Hark to the trump and the drum,
And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,
And the flap of the banners that flit as they're borne,
And the neigh of the steeds, and the multitude's hum,
And the clash, and the shout, "They come, they come!"
SIEGE OF CORINTH.
Rodolph was received with open arms by the Saxons. Dukes, counts, barons
and gentlemen hastened to Merseburg, where, at a grand festival in his
honor, he was solemnly acknowledged king of the Saxons. On every side
the Saxons were flying to arms against their old enemy, and the princes
unanimously advised the new monarch to march against his competitor, who
had been recently again anathematized by the Papal legates. Rodolph,
burning to retrieve his defeat and to save Suabia from further
desolation, hearkened eagerly to suggestions that chimed so well with
his own inclinations. He tarried only to wait the reinforcements of Welf
and Berthold, and, hoping to expedite their union with him, marched upon
Melrichstadt in Franconia.
Henry was no sooner apprised of this intended junction, than he resolved
to defeat it. Instantly evacuating Suabia, he led his powerful army
toward Saxony. He had deployed twelve thousand peasants to cut off the
two dukes, and advanced with the rest of his force to the banks of the
Strewe. Before reaching the river, he ascertained that Rodolph was
encamped on the opposite side. It now occurred to his unprincipled mind,
that he might deprive his rival even of the warning which his open
approach would give, by deputing a flag of truce to solicit a parley.
The artifice succeeded. Scarcely had the deputation left the Saxon camp,
before Henry began the attack. Unprepared for this treacherous movement,
Rodolph had barely time to form his ranks and address a few words of
encouragement to his troops. He was answered with a shout that attested
the eagerness of his soldiers for the fray. Already the clang of arms,
the cries of the living, and the groans of the dying were heard along
the line. The army of Rodolph was drawn up in two divisions--one
commanded by the king, the other by the valiant Otto of Nordheim. As the
division of Otto was a little in the rear, that of the monarch was for a
time exposed alone to the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. But nobly
indeed was the brunt of the battle borne. Rodolph waited not the onset,
but led on his columns to the charge. Then Suabian and Saxon darted
forward shoulder to shoulder, and the lords of Hers and Stramen, side by
side, shouted their battle-cries and hurled their followers upon the
opposing ranks. Such was the ardor inspired by Rodolph that, at the
first shock, two of Henry's columns were broken. But this advantage did
not long avail against equal courage and superior numbers. Henry was at
the head of the finest troops in the empire. But the consciousness of
the sacredness of their cause made the soldiers of Rodolph invincible.
Already Eberard le Barbu, the faithful counsellor of Henry, the Count
of Hennenburg, Thibalt, and Henry of Lechsgemund had fallen around their
lord. At this moment some bishops, retiring from the ranks of Rodolph,
communicated a panic to those around them. It was in vain that Rodolph
displayed the brilliant valor that had won him the name of the first
knight of the times--that the Lord of Hers put forth his utmost skill,
and the Baron of Stramen displayed his unrivalled strength. Menace and
entreaty failed alike, nor could example or reproach recall the
fugitives.
"Why does not Otto advance!" exclaimed Rodolph, who, by dint of almost
superhuman exertion, had preserved his front still unbroken. "Unless I
am supported within a minute, the battle is lost."
Hardly had the words escaped his lips, before the war-cry of
Saxony--"St. Peter! St. Peter!" burst from three thousand throats, and
the noble Otto and the Count Palatine Frederick could be seen leading on
their troops, all fresh and panting for the fight. Borne down by this
vigorous assault, the pursuing column fell back in confusion, and were
routed with great slaughter. Rodolph, having rallied his men, rushed on
to where the imperial standard was waving, and with his own hand cut
down the banner of his rival. A cry now arose: "Henry is dead!"
Dispirited and borne down, the troops of Henry turned and fled in
confusion. They were pursued up to the gates of Würtzburg, where the
vanquished monarch found an asylum. The Saxons passed the night on the
battle-field, amid hymns of praise and cries of joy.
In the morning, Rodolph, from his inferiority being unable to pursue
his victory, reentered Merseburg in triumph; and Henry, unwilling to
hazard another engagement, fell back upon Ratisbon to levy new troops.
Thus ended the battle of Melrichstadt: all night the waters of the
Strewe, as they glided carelessly along, were red with the noblest blood
in Germany.
Some hours after nightfall, when all the requisite precautions had been
taken, Gilbert de Hers, unharmed, but worn out by the fatigues of the
day, retired to his father's tent. He was alone, for the Lord of Hers
was in council with the king. It was a sultry night in August, and,
stripping off his armor, he threw himself upon a couch, and gazed
languidly but steadily at the flickering watch fires. He had been
knighted on the field by the king, and had nobly worn his spurs, but his
thoughts were evidently not running on his own prowess or the praises of
his monarch. A listless calm had succeeded his late excitement. His
meditations were rather rudely interrupted by the entrance of a man who
dashed aside the curtains of his tent and pressed the young noble's hand
to his lips.
"Humbert!" exclaimed the astonished youth, springing to his feet; and
embracing his trusty follower, he poured forth question upon question
with such rapidity that Humbert did not even attempt a reply. When
Gilbert had composed himself sufficiently to listen, the gallant
retainer began to relate all that had occurred at the lordship of
Stramen. Gilbert listened mute and breathless until informed of the Lady
Margaret's safe arrival and princely reception at the fortress of
Tübingen. Then, forgetting his rank in his joy and gratitude, he threw
his arms around his companion's neck, and forced into his hands the
chain of gold which had nearly proved fatal to him at the tournament.
"The morning after our arrival at Tübingen--" resumed Humbert.
"Yes--go on!" said the youth, who not until then had reflected upon the
danger of her position, even at Tübingen, and was eagerly drinking in
the words of his companion.
"The morning after our arrival we saw Henry's whole army drawn out in
the plain. We were summoned to surrender. The whole court replied: 'A
Montfort holds no parley with a perjured king and false knight.'
Instantly we were furiously assaulted on all sides. But the defences
were complete and completely manned, and they fell back foiled at every
point. For three long days we held the barbican against their united
efforts. On the morning of the fourth they began to retire, and before
sunset we were left without an enemy. When I found that my services were
no longer required, I determined to return to Hers, and then seek you
here."
"Had the Lady Margaret recovered from her fright and fatigue?" asked the
youth.
"With the exception of a slight cough, brought on, I suppose, by the
rain."
Gilbert's next question related to his paternal estate.
"The chapel stands uninjured," said Humbert.
"And the castle?"
"The blackened walls alone remain!"
"We shall be avenged!" cried the young knight, drawing a deep breath.
"How was the chapel preserved?"
"Numbers of women and children had fled there for protection, and our
good Father Herman, standing in the doorway, told the miscreants they
must pass over his body. He would have fallen a victim to his zeal, had
not the Duke Godfrey de Bouillon interposed and driven back his soldiers
with loud reproaches."
"Where is Herman now?"
"Among his poor flock, who have lost almost all--endeavoring to procure
them food and shelter, and exhorting them to patience and submission to
the will of God."
"How fared Stramen Castle?"
"Even worse than your own."
"And the church?" continued Gilbert.
"Was despoiled and fired."
At this instant the curtain of the tent was parted again, and Father
Omehr stood before them.
When informed of the fate of his church, the missionary calmly raised
his eyes to heaven and repeated, in a clear, steady voice, those sublime
words: "The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the
name of the Lord!"
But when apprised of the position of his parishioners, who must
inevitably have perished from the oldest to the youngest, the old man
bent his head upon his breast, and, pressing his hands to his face, wept
bitterly. He soon recovered his habitual resignation, and then, turning
to Gilbert, said mournfully:
"Do you see, my son, that God is _beginning_ to punish our feud?"
Immediately after his victory, Rodolph despatched messengers to the Pope
to give him the intelligence, and implore him to recognize the king in
the victor.
We always approach with veneration and extreme diffidence the character
of this mighty man. It is difficult, indeed, to form an adequate idea of
his moral grandeur. The better you study his views, the more you are
astonished at his wisdom and fore-sight; the deeper your scrutiny of his
motives, the higher your respect for his sanctity. His was an age of
transition. The great question was still undecided: Shall liberty or
tyranny prevail--barbarism or civilization? This question depended upon
the answer to another: Shall the Church of God be free or become the
creature of temporal power? Already William the Conqueror and Henry of
Austria were trying to fetter the spouse of Christ--already the gulf was
opening that threatened spiritual Rome with destruction. Then it was
that Gregory VII saved the Church as Curtius saved the city; but while
the pagan has been raised to the skies, the Christian has been insulted
and belied.
Never can we sufficiently contemplate the spectacle of one man
contending against the world! Not a chieftain, at the head of an army,
subduing kingdom after kingdom, but a priest, without a carnal weapon,
resisting a continent combined at once to crush him, and finally
vanquishing by his death. Uninspired by ambition, assailed by every
earthly motive, God alone could have directed, and God only could have
upheld him. The Emperor of Austria had sworn to depose him, the
Italians promised to assist his antagonist. With scarce a footing in
Germany or Italy, cooped up on a barren peak, he wrestled with the
haughty conqueror of England, humbled the pride of Nicephorus Botoniates
who had usurped from Michael Paripinasses the empire of the East, and
deposed Guibert the guilty Bishop of Ravenna. Yet amid these cares, such
as human shoulders seldom knew before or since, he forgot not the
objects to which he had dedicated his life--the punishment of simony and
the preservation of ecclesiastical purity. It was in the attainment of
these, that he arrayed kingdoms against him and died in exile at
Salerno. Harassed and chained down as he was, the councils of Anse,
Clermont, Dijon, Autun, Poietiers, and Lyons were thundering against
simony and incontinency.
It would be presumptuous to offer a word in defence of the conduct of
such a man, had not his actions been so grievously misstated, and his
aims so ungenerously misinterpreted. It were as well to point out the
sun when the eye is dazzled by its brightness.
Gregory received Rodolph's envoys with every mark of affection, but
dismissed them, saying he could not comply with their request. The
Pontiff's object was to keep royalty within its legitimate sphere, not
to depose a particular king, and he wished to accomplish this with as
little bloodshed as possible. He saw clearly enough that to declare for
Rodolph would be to proclaim war to the knife. He also hoped that Henry
would have recourse to his mediation after his defeat. He was again
disappointed. His very friends now began to desert him, upbraiding him
with ingratitude and coldness. The Saxons addressed him several epistles
in which they threatened to abandon him. But less moved by their threats
than their entreaties, the Pontiff accused them of weakness and
insolence. There was another reason sufficient to deter him from
confirming the nomination of Rodolph, had none other opposed it. All
Italy, with few exceptions, espoused the cause of Henry, and waited only
the pontifical coronation of his rival, to rise in open rebellion. When
the history of the times is carefully studied, it will be confessed that
the Pope's refusal to accede to Rodolph's request was dictated by the
greatest wisdom, enlightened and purified by the greatest virtue and
forbearance.
Still hoping to arrest the purple tide of civil war, Gregory despatched
legate after legate to Henry, charging them to omit no lawful means to
incline the monarch to peace, and induce him to abide by the decision of
a diet which should be convened to judge between him and his rival. This
was the pacific adjustment to which the Pontiff looked. But Henry
remained deaf to all these remonstrances, constantly declaring that the
sword alone must decide. He was again at the head of a powerful army,
and burned to retrieve the lustre of his arms. Rodolph, perceiving that
another battle was inevitable, prepared for it without delay. Each king
was now in quest of the other.
They met near Fladenheim in Thuringia. As at Melrichstadt, the allied
forces of Suabia and Saxony were drawn up in two divisions under Rodolph
and Otto. The former occupied a steep hill on the bank of a deep
stream, which separated the combatants. Otto with his Saxons was
stationed in the van, and was to sustain the attack, while the division
of Rodolph was to act as a reserve. It was a bitter cold day in January,
and a thick mist had canopied the river. Under cover of this, Henry, by
a retrograde movement, gained the rear of his adversary. Rodolph,
unconscious of this, was anxiously listening for the din of battle as
the fog partially obscured his view. Gilbert had never seen the new
king's noble brow so calm and unclouded--he had never seen his eye flash
so proudly and joyously, or the same sweet, buoyant smile upon his lips.
But as the hostile army filed out into the plain, and Rodolph found that
the enemy he had expected in front was in his rear, a deep frown for a
moment dispelled his smiles. It was only for a moment. He saw that Henry
was now between him and Otto.
"Ride to my noble Otto," he said to Gilbert, who was at his side, "and
bid him charge at once." Before Rodolph had altered his array, Gilbert
brought back the Saxon's answer:
"Otto of Nordheim declines to abandon the advantages of his position,
and says he will not fail you, should you require his assistance."
"It is well," said the king, frowning slightly; "he will not fail us."
Then turning to Albert of Hers, he said, in a whisper: "Otto wishes the
glory, of deciding the day, as at Melrichstadt. Let us try that he may
obtain the laurel of victory instead of the odium of defeat. Gentlemen!"
he said, in a loud voice, exchanging cheerful smiles with the Suabian
nobles around him, "you have now an opportunity of meeting face to face
the desolators of your country. Soldiers!" he said, mingling among his
troops, "there are the Bohemians who butchered your wives and families!"
As the whole body clamored for the signal to begin, Rodolph gave the
word, and the chivalry and yeomanry of Suabia swept rapidly down the
hill. They were met at the base by the whole army of Henry. Still,
nothing daunted, Rodolph displayed his impetuous valor, the lords of
Hers and Stramen rushed on the destroyers of their castles, and Gilbert
and Henry fought side by side, each trying to outstrip the other. At
this moment, as Rodolph was tugging at his lance to draw it from a body
of a knight he had pierced, it was seized by Vratislaus, Duke of
Bohemia. As Vratislaus put forth all his strength to disarm his
antagonist, Rodolph suddenly yielded up the weapon, and as the duke
staggered back, sprang upon him with his sword. Timely succor alone
saved the Bohemian.
"He will be rewarded for capturing my lance," said Rodolph, calmly. "Had
not his friends been so fleet, he might have had his recompense in
another world."
But the Suabians, opposed to three times their number, were beginning to
retreat, when Otto of Nordheim, true to his word, emerged from the mist
and fell upon the enemy's flank.
"Well done, thou Saxon eagle!" exclaimed Rodolph, eagerly, seeing the
discomfited foe staggering before this unexpected and vigorous attack.
"Henry of Stramen, ride to the duke, and tell him he has won the day."
Rodolph, surrounded by some of his barons, among whom were the lords of
Hers and Stramen and Gilbert, was posted upon a little knoll, watching
the progress of the fight, when Henry returned with Otto's
acknowledgments to the king.
"Sire!" said Albert of Hers, riding up to the monarch, "your cunning
rival there has profited by this mist, and I think we may now turn it to
our account."
"How?" asked the king.
"The enemy has left his camp in our rear--we may cross the river
unperceived and surprise it. Give me five hundred men, and I will not
leave him as much as would satisfy a peasant."
Rodolph instantly acceded to the request, and commanded the Baron of
Stramen to assist in the enterprise. Though somewhat loath to unite in
any undertaking with his sworn enemy, Sir Sandrit had learned to subdue
his personal prejudices for the welfare of Germany. And perhaps his
desire to avenge his recent wrongs overpowered his aversion to the
author of older injuries. He readily assented, and now, united for once,
the rival clans of Hers and Stramen moved rapidly across the ice on
their chivalrous mission. By a well-executed movement they came
unperceived upon the guard. No quarter was given there; scarce a hostile
soldier escaped. Sir Albert bade his men spare not the cowards whose
swords were red with the blood of babes and mothers. Sir Sandrit, at the
top of his voice, shouted, "Remember the castle!" Henry and Gilbert
unrelentingly pursued the terror-stricken fugitives. When they returned
to the captured camp, every article of luxury was gone. The vessels of
gold and silver, which the Patriarch of Aquileia and many of the other
nobles had brought to grace the revels of their king, were now in the
hands of their rough victors, who brandished the precious goblets in the
air, crying, "Death to the spoilers of Suabia!" The purple curtains,
torn into shreds, were trailed in the clotted gore and dust. Before many
minutes the pillage was as complete as the surprise. When nothing
remained to slay or plunder, the barons gave the signal to retreat, and
they recrossed the ice. Had they remained an instant longer, Henry IV
would have fallen into their hands; for hardly had they left, before the
monarch, flying from the battle-field, conducted by a guide named Louis,
entered his ruined camp.
The battle was over when the detachment reached the scene of action.
Folkmar, governor of Prague, had fallen, Henry had fled, and the
Bohemians were routed with prodigious slaughter. The fugitives rallied
under the walls of Wartburg. But they were speedily dispersed and
pursued, until nightfall saved them from further molestation.
"The mist of Fladenheim is clearing away," said Rodolph, pointing to the
setting sun, which now broke out in unclouded splendor, as the fog
vanished before a strong north wind. That day was like his life, most
brilliant at its close. Otto now advanced, and the two monarchs embraced
with mutual affection and esteem. Whatever rivalry there might be
between them was forgotten in success.
Henry retired into Franconia and dismissed his army, and Rodolph again
solicited the Pope to confirm his election.
The news of these victories imparted some consolation to the Lady
Margaret's breast, now torn with anxiety and solicitude. Her grief was
not lightened because her own misfortunes were avenged in Henry's
adversity, but because the chances of peace were increased by Rodolph's
success. She was now incapable of relishing revenge. The feudal
antipathies so long nourished and so early instilled as to be almost a
part of her existence, were entirely, eradicated. From the evening of
her interview with Father Omehr, before the now ruined Church of the
Nativity, she had dedicated her life to the extinguishment of the feud
between the houses of Hers and Stramen. For this she had prayed, for
this she had toiled. But her labors were interrupted by the harsh music
of war, by gong and tymbalon.
What could she do now? Nothing. Nothing? When she knelt before the altar
at Tübingen before the sun had risen, and the Countess of Montfort felt
as if she had given shelter to an Angel, was she doing nothing? When she
lingered in the oratory of our Blessed Mother long after the sun had
set, and the menials passed by on tiptoe lest they should mar the
celestial expression of her face, was she doing nothing? There had come
a deeper lustre still into the Lady Margaret's eye, and the blush on her
cheek mingled not so freely with the pure white in which it was cradled.
Perhaps her head was not so erect--perhaps the line of the back had lost
in firmness what it gained in grace. Already the men and women of
Montfort had learned to love and bless her, and as she passed among them
serenely and silently, like a spirit of light, and as they marked the
strange transparency of her features, they would salute her with a
feeling in which awe prevailed, and, after thoughtfully gazing at her
awhile, transfer their glance to the skies. The Lady of Montfort loved
to hear the maiden sweetly singing the _Salve Regina_, for which Humbert
had invented or selected a melody of singular beauty, but often, when
the hymn was concluded, the countess's cheeks would be bathed in tears,
and she would fold the Lady Margaret in her arms, and gaze up earnestly
into her face.
Gilbert! Gilbert! come read this face of more than earthly beauty! See
if the words that haunt you are chiselled there!