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Page 61
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 T�bingen 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!
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