Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [481]
“By which we mean – don’t touch our property,” Margaret stated flatly.
She marched with them on every occasion.
1645: JUNE
How determined their battle looked.
It was drawn up in the traditional manner – foot in the centre, horse on the wings. In the centre were the regiments of Waller, Pickering, Pride and other noted commanders; further across, Ireton’s wing and past them a party of dragoons; opposite, the most powerful force of all, the massed regiments of iron cavalry, seven great bodies of horse, under Lieutenant-General Cromwell. And last, in front of the whole, in the centre, the brave body of advance troops jokingly called the forlorn hope. This was the new model army commanded by Fairfax.
Between them, Broadmoor Farm, surrounded by hedges and ditches. Behind the Roundheads, two more farms and a way off to the south west, the little town of Naseby. The summer morning was growing warm.
For months the king had led the Roundheads a pretty dance, darting from Royalist Oxford to the north west and back again while they relentlessly followed him. Now, in the very centre of midland England, the combined armies had come up with each other in full battle array.
Nathaniel rode with the northern horse that day, on the left flank. The whole army had moved forward from its chosen position because the impetuous Prince Rupert when reconnoitring had caught sight of the Roundhead cavalry and, refusing to believe they would stand and fight, had urged the whole Royalist army forward. Their position was less favourable now; the enemy had not budged; but the Roundheads were still outnumbered.
He glanced to his left. Beside him, on a piebald, was young Charles Moody. He had kept the boy beside him, as he had promised.
His dark eyes were shining; he was eager for battle, convinced that the king’s cause was sacred, and just, and that the rightful Roman Church would still be brought back to England. A brave boy, unskilled in battle.
“Stay close to me,” he said calmly.
He wondered if Edmund was in the army opposite.
How splendid the Royalists looked as they advanced. Despite himself, Edmund Shockley could not help admiring them: the serried ranks of foot in the centre with Prince Rupert’s Bluecoats behind them; the splendid cavalry of the northern horse on one wing and Rupert’s Life Guards on the other. Noble regiments all. Now they were in position. Because of the ground he could not see most of the infantry now, but he could make out the lines of cavalry and, on a hillock in the background, he could just see the royal standard fluttering where the king himself was watching.
Oh, but the men around him – they were men of God. And the officers too. Since the all-important Self Denying Ordinance has passed through Parliament, the new model army had been rid of the time-servers, the lords and rich gentlemen who had led so badly; most officers were still gentlemen, to be sure: but dedicated to the cause and not too proud to welcome others, like the redoubtable Colonel Pride, who was the son of a lowly drayman. There were independents, too, men who had refused to take the Presbyterian Covenant but who worshipped in their own sturdily independent ways and who despised the cynical men in Parliament who paid – or promised to pay – the army.
They were disciplined. They fought for a cause. And each day he felt more privileged to be with them.
It was ten o’clock. And now there was a movement, from the enemy’s right. Prince Rupert was thundering forward.
He whispered the army’s battle cry to himself: “God our strength”. Outnumbered, they would need God’s help that day.
The battle of Naseby was closely fought. Although the Royalist army, because of Prince Rupert’s original advance, was not properly supported by cannon, his dashing attack on the enemy’s flank seemed about to carry the whole day. If the other Royalist wing could have matched it . . . But opposite them lay Cromwell.
For while Rupert pursued the broken left, Cromwell’s mighty right moved