by Oliver Ma
Chapter 3: Edgehill
Rupert’s raid had been even more successful than he himself had guessed. 400 Rebel horsemen had become the first casualties of Parliament’s rebellion. The raid had stunned Essex so much that he halted his army for two days so that it would be in one bunch rather than spread out before continuing the march. By mid-October it was clear father’s army was going to reach London before Essex caught up to us. The men at the camp were elated. The rebellion was about to be snuffed out almost as soon as it began, and they were about to go home with their lives, a handsome pension, and the right to boast of being a British soldier.
Quite unfortunately for them, however, father’s staff decided differently. En route to London, near a little village known as Edgehill, the army chanced upon a series of natural ridges that, as if crafted by God, formed perfect redoubts, bastions and interlocking fields of fire. Rupert and most of his fellow generals, as well as several older nobles, with their eyes fastened on the bigger prize, London, urged father to continue the march, while many of the younger nobles and junior officers urged father to postpone and wait for Essex here. Digby, who was eager for political as well as military recognition by the King, sided with them and patronized their arguments. I chanced to hear their fateful conversation that day, riding a small charger behind the two.
“My liege! These positions, if manned, would be like rocks on which the waves of rebels would break on.” He told father.
The King hesitated. “Yet we can secure London if we continue the march!”
“Yes, but think of the prize here. We are between Essex and London. He will be forced to assault these positions. Then, we can have not only London, but also destroy the rebel army. Then we can hunt down all the traitors like wolves take a deaf farmer’s sheep!” Digby exclaimed, excited at the prospect.
Father still hesitated. “Rupert tells me to hurry for London!”
Digby’s face turned red. “Rupert is a fool, a retard in the art of leading men! He only wants glory for himself. He came to England just to build up his fame and wants to return back to the continent as soon as possible,” Digby told father angrily. I thought it ironic that Digby, who lacked military education and had no experience in leading men was accusing Rupert of being militarily retarded. Seeing that father still hesitated, Digby whistled into the air. On both sides of father the men who support taking position on the ridges rode up to father. In unison they begged the King. I saw my father grow tense.
“Sire…these men can see the true prize, the destruction of Essex’s army.” Digby paused, and his face tightened. “Why, give us but 500 men, and we would stay behind and engage the entire rebel army!”
Father sighed. “Very well…..tell the men to stop the march and resume for Edgehill.”
Hearing this I peeled off from father’s column, desperate to find Rupert. He would be extremely angry when he hear the news. I figured he would try to persuade the King to resume the march on London, and the sooner he knows about what just occurred, the more likely he will be of succeeding.
Rupert and his cavalry were faithfully screening ahead of the main army when I found them. He greeted me enthusiastically and offered me a drink from his water bag. I drunk and got a mouthful of ale, which I spat out.
“Ahh young baggage, what’s this, ruining my good ale?” He asked, pretending to be annoyed.
“Rupert! Drinking is forbidden in the army!” I informed him, surprised.
“God’s guzzard, is it not okay to celebrate before the army gets disbanded? The uprising will be put down in a few days’ time, and when it does I will treat you to a barrel of the finest ale in all London!” He laughed merrily.
“It will not be over in a few days.” I told him quietly.
He didn’t get my meaning, and laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that! You doubts my military skills. I admit it, cavalry raids are my specialty, helped by Boye here,” He pointed at the playful dog. “But my skills at sieges are not lacking either!”
“No…we won’t reach the walls of London until at least a weeks’ time. The King has ordered us to turn back, to take up those positions at Edgehill!” I told him, feeling like God informing Noah he is about to flood the world.
Rupert turned white, then red, and finally a fine shade of purple.
“Ahh, baggage. Those who are bad at lying should not lie so much! We are two steps from victory, and you intend to tell me king Charles gave up and ordered us to walk away. Hoho, that is a good joke.” He said, turning away from me and drinking from his drought. “King Charles may know little about leading men, but he is no fool!”
I stood at a loss of words to say. I tried to tell Rupert, but he completely refused to believe what I had said.
“Rupert! I’m not lying! The King is making for Edgehill and intends to confront Essex’s army! If you do not ride back…”
“Give me one good reason to believe you.” Rupert snorted. “Wait, I’m going to get Astley. We’ll hear your joke together!” He said merrily and called for Jacob Astley.
“Digby and all the young nobles ganged up on father and claimed they can hold the ridges with just 500 men.” I told him.
Rupert looked at me. The merry orbs of his eyes were penetrated by fear. “But….oh blast their eyes…..I can capture London just with my cavalry. Why, if he intends to stay at Edgehill, so be it. I’ll capture ride fast and capture London!” Rupert vowed.
“And leave the King unsupported on the field of battle? What have I taught you Rupert?” Old Astley said as he rode upon the scene. “The King will be cut apart by Essex if your horsemen do not support him. Horsemen are a hammer on the battle field instead of a rapier.” Astley said, using the quote that Buckingham often used. Perhaps they had known each other in the past. “And then, once the King’s men are defeated Essex will surround you in London. Your cavalry are effective on open plains, not behind walls and being shelled by artillery pieces. What makes you think you can hold London should it fall?” Astley asked.
“So you would rather see us abandon our prize and let the city build up its defenses? I hope you choose carefully whose side you are on, Astley.” Rupert said coldly.
“I am simply suggesting you support the King in his decision, and not doom yourself to walk down the same path the rebels have. Remember, the armies you command belong to the King.” Astley said, equally adamant but also soft at the same time, realizing how much his word will shake Rupert.
Rupert gave a loud sigh. “Very well, I will march back…but only after I cut off the fat head of that swine Digby!” Rupert vowed.
I was about to inform Rupert what a good swordsmen Digby is, but then I remembered that shot Rupert had made in that camp, defending himself on a prancing horse, and sniping off the head of a man twenty meters away. Thus I kept silent, even as Rupert lead his 2,000 horsemen galloping angrily back to Edgehill.
We arrived to find half of father’s regiments of infantry already entrenched, and the rest were rapidly deploying. Several teams of horses are struggling to set up the artillery on nearby hills, father himself supervising the progress. He must have felt extremely proud at the sight of his spirited army at work, but his joy quickly disappeared when Rupert approached in big, angry strides. Verney must have smelled Rupert’s intentions, and his hands loitered suspiciously near the hilt of his great sword as the champion stood firmly in front of father.
“Yes Rupert? I see you found out my intentions to meet Parliament in battle!”
“Sire, I am aghast, absolutely aghast, at your decision to entrench your men here!”
“Hold brave Rupert. I know your point and I understand your anger. My course is set, and I only beseech you to support me in my decision and lead my army to victory. Surely you can do it!” father told him.
Rupert gave a small pause. “I cannot do it, as no mortal man can!” He finally declared. Father frowned. “Is their army so powerful now, that my loyal regiments will melt under their overwhelming, uphill attack?” He remarked sarcas
tically.
“No sire. What makes you think Essex is a fool and would attack your impregnable positions? I was the first to come upon these ridges. I was scouting ahead of the main army and realized the potential of these positions, yet I decided not to tell you to entrench the army here, for Essex is no fool. He will never attack. Instead he will wait out of the range of your cannon balls and wait for us to disperse from attrition! One must never play the waiting game with an enemy in their home territory. Here, Essex will continuously receive supplies and new recruits from the nearby villages, while we will receive none.” Rupert stopped his speech abruptly to let his points sink in. “We will be forced to attack, and these positions will be as useless as the Turk is when he forgets to pray!”
Father turned white. “What must we do, resume the march on London?” He asked desperately.
“It’s too late now. Essex was 2 days behind us, but now he is only one day behind. We will never be able to capture London in just one day.” Rupert sighed. “I’m afraid we will have to commit to this decision.” He said quietly.
“Very well….tell the soldiers to make camp.” Father said, dejectedly.
That night we were welcomed into the large house of a Royalist family by the name of Crachovit. They were very generous and seemed genuinely pleased to have the King stay in their homestead.
Early next morning Essex’s men arrived. Like Rupert predicted, they stayed well out of the range of our cannons and waited until the entire Rebel army was deployed before sitting there and waiting out the day. Both sides were equally bored as the classic waiting game began between the two armies.
At around noon father finally realized he cannot win this game, and decided to launch the attack. Our entire army advanced 100 meters forward, so that we made one great line directly beneath the ridges. The cannons remained where they were, probably because everyone knew how useless they would be in a pitched battle.
Seeing that the rebels still did not advance, father held a war council to plan his eventual attack. I was allowed to observe, and again, Rupert had an argument with most of father’s officers.
“Musketeers in loose formation in front, a line of bristling pikes in the back, and cavalry on the wings,” said Astley, citing the standard deployment of troops in England.
“No, that’s preposterous.” Rupert remarked. “England’s fashion is like that pickled fish in my jar. It’s so old I can’t believe it hasn’t rotted away yet. Here, gentlemen, is the latest, most successful and tested fashion of the Swedes, used by them in all their stunning victories throughout Europe.” Rupert boasted as he drew marks in the sand.
We will deploy in a single line of infantry, composed of alternating squares of pike men and musketeers, with the regiments of musketeers deployed about ten meters behind the blocks of pike men, much like a chessboard,” he said. “That way, when the enemy pikes engage, our pike men will hold them at bay while the musketeers will continuously pour devastating volleys at close range into their ranks.” Rupert said confidently.
There was a silence among father’s staff. “I don’t know….Swedes…how do they know their fashion is better than ours?” One general said skeptically.
“And what’s stopping the enemy pike men from breaking ranks and charging forward to engage our vulnerable musketeers?” Goring asked uncertainly.
“Ahh, if they do break rank their formation loses their coherence, and my cavalry will ride them down,” Rupert boasted. “Look at the Battle of Breitenfield! Gustavus led his Swedish army to a grand victory, didn’t he?”
“Your words are poison!” Digby accused. “Gustavus is dead, and his army rots in the fields of Germany. I, personally, will have none of your lies of unorthodox methods of deployment. Our army is superior to our enemy’s and if we deploy in the standard fashion we will be able to achieve a solid victory no matter what the circumstances are!” Digby said.
“Ay, you may do that, and you may win, but tell me, you pig, what if we lose? What will you stake as you send gamble with the lives of thousands of soldiers?” Rupert asked coldly, knowing Digby has convinced the King yet again.
“I will stake my head that we can achieve victory this day,” Digby promised confidently. I shuddered for Rupert. Digby has every right to feel confident. Our infantry, though outnumbered, are highly motivated and better trained than the rebel draftees. At the same time, our cavalry is twenty times superior to the enemy cavalry, and in almost every single pitched battle to date, except for some rare and chanced cases, armies with the superior cavalry always win. Alexander conquered all Asia with the help of his Companion cavalry, and even disciplined Roman Legions melted under the attack of the superior Numidian cavalry. Although the battle of Pavia showed the world that knights are a thing of the past, cavalry, in its many, immortal forms, still dominate the modern battlefield.
Father, attempting to pacify his in-fighting staff, made a compromise. The army would deploy in the standard, English fashion, but Rupert’s mentor, Jacob Astley, will be given over all command. Rupert was given command of his 1,000 veteran cavalry, while Wilmot was put in command of the 1,500 cavalier nobles on the other wing. Verney, father’s champion, was given the honor of bearing the royal standard, a gigantic banner of brilliant yellow and blue, with important symbols of the isles such as the Scottish lion, the lyre of Wales, and the Fleur de lis of my mother. It would be his duty to make sure the banner is up at all times to coordinate orders among the different battalions. The compromise of generals and their commands, though satisfying all the staff at present, would lead to dire consequences later on the field of battle!
The battle opened up with a lengthy artillery duel. Essex sent his field guns forward and hammered away at father’s ranks, who ordered his cannons, entrenched on several hills, to hammer back. Most of the shots missed, but those that did hit left swathing gaps of blood where they passed through, pressing closely bunched man into ground meat. The cannon fire particularly unnerved some of the raw recruits, who began to fidget in their line and had to be encouraged by Rupert’s veteran cavalry to stand their ground.
Then, the rebels launched their attack. Their musketeers advanced forward in loose formation, while their cavalry rode forward to engage our cavalry. Father and his officers were eating a hearty lunch prepared by the Crochovit women when the news arrived.
“Ay, so the old dog comes from its hole.” Rupert laughed. “A smart trick. He uses his cavalry to screen his musketeers so my cavalry can’t ride them down. Oh well, he does not realize how superior my cavalry is to his!”
With that, Rupert drew his sword and went to find his horse, intent on meeting the enemy cavalry head on. Father gave the dashing young commander a pat on the back and a quest as he left.
“My dear nephew, send your uncle the head of Essex!” Father smiled, for the first time in days. His spirit was noticeably up and he almost seemed his old self again.
Rupert sent a message to Wilmot, who commanded the other wing of cavalry, to launch his attack simultaneously for the maximum shock. I would have asked to go along with Rupert, but father outright refused and even Rupert admitted it would be a little too dangerous. Thus James and I were put under the watchful eyes of Digby, on a black horse, Lucious Cary, on a grey horse, and Edward Hyde on a white horse. These three were father’s favorite ministers, who have no knowledge in the art of war, and with them, we loitered in the relative safety at the back of our army.
The Parliamentary cavalry advanced on both flanks, crossing the mile long distance between the two armies at a trot. From the distance they looked like two giant black carpets, rolling through the landscape, hazed by the dust the horses stirred up. As they drew closer I could see that each mass of enemy cavalry (on both sides) was divided into four distinct squadrons, probably of 200 or 250 men each, amounting to almost 2000 men in total.
In the center of the battlefield the parliamentary infantry advanced, and, although our cannons raked them with shots, their loose formation mea
nt the cannon projectiles inflicted relatively few casualties. When they were within range they opened fire on father’s musketeers and pike men, both packed in tight, compact formations. We were beginning to take casualties. Astley had finished his breakfast at this point and rode down to command his infantry. As he rode downhill past us I heard him mutter
“O Lord, Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not forget me” He prayed.
Meanwhile, from both flanks, our cavalry advanced. On the right the daring Rupert commanded his 1,000 veteran horsemen and on the left, the stubborn Wilmot led his 1,500 cavaliers. Our cavalry looked amazing. Each cavalier was a brilliant display of fashion and gentlemanly manners, their bright clothes looking fantastic under the golden sunlight, drawing the eyes of both armies to them. I focused on the right flank, however, which Rupert led, because he seemed to be slightly outnumbered. If a rout started among father’s army, I figured it’d start with Rupert and his men. As the opposing squadrons of cavalry neared one another, Rupert’s men,(who were deployed in five squadrons of 200 men) came to a stop and spread out so the length of their line was longer than the Parliamentary line, though a lot thinner. The rebel cavalry, already picking up speed in preparation of the charge, could not stop to meet this maneuver, and they continued charging with their flanks exposed.
Rupert’s men also began picking up speed, and both bodies of horsemen crashed and seemingly merged into one. From the distance it was difficult to discern who was who, for both sides looked brown in the distance and the glint of their armor made them look alike. Rupert’s men, however, were generally clocked in brilliant red while the rebels were dressed in black. Even from the distance I can see the wider lines of the Royalist cavalry surrounding the exposed parliamentary lines. Within minutes the rebel horsemen were much decimated, and they soon fled, dogged by Rupert’s cavalry. At the very front of Rupert’s pursuing column of horsemen I could see a small white dot; Boye, leading on Rupert and the right wing of father’s army.
To the left, Wilmot was still engaging his opposing horses, but his cavalry was far superior to that of the rebels, who had no training and had saddle horses instead of chargers. As a result, after about twenty more minutes of fighting, Wilmot’s cavalry also prevailed against the opposing cavalry.
On both flanks, we were victorious, chasing the routing enemy cavalry from the field. Everyone around me cheered, thinking the battle won. Digby drew his sword and would likely have joined the battle had Hyde not cautioned him about leaving his post. James was bouncing up and down on the back of his horse in excitement. I looked up at father, expecting to see him beaming at our victory. I was surprised to see his face wrinkled, and his eyes sad.
“See how much blood glory, and victory costs?” He asked me. “The blood of the enemy is still the blood of men. The true glory is to preserve it.” He sighed. I looked back at the battle in confusion. Here we are, at the helm of a great victory, a change of the increasingly ill royalist fortune, yet father is sad! I looked again at the battlefield below me. In the distance I can see the bodies of dead men, lying on the ground. Perhaps father was right. The blood of the enemy is still the blood of men. The death of so many in a struggle so political in nature seemed pointless. Still, most of father’s advisors and body guards were openly celebrating. From my left Lucious Cary rode up, a rare smile on his face.
“When the war is over, you will help me create a new society won’t you?” Cary asked me. “I’ve served your father despite of my back ground. Don’t you think he will listen to me?” He asked.
I looked at him. “What order?”
“England is a bright Jewel. It has great potential, if only it is led right. The rebellion will make the King more humble and perhaps he will listen to my theories to create a fair, intellectual state!” Cary declared. I smiled. It felt nice, just thinking about when the war is over and everything returns to normal. I knew I would feel pity for the rebels, and I might even persuade father to spare their lives.
Cary, meanwhile, continued his lecture.
“Imagine, if there were no classes in this society, in which every man had a God given right just to enjoy life!” He proclaimed. “Like Robin hood, the rich will give to the poor, so that everyone will be equal!” He would have continued, I guessed, had not a large horn blow interrupted his words.
Everywhere on the flanks, the enemy cavalry are in full retreat, and Rupert’s horsemen have chased the retreating enemy all the way to their camp. The infantry battle in the center of the battlefield, however, soon turned out to be a whole different story.
Our infantry had already taken heavy casualties from the numerous and spaced out rebel musketeers, and so when the thick blocks of enemy pike men advanced upon our ranks, father’s infantry was at a huge disadvantage. The bristles of pike, erected from each block of pike men in the Parliamentary square bunched together in the distance looked like one giant, black block, 4 meters high, and from the distance their line seemed twice as thick as ours, and just as wide. Our pike men rushed forward to meet theirs, in a giant pushing game at the center of the battle field. The force of the Parliamentary charge, their numbers, and their morale, which is boosted by the carnage their muskets were able to inflict on us, made them the superior force, and they pushed, driving our center back slowly. Our men did not break, however, bravely holding the line even as they suffered horrific causalities. Looking at the giant banner held by Verney, the men fought valiantly on, shouting cries like, “God save the King,” and, “save the banner!”
I knew that if Rupert took his cavalry back to the fight, hammering the unprotected rebel lines, (which was busy fighting our infantry,) we would easily be able to win. Why, look at the Battle of Cannes, when the Carthaginian infantry was almost broken, but the Numidian cavalry rode back and hammered the back of the Roman legions in time to save the battle and win a decisive victory for Hannibal. All Rupert had to do was show off his cavalry in the back of the enemy lines, and the inexperienced Rebel troops would start routing. However, to my consternation, Rupert and his cavalry were nowhere to be seen. They were probably still chasing the opposing horsemen which they routed, caught up in the fervor of the moment.
When I next looked back at our center, the fighting had turned for the worst. Small bands of broken parliamentary cavalry had returned to the fight, and, maneuvering around the fighting pikemen, they struck at father’s musketeers. It seemed to be impossible odds, as the parliamentarian horses numbered less than 100, and they were attacking some 5,000 musketeers. However, the musketeers were not armed with melee weapons, and when attacked by cavalry, had to rely on their muskets as wooden clubs. These were relatively useless, and we were losing hundreds of musketeers for every enemy horsemen killed. At the same time, father cannot afford to pull back any pikemen from the main melee, as that would probably cause our lines to collapse. Thus we could only watch as our musketeers were eaten by the enemy horsemen.
Meanwhile, our center was so stretched that father’s main line, thousands of pike men, was held together by a thin thread of a few men. Verney was among them, driving back the rebels with the huge banner, making it shimmer in the wind and its bright flashes of red rallying our shaken men. Then, calamity struck. I saw the dark figure of Verney, still large despite being in the distance, stumble. He righted himself as well as the banner, but his slight moment of tribulation has let the enemy pikes, which he had kept at bay with his great sword, advance forward and crowd him. I screamed with fear. Verney shuddered a few more times in the distance, and then fell, the red banner falling with him, its sacred satin soiled by the bloody ground. Seeing this, all hell broke loose. Our men, whose resolve was only supported by Verney and his proud red banner in the very center of our line, now shattered. The center of our line collapsed, and the routing fever spread outwards, until much of our infantry were routing from the field, pursued by the victorious rebel infantry! I gasped in surprise. The fight is not yet lost, I told myself. How could it? Thes
e men here are rebels! Surely they cannot triumph over the proud army of the King! Surely, somehow Rupert will know what has occurred and ride back with his cavalry to save the day! As I waited, father sprang into action, and begun to bark out orders.
“Hyde! Take my sons and ride back to Oxford. If I die in this battle, take my sons to France and put them under the care of Marie. If I should live and the battle be won, then I will come back and inform you personally of my victory, now go!” He shouted.
Hyde took off his hat and began to stammer, but father would have none of it. Thus Hyde took off his hat, bowed, and began shouting at his retinue of 20 men.
“Ride! Flee from the battle field, ride for Oxford!” He screamed. “You three, come with me!” He said, pointing James, and me.
“But father, where are you going?” I asked, calling after the retreating figure of the King.
“I will attempt to rally my men….pray for me to be safe!” He said, before riding off to the fray with his bodyguard looking remarkably similar to Wilmot’s little charge that day at the ford, a small body of horsemen charging into masses of enemy pikes. Despite the apparent weakness of his unit of bodyguard, however, father looked roused and ready. His sword was in the air, and his warm, rallying voice seemed to extend over the entire battlefield, over the ghastly crack of musket, and the clank of pierced armor. Why, the sight of him riding bravely into the heat of battle was as inspiring as the charge of 1,000 knights.
As we rode away, I silently cursed Rupert. That fool, he is funny, he is flamboyant and has style, but his sophomoric behavior has lost us the battle and probably the war! Perhaps it was because he will get Digby’s head if we lose the battle….perhaps that is why he is fighting this way.
I was so caught up in my angry, crazy thoughts at our loss of fortune, that I did not hear Hyde until he had repeated his words several times.
“God’s Beard, they’re onto us!” Hyde cursed. I looked up at him. His eyes were twinkling and his beard smashed with sweat.
“Who?” I asked. He pointed to his right. I looked. A band of Rebel horsemen were indeed chasing us! They numbered about 70, and indeed a man carried a blue banner in front, the banner of the rebels. All of the men had shining, steel lances. They had definitely sighted us, for the whole column turned and began galloping for our direction.
“Could we fight them?” Digby asked uncertainly.
“No, they outnumber us by too much. Fire your carbines at them!” Hyde ordered his retinue, who discharged their pistols at the pursuing enemy horses. Unfortunately, pistols were inaccurate at best, and when fired from a galloping horse became almost useless. Thus the enemy continued to gain on us, and we could do nothing other than continue running.
I hugged my small charger as tightly as I could, my short arms not even going all the way around its stout neck. The up and down movement of the galloping horse, and the hard, bony saddle pressed into my bottom, and I knew I would fall off before long. The thought of it was terrible, because if I fell off the enemy horsemen would likely ride me down and gut me in the dirt. Thus I hung on with all my life, knowing my charger is falling behind the rest. Next to me poor James was having the same problem as I. Some angel must have made his arms into steel so that he did not fall off! When I next turned around and looked back, however, the rebel horsemen were gone. Quickly I shouted to my galloping companions, who slowed down after they too noticed our relative safety. One of the captains of the horsemen, with an experienced, battle field eye, spotted the enemy troopers engaging a unit of our horsemen in the distance.
Even Hyde, who knew nothing about warfare, recognized this golden opportunity and shouted to his bodyguards.
“Now is the time! Ride back and help our benefactors!” He shouted. The regiment couldn’t be more happy to pursue their hunter, who now became the prey.
The retinue charged into the back of the engaged, rebel horsemen, and a slaughter began. The entire rebel regiment was soon gutted, and Hyde demanded to speak with the captain of the allied horses. A tall, burley man with a broken helmet rode up.
“I’m officer Orf.” He said, taking off his helmet to show the proper greeting due to one of father’s ministers.
“Orf? I know no cavalry officer named Orf.” Hyde said suspiciously.
“Ay, the original officer was Officer Handson. He fell in battle and I was his captain.” The man replied.
“What happening at the battlefield?” Hyde asked, his fears pacified.
“We do not know, but I fear worst for the King. I was the captain in a regiment of 200 men under the command of Rupert.” He said. “We routed the rebels opposed to us and pursued them all the way to the camp, which was too heavily fortified for us to attack. Rupert finally checked our enthusiasm and informed us that the battle may not yet be won. We rode back to find the banner of his majesty carried by a unit of rebel pike men. My unit charged them and the rest of Rupert’s horsemen rode back to the battle to help what remained of the King’s infantry. I do not know what happened to them, but from where I was it seemed all of the King’s infantry had been routed. Prince Rupert and his horsemen are probably annihilated.” The man sighed, discarding his useless helmet.
“But the banner?” I asked.
“Ay, we charged the enemy unit, who were not in formation as they were jovial from their victory. We cut down a good number of them before they leveled their pikes at us. We had to fall back and charge, again and again. By the end of it we routed them and recaptured the King’s banner, but the officer was killed and I was put in command. My squadron has been reduced to half its force.” He pointed to the survivors behind him. I noticed several horses held 2 or even 3 injured horsemen. “The banner was a bloody sight. Here it is,” the captain said, passing it to Hyde. “I figured you should have it, since the Prince of Wales here has more business carrying that holy object.” The officer sighed. “When we recaptured it we found only a hand on it, gripping it so hard that when the limb was severed the hand hung on. We had to cut off the fingers to make it fall off.”
I looked at the banner, terrified. Was that Verney’s hand?
“But what of the battle?” I asked Hyde. Hyde thought for a while. “Join my column and gallop back. We’ll inspect the battle and then decide what to do.” Hyde ordered. “Ay sir. Glad to do that. Better than our original course, deserting the battle field.” He said.
We observed the battlefield from the nearby ridges. I feared for the worst. Perhaps it was deserted already, and we’d see nothing but broken bodies. After all, the rebel army was probably pursuing ours in every direction. However, when we arrived we found the battle still in progress. The flanks of our infantry were still fighting, albeit heavily depleted and much smaller than they were at the beginning of the battle. Several regiments of musketeers and broken pike men had been rallied by father and they too had joined the fray. Meanwhile in the back of the Parliamentary column I could see cavalry prancing among masses of rebels. Rupert’s horsemen, and perhaps Wilmot’s too. They were leaving great carnage on the back of the enemy lines, but I knew they would not last too long. Only until the rebels level their pikes at our cavalry.
“Raise the banner!” Digby suggested. “Show the rebel scum the proud symbol of the King!” Hyde nodded and planted the great banner on the ground. Its red satin, although soiled and dripping blood, fluttered proudly in the wind. Below us our men rallied, gaining heart at the sight of the banner, while our enemy hopefully trembled. The battle was too bloody already, however, for one side to gain a decisive victory. Father’s men were too depleted to hope to rout the Parliamentarians, and the rebels had no cavalry force, and thus they were doomed to duke it out with father’s army without any hope of out flanking and out maneuvering us.
The battle hung on like this, both armies shrinking, with no clear winner emerging until nightfall. By that time victory was turning into a distinct possibility for us, as our cavalry had the rebels partially surrounded. If the battle is allowed to continue
it would probably have ended in a royalist victory, but at the cost of much of father’s beloved cavalier horsemen, who could not maneuver and charge in the fog of the night. Father apparently believed preserving his cavaliers were more important than victory, for when the parliamentarian forces begun a fighting retreat back to their camp father ordered the cavaliers to let off the pressure and let the rebels do so, unofficially ending the battle of Edgehill. We picked up the banner and rode back to our camp, which was filled with the wounded and those routed from the battle field who had gathered in the relative safety of the camp. All night, broken regiments of men continued to float into the camp, as well as the artillery crew, who rolled their guns slowly back into camp somewhere around 2:00 am.
I found father in an abandoned house, with about 20 dragoons, the survivors of father’s bodyguard of 200 dragoons. He was sitting on a bed laid out for him, head cupped in his hands.
“Father!” I said, running over to him.
He looked up. Life relit in his eyes and he stepped up. “Charles! Bless Mary, you are safe!” He said, jubilantly.
“I am safe. So is James! We’re all okay. Did you see the banner raised again where our fortifications were? That was me! I was there!” I told him proudly.”
Father smiled. “You three are all safe?” He said. His eyes shone like the eyes of a prisoner rescued from the executioner’s block. I felt like an angel lifting him from hell up into heaven. He seemed so content by the news that we were all safe that he did not listen to anything else I said, just nodded to the tune of my voice. Finally I gave up telling him my adventure today and asked him,
“What will we do tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I still have no idea of how the battle went. If we have more numbers than they do tomorrow we will attack and destroy what remains of their army, but chances are we took more casualties this day. If that is so we will have to retreat back to whats left of our fortifications.” Father sighed. “But I don’t know. Survivors are still straggling in. I suppose the enemy took a good deal of my men prisoner, and those can be exchanged tomorrow for the prisoners that we took.” father shrugged.
“What of Rupert?” I asked.
“Rupert?” He replied. “What about him?”
“Will you not condemn him for purposely dooming us to lose the battle?” I asked. “If he had struck against the enemy pikes when he drove off the opposing cavalry we might very well have won the battle!” I reasoned.
“Charles, you do not understand. Men born to be generals are different from men born to be officials. You must judge officials by what they had the potential to do, but you must judge generals by what they actually did. After all, generals are the men that are bold and easily carried away by the moment. I cannot blame Rupert. What he did today contributed over all to the battle. That is all I ask.” Charles said.
I sighed in relief. “I was just seeing if you were angry with him. If you were I was going to beg in his favor. After all it was his dog Boye that persuaded him to chase the routing rebel horsemen.” I said cautiously.
“His dog? What of this?” father asked, confused.
Two soldiers walked into the room. Father looked at them and sighed.
“Charles, I must sleep now. I have to get up early tomorrow morning to deduce what our next action will be. Good Night Charles!” He said, as he began undressing into his night shirt and lying down on his bed. Father looked so tired and so worn, so different from the brave charismatic man he was this morning in the battle.
“Good night father!” I said, walking out, surprised for a moment at not seeing Verney’s figure guarding father’s door way. Verney has perished in the battle.
The next morning all the results of the battle became clear. Father’s army of 12,000 men lost about 1,500, while Essex and his rebel army of 15,000 men lost about 2,000 men. While the battle of Edgehill ended with no clear, tactical victor, since both side lost a similar percent of their total force. (Thus Rupert was not allowed to have Digby’s head, since the battle was neither a win nor defeat.) Strategically, however, father gained more from the battle than Essex. The turn coat General’s attempt to stop father’s advance toward London has failed, and he again played the cat, stalking and trailing father’s army, which was busy scurrying toward London, the golden apple.
Digby, meanwhile, rose higher and higher in father’s council. First he clung to an unwilling father like a fly on a lion. Later, as his flattery became more flowery, agreeing to everything father believed and disagreeing to everything father disliked, father began to prefer and even request his presence, which he found much more comforting than the presence of Wilmot or Rupert, who constantly objected to father’s many decisions. Indeed, within striking distance of a defenseless London, with Rupert’s cavalry vanguard under its very walls, Digby, against the wishes of the entire army, convinced father to engage Essex’s army first before taking the city. After all, he claimed, if Essex’s army were not destroyed they will always be a thorn to our side.
Father listened, and turned back to confront Essex’s army, leaving London yet again. Unfortunately Essex was no fool, and did not attack, waiting as reinforcements arrived from all over Eastern England. Hundreds of militia from all the neighboring villages joined Essex’s army, bringing trains of supplies with them. Half a thousand trained men also joined Essex’s army from London, until the rebel army has swelled to almost 20,000 men and father’s army to less than 10,000. (Due to desertion, attrition and loss of morale.) Finally, Essex slowly moved forward to attack. At this point victory was no longer realistically possible, and father escaped through a gap in the north, preserving his army and eventually marching back to Oxford.
Hyde, who was keeping documentation of all the events of the war in his little black book, called this a definite turning point in the war. He said these few months that had just past were the first real chance either side had of ending the war. Now that the first campaigns of both sides had ended without a decisive victory for either side, he predicted the war would drag on for several more years as both sides begin levying taxes and building up secure foundations, such as easily defensible fortresses and large, trained armies.
Indeed, father’s decisions seem to reflect those of Hyde’s. After the first campaign aimed at London was turned back, he settled in Oxford where he ordered the city and its surroundings fortified. He gave Cavendish command of the northern theater of war, based near York, gave Hopton command of the southern theater, and placed himself in command in the center, at Oxford, with Rupert in command of his main army. At the same time he began to ask for help from all over Europe. Hearing bits and pieces from gossips around the palace, some eavesdropped from father himself, I learned he was making peace with the Irish rebels, giving in to their terms, so that he could withdraw parts of his army from Ireland and at the same time hope to levy Irish troops. This sent Parliament wild, and they began accusing father of conspiring with the Irish Catholics, sending their accusations to all the princes of protestant Europe. Perhaps this was why father was given little when he begged his protestant allies, such as the Dutch, the Swedish and the northern Germans, for help. In the end, France turned out to be father’s real ally, lending him a fair sum of money to support his campaigns.
Finally, from the Edgehill campaign on, those among father’s camp no longer referred to the situation as the rebellion, instead referring it as Civil War, and they stopped calling the enemy side Rebels, referring to them instead as the Parliamentarians. I do not know whether I should find these news woeful or full of solace, but all I hope is that one day the troubles will be over and we can return back to London, where my life will return to the way it used to be.
