The truce of God: A tale of the eleventh century

by George H. Miles

"I am called Gilbert de Hers," replied the youth, imitating his example.

"There," cried the Lord of Hohenstaufen, throwing down his glove, "wear that for me, and say for Frederick of Hohenstaufen, that he rarely coped with better knight."

At these words, the giant mounted a horse which a groom had brought him through the fray, and, waving an adieu, wheeled off to another part of the field. Gilbert raised the gage and fastened it in his casque. There was a strong tumult in the young noble's heart. In spite of his impulsive disposition, he was never so calm as when in danger. Though sharing the intense excitement of the battle-field, he was not carried away by the frenzy of the strife. Though the praises of an illustrious enemy were sounding in his ears, he felt little of the exultation which such a circumstance might naturally impart. He had rescued the Baron of Stramen from imminent peril; but though the Lady Margaret's image had been before him through the horror and glory of the day, it was only for a moment that he thrilled at the prospect of a relenting father. His interview with Rodolph had sunk deep into his soul, and not even the pomp and terror of war could blot from his mind the contemplation of the king and his solemn language. He knew not why, but he could scarce withdraw his eyes from the snow-white crest, which, still unwearied, hung upon the now retiring columns of the foe. The Count Rapatho had already fallen before the fiery Rodolph, and the Te Deum was hushed as the mangled corpse was brought into Henry's camp.

Nor was Otto of Nordheim less successful. At the head of the Saxon infantry, he had routed the legions of Franconia, and had driven numbers into the deep and rapid river. Fruitlessly did Henry endeavor to preserve his array and keep his ground: he was routed at every point. The Saxons, now certain of victory, would have fallen upon and pillaged the camp. But Otto was too old a warrior to throw caution aside because of a partial success. "Wait a moment!" was all the veteran said, as he checked their appetite for plunder; and the wisdom of his advice was soon made evident. Henry de Laca, Count Palatine of the Rhine, began to menace his rear. The troops of the count were fresh, and had been proved in former trials. As they advanced with the rapidity and steadiness of veterans, singing the Kyrie eleison, they seemed well able to retrieve the fortunes of the day.

"Another triumph awaits us!" cried Otto; "let us trust in God!"

Without hesitating a moment, the gallant Saxon, with his wonted impetuosity, fell upon the advancing lines, and, though stubbornly resisted for a time, gained at last a complete victory. When the forces of the Palatine of the Rhine had been driven across the Elster, Otto turned to his soldiers, exclaiming:

"Now to the camp, and take the reward of your valor!"

In the meanwhile, the retreat of the Bohemians had turned into a confused flight. Rodolph, in the eagerness of pursuit, had rashly penetrated too far into the flying masses of the foe, who now turned upon the pursuer. Awhile the white crest danced amid hostile helmets and spears—then vanished.

"He is down!" screamed Gilbert, in agony, hewing his way toward the king. Rodolph was alone against a host, while his horse sank up to his knees in the marshy ground. Before succor could arrive, a sword had cloven through the monarch's wrist, and his right hand fell to the ground.

"It is the hand that I raised when swearing allegiance to Henry," muttered Rodolph, bitterly. With tears in his eyes, Gilbert struggled to reach the king, who, unarmed and disabled, drove his steed against the circle that hemmed him in. His crest was gone, and his armor hacked and stained with blood: still fearlessly he bore up against his foes, and seemed to rejoice in the unequal strife. The chivalry of Suabia were spurring fast to the rescue, and Gilbert, now supported by a small band of friends, was almost at his side, when Godfrey de Bouillon charged the king with levelled lance. The steel, impelled by a powerful hand, entered at the groin, and Rodolph, mortally wounded, fell to the ground. The Bohemians uttered a cry of joy at the king's overthrow, for they knew him well by his armor and actions. Their triumph was short-lived, however, for the Suabians, eager to avenge their leader, gave no quarter, and the victorious Saxons had attacked their rear.