The horizon grew darker and darker--the Pope more winning, more eloquent, more determined. Matilda did not fail him in this crisis. The knight of the azure cross had already won the confidence of the princess by his valor, his prudence, and his piety, and she now selected him as the instrument of her generosity. She pointed to a large amount of silver, saying that she intrusted him with the dangerous and difficult duty of conveying it to Gregory. Gilbert gladly accepted the perilous commission. He loaded a number of mules with the treasure, concealed beneath vegetables, and disguising himself as a peasant, took a guide and set out for Rome. During a dark and stormy night he contrived to pierce the hostile lines and enter the city by the Lateran gate.

Gilbert found the Pope seated in the midst of an a.s.sembly. He could at last feast his eyes upon the wonderful and sainted man whom he had all his life loved and venerated. When the Pontiff rose and spoke of the virtue and fort.i.tude that ought to sustain them in this crisis, he seemed endowed with supernatural power, and moved all present to tears.

It seemed as though his soul foreknew it was the last time his voice should be raised in defence of his grand and holy cause.

Another year pa.s.sed by; the festival of Easter was approaching. Henry was meditating a return to Germany, when a deputation of the citizens arrived in his camp, offering to surrender the capital. The Lateran gate was opened, and the imperial army began to enter the city. The Roman soldiers, finding themselves betrayed, flew to arms, and Gilbert de Hers was once more contending with the warriors he had met at Fladenheim and the Elster. G.o.dfrey de Bouillon fell wounded before the desperate resolution of the besieged, and as he was brought to his knee, vowed a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. But, outnumbered and confused, the defenders were driven into the citadel, and Henry, with his queen at his side, entered in triumph. The next day Guibert of Ravenna was installed in the Lateran palace in the See of St. Peter, and consecrated on the twenty-fourth of March, by the bishops of Modena and Arezzo. His first act was to crown King Henry in the Vatican. Gregory retired to the castle of San Angelo, and the giddy populace greeted the anti-pope with shouts of joy. A severe chastis.e.m.e.nt awaited their perfidy and inconstancy. Robert Guiscard was advancing with thirty thousand infantry and six thousand cavalry, and Henry fled before the redoubtable prince, whom he had provoked by an alliance with Alexis, the Emperor of the East. Abandoned by Henry, who had returned to Austria, the treacherous Romans barred their gates. Robert asked admission, but in vain; and his irritated soldiers forced their way at midnight through the Flaminian gate. The city was crimsoned with flame and sword. A body of Saracens formed part of the Norman's army, and their fury knew no bounds. From three points of the city the flames were streaming. Scarce could the Papal guards preserve a portion of the churches from pillage and destruction. St. Sylvester's and St. Lawrence were wrapped in fire, and the basilicas, from the quarter of Lateran to the Coliseum, were involved in the red ruin. For three days the conqueror raged like a lion in the capital of the Christian world. The frenzied people again attempted resistance, and again the streets ran with their blood. When, gorged with slaughter and booty, the ferocious conquerors had evacuated the city, Gregory and his attendants reentered Rome and occupied the Lateran palace. He lingered in the venal city only long enough to convoke a council and renew his anathemas against Henry and Guibert, and then retired to Monte Ca.s.sino.

Gilbert was not permitted to accompany the Pontiff to his retreat, but was dispatched to Matilda with an account of all that had occurred. He found the magnanimous princess threatened by an army more than treble her own. But she was undismayed and full of hope, meditating a bold enterprise that was crowned with success. In the dead of the night, when the imperialists, secure in their numerical superiority, were plunged in sleep, she led the remnants of her troops into the hostile camp. The sleepers awoke to the cry of "St. Peter! St. Peter!" and perished ere they could grasp their arms. The chivalry and n.o.bility of Lombardy were well-nigh exterminated. In a few hours, corpses and tents alone remained of the hostile array. Why should not Sorbara be as magical a word as Thermopylae? It _would_ be, if the Christian chroniclers had shared the pride or shown the polish of Grecian historians, and if modern Christians felt a Grecian enthusiasm for the deeds of their Christian ancestors. Matilda differed from Leonidas but in one respect--in surviving the action and remaining victor on the field.

Some days after the battle, Gilbert was summoned into Matilda's presence.

"I owe you more," she said, "than I can ever repay. Your former voluntary services and fidelity are enhanced by your brilliant exploits in this last victory. Be pleased to style yourself Governor of Modena."

Gilbert advanced a step, and sinking upon one knee, replied:

"Madam, I came to share in your generous devotion to our common Father, and to a.s.sist you as best I could. You are now--thanks to your own valor--victorious and secure. I must decline your bounty, for from this moment I renounce the soldier. Here is my sword, madam; since Rome and you no longer require it, I shall not need it; nowhere would I more willingly resign it than thus at your feet."

As the morning dawned, Gilbert de Hers, accompanied by a troop of horse, set out for Monte Ca.s.sino.

Gregory had retired to Salerno, where he pa.s.sed his days in the contemplation of heavenly things, and in reading the lives of the Saints and ecclesiastical history. Gilbert soon heard of his increasing weakness. The sun that had poured its light over the world, despite the mists and clouds of error and vice, was setting at last. How his dying words bespeak the Saint: "My best-loved friends, I count my labors nothing. That which gives me confidence is the consciousness of having loved justice and hated iniquity!" When his a.s.sistants, groaning in anguish, adverted to their desolate condition after his death, he raised his arms to heaven, exclaiming, "I will ascend there, and plead your cause before a G.o.d supremely good!"

On the twenty-fifth of May, 1085, were uttered those memorable words that smote the forehead of guilty Europe as if with a burning hand: "I have loved justice and hated iniquity--therefore I die in exile."

Years pa.s.sed by. Peace smiled once more in the lordships of Hers and Stramen. A new dwelling had risen from the ashes of Stramen Castle. The Church of the Nativity was repaired, and again rose in beauty over the faithful who flocked there to worship. Yet there was a stranger priest at the altar, and often after Ma.s.s the people would gather around a marble slab just before the altar, on which was written:

"_Credo quod Redemptor meus vivit._"

This was the tomb of Father Omehr; his epitaph was written and treasured in the hearts of all who knew him, and, transmitted from sire to son, required no foreign chisel to deepen the impression upon the living tablet.

The Lords of Stramen and Hers were often together, and were beloved by their va.s.sals for their uniform courtesy and charity. Their hairs were whitening, and when Sir Sandrit walked to the churchyard he leaned upon Henry's arm.

Years pa.s.sed by. Henry IV, worn down by misfortune and the rebellion of his eldest son, for his own offspring held up the poisoned chalice to his lips, had followed his sainted antagonist to the eternal tribunal, and his body had been cast out as excommunicated from its sepulchre. The male line of the Franconian emperors had expired in Henry V; Lothaire of Saxony, a zealous champion of Rome, had been raised to the throne. Time was revealing that Gregory VII was triumphant even in death, for the right of invest.i.ture was conceded to the Pope, and the celibacy of the clergy strictly enforced.

The Lords of Stramen and Hers were sleeping with their fathers. The hill on which the Pilgrim's Chapel stood was no longer crowned with a castle, but with a monastery occupied by Benedictine monks. The whole lordship of Hers was blooming under their munificent administration. Humbert, whose long locks had now seen eighty winters, still lived at the foot of the hill, surrounded by a goodly number of stalwart sons and fair-haired daughters. And sometimes in the long winter evenings, when the fire sparkled brightly and the old man was garrulous with joy, he would tell how he once entered a hostile castle as a minnesinger with a n.o.ble lover, and how the knight defied the angry father. Yet he never revealed that this knight was the generous abbot who now supplied them with the means of innocent mirth, who ministered to all their wants, and whose life was so meek and blameless. For Gilbert de Hers was abbot in the cells that had once been the halls of his sires.

And one word, reader. It was not after the Lady Margaret's death that he embraced the resolution of dedicating himself to G.o.d, but on the battle-field of the Elster, and over the corpse of Rodolph of Suabia.

He had proved his sincerity in the wars of Matilda, and when he quitted the princess for Monte Ca.s.sino, it was to a.s.sume the habit of the novice.

One bright afternoon in the fall of 1126, two aged men were walking arm-in-arm toward the Church of the Nativity. One was attired as a Benedictine, the other as a knight. They stopped at the church and before a cl.u.s.ter of tombs. On one of the slabs was carved a Greek cross with a single tear under it, and beneath the tear the words:

"_O crux sancta adjuva nos._"

It was the resting-place of the Lady Margaret, between the graves of her father and mother. The monk and the knight knelt down and prayed. As they rose, the bells of the church announced the close of day, and ushered in the TRUCE OF G.o.d.

With their bosoms heaving with recollections of the past, Gilbert of Hers and Henry of Stramen went into the church where fifty years before they had met in youth and enmity, and they knelt together beside the grave of Father Omehr, with their hearts full of tenderness and hope and love, while the sun of ancient Suabia was setting, and the bells poured forth their silvery peal.

THE END