Back on the field, in his absence a hallooing second rank of velvet-cloaked Royalist squierarchy had charged, stayed in position, and were carving up anything that remained of the Parliamentary left wing. Ireton had veered away to assist the infantry at the centre, where he was unhorsed, wounded in the thigh, wounded in the face with a halberd and then taken prisoner. Word whipped around his men, demoralising them. Their leaderless remnants milled in disorder. Next to Sulby Hedges, Colonel Butler's regiment was imperilled, until repeated rounds from Okey's dragoons saved them from certain extinction.
The dragoons had lost track of time but must have stayed by the hedges for an hour. Once most cavaliers had moved away, through the gunsmoke they could see pandemonium out among the infantry. The locked regiments at the centre swayed to and fro; glimpses showed that Skippon's desperate men, now no longer protected by cavalry on their left, were slogging it out at push of pike and butt of musket. Though they outnumbered the enemy, they had been over-mastered and had given ground. Skippon had had a bullet strike him in the ribs; it pushed part of his breastplate deep into his chest, but he refused to leave the field. Word that he was dangerously hurt was causing sections of the infantry to lose heart and fade.
For the New Model Army, the outcome looked grim for a period. They did have double the Royalist numbers, so Cromwell and Fairfax could deploy support to trouble-spots. But the Royalist infantry were as good as any. Had Prince Rupert's cavalry checked quickly enough after storming through, had they turned on Parliament's now-exposed centre, it would have been disastrous.
As the Parliamentary foot were pushed back across the moor and up the hill behind them by their tenacious opponents, they began to merge into the waiting reserve regiments under Colonels Hammond, Pride and Rainborough. Fairfax and other officers encouraged them to make a final stand. Somewhere in that melee was Lambert Jukes, cheerfully wielding his pike as the reserve regiments were called up and began to push heavily forwards.
The reserves were fresh and cheery. The mood at the centre altered.
On the far wing, matters went well from the start. Cromwell had led the Ironsides steadily across the broken ground, never creating the speed of Prince Rupert's men, but safely negotiating the treacherous rabbit-holes and various pits and waterholes they unexpectedly encountered. For an hour they fought it out hand-to-hand with the Royalist Langdale's unhappy and mutinous Northern Horse. Slowly at first, but then with greater momentum, Cromwell beat a way through. Watching from among his Lifeguards on the ridge, the King correctly assessed that Langdale's units were about to break. Once flight began, panic would rip through them, until men and horses chased from the field, wild with terror. Some at the rear of the Royalist left wing were already retreating, with groups of Parliamentary cavalry swooping in pursuit. The King prepared to lead a rescue mission. 'Face about once, and give one charge and save the day!' cried Charles with spirit.
His decision to ride into danger horrified his Lifeguards. The King might have saved the day in person. Equally, he might have perished, yet saved his cause heroically. Instead, a Scots nobleman grabbed at his horse's reins and turned its head, swearing at the King as he shouted: 'Will you go to your death?' Charles floundered. He let himself be dissuaded. Seeing his mount turning aside, the Royalist reserves were thrown into confusion. They lost heart. Control failed. Interpreting the movement as a sign that it was every man for himself, the Royalist reserves bolted from the field, without a shot fired.
Activity against Sulby Hedges was faltering. The dragoons now had no one in particular to shoot at. Colonel Okey perceived that on the far wing, some of the New Model cavalry were chasing Royalists. The rest, under Cromwell himself, had wheeled towards the centre, taking on the Royalist foot.
'Saddle up!'
His men raced for their horses. Defying standard practice, Okey then raised his sword and led out his dragoons in a charge.
Kicking up his mount with his short boots, Gideon was thrilled. Jostling uncomfortably knee-to-knee, the dragoons careered into battle on their reviled cheap nags, clods of earth kicking up behind them, their colours streaming. Gideon's mouth opened in a wordless yell that vanished in his wake as the regiment's surprised horses carried them in an unprecedented stampede right across their now deserted left wing and into action.
They bore down on the Royalist infantry just as Cromwell attacked from the opposite side. At the same time, blocks of Parliamentary infantry stormed the centre. The dragoons piled in cheerfully, raining blows from their musket butts and slashing with their long swords at the enemy's heads and shoulders. This threefold onslaught was too much.
There was no fight to the last man here, as there had been at Marston Moor; at Naseby, even the King's hardbitten Welsh footmen gave up en masse and miserably laid down their arms. From the royal infantry reserves, Prince Rupert's Bluecoats made a brief stand while the King's Lifeguards were sent against Okey's dragoons, but a cavalry charge led by Fairfax ended the last resistance. Fairfax, who had seemed like a dead man in the tension before battle, became a whirlwind once the action started. Fighting was said to make him 'raised, elevated, and transported'. Bare-headed after losing his helmet, his inspired presence rallied the faltering Parliamentary infantry. He personally killed a Royalist ensign, as colour upon colour from the surrendering infantry regiments was scooped up for Parliament. Almost the entire body of Royalist foot had been killed or were now taken prisoner.
Fairfax ordered a new line of battle to be drawn up. Gideon gathered his men into formation with the regiment. For Fairfax to achieve this — to reassemble his army under the gunsmoke in battle lines, ready to charge or be charged by the enemy — after two hours of hot fighting, was a measure of entrenched discipline, only forty-one days after the New Model was formed. They were proud, even before they saw the results.
Prince Rupert had finally rounded up some cavaliers and dragged them back. They came too late. He could not save the infantry. Langdale's cavalry had scattered. The royal reserves were out of hand. Rupert's own men, surly and discouraged by heavy losses, could not be put in order to face the controlled new line of battle that Fairfax had established. Nothing could be done. The Royalists gave in to defeat.
Okey's dragoons saw the enemy wavering at the last. One last resounding volley from them convinced the surviving Royalist cavalry to flee the field. The King, the prince and the poor remnants of their horse rode rapidly away towards Leicester. They must have known the royal cause was lost.
As the enemy straggled and fled, Gideon Jukes felt a huge flood of gratitude that he had managed to bring himself here, where he had seen this victory. Then, in almost the last moments of fighting, calamity struck. His mare was shot, perhaps by a stray bullet from his own side. So great had been his relief at this tremendous day, he was unaware what was happening. He heard one of his men shout a warning, but when the horse fell, he had no idea why she was depositing him groundwards.
He struck the bloody turf so hard he was seriously winded. Stars spun in his sight, then in sudden pain all over his body, he lay helpless while the regiment moved over him and passed on.