She estimated it to be about eight o'clock. There was no sign from where Lysbeth stood of the other army, the New Model Army under Fairfax, but she assumed it was some distance further off to the south, probably hidden by a slight ridge she could just discern. For an interminable time nothing happened, except for messengers riding back and forth along the lines. Much as she was dreading the battle, more so now she could see the army and visualise some of the reality of war, she was impatient for action. She was apprehensive of the outcome, but strangely eager to know what it held for her.
Suddenly, there seemed to be a different movement in the army, and Lysbeth strained her eyes to try and discover what it was. The lines seemed to be moving, but not forward, as she had expected. They were moving sideways, in her direction. If they kept in the same path, they would pass within a hundred yards south of her position. She was undecided whether to stay there or try to move further out of their way, so as to avoid the possibility of detection. Eventually she decided to remain where she was, since it was unlikely they would come so far, having once been lined up for battle. But she was mistaken. The leading regiments were, she could now distinguish, Prince Rupert's cavalry. Her heart gave a leap of mingled joy and apprehension. Arthur was amongst them! He was near to her! The cavalry began to pass close by where she was crouching in the undergrowth, and behind them were the infantry, with yet more cavalry in the rear. As the leading troops of cavalry reached a position about a quarter of a mile to Lysbeth's right, an order was given, and the whole column halted, and then deployed once more into battle order. In front of them the ground dropped away for a short distance, then began to rise gently towards a ridge of higher ground.
As Lysbeth watched, she saw for the first time the opposing army, on the top of this ridge, about half a mile away. It was a mass of red, for all the soldiers were wearing red coats, and it was a stirring, frightening sight. Her heart began to beat so loudly she was afraid she would be betrayed by it, but the jingle of harness and the clink of steel against metal were surprisingly loud. Somehow Lysbeth had imagined a deathly silence while the armies were preparing for the first attack, but it was not so. She could hear the shouts of the officers – of whom there seemed a large number, and the guffaws of the men as they bandied jokes around.
*
Suddenly it changed. The atmosphere became tense, and silence descended on the men, to be broken only by a few metallic chinks. Even the horses became quiet, with hardly a snort breaking the uncanny waiting silence. Then, with the sound of trumpets, the army crashed into action. The cavalry immediately in front of Lysbeth set off at a steady pace, gathering momentum as they began to charge up the slope towards the opposing cavalry awaiting them at the top. Lysbeth forgot her need for concealment and stood up to view the scene better. She even advanced a little way out from the concealing trees, in her anxiety.
'Arthur.'
Her lips moved, but no sound came. She could not distinguish Arthur amongst the hundreds of cavalry, but she knew he was there, somewhere in front of her, amongst Prince Rupert's men, fighting for his King.
The charging cavalry had almost reached the opposing flank, and in a few minutes it was over. The Cavaliers completely overwhelmed the Roundheads' left flank. Many of the Roundheads turned tail and fled in disorder, with Rupert's Cavaliers in hot pursuit.
The Royalist infantry then attacked in the centre, and at first it seemed to be pressing the Roundheads back, but reserves of Roundhead infantry were brought up, and the Royalists were pushed back into the valley. The cavalry on the left, under Sir Marmaduke Langdale, then charged across to the attack, but they were met head on by a wave of Roundhead cavalry of far superior numbers, and were swept off the field. As Lysbeth realised what was happening on that far side of the field, she saw another charge of Roundhead cavalry who had come round and were facing the centre of the battle, where the Royalist infantry were hotly engaged, amid gunfire and smoke, shouts and agonising screams, and the clashing of weapons upon armour. Then another troop of dragoons appeared on Lysbeth's right, from behind a double row of bushes running at right angles to the line of battle. They attacked the now hard-pressed Royalists, who were fighting on three sides, and beginning to give way.
Little as Lysbeth knew of fighting, it was obvious things were going very ill for the King. She looked around, to see what help there was, but there was only a small troop of reserves behind the main army, and that seemed to be moving in the wrong direction, away from the battlefield. Distracted for a moment from the main fighting, she wondered what was happening. She could see a small figure on a magnificent horse riding full tilt past the main body of reserves, and with a shock recognised the King. Was he fleeing? It seemed as though he was urging his mount away from the battle as fast as he could, overtaking his soldiers in the process. Then she saw him reach the head of the column, and raggedly, slowly, it came to a halt. As she watched, wondering, it turned, and the men began to march back towards the battle, while the King again spurred his horse to the front of the column. What had happened? Had someone given the wrong order to march away? Lysbeth was beginning to comprehend the difficulties of controlling a large body of men, moving them about as one wished, to manoeuvre them into good positions.
It took the column several minutes to move back to the previous position behind the centre of the mile-long front, and by that time the Royalist infantry was almost overwhelmed by the combined Roundhead infantry and cavalry, who greatly outnumbered them and were attacking on both sides, as well as from the front. The Royalist reserve still did not attack. Indeed, there were so few of them that it was very uncertain whether they could have done anything to help their comrades, and as for changing the outcome of the battle, which by now looked a decisive victory for the New Model Army, the thought was merely a fleeting wish, not a conscious hope.
*
While the gallant but dwindling Royalist infantry were still fighting off their attackers, the cavalry under Prince Rupert, which had disappeared an hour earlier in pursuit of the Roundhead left wing, came trotting into view over the ridge. Lysbeth's heart gave a lurch. She had, in the excitement of watching the battle in the centre of the field, half-forgotten Arthur was with the Prince, wherever he was. She had been conscious of relief when the Prince's attack had been so successful, and when the horsemen had disappeared she had thought only that Arthur was safely out of the most dangerous area. Now she wondered anxiously why they had been gone for so long, and what would be the likely course of events. She did not know until later the cavalry had come across the baggage train of the Roundheads, and despite the attempts of the Prince and his officers, spent time trying to capture it. The Royalist army had been living off the country for a very long time, and the chance of such pickings from their enemies had proved stronger than their desire to get back to the battle. When the Prince finally led them back, it was nearly over.
Lysbeth recognised the Prince, tall and dark and magnificently dressed, for she had met him in Oxford. He left the main body of the returning cavalry and, with a few companions, rode over to where the King was waiting with the reserve. She could imagine he was urging them to throw everything into a last attack. It was his way to fight on against all odds, even though his men and horses were tired and unfit to make a second charge, which in any event was a most unusual proceeding. The small group of officers surrounding the King seemed to be arguing fiercely, while the soldiers in the battle were falling to the savage onslaught of the Roundheads. The leaders turned to watch the final minutes of agony, and then after a hurried conference began to organise the retreat, back towards Market Harborough, which they had left with such high hopes in the hours before dawn.
It was obvious all was lost. Lysbeth began to think then of her own situation. She could not distinguish Arthur amongst the Prince's cavalry, but even if she could she ought not to approach him in the present circumstances. He would have enough to do helping to rally the remaining Royalists for the retreat. What should she do? If she did not leave here soon, the place would be overrun with Roundhead soldiers, and she dared not think what might happen to her then. She ought to try to get back to the cottage and Mistress Weston as soon as possible, then try to rejoin the remnants of the army with whom they might be reasonably safe. She went to the mare and mounted, but still she could not bear to leave the field until she knew Arthur was safe. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. How could she discover it?
As she waited, indecisive, the cavalry began to move away, and she was sorely tempted to follow them, when her attention was caught by more horses coming over the ridge. They were being led, and had men strapped to the saddles. Lysbeth caught her breath. They must be the wounded cavalry from the Prince's charge. She was suddenly apprehensive. Having been confident of Arthur's safety, she was now equally certain he was wounded and amongst that sorry cavalcade, if he were not killed. No longer caring for concealment, she turned Polly towards this group, and cantered up to it. As she came near, she saw with horror that one of the men leading the horses was John, Arthur's servant, who had ridden to battle with him. He was leading Nero, Arthur's favourite horse, and there, strapped across Nero's back, was Arthur himself. She rode up to them, ignoring the surprised looks of the other men, and flung herself out of the saddle. She ran the last few yards towards John, and grasped the reins he was holding.
*
'Arthur!' she gasped. 'John, what's happened? Tell me.'
Without waiting for an answer, she went to Arthur's head and cradled it in her arms. To her relief, he was alive, and recognised her. John came round the horse and spoke.
'He is badly wounded, my lady. He should not travel far in this state. He is losing much blood.'
'Then let us take him to a house, to shelter. Quickly, John, we must do something.'
'My lady, begging your pardon, where? There's no house near here that would dare give refuge to a Cavalier now. Soon the Roundheads will be searching the whole area for survivors, and the Lord only knows what treatment they will give us.'
'Then what can we do? We cannot go on with Arthur in this state. We must find somewhere for him to rest. Perhaps a church? Can we not ask for sanctuary? Yes, John, that is it. There is a small village not far away. Surely we can get him that far. Come, John.'
John was sadly shaking his head. 'I've heard these Puritans do not respect sanctuary. We would find no safety there.'
At that moment Arthur, who had not so far spoken, murmured weakly, and they both turned to catch his words.
'I cannot last much longer. I am mortally wounded. Lay me down under yonder hedge, then go and look to your own safety.'
John looked at Lysbeth. 'I fear he is right, my lady. We can do nought for him.'
'We must! We cannot just leave him to die in the hedgerow, like a beast of the field! John, for the love of God, think of something!'
Arthur summoned up the strength to argue. 'You must do as I say, my dear. At least my last hours would be more comfortable lying in the hedgerow than trussed on to the saddle.'
Lysbeth could think of no other way, so she and John led Nero over to the hedge, and gently lifting Arthur from the saddle, propped him against a fallen tree. He smiled weakly at her, and she sank down beside him, wiping the beads of sweat from his face and ineffectually trying to staunch the blood that flowed from his wounds with lengths of cloth torn from her shift. She was racked with tears, and unable to speak, for besides being the last of her family, she had always been very close to Arthur. John hovered uncertainly in the background. The others of the party had not stopped and were now out of sight, following the defeated Royalists away from the field. There was an uncanny silence, after the din of the battle, and an ever-increasing stench of blood and gunpowder and sweat and entrails.
'John!' Arthur had gathered enough strength to speak again.
'Sir?' John came near and knelt to catch the faint words.
'You must escort my sister back to the cottage where we rested, and then take her and Mistress Weston to my mother's brother near York. 'Tis no longer any use for you to follow the King. Methinks this defeat has been the end for him. We have few troops left, and divided councils. She will be safer there than with the army.'
'I will do that, Sir Arthur. You may rely on't.'
'No! I will not leave you, Arthur! How can you ask it of me?'
'My dear, there is no longer anything you can do for me, but you must look to yourself. Promise me to go. I have not long, and I must die with the knowledge you will be secure.'
Lysbeth sobbed. 'As you wish. Oh, Arthur!'
She bent her head to hide her tears, and he caressed her hair. Soon his hand dropped to his side and he seemed to sleep. His heart still beat faintly. Lysbeth beckoned John, who was standing a little way off.
'I cannot leave him thus. I must stay till the end. But you must go and fetch Mistress Weston, and my baggage. I have my mare, and will follow when – when – ' Her voice broke, and she turned away, overcome with tears.
'My lady, I cannot leave you here!'
Lysbeth made a valiant effort to master her grief. 'I order you to go, John. I will make my way after you and meet you on the road to Harborough. The Roundheads will not harm me, a defenceless girl.'
John was still reluctant, but at last he consented to go, taking Nero as his mount, since the horse was very much superior to his own and would serve his purpose better. He rode away, leaving Lysbeth to her vigil beside Arthur, who seemed to be sleeping. How long she waited, she did not know. The sun had been high in the heavens when the battle had finished, but after the shock of the meeting with Arthur, Lysbeth sank into a half-conscious state herself, and noticed nothing of the passing of time.
Arthur moved no more, and after some time Lysbeth tried to make him more comfortable, though deep within her she knew her care could avail little, and the end was very near. She was sitting stroking his hand, as the sun was setting, when he moved slightly, opened his eyes and smiled at her.
He was too weakened by loss of blood to move or speak, but he seemed to understand the endearments she murmured. Then, with a suddenness she was unprepared for, there was a gush of blood into his mouth, and his head fell to one side. It was the end. Lysbeth sobbed aloud, and clung to him for a long time, but could feel no further beating of the heart. At last, worn with grief, she roused herself, closed his eyes, and, catching sight of a ring of his father's that he had worn since Marston Moor, she gently eased it from his finger and placed it on her own. Then she bent to give him a last kiss, and stood up.
*
'Very touching, my dear,' said a mocking voice behind her.
Startled, she swung round, to see a grimy soldier, his red coat and dark grey breeches muddy and torn and stained with blood, leering at her. He had approached unheard, and she had no idea how long he had been there. Instinctively she moved to put herself between him and her brother, but he roughly pushed her aside and stooped to inspect Arthur. A cursory examination satisfied him, and he rose, kicking the body contemptuously. Lysbeth protested, at which he laughed mirthlessly.
'One more misguided devil out of the way,' he threw at her, as he turned back to his horse which was grazing several yards away.
An uncontrollable fit of weeping shook Lysbeth, and she turned away to hide her distress from the Roundhead. Despite his apparent hardness, probably induced by the horrors he had been a part of, he was touched, and after mounting his horse he rode back to her.
'Take my advice, lass, and get away from here as fast as ye may. There's orders gone out to maim or kill all the camp followers that can be found. Ye cannot do your man any good by staying here. Go, while there is yet time to save yourself.'
Lysbeth looked at him, scarce comprehending his words. He repeated his warning and rode off in the direction of the Roundhead army.
She bent over her brother again, to take a last farewell, then went with downcast head to where the mare had waited patiently all through the long afternoon.
Lysbeth buried her face in Polly's mane, and wept. When she was more in control of herself, she mounted and turned the mare's head to the north, towards the place where she was to meet John. She looked no more at Arthur's body, but set off at a canter, trying to plan for the next few days, when she and John must travel to Yorkshire, avoiding the bands of Roundheads who would undoubtedly be scouring the countryside for stray Royalists. She must get to safety.
She had gone less than half a mile when she was surprised by a horseman coming out of a thicket into her path. She was forced to rein in sharply, then noticed he wore the same red coat and dark breeches as the man who had spoken to her earlier. Another Roundhead!
He grasped her bridle as she attempted to ride past him on the narrow track.
'Ho-ho! Not so fast, my fine lady! Where are you off to in such a hurry?'
'Pray release me, Sir!' Lysbeth ordered, her temper roused by his attitude.
'Why? You surely aren't in a hurry to get away from our victorious army? We've much to celebrate, and need company!'
'I have nought to do with you. Pray allow me to go about my business!'
'Not so fast. We've orders to cut off the noses of the fine Royalist ladies we find.'
Lysbeth paled. The man went on.
'But your little nose deserves a better fate. I've a proposition. We were to enjoy the serving wenches before doing away with them. Let me offer you a compromise. I'll allow you to go free, unmaimed, if you give me what the serving wenches would give – and they would not escape afterwards.'
'How dare you be so impertinent? Let me go immediately, or your commanding officer shall hear of this!'
'It would do you no service to report me, my fine one. You would merely receive the punishment decreed for all your kind. I'm offering you a way of escape, in return for a service I'll warrant you'll enjoy before it's over!'
Lysbeth's hauteur deserted her. She was weary, weak from lack of food and sleep, and racked with grief. She began to plead with her captor, but he merely took it as a sign she was weakening, and he pulled her from the mare and dragged her into the thicket which had earlier concealed him.
*