RADWAY

By Chris England

On the 23rd of October 1642, the opening battle of the English Civil War took place near Edgehill. The closest village to the fighting was Radway. Its inhabitants suffered enormously, at the time and for years after. The civil war tore friends and families apart, and left England in a state of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris England
• Release date: May 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9781917129527

Book preview

Chapter 1

Saturday 22nd October 1642 5.00pm

The lane was quiet. Mercy looked up at the familiar escarpment above. Although she had rarely visited the area, the memory of looking down upon her village and the Vale of the Red Horse beyond, had remained vividly etched in her imagination. Twilight was approaching and she knew the consequences of not being home before darkness set in. Her smock was weighed down by the apples and berries that she had been sent to collect and her pace became that of a weary traveller.

Her mind wandered back to a conversation she had earlier that day with her friend Alice. When Alice, had some idea or notion in her head, she had to let it all pour out.

I tell ya Merc, there be lots a soldiers around these parts. I heard Ezra the smith talking to old Billy Gibbings saying he’s goin to be busy. And Billy said he heard it said lots of riders were heading out towards Wormleighton, wherever that is. And…

Well, I haven’t seen any. You’re just hoping some handsome soldier might give you a look.

No! you addle – plot. To be sure Merc, I heard Ezra say they were parliamentries or sommin!

Alice proceeded to babble on and Mercy’s mind drifted. Although praised for her looks rather than her intelligence, Mercy’s imagination was as fertile as the fields that surrounded her. However, she also remembered her father and mother talking in an unusual manner recently about the trouble brewing for the King with these parliamentries or whatever they were called. Just maybe, for once, there was something in Alice’s gossip.

The urgent clucking of a pheasant broke her reverie. There was a growing chill in the late autumn air as she pressed on down the lane. She sighed gave a final glance to the west where a fading orange glow enveloped the landscape, hinting at a vast world beyond. Her weathered boots scuffed an occasional rock and for comfort she hummed a song she and her mother enjoyed sharing, ‘All hail to the days, drive cold winter away’. Yes, the cold misery of winter would be upon us soon enough she thought. Mercy ambled on towards the small farmhouse and outbuildings where she lived with her parents and her younger brother. She had been born there and had spent her life there, in the village of Radway, a sleepy, uneventful place, where everyone knew each other and their business. Mercy lived in hope that, one day, she would discover there was more to life.

Suddenly a distant rumbling startled her. She listened more intently. Horses. Must be the Bedwell boys up to no good. Now alert, she picked up the pace. However, by the time Mercy had taken a dozen more steps the unmistakeable sound of galloping horses was audible. Instinctively, she stepped back towards the hedgerow for sanctuary. Within seconds, five horsemen turned the bend and were towering above her. The front horse reared as its rider twisted the animal towards Mercy.

You girl. Which is the quickest track to Banbury?

Mercy’s mouth attempted to form words, but nothing emerged. Her eyes were fixed on the soldier’s drawn pistol.

Don’t dither girl. I need an answer. We haven’t got a moment to lose!

I..I ..I..I’ve only been a few times sir so I..I..can’t rightly be sure but I thinks it’s up that a way beyond Warmington, she pointed to the edge of the escarpment to the south. The rider stared down at her, fixing her with a stern look.

For your sake, you better be right girl. If not, I’ll be back this way to whip your pretty little arse!

The soldier, who was clearly the leader of the group, reeled his horse in the direction Mercy had given and hastened those following to increase their tempo by uttering defiantly, Come on. By the hand of God, we’ll find those royalist knaves before long.

Mercy trembled. Yet, she was mesmerised. She watched them until they disappeared into the tree line. They certainly appeared in a hurry. Who were they? Why were they here? She felt a growing sense of unease. Suddenly, she became aware once again of the impending darkness; she picked up her skirts and promptly rushed towards the village of Radway.

Chapter 2

Saturday October 22nd 5.30 pm

The advanced scouting party deployed by Lord Ramsey moved swiftly over the steepening terrain. It was a challenging climb and their horses started to blow. They had been sent to locate the king’s army which was heading back to take London. By all reports gained, the royalists had strengthened their forces at Shrewsbury and should be close to Oxford by now.  If the parliamentary cause was to succeed, they must be intercepted well before their march on London.

Captain George Walton, a veteran of several Swedish campaigns with the Earl of Essex, felt this imperative most keenly. He brought his horse to an abrupt halt as the track came to a fork. Left or right? He had no idea, it was like flipping a coin.

Any ideas gentlemen? he enquired without any conviction.

I think I see smoke in the distance, down the hill to the left. Maybe a village, perhaps even an inn. What I wouldn’t give to quench my thirst! We’ve been on the road a long time. What do you say captain? uttered a rider at the back of the group.

In that case…. we’ll take the right fork. Your time for drinking will come Boyce but for now we have more important business to attend to." Walton jabbed his spurs into his horse’s flank and moved off in the direction determined.

They pressed on into a murkiness beyond twilight. On top of the escarpment, occasional clusters of trees shrouded the road, bringing a greater uncertainty to their quest. Noise became their guide but despite their fatigue, their senses were alert. They slowed their pace to a trot and strained to ascertain what lay ahead. They were in potentially dangerous territory. Walton knew there was a parliamentary garrison at Banbury and that the royalists would be keen to take it as they thrust towards London.

Is that a light from a fire….. off to the right? urged Nelder, one of the scouting party. They immediately drew to a halt to steady their gaze.

Yes, I see it now. Good spot Nelder. Walton paused for the opportunity of more intense scrutiny. But there’s not just the one, look beyond, there’s several! the captain remarked forcefully. He felt they had stumbled on something significant. Let’s go and check it out.

He had hardly finished the command when a familiar crack sounded, followed by an equally familiar fizz of shot which flew past his shoulder. There, less than a hundred yards ahead, the outlines of several riders appeared ahead on the track, harquebusiers, royalist cavalry scouts by the look of their attire. As on countless occasions in his military life, Walton had to make an instantaneous decision: charge forward and attack or beat a hasty retreat. He had gleaned enough. These were outriders from the royalist army, scouts probably, like themselves, sent out to seek the whereabouts of the enemy. He just had time to notice that, not far behind them, there were flashes of white canvas, undoubtedly the camps of many more royalist troops. Their mission was accomplished by chance: they had stumbled upon the royalist army of King Charles.

Yelling to his men, he wheeled his horse back in the

direction from which they had come. His fellow parliamentary scouts tore after him with immediate haste. A sharp cry of pain indicated that someone had been hit but there was no time to assess the situation. Another crack was followed by the fierce whinnying of an injured horse. Walton glanced over his shoulder to see Boyce trapped underneath the wounded animal. There was no opportunity to turn back and free him. They had to get back, at least one of them, to break the news.  Walton knew he had to