The night of October 23 -- Reached Radway, after chasing the sounds of the Guns all afternoon, appx seven of the clock; wounded men, great groaning and blood, women washing and binding in rags, etc; at which realize I’ve galloped straight into the Camp of the King, tho impossible to tell if that I’m witnessing is the Coin of Victory, or the Agony of defeat. Whilst endeavoring to determine Same, up trots a Horseman, who asks me my Business, and it is none but Sir Philip Clucas, of Aldborough, Yorks; one of my few Friends from my Inglorious interlude at Court. Why hello Holyfen, he says, come to Rejoice as we Drink our bitter Cup? I said, Is this Defeat? And Sir P says, A great Victory, it isn’t, who then bade me Follow him.

We rode from Radway, up a steep Hill, past more Wounded; to the Left I could see the Wreck and ruin of Battle, spread about a plain, mostly, it seemed, in a ploughed Field, where men and horses lay Screaming; past that, in the direction of Kineton village, smoke billowing from Wagons. Sir Philip, between pulls from a Bottle, said that the Battle started well enough, with Parliament’s Horse turning tail and Running like Rabbits before the Onslaught of Rupert on the Right, and Wilmot on the left. How the Parliament ran! Sir Philip said with a smile, Damned cowardly traitors. Yet, he said, after a pull – with Rupert and Wilmott both in Chase for Mile after bloody Mile, then Halting to Pillage the baggage-train at Kineton, the King was left with no Horse in the field, while Parliament had two unbroken troops of Cuirassiers, commanded by Sir William Balfour.

Here the King, Sir P said, was in Danger of the same Fate which Henry III felt at Lewes against his Barons, when his son the Prince, having routed their Horse, followed the chase so far that before his return to the Field his rather was held taken prisoner. Because, Sir P explained, Sir W. Balfour charged the King’s foot, and did great execution among them, routing the brigade of Feilding, which retreated up the hill; Essex himself, pike in hand, led his Regiment in attack. Lindsay was killed at the head of his regiment; and his son the Lord Willowby taken prisoner; the King’s standard taken, and the Standard- bearer the Knight-Marshall Sir Edw Varney killed; and Balfour overran the King’s Artillery, and cut their Ropes, and killed the Cannoneers; then did great execution among Byron’s brigade.

And as the Horse of Rupert and Wilmott trickled back to the field, none could be persuaded the Charge the Parliament: the officers pretending that their soldiers were so dispersed that there were not ten of any troop together, and the soldiers, that their horses were so tired they could not charge, as Sir P plainly put it. But, he said, the Parliament, most of its Horse outside Balfour’s defeated and dispersed, looked not as though they thought themselves conquerers, and it growing so Dark, that no man, would be able to tell Friend from Foe, each Army paused, and the King’s regrouping at the Top of this Hill we were near to ascending.

I asked Sir P of the Fate of Fortescue, and the Value of his Treachery to the King’s cause; Sir P said that these unhappy Men had not the good Fortune they perhaps Deserved, for their Loyalty to the King, for, not thinking to cast aside their orange Sashes after they wheeled and charged on the Parliament, many were Killed by those to whom they had joined themselves.

We halted at a Fire, for which I was Thankful the night being Cold; and Sir P, with a great Yawn, unsaddled his Horse, and wrapping himself in a Cloak, lay his Head upon his Saddle, and fell to Snoring. Around the Fire were Four or Five others, including Two, speaking quite Loudly in German, One berating (or so it seemed) the other most Aggressively. He paused in his abuse, and looked at me with Scorn, and asked my Name and business. I am Sydney Holyfen, merchant, &c &c &c.

The man stood, and in the Firelight I recognized him – it was none other than Prince Rupert. You the Master of Mr William Firth are, the noted Schismatical writer of newsbooks? I said, that such was the Case. He my Dog has Absconded with; Rupert said, my dear Boy. I him to wait with the King ordered and instead me he followed. He is not Dead, for I searched the Field; he is with the Feltmakers and Traitors.

Prince Rupert, I said, I know Firth, he is an honest man, he would not steal your Dog.

Then he is where? Rupert shouted. As he shouted other Troopers wandered over from other Fires, and watched us Grimly. He is with my Dog where? He with the Hatmakers is, devising Scurrilous slanders against his King and God, or devising that my Dog is a Witch, which though it may be Funny is the sort of Nonsense that stupid people would believe, and they will try to at the Stake my poor Dog burn, and may be doing that Now.

Prince, I said, adopting my most respectful yet grandiloquent Manner; I do not think this is the Case; Firth would let no Harm come to your Property. And knowing the great Love you have for your Dog, I love for Beasts which I share (though my Beasts happen to be Cats), I will locate Firth, and your Dog, and return at least the Latter to you. I give you my solemn word as an Englishman.

With that – a growing sense developing in me during his Harangue, that my Presence there in the King’s camp served no clear purpose -- I mounted my Horse and galloped down the way I came, praying all the while I would near no Hoofs behind me, a prayer God honored.

I wait for Dawn in a small barn, and thanks be to God Comfortable here, with a Small fire, wrapped in my Cloak on a bed of Straw. It is viciously Cold and I must pray for the poor men on the field, whose groans, and the dying screams of their horses, I shall watch with through the Night.