"Tell me," said Albert of Hers, addressing Father Omehr, "did not the
Pope revoke his pardon at this evident insincerity?"
"No," was the reply.
"Then, may God forgive me," returned the excited knight, "but the mercy of His Holiness sounds like human folly!"
"It is weakness—cowardice!" muttered the Baron of Stramen.
The missionary smiled at cowardice in connection with the name of
Gregory VII.
A bright smile now began to break over Rodolph's face, and he said, turning to his friends:
"My gallant knights, this is but an expedient of the king's to gain time, he will never confront us at Augsburg. We must prepare for a struggle more desperate than ever, and, before another day, I must set out for Saxony."
The prophecy of the King of Arles was soon verified. For five days after leaving Canossa, Henry kept his oath; on the sixth he broke it, and, with an armed band, prevented the Pope from appearing among the princes at the Diet of Augsburg.
Before another week had passed, the lordships of Hers and Stramen seemed almost deserted. Rodolph had passed into Saxony, to assemble an army there, leaving Welf, the Duke of Bavaria, and the Lord Albert, to collect the forces of Suabia. Rodolph had taken with him the Baron of Stramen, with his son, and Gilbert de Hers. Father Omehr, who had been secretly charged by the Pope to moderate the zeal of the King of Arles, had also followed the duke, commuting his flock and the Lady Margaret to the care of Herman. It was with a heavy heart that Gilbert saw the towers of Stramen fading in the distance, and felt that he was leaving, perhaps forever, a being to whom he was so deeply attached, without a word, a glance, or even a look. He had, however, evinced his solicitude for the Lady Margaret's welfare by solemnly charging Humbert to watch over her in his absence and protect her with his life.
The knights and burghers of Suabia were now assembling at Ulm. Scarce a man could be seen between the Danube and the Lake of Constance: mothers were working in the fields, with their children about them, and here and there some old or infirm vassal was seated at his cabin door. Little did the Lady Margaret dream, as she gazed from her lattice over the beautiful country, dipping down into the river, dotted all over with thriving cottages, from which the quiet smoke of peace was curling—little did she think, as she watched the green fields struggling through the melting snow, and fixed her eyes upon the Church of the Nativity, how soon those Cottages would flame, those fields be red with human gore, and that church be polluted by a hireling soldiery. Little did she think, when praying for the safety of her father and brother, that her own paternal castle would be the first victim of the war.