The truce of God: A tale of the eleventh century

by George H. Miles

"But how can I thank you for—"

"Thank that generous priest and that noble girl!" said Rodolph, interrupting the youth; "I ran no risk in interposing: the Baron of Stramen was but cancelling an old debt; I intercepted a battle-axe that was descending upon him at Hohenburg, and I asked mercy for you, in requital."

After a long interview, the duke and Albert of Hers resolved to assemble the chiefs of the ducal party at Ulm, and to fix the fifteenth of October for a general meeting, at Tribur, of all who would take up arms against the king.

While the Lord of Hers was engaged in persuading the Duke of Bohemia and the bishops of Würtzburg and Worms to repair to Ulm without delay, Gilbert was polishing his armor and exercising his barb. The stirring spirit of the times, the approaching honors of knighthood, with a golden chance of winning his spurs, assisted in diverting his mind from a melancholy contemplation of the hopelessness of his love. But even when brandishing his stout lance, or wheeling his good war-horse, he would hear those withering words: "The grave will anticipate her choice!" followed by the fatal echo which came from her own lips, in solemn confirmation of the prophecy: "My days are numbered here!" Nor could the dazzling dreams of young ambition shut out the still more delicious sight of the Lady Margaret, now kneeling before the Mater Dolorosa, now appealing to him with the pure emotion and wondrous beauty of an Angel, and now clinging to her father between him and the battle-axe.

While the stern Sandrit de Stramen was preparing his vassals for the impending strife, and literally converting the scythe into the sword—while he spared no expense or trouble in supplying his men with arms and horses, all gayly decorated to make a gallant show at Tribur—while the sturdy yeomen were leaving their ploughs in the field to pay their rent by the service of shield and sword—the Lady Margaret, uninfluenced by the war-like bustle, calmly pursued her meditations, her daily visits to the church, and her numberless acts of charity. She had a delicate and difficult duty to perform in soothing the proud mind of her brother, stung to the quick by his unlucky encounter with Gilbert. The young knight of Stramen was panting for an opportunity to retrieve his misfortune and wipe out his fancied disgrace. When in conversation with his sister, to whom he would outpour his passionate impulses, he pledged himself over and over again to bring the daring stripling to his knee, who had dared to insult her in his absence. To his fiery threats, Margaret would offer no direct opposition, for she feared to awaken an easily excited suspicion that she sympathized far too warmly with the culprit. This suspicion would have paralyzed her influence. She contented herself with pointing out the impossibility of settling a domestic quarrel at the present moment, and the imperative duty of considering rather the public weal than the gratification of a private inclination. And at times, when Henry appeared more tractable, and when, moved by her tender affection and earnest discourse, he exhibited a disposition more closely resembling her own, she would suggest what a nobler and better revenge it would be to seek an opportunity of saving Gilbert's life in the coming struggle. Henry's chivalrous nature was easily attracted by this suggestion, and he determined to prove his superiority over his rival, before attempting his ultimate revenge.

Father Omehr's duties increased as the fifteenth of October approached. The yeomen and vassals of Stramen recked little of their bodies, but they cared not to peril their souls. They feared not to expose their breasts to the arrow and lance, and to meet the powerful war-horse with unflinching spear; but they were solicitous, at the same time, to purify their hearts for the mortal struggle. This wise precaution indicates no craven spirit, for he who fears eternity the most, fears death the least. The good missionary beheld with a mournful eye the preparations everywhere making for a struggle apparently inevitable. He shared not in the ambition of Rodolph or the ardor of his barons; and he bitterly lamented the dire necessity which compelled blessed peace to disappear beneath the withering breath of war. Yet war seemed to be the unavoidable result of the excommunication, and the action of the Pope was necessary to preserve the purity and liberty of the Church. Deeply as he deplored the present crisis, he exclaimed, "Thy will, O God, be done! We have done what seemed to be our duty, be the consequences what they may!"

The empire was thus divided into two great parties. At first the partisans of the king were much more numerous and powerful, but their strength was daily diminishing, as conscience began to operate upon some, and fear upon others. The most marked and appalling chastisement was overtaking the fiercest calumniators of the Pope. It happened that, on a certain festival, the Bishop William, in the presence of the king, interrupted the Mass by a violent denunciation of the Pope, in which he called him an adulterer and false apostle, and assailed him with bitter raillery. Hardly had the ceremonies been concluded before the episcopal slanderer was struck down with a fatal malady. In the midst of the most excruciating torments of mind and body, he turned to the minions of Henry who surrounded him, and cried: "Go, tell the king, that he, and I, and all who have connived at his guilt, are lost for eternity!" The clerks at his bedside conjured him not to rave in that manner; but he replied, "And why shall I not reveal what is clear to my soul? Behold the demons clinging to my couch, to possess themselves of my soul the moment it leaves my body. I entreat you—you, and all the faithful, not to pray for me after my death!" With this he died in despair. The same day, the cathedral of Utrecht, in which he had preached, and the royal pavilion, were suddenly consumed by fire from heaven. Burchard, Bishop of Misne, Eppo of Ceitz, Henry of Spire, and the Duke Gazelon, were successively the victims of sudden and fatal misfortunes. Whatever may be the impression produced at the present day, it is certain that these examples and a great number of others, struck terror into the partisans of the king, and many prelates and priests threw themselves at the feet of the Pope and renounced their errors. Thus, Udo, Archbishop of Trèves, repaired all penitent to Rome, and Herman of Metz began to waver in his hitherto steady fidelity to Henry.

While these causes were sapping the imperial power, Henry was unexpectedly menaced from another quarter. The two sons of Count Geron, William and Thiery, who had for some time secretly cherished the hope of regaining the lost freedom of their country, saw in the present confusion the moment for which they had sighed. They raised the standard of revolt, and were soon at the head of a band of young and noble chieftains, whose intrepid bearing and dauntless confidence inspired the nation with the desire and the hope of liberty. The escape of the two Saxon princes from Henry's hands and their arrival in Saxony gave an irresistible impulse to the movement, and the whole circle, animated by the same spirit, rose haughtily to throw off the heavy yoke, never patiently endured.

Rodolph lost not a moment in concentrating his forces and in profiting by this new defection. He had already secured the powerful assistance of Berthold of Carinthia and Welf of Bavaria, and could now oppose to the emperor the formidable league of Suabia, Carinthia, Bavaria, and a portion of Lombardy. His policy evidently was to conciliate the Saxons, and he deemed their impiety sufficiently chastised at Hohenburg. He took care to assure them that so far from having anything to apprehend from his opposition to their enterprise, they might rely upon his assistance and countenance.

Henry had long affected a contempt for the anathemas of Gregory and an unconcern he was far from feeling; but this formidable coalition burst the shell of his apathy and laid bare his uneasiness. He supplicates his nobles in the disaffected provinces to meet him at Mayence; but his earnest prayers are disregarded. Finding his advances indignantly rejected by the princes of Upper Germany, and seeing that his prelates were rapidly deserting him, he addresses himself to the task of conciliating the Saxons. He employs every artifice to excite Otto of Nordheim against the two sons of Geron—menacing Otto's own sons, whom he held as hostages, in case the father refused. But the noble Saxon replied, that he would stand or fall by his country. Though signally foiled in all his schemes, Henry was still at the head of a numerous and veteran army, and he boldly advanced upon the marches of the Misne, to give battle to the sons of Geron. The Saxons did not wait an attack, but sallied forth to meet the monarch. The Mulda, swollen with the recent rains, alone separated the hostile armies, when the king, seized with a sudden panic, ordered a hasty retreat, and fell back upon Worms, where he gave himself up to a lively regret and the gloomiest forebodings.