Pemberton: Yes—­there’s a ford there, at the fork if we are upstream.

Ireton: I’ll speak to Whalley, too.

Fairfax: If at last there should be a general retreat, it is to the west of Naseby, remember.

Ireton: Yes.  To the west.  That there should be that even in the mind!

Fairfax: In that case, the baggage is my concern.

(Outside is heard a low murmur of excitement.)

Fairfax: Staines, will you tell Conway that five hundred of his best men must dispute the Naseby road to the east.  And let Mitchell command under him.

Staines: Yes, sir.

(The noise outside grows.)

Pemberton: What is it?

Fairfax: See.

(PEMBERTON goes to the tent opening and looks out.)

Pemberton: Our men are watching something.  It is something moving.  Horsemen—­it must be.

(The excitement grows and grows.  IRETON joins PEMBERTON.)

Ireton: There is something.

Fairfax: Gentlemen, let us promise ourselves nothing.

(IRETON and PEMBERTON move into the tent at FAIRFAX’S word.  As they do so the voices outside break out into a great shout—­“Ironsides—­Ironsides—­Ironsides is coming to lead us!” The scout comes in, glowing.)

Fairfax (rising):  Yes?

The Scout: General Cromwell is riding into the field with his Ironsides, sir, some six hundred strong.

Fairfax: Thank God!

(CROMWELL comes into the tent, fully armed, hot and dusty from the road.  The shouting dies away, but outside there is a sound as of new life until the end of the scene.  SETH, OLIVER’S servant, stands at the tent opening.)

Fairfax: You are welcome; none can say how much.

Cromwell: A near thing, sir.  I only heard from Westminster yesterday at noon.

Fairfax: They told us nothing.

Cromwell: There are many poor creatures at Westminster, sir.  Many of them, I doubt not, would have willingly had me kept uninformed of this.  But we are in time, and that’s all.  Henry.  Good-morning, gentlemen.  How goes it?

Fairfax (taking his seat, CROMWELL and the others also at the table):  The battle is set.  Our foot there, Skippon and myself.  Colonel Ireton and Whalley are with the horse.  They are at your service.

Cromwell (at the map):  Rupert will be there.  Langdale, if I mistake not, will be there.  That road—­is it good?

Pemberton: Poor below Mill Hill, sir.

Cromwell: Then that is the point; it may be decisive there.  You take the left, Henry.

Ireton: Yes, sir.

Cromwell: Let Whalley be on my left here—­give him fifteen hundred.  I have six hundred.  I’ll take the right with them myself, Are you on the left, sir?