8 of the clock: Boy and I, some distance from the King (he in black velvet Cloak, lined with some sort of Fur, a Steel cap, also velveted, no Fur) & his Officers (Rupert, Prince Maurice, Sir J. Astley, Lindsay, the Scots officer Rooftin (check spelling) – again, bickering again, on Swedish vs Dutch. King as is his Wont makes situation Worse by asking Lindsay if he would be “so kind as t-t-too allow our s-s-s-servant Gen Rooftin, who served under Our Majestical brother Monarch Gustavus to Draw up the Army a-a-a-a-according to the F-f-f-f-orm and Order P-p-p-p-pioneered by that m-m-m-m-most Honored m-m-m-m-monarch. . .” &c &c &c, everyone casting glances up, down, about, anywhere but toward the blushing sputtering King, toward the Plain below where even now the Regiments of Essex are forming in their Battalia, Sir Jacob glancing to Heavan, Rooftin smirking, Lindsday bearing this latest Assault on his Dignity with the Patience of Job, Rupert winking in my Direction (at Boy, I believe), until Prince Maurice ends the Torment by blurting something in his Barbarous tongue, Rooftin, Lindsay, Astley and Rupert all speak at Once, anything to stop the King speaking Again and giving another Fifteen Minutes to Essex, until Lindsay, Shouting over them, says: “Your Majesty, I will Serve you as a Colonel of your Royal Regt of Foot Guards, and there I shall (so my heart Tells me) die in thy service.” He is a Brave if bumbling man who deserves better than this King, so too Rupert and Sir Jacob and perhaps thirty percent of the troops they command.

9 of the clock (or somewhat past) Rupert trots over and in the midst of fawning over Boy , says that the King must needs March his Army down Edgehill, and then Array it for Battle, a tricky but not Impossible maneuver; Essex will not attack UP the hill, that being in contravention of all military sense. That will not happen any time Soon, it being the case the King’s Horse and Foot are still wandering in some their various Billets around Wormleighton, etc. Rupert then says I did a grand Job masquerading as a Schismatic, so much so than he Forgives me calling him a Fool, and his mother a Strumpet; I laughed and said, Prince, twas no Masquerade, I am a Schismatic, as I have never denied. He says, So then, you hope we are Beaten, and I said, Indeed, Prince, but it’s my prayer you are not Harmed too terribly, as I believe you a Brave if Misguided man, and he laughed, and said, If I die, then promise me you till take care of my Dog, who is very dear to me. Prince, I said, you have my word on it, the word of an Englishman. He then asked if I knew the Officer we met the previous night, Capt Cromwell, and I said he is Uncle to my employer Mr Holyfen, and a well-known Schismatic. Prince Rupert looked thoughtful, then the King y-y-y-yelled something and he rode away.

Thirty or so minutes later: Here follows the Army of Essex, as Arrayed before me, Right to left: Musketeers and dragoons, behind Hedgerows and Enclosed fields that parallel the plain before us; three or four(?) regiments of Horse, regiment of Foot, in yellow coats; two regiments, each in Blue coats; a fourth, in grey; a fifth, in Blue again (the third, fourth, and Fifth are behind a ploughed Field) the next, is in Red, the one beside that, blue yet again. Then more horse. More Dragoons, in hedges/fields on the left; facing them, the King’s Dragoons commanded by (I think) Col Gray or maybe Col Duncombe.

And Forty minutes after that: Great Hubbub and shouting near the King; it appears His Majesty had caused to be Printed numerous Proclamations which (as he puts it) “offering p-p-p-pardon and f-f-f-forgiveness to th-th-th-th-those who, whipped into f-f-f-f-frenzy by their m-m-m-m-ministers, r-r-r-raised arms against our p-p-p-p-person.” These were to be “s-s-s-sewn and d-d-d-dispersed in the f-f-f-fields where the Schismatics are g-g-g-gathering in their m-m-m-m-military c-c-c-c-conventicles.” It seems this task Critical to the successful Prosectution of this Conflict was placed in presumably Capable hands of the King’s Lifeguard of Horse (whose annoying Boast has been since Shrewsbury that they Command £100,000 per annum, enough to Buy the rest of the Army seven times over?why seven?), who it would Seem have left the Bills of Forgiveness in their billets in Southam. “This would hhave p-p-p-produced a most g-g-g-good effect,” His Majesty said, “convincing them of the r-r-reasonableness of my p-p-p-person.” The Lifeguard are hanging their Heads in shame, each Blaming the Other for the Foul-up; Sir Jacob Astley is Red with the Effort of Swallowing his Laughter.

Ten minutes later: Col Washington, with his Regt of Dragoons, begins to descend the Hill, with Instructions to give contest for the Hedges, etc. on our Right, with the dragoons of Parliament there.

11 of the clock: Rupert and Maurice discuss Sir Faithful’s treachery: The signal will be that when Rupert charges, he and his Troop will ride to meet it; then he (Sir Faithful) shall discharge is Pistols into the ground and turn upon the Parliament.

Fifteen minutes later: a Forlorn Hope of perhaps 400 Horse begin the Descent of the Hill; the Regiments of Foot form up to Follow.

Twenty minutes past that: Rupert tells the King his entire Horse are here, and Ready; at which point Lord Willow? Western? (note, check name & confirm) Throws himself before the King with great Dramaticall Flourish, and says, “that the Lifeguard seeks to Redeem itself, for the Odious error of the Proclamations, and humbly Asks, that they be given Leave to be Absent from Guarding the Kings most Precious Person, and be granted the Honor that belongs to them, to charge with the horse of Rupert, in the first Rank.” To this Rupert agrees. Sir Jacob, wandering over to pet the Dog, tells me the Lifeguard was prompted by not only a laudable desire for Glory, but because many of the Foot had scoffed at them, as do-nothings who would stand about and watch the Battle, counting their Hundred-Thousands, while Real Soldiers did the hard Fighting.

Eleven-forty: The King rides before the Regiments, and asks that all s-s-s-should do their d-d-d-duty, and to his credit he does so with the appearance of Cheer and Courage, and is rewarded with a mighty chorus of Huzzas.

Five minutes after then, Sir Jacob Astley stands before the Foot, and lifts his hands and eyes to heaven, and says, O Lord! You know how busy I must be this day; if I forget thee, do not forget me. Then he shouts, March on, boys! And leads them down the hill: the regts of Gerard, Feilding, Wentworth. Byron and Belasyse, in reserve.

Fifteen minutes following, Who should arrive but Nell, and what should she Carry but these dastardly Proclamations. I was about to tell her that their Absence from the field had guaranteed the Death many of those Brave Noble Horsemen she so Admires, but that would be needlessly Cruel. Poor silly girl. She is not without some Sense, and Aspirations, however Misdirected, toward Higher things. I advised, it might make more Sense, were she to collect Rags, etc that could be used as Bandages; she nodded at me Grimly, and said, Yes, Mr Firth, it will be a Bloody business. She departs, toward Radway.

Later – Nell returns, with three men, who Claim to write for Newsbooks in London, the Mercury, the Observor, the Voice. All three drunk. The Mercury-man, asks if it is indeed Boy, the legendary Dog, that I have with me, and if so, may he have a Word. I advise him that the Dog is not, at the moment, taking Questions, but he is welcome to Apply later.

The Generals, to the King – ask that he Retire, to near the highest point of the Hill, on the right; there he can see the entire Issue of the battle, and be out of Danger; else neither Horse charge, nor Foot advance; the King with great s-s-s-sighing allows himself to be so Persuaded.

Two of the clock (near as I can make it) – a cannonade begins, both sides; the Parliament with the advantage, two Shots for each one of the King; it makes Holes in the regts of Feilding; the Shot of the King’s cannon buries harmlessly, in the Plowed field, leaving the Regiments of Parliament unhurt (praised be the God of battles).

Later, on the left – the Dragoons of Parliament advance, are beaten back sharply by Cols Gray and Duncombe; Col Washington, on the right, success against the Dragoons there

Then – on the right, a trumpet, a great joyous shout – swords are drawn, and Rupert charges --

Parliament’s dragoons – they back, turn, flee --

Parliament’s horse pauses . . . a gingerly step forward. . . a slow tepid advance; it stutters like the King . . .

The front rank of Parliament’s horse wheels, hurls itself into the rank behind – Fortescue –

Rupert, raising his sword, urging his men on – the King’s lifeguard, breaks ahead, toward the Parliament –

The Parliament’s horse breaks, flees – Rupert after them, hair like a banner in the breeze – Nell cheers, the King cheers, Boy barks with delirious joy . . . the Newsbook-men look at me: What just happened, says the Mercury-man.

I will find a horse and follow.