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Page 67
Early in the morning of the sixteenth, the victorious army, sadder than
defeat could ever have made it, entered Merseburg. After the obsequies
had been performed with equal solemnity and magnificence, the body of
the king was deposited in the choir of the cathedral. A statue of gilt
bronze for many a year marked the tomb of Rodolph of Suabia.
On the same evening, when the soldiers were scattered through the town,
and the nobles had retired to such quarters as they could procure,
Gilbert de Hers sought out Father Omehr, and found him in an apartment
which the Archbishop of Mayence had obtained for the missionary.
Up to the day of his interview with Rodolph at Mayence, Gilbert's mind
had been wholly engrossed with the bright pictures which a vivid and
worldly fancy and a keen ambition to excel can always unfold to the eye
of youth. At times he remembered the night passed in the missionary's
humble dwelling, when Bertha's knife had confined him there, and he saw
again the crucifix and the sacristan. But this was only for a moment.
The image of the Lady Margaret was sure to enter and banish every other
feeling than that of deep love for her. But from the night of the
coronation, a change had fallen upon the youth, which Father Omehr's
keen eye had not failed to remark. He displayed no longer the same
thoughtless gayety or the same dreamy abstraction. He had reveries, it
is true, proceeding from the fear of losing the Lady Margaret, or the
hope of gaining her. The missionary had refrained from questioning the
young knight, nor did Gilbert reveal any secret to his venerable friend.
Whether he might have recovered his former levity can scarcely be
answered, but the death of Rodolph seemed to have extinguished it
forever. So great a change had this last incident wrought in him, that
it was not only evident to Father Omehr and Sir Albert, but all who knew
him were struck with his altered manner. They ascribed it to grief
alone, for they knew him to have been the monarch's favorite.
When the young noble and the old priest, whose love for each other had
steadily increased, had sat awhile in silence, the latter took his
companion by the hand, and, as the visit seemed to solicit the question,
said, in a tone evincing the interest of a parent: "My son, what ails
you?"
Then, for the first time, the violent and various feelings which had
been aroused in Gilbert's breast found a vent in tears. An hour almost
passed away before he could compose himself, and then he only said: "To
witness him struck down by death just as he had gained all for which he
lived--to see the fruit of thirty years' labor snatched from his lips
before he could taste it! O God, for what trifles are we toiling!"
It was difficult to recognize Gilbert de Hers in the pale, excited face
and trembling figure which, with clasped hands and eyes upturned,
uttered these meaning words.
Another hour passed, and the youth was kneeling at the missionary's
feet.
Midnight was tolled by the great bell of the cathedral, and Gilbert had
risen.
"My son," said Father Omehr, as they parted, "you have been taught to
despise the world--the next step is to love God!"
Otto of Nordheim and Welf of Bavaria had determined to keep their forces
together until apprised of Henry's further designs, and the allied
armies rested upon their arms at Merseburg. In the meantime Henry used
every artifice to raise another army; but such a panic had seized his
adherents, that they declared they would rather be swallowed up in the
earth than again encounter the Saxons. When Otto and Welf were thus
assured of Henry's immediate inability to injure them, they disbanded
the troops which had served them so gallantly. Much as the soldiers
longed to return to their homes, they did not part without some
reluctance. They had long toiled side by side in the same glorious
cause; they had shared the same dangers and the same pleasures. They had
slept and kept watch together. Reminiscences of hair-breadth escapes and
of mutual services had created friendships of no ordinary strength. For
many days the different troops could be seen evacuating the city under
their feudal chiefs, until at last scarce a soldier remained at
Merseburg.
It was about the first of November that the barons of Hers and Stramen
set out with the relics of their clans for their lordships in Suabia.
The face of Sandrit of Stramen was sterner than ever, and his son seemed
to have caught a portion of his severity. They rode along swiftly, and
whenever they spoke it was about the Lady Margaret. Father Omehr alone
preserved his equanimity, and even he was now unusually absent and
thoughtful. Nor was the retinue of Albert of Hers more cheerful. Sir
Albert's eyes were fixed on the ground in deep dejection; tears were
ever and anon springing into Humbert's eyes, and even the vassals behind
them were gloomy and dispirited. They were returning to a desolated
home, it is true; but, what was worse, they were returning without
Gilbert.
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