Ehrwig, the Sixth!

'We should move up, sir, and challenge the enemy cavalry!' cries a Fenwickian cavalry officer. Thus far, the imperial cavalry have been notable by their absence from the battle.
'What? What?' replies Giovanni di Tripodi to the officer. Tripodi looks confused and unsettled: not surprising, given that he is both confused and unsettled. The Italian is more suited to staff appointments than leading in the field. His love of book-keeping, writing, and not being on a horse mean that he is more comfortable in ancillary battlefield roles such as copying out and sending orders, having lunch, and looking at horses through a telescope a long way away. Instead, however, the need to allow Thomas Burgess to command the Fenwickian infantry has meant that Tripodi has been deployed with the cavalry, since horsemen always demand to be led by gentlemen of a particular social status.

'Shall we attack sir? Shall we? Shall we?' 

'Is that wise ...?' begins Tripodi. But it's too late. (Above) Aflame with aristocratic ardour, one of the left wing Fenwickian cavalry units commences a charge upon the lead Rotenburg horse hoping, no doubt, that the disorder caused by the latter's passage of the marsh will weaken them. It is a faint hope, however. Flailing hopelessly, the Fenwickians are driven back. One effect, however, of the imperial charge is that the Rotenburg horse cannot declare a charge upon the flanks of the Fenwickian infantry - they must charge the nearest enemy, which is Tripodi's cavalry. Frustrated and annoyed, the Rotenburgers surge forwards, throwing themselves against the enemy horse! (Below).

It's a death or glory charge. In reality, of course, the options in a Mittelheim melee are rarely so binary, and the actual choices available to participants span a range of options most of which feature neither glory nor death; but which do feature options such a voiding oneself physically, sprinting off, changing sides, and fainting; or indeed, all of them, often in that order.

The Rotenburg cavalry are widely successful in their attack! (Above) The lead imperial regiment of horse are not just defeated - they are ridden down completely, the remnants fleeing the battlefield.

However, though the imperial cavalry, like someone frisked by a customs officer wearing sandpaper gloves, have been roughly handled, their failure has not been in vain. (Above, top) Cavendish now has time to swing one of his infantry regiments round to face the threat from the Rotenburg cavalry. Saxe-Peste tuts disapprovingly. The chances of his cavalry breaking an enemy infantry regiment in a frontal assault are lower than a bishop's moral scruples in a buy-on get one free boudoir full of a custard-covered actresses.

(Above) Meanwhile, with their flank now protected against the Rotenburg cavalry, the imperial infantry begin to bear down upon their adversaries!