Page 69 of By the Sword
Jonathan looked around at the surly faces of those older and more experienced than he. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that Cromwell is at his most vulnerable whilst he is crossing thosebridges. Attack now and attack fast and we could push them back.’
‘Your Majesty is advised to wait,’ the thick Scottish burr of General Leslie interposed. ‘My men will hold them back at the hedges.’
Other voices chimed in with more suggestions, and with dull resignation, Jonathan retreated to where Giles propped against the wall, enjoying a rough breakfast of bread and cheese.
‘The day is lost even before it has begun,’ Jonathan said in a low voice, accepting the food Giles handed him. For once Giles did not have a sharp rejoinder. His eyes met Jonathan’s in silent agreement.
Cromwell crossed the river without interference and by early afternoon all the Parliament forces had completed the crossing. Incredibly they were able to muster themselves for the first attack without hindrance from the King’s forces who watched on as the enemy gathered against them.
When the attack came, to their credit, the Scots resisted stoutly, forcing Cromwell to deploy more of his men to assist in the fighting, depleting his force to the east. A cheer went up from the watchers on the cathedral as they saw the Parliamentary troops begin to waver.
‘Your Majesty now is your chance.’ The Earl of Derby leaned forward. ‘If we could sally out and take the guns on Red Hill, this battle could yet turn to our advantage.’
The King looked from one of his advisors to the other and for once they were all in agreement.
‘I will lead the men myself,’ the King declared. ‘Horse or foot?’
‘Foot will be more effective.’ Derby’s response was assented to with a nod of heads.
The King turned to the Scottish general. ‘Leslie, keep your horse in reserve and press home the advantage.’
‘As Your Majesty orders.’ Leslie bowed low and was gone, his boots clattering on the tower’s stone steps.
Looking around his assembled officers Charles squared his shoulders. ‘Well, gentlemen, to the fray.’
As is always the way with war, the inactivity in the city gave way to frantic commotion as the King’s men flooded out of Sidbury Gate. Covered by the Royalist guns on Fort Royal they charged, on foot, up Red Hill towards the Parliamentary guns.
All that long, hot afternoon the Royalists pushed onwards; pike against pike, muskets used as clubs. Jonathan and Giles stayed with the King and his officers in the thick of the charge and it seemed that the objective would be in reach.
Honed by the years of combat, they formed a familiar partnership. They had fought at each other’s shoulders and knew the nuances of battle. Once the action began there was no time for fear or any thought except survival and the need to trust the man beside you.
The Lovell brothers, on their left, likewise fought side by side. Despite Kit’s misgivings, Daniel, now bareheaded and bleeding from a cut beneath his right eye, acquitted himself with all the skill of a man who had seen battle before. His sword flashed in the hot sun, his face streaked with blood, dirt and sweat.
By late afternoon, Cromwell and his cavalry recrossed the river to attack the defenders on the hill in the flank. Cromwell’s superb cavalry hit fast and brutally. The exhausted and insufficiently armed Royalists were no match against the heavily armed and highly efficient cavalry. The King called for Leslie’s horse but none came. Leslie, it seemed, had failed his King completely.
As any hope of the King rallying his men disappeared in the face of Cromwell’s horsemen. As the full force of the cavalry broke the royalist lines, Jonathan found himself alone on the battlefield.
The King’s safety became paramount, and he scoured the faces around him looking for the King.
‘Daniel!’
Hearing Kit Lovell’s voice, Jonathan turned and saw his friend standing in the path of a Parliament trooper who bore down on him from behind with his sword upraised. Of Lovell’s brother, there was no sign.
Summoning all his energy, Jonathan managed to reach Lovell and push him aside just as the trooper slashed down with his sword. The razor-sharp blade caught Jonathan across the back of his hand, slashing through the heavy leather of his glove.
Lovell regained his feet and clutched at Jonathan’s sleeve.
‘I can’t find Daniel.’
Before Jonathan could respond, the same trooper turned, pulling his pistol from his belt. He fired and Kit crumpled to the ground
Seizing a primed pistol from a dead Scot at his feet, Jonathan fired. The trooper’s face exploded in a mass of blood and the man toppled, screaming, from his horse.
Jonathan stooped down to see to Lovell, who had taken the pistol ball in the leg and now lay helpless on the trampled grass, his face a rictus of agony.
‘Go!’ Lovell said. ‘Don’t worry about me. Save the King. If you find Daniel–‘
Giles grabbed Jonathan’s arm and pulled him away from the fallen man.
