The truce of God: A tale of the eleventh century

by George H. Miles

ST. PETER DAMIAN.

The King of Arles and the missionary rode along without an escort, and felt none of the fears that the traveller of the times is often made to entertain for his personal safety. They did not apprehend any violence, and their only preparation for the expedition had been a recommendation to God through Our Lady and the Saints. It is as purely imaginative in historians and novelists—and it is difficult indeed to distinguish the one from the other—to surround every castle with a wall of banditti, as to station in Catholic countries of the present day, a robber or an assassin behind every tree. In the Middle Ages, the stranger could wander from castle to castle with as little danger as the nature of the country permitted; even in times of war, the blind, the young, the sick, and the clergy were privileged from outrage, though found on hostile territory. And in war, peace, or truce, the pilgrim's shallop was a passport through Christendom; he was under the special protection of the Pope, and to thwart his pious designs was to incur excommunication. Even amid the terrors of invasion, the laborer was free to pursue his occupation, and his flocks and his herds were secure from molestation; for it was beneath the dignity of the man-at-arms to trample upon the person or property of the poor unarmed peasant. Such were the principles recognized even in the eleventh century; and though we witness frequent departures from these admirable provisions, we must be careful not to mistake the exception for the rule, or to impute to the spirit of the age a violence and contempt of authority common to all times, and found alike in Norman and Frank, American and Mexican. To balance these infringements of regular warfare or "blessed peace," we often meet with instances as beautiful as the march of Duke Louis, the husband of St. Elizabeth, into Franconia, in 1225, to obtain reparation for injuries inflicted on a peddler.

"I hope the Baron of Stramen has lost none of his vigor," said the duke; "we were together at Hohenburg, and I may need him at my side again. His son Henry, too, whom I knighted before the battle, and who won his spurs so nobly, how is he?"

"They were both well," replied Father Omehr, "when I saw them last, and were anxiously expecting a visit from their liege."

"And the Lady Margaret, from whom not a knight can boast a token, though all are striving to obtain one?"

"She has not altered since you saw her," answered the priest; "she was always rather frail, but I do not see that she grows weaker."

"You cannot imagine," interposed Rodolph, "how much it grieves me to be unable to reconcile these two families whom I so dearly love, and who, in the camp or in the chamber, have proved themselves so devotedly attached to me. I cannot even ask of one in the hearing of the other, without giving offence or receiving a bitter answer. In all things else, they are obedient as this horse to his rein; but the moment I speak of reconciliation, the stubborn neck is arched, and will not relax either for threats or entreaties."

"Your grief cannot equal mine," returned the missionary, "and I confess, that without the hope of obtaining assistance from heaven, I should despair of ever softening the determined animosity of the Baron of Stramen. The Lord of Hers, perhaps, might be induced to throw enmity aside, if his adversary relented; but he cannot be persuaded to sue for peace, especially when his supplication might be unavailing."

"I cannot believe," continued the duke, "that my friend of Hers could have killed Robert of Stramen, since he most positively denies it. It is true that their relations were anything but amicable, yet Albert of Hers would scorn to take a knight at a disadvantage, and would not attempt to conceal the result of a mortal struggle. If Robert of Stramen fell by his hand, it must have been in fair combat; and if in a fair tilt, there is no motive for concealment."

"But the circumstances are strong enough to amount to conviction in an angry brother's eyes. A woman, who has since lost her mind, named Bertha, her father, and her husband, all swore to have seen Sir Albert ride away from the spot a short time before the body was found; and the scarf of the Lord of Hers was clutched convulsively in the dead man's hand. The wound upon the head resembled that produced by hurling a mace, and was of such a character that the head could not have been protected by any steel piece. I do not consider this conclusive against the Lord of Hers, or even incapable of explanation; but real and unequivocal guilt itself could not justify the untiring malignity of the Baron of Stramen. His brother's soul would be much better honored by his prayers, than by imprecations and the clash of steel; we cannot avenge the dead, for their bodies are dust, and their souls absorbed in things eternal; and Sandrit de Stramen is but making his brother's misfortune the occasion of his own temporal, and perhaps eternal injury. I wish, indeed, this criminal work of vengeance could be stopped."