"Thou," said Sir Thomas Fairfax, "art a man of a determined nature—but I am something slow-footed. To our work now, sir, and may this bloody business come to a speedy issue!"
Cromwell rode with his own troop down the little hillside to take up his position at the head of the cavalry on the right, the left wing being under Ireton, the infantry in the centre being under the command of Skippon, the Scotsman, the whole under the supervision of Fairfax. This deposition of the army was hastily come to, for there was not an instant to lose; indeed, the Parliamentarians had scarcely gained the top of the low ridge which ran between the hedges, dividing Naseby from Sulby and Clipston, when the King's army came into view across Broadmoor, Rupert opposite Ireton, Langdale and his horse facing Cromwell and the Ironsides, Lord Astley in the centre, with the infantry and the King himself in armour riding in front.
Fairfax posted Okey's dragoons behind the bridges running to Sulby, and flung forward his foot to meet the advancing line of the royalist attack. The infantry discharged their pieces, and the first horrid sound of firing and thick stench of gunpowder disturbed the serene morning.
Then began the bloody and awful fight. Up and down the undulating ground English struggled with English, the colours rocked and dipped above the swaying lines of men, the demi-culverins and demi-sakers roared and smoked, the horse charged and wheeled and wheeled and charged again. The mounting sun shone on a confusion of steel and scarlet, sword and musket, spurt of fire and splash of blood, on many a grim face distorted with battle fury, on many a fair, youthful face sinking on to the trampled earth to rise no more, on many fair locks of loyal gentlemen, combed and dressed last night and now fallen in the bloody mire never to be tended or caressed again, on many a stern peasant or yeoman going fiercely out into eternity with his word of "God with us!" on his stiffening lips.
Lord Astley swept back Skippon's first line on to the reserve. Rupert, hurling his horse through the sharp fire of Okey's dragoons, broke up Ireton's cavalry, and for all their stubborn fighting bore them back towards Naseby village. Uplifted swords, maddened horses, slipping, falling, staggering up again, the shouting, flushed Cavaliers, the bitter, silent Roundheads struggled together towards the hamlet and church. In the midst was always Rupert, hatless now, and notable for his black hair flying and his red cloak and his sword red up to the hilt.
Fairfax looked and saw his left wing shattered, his infantry overpressed and in confusion, the ignorant recruits giving ground, the officers in vain endeavouring to rally them, and his heart gave a sick swerve; he dashed to the right, where Cromwell was fighting Langdale, whose northern horsemen were scattered right and left before the terrible onslaught of the Ironsides.
As Cromwell, completely victorious, thundered back from this charge, he met his General. He did not need, however, Sir Thomas Fairfax to tell him how matters went; his keen eye saw through the battle smoke the colours of the infantry being beaten back into the reserve, and he rose up in his stirrups and waved on his men.
"God with us!" broke from the lips of the Puritans as their commander re-formed them.
"God with us!" shouted Cromwell.