The monk had heard of the ban resting upon the castle, and when the lady implored him to celebrate mass and hear confession, from which she had already been barred a year and a day, he became embarrassed. “I dare not violate the stern decree of the Church. You know you have no right to ask for any of its sacred offices, and I have no right to perform them,” was his answer.
“Can I not enter the chapel just once, for brief devotion? It would not be wrong for you to pray for me. I can set you free, and it shall be done this very night if you will not refuse me this consolation. The attendant who keeps the watch is a pious soul, and is entirely devoted and obedient to me. At my command he will open the gate and let down the bridge for you.”
At these words the monk’s scruples vanished, for great results depended upon his speedy release. He gladly followed her into the desolate little chapel, which was directly over the dungeon. Half an hour later he breathed the air of freedom and was greeted by the morning star in a cloudless sky. With flying steps he rushed back over the same course he had come, past Mother Ruschen’s wretched inn, and thence through a narrow pass to the highroad which led to Zurich. It was broad daylight when the monk entered the city, but without stopping to rest, he hastened to the shop of Florian Häbli, the smith.
“Why, Arnold!” exclaimed Florian, in surprise at the sudden appearance of the supposed monk. “I have been very anxious about you,” he added. “God be praised that you are safe back from your daring journey. I did not expect you so soon.”
“I have not been far,” replied Arnold. “A thunder storm drove me to an inn on the way, and there I learned all the plans of the Duke without the trouble of going to Baden. I have been very fortunate. I will tell you the rest another time. Now procure me a fast steed while I take off this mummery and leave it with you. I must summon all our people back from Thurgau. Every hour’s delay is dangerous. The fate of the League hangs upon a hair.”
Chapter IX
Winkelried’s Heroic Death
On the eighth of July, Duke Leopold appeared before the little city of Sempach with fourteen hundred knights and horsemen and several thousand foot-soldiers. He pitched his camp at the edge of a forest on a height facing the city. Before subduing Lucerne, he had resolved to teach Sempach a terrible lesson and punish it for its rebellious spirit. For use in the forthcoming attack he had brought with him huge machines, the first to throw heavy missiles. Partly to find a place where they could be set up, and partly to cut off the supplies of the besieged, he sent his infantry to drive off the peasants, after compelling them to cut their ripening corn. The nobles took great delight in mistreating the harvesters and jeering at the besieged. Veit of Mörsperg would ride up to the walls and contemptuously order them to bring out breakfast for the harvesters; and Jörgel would point to the loaded wagons, with the threat that all of them should be hanged.
How those in Thurgau learned Duke Leopold’s plans is no secret to the reader. They quickly left for their menaced homes, marched day and night, and on the way were assured of the good-will of Zug, Glarus, and other places. On the morning of July ninth they reached a wood, called the Meierholz, and there occupied a strong position. Just as Duke Leopold had issued orders for the attack upon Sempach to begin in earnest, he was surprised by the news of the arrival of the Confederates, whom he supposed to be far away from there. He called a council of war to decide whether battle should be given at once or be deferred. The older and more experienced knights, who knew the courage and iron resolution of the Confederates, voted for the latter plan, and advised the Duke first of all to get into communication with Bonstetten’s division. The young hot-heads outvoted them, however, and the Duke made the fatal decision to give battle at once. He took up his position on a piece of meadow land, gently sloping toward Sempach. At the request of those knights who were so certain of victory, and who wanted to secure the honor of the day for themselves alone, the foot-soldiers were placed in the rear near the baggage trains. The larger part of the horsemen were formed in three divisions, and as each came into action they were to dismount and fight on foot. The first of these divisions was formed in a square, twenty or thirty ranks deep, and armed with harpoon-shaped spears, about five metres in length, so arranged that one overlapped the next, thus apparently making the square impenetrable.
It was now midday. The sun beat fiercely down upon the heavily armored knights. Some in the middle ranks fainted; some died from suffocation. In all other ways the Austrian position was advantageous, for they occupied the higher point and could hurl themselves down upon the enemy. The Confederates, fearing the arrival of Bonstetten, rested a brief spell in the Meierholz and then advanced for immediate attack. They were between fifteen and sixteen hundred strong and were armed with swords, pikes, and halberds. Their leader, Schultheiss of Gundoldingen, formed them in wedge shape, the point toward the enemy. In this order they fell upon their knees and implored divine help. The haughty knights, supposing that they were begging for mercy, taunted them. They soon discovered their mistake, for hardly had they risen to their feet, before they rushed forward with a mighty shout and the fearful blasts of their battle-horns. The Lucerners formed the point of the wedge and attempted to force a way through the enemy, but the Austrians stood as immovable as a wall, helm to helm, mail to mail, shield to shield, and between the shields a forest of spears, which resisted the attack. The Urners next advanced. “Break down their spears; they are hollow!” shouted their leader; but the broken spears were replaced by those behind them, and the Urners gave way as the Lucerners had done. The brave Schwyzers fared no better, and in falling back suffered severe loss from the showers of arrows shot at them from behind hedges and bushes.
The knights felt sure of victory, and the Confederates were losing confidence. More than sixty of their bravest, among them their leader, were lying dead on the field; the knights had not yet lost a man, and their position remained unbroken. Every one in the Confederate ranks realized that it was a critical moment, and none more fully than Arnold of Winkelried, who led the men of the Nidwald. A decision must be made instantly, or Confederate blood would be uselessly shed and the fruits of the glorious victory of Morgarten would be wasted. Thus thought Arnold, and he made the decision at once. There are things more important than life. He had not shrunk from the poisonous breath of the plague. He had looked death in the face countless times in foreign wars. The time had now come for him to offer himself up for freedom and the fatherland.