Page 72 of Feathers in the Wind
Adam’s heart raced and his guts tightened as the order for Fairfax’s cavalry to charge came too late for surprise. Fairfax, as always heedless of his own safety, took the head of his troops. Adam, as part of Fairfax’s life guard, followed close behind.
Goring just had to wait and cut the Parliamentary horse to pieces as it picked its way through the furze and the hazards of the lane and the massive ditch that stood in their path.
To Adam's relief, most of his men got across safely and they could regroup in time to launch a hasty charge on Goring's line. The first impact of the assault caused the royalist line to waver and break. Sword on sword, the parliamentarians pushed Goring's men until some turned to flee with Fairfax’s men hard at their heels.
Adam reined in beside his commander. Blood poured down the general’s face from a slash to his right cheek, but Fairfax, breathless and exultant, did not appear to have noticed.
‘Sir, shall I try to rally the horse?’
Fairfax turned his gaze on Adam, his eyes bright. ‘Damn it, Coulter. We can’t hope to bring them back to the fight now. We need help from Cromwell.’
‘Sir, your face.’
Fairfax put his hand up to his cheek and looked in amazement as the tips of his gloves came away bright with blood. ‘Must have been a sword,’ he mused. ‘No matter. Coulter, rally your own men and see what can be done.’
Adam had precious few men left to rally. Some he had lost at the ditch, others were probably halfway to York. Those few he could find, he summoned once more to Fairfax's colours and they plunged back into the smoke filled, rain-sodden slaughterhouse. Fairfax himself had been swallowed up in the fray.
Those of Goring's horse that had stayed on the field had charged straight through the parliamentarian lines and were no doubt indulging themselves in the baggage train, but the innocents among the baggage would have to fend for themselves. For a moment Adam thought of Perdita and sent a silent prayer of thanks that she had not come with him. He turned his weary troopers toward the centre of the field where the royalist foot were putting up a last valiant stand.
It was not even dark when the last shots were fired on Marston Moor. Adam was to learn later that Fairfax, finding himself surrounded by enemy, had torn off the white favour in his helmet and crept behind the battle lines to find Cromwell on the left flank. Alerted to the problems on the right flank, the dour fens man had brought his cavalry up behind Goring, forcing him to turn and face him. Goring's men broke and fled. Save for a few stubborn pockets of resistance, the worst was over as dark finally claimed the moor and a bright, full moon cast its light on the slaughter.
* * *
Late in the evening,a violent thunderstorm broke over Barton. Kate Ashley looked up at the first crack. The mending she had been working on fell from her shaking hands to the floor as she glanced at the window.
‘Was that gunshot?’ she asked, her grey eyes wide with fear.
Perdita shook her head. ‘No. Just thunder. Edgehill was fought but a few miles distant from my home. I will never forget the sound of the guns.’
Kate stood up and paced the floor, her hands twisting in her skirts.
‘I can’t take this uncertainty,’ she said. ‘How can you be so calm?’
Perdita's veneer of quiet patience came from years of practice, but within her breast her heart beat a rapid tattoo as she heard another sound that she knew was not thunder.
She rose to her feet and went to the window. Foolishness she knew for there would be nothing to see.
‘That’s not thunder.’ Kate joined her.
‘Mistress Ashley, we may see wounded at the door before this night is out. Is there anywhere warm and dry that they can be put?’
Kate turned uncomprehending eyes on her guest.
‘Wounded?’
‘They came after Edgehill. We will need bandages and water. What salves do you have in your stillroom?’
Kate nodded. ‘The barn is large enough and warm. I have no experience of these things. Ellen, my maid, she keeps my stillroom. She knows what we will need. I’ll fetch her.’
The guns fell silent at nightfall, leaving only the sound of the pounding rain on the roof and windows. As Perdita had predicted, the first of the wounded trickled into the village of Barton and came to the door of the manor house. A surgeon came with them, a rough man who lacked half the skill of Ludovic, Perdita thought, but he did what little was within his powers and they were thankful to have him as the barn filled with the injured and maimed.
‘Is it over?’ Kate asked the young parliamentary soldier whose arm she bound.
‘Ay Mistress. ‘Tis a great victory for us.’
Kate clutched Perdita’s arm. ‘Perdita did you hear? ‘Tis Parliament that has prevailed! God be praised.’
‘Amen,’ agreed Perdita with heartfelt thanks.
