On the morning of October 24, Soldiers and villagers picked through the still-smoking ruin of the baggage-train; seeking, it seemed to Sydney, less unspoiled booty than a shield from the frigid dawn. Shattered window-panes, a dead horse stripped of saddle and harness at the junction of Banbury Street and Warwick Road. The door of St Peter’s pocked with bullets; a boy there playing with a broken sword pointed him toward the Cat and String. The good and clean now a makeshift hospital: men groaning, weeping, praying, or (the lucky ones) unconscious on the porch, the common rooms, pale exhausted surgeons attending. The sober and industrious innkeeper, eating bacon and cider tabled on a barrel, handed over a pack of letters. “Latest on top,” he advised helpfully. SIR, it read. WITH THE TROOP OF CAPT CROMWELL, TO THE WEST.

Sydney nudged his horse to a walk. On either side of the road men rolled from blankets, rose stiffly, huddled around cookfires. Expressions baffled, amazed, terrified, elated: dear God, what did we do, what did we see? And by the blessings of Providence, we survived. Sydney glanced through the rest of Firth’s letters. Scouting expeditions with Prince Rupert? Stumbling into Cromwell and Edmund?

Sydney heard the singing of a Psalm: “The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble, the name of the God of Jacob to defend thee.” He rode toward it. A camp set slightly apart from the roadside sprawl: Tents in neat rows, tethered horses munching oats as troopers groomed them. A man stood on a stump, a Bible beneath his arm, leading some forty-odd troopers to the Psalm's conclusion: "They are brought down and fallen, but we are risen and stand upright. Save, Lord, let the King hear us in the day that we call."

“Kilmister,” Sydney said.

Kilmister jumped off the stump. Sydney dismounted.

“Hello, Mr Holyfen,” Kilmister said. He wore a buffcoat -- yellowish calf-hide, hip-length and high-collared with close-fitting sleeves – and tall riding boots. Two pistols and a pair of gloves tucked in his sword-belt.

“So,” Sydney said. “The soldier’s life then. It seems to become you”

“Very much, sir; unworthy as I am, Providence has seen fit to bring such small abilities as I have to the attention of Captain Cromwell, who has made me Sergeant.”

“I'm happy to see you're still leading the men in their devotions.”

“Much as at the Loomworks, sir; we take turns edifying one another. I am substituting for Captain Cromwell, who led us this morning in the study of Psalm 20, ‘Some trust in chariots, and some in horses, but we will remember the name of the Lord our God.’ But he was called away, with Colonel Hampden, and Mr Firth, the apprentice, to General Essex . . .” Kilmister turned and glowered at the troopers, who, gathered around he and Sydney, were listening with interest. “You men, there. Clean pistols and harnesses, sharpen swords – I will inspect in half an hour. Move – now. Not in half an hour, now, Move!” The men, almost as one body, turned and hurried to their tents.

“Were you in the battle?” Sydney said.

“We rode here, sir, from Butlers Marston; arrived just as Rupert’s horse fled from their sacking of the baggage back to the King. We and part of Colonel Hampden’s regiment marched to the field – Capt Cromwell was eager for a charge at ‘em, the parts of the King’s foot that were left, and what little bands of horse were about, but Essex preferred not, as the sun was descending.”

“Firth,” Sydney said. “Did he happen to have with him a dog?”

“Te prince’s poodle-dog, sir? Yes, sir, and it’s – well, as a matter of fact, there he is, sir, with the poodle, and Captain Cromwell, and Colonel Hampden, and, err, the lieutenant. Your brother, sir,” Kilmister added helpfully.

Sydney turned. The four men trotted up and reined in. Hampden, dismounting, nodded gravely. Firth grinned, somewhat guiltily, it seemed to Sydney. Cromwell smiled. Edmund glowered.

“Sydney,” Hampden said. He dismounted, took Sydney’s hand. “I am glad to see you. You arrived when?”

"Last night, sir. As it happens, I rode into Radway and fell in with . . ."

Boy, disengaging from Firth's saddle, shot to Sydney, sniffed his hands, stepped back and growled.

"The dog has sense," Edmund muttered. Sydney inwardly rolled his eyes.

"Firth," Sydney said. "Greetings. You're on a ride with the commander of the King's horse, you fall in with two Parliamentary officers, and you don't hand him over as a prisoner?"

"Well sir, that would be dishonorable, I think, not to mention base treachery . . ."

"He's a past master of that," Edmund muttered.

"Excuse me -- oh, hullo, Edmund. Hello, Sydney. Edmund, how was your journey from America? Oh, 'twas fine, Sydney. And by the way, Sydney, thanks for all you did to keep Mother and Father out of debtor's prison. 'Twas no more than my duty, Edmund, though that's no more than Father's just desserts, given his frivolous frittering away of the family fortune. I realize that, Sydney, and thanks so kindly, and it's my deepest belief that anyone thinks you acted dishonorably is more or less an ignorant . . . "

Edmund grabbed the hilt of his sword. Sydney grabbed his. Cromwell restrained Edmund. Hampden stood before Sydney. Firth gawked. Kilmister's bushy brows pushed up his forehead. The other troopers stopped their work and stared. Boy yapped.

"That's quite enough," Cromwell said sharply. "Lieutenant, mount the troop. We ride toward Radway. See what's afoot. Go."

Edmund saluted and stomped away. Kilmister nodded quickly to Sydney and followed.

"Sydney," Cromwell said. "His -- your -- father is a bit of a sore spot with your brother. I'm sure you'll can come to an understanding, like Christians, but in the meantime please do me, and the Troop, the kindness of answering his anger with love."

"Then tell your lieutenant to mind his mouth until he's clear on the facts."

Cromwell smiled patiently. "Sydney. Love, not anger."

"And, err, about Rupert, sir . . ."

"He wants his dog back."

"Well, yes sir . . ."

"And I promised I'd deliver it." Boy growled. "Nasty beast. I do despise dogs."

"You met him?" Hampden said.

"Yes, I rode into their lines last night, and happened to meet him. He very much wanted his dog."
"Why of course," Cromwell said. "His oracle for all things military, after all." He winked at Firth. "A question for you, Mister Firth. Would the King's horse have fought any less hard, were Rupert my prisoner?"

Firth pondered. "I don't think so, Captain. If anything, more fierce. To rescue their commander."

"Correct," Cromwell said. "Because they are men of spirit. Colonel Hampden, this is what I tried, just now, to explain to the General. Your troopers are most of them decayed old servingmen and tapsters and such kind of fellows. Their troopers are gentlemen’s sons, younger sons and persons of quality. Do you think that the spirits of such base and mean fellows will ever be able to encounter gentlemen that have honor and courage and resolution in them? You must get men of a spirit -- and take it not it ill what I say, I know you will not -- of a spirit that is likely to go on as far as a gentleman will go, or else I am sure we will be beaten still.”"And I will say to you what I said before the General," Hampden said. "Find such men. Bring them to our standard."

Cromwell smiled again. He winked at Sydney. He pulled on his gloves, saluted, and walked to the horses as the men mounted. Edmund, with Kilmister, was pointing in the direction of Edgehill.
"He's right, of course," Hampden said. "But an army of such men must have commanders willing to fight. Willing to spend the treasure."

"And Essex isn't?"

"Two days before the battle he sent another appeal to King, asking to negotiate."

"And?"

"The King rejected him, with scorn. And I'm not sure if yesterday -- if what happened yesterday; I don't know that anyone knows to call it a victory or a defeat, for the King or for us -- will make him more or less willing. It's damped none of Essex's ardor for negotiation."

"That's something I can find out, Colonel," Firth said. "When I return Boy." Boy yapped.

"On your way, then," Hampden said kindly.

"Yes sir. Mr Holyfen, I'll write to you . . ."

"Here for the next two days, I think," Sydney said. "Then to London. Thank you, Firth."

Firth mounted. Boy jumped into the saddle. The two rode away.

"Have you eaten?" Hampden said. "Come, there's much to discuss. The Scots business."

"And the Merchant Adventurers," Sydney said.