Chapter XX · THE ASSAULT.

Milan was in mortal fear. The colossal form of the monstrous machine approached still nearer to the doomed city. The streets were filled with an anxious crowd of women, children, and men-at-arms, all pressing with hurried steps to the scene of danger. From every door rushed the alarmed citizens, buckling their armor as they ran. Wagons filled with caldrons of pitch and boiling oil, creeked as they labored slowly forward, and the shouts of the leaders, the orders of the consuls, and the continued challenge of the sentinels, completed the wild and confused tumult. And still the tower moved slowly on.

The garrison, to repel the attack, brought forward two large machines, which threw stone balls and heavy missiles, and four smaller ones, called catapults, which were to rain stones and arrows upon the besiegers. From the summit of the walls the enemy could be distinguished moving from their camp, in four bodies, and impatiently awaiting the orders to rush forward to the support of the Saxon banner. The city walls were lined with crossbow-men and archers, ready to fire into the loopholes of the town as soon as it should be within range. In the open space between the houses and the ramparts, the noblemen and civic guard were drawn up, ready for the moment when the drawbridges should be lowered and the fight become general. Everything was conducted in an orderly manner, each man knew his duty. The women and children had disappeared; on their knees, in the churches, they were seeking the aid of Heaven in the strife which was so soon to begin.

All the machines were ready to commence their work of destroying the town. The two largest were loaded with stones, so large that it required the united strength of four men to lift them; and fires were lighted, at intervals along the wall, on which were placed huge iron vessels filled with oil and pitch.

Still the tower advanced. Its motive power could not be seen, and it was a terrible spectacle, this enormous giant creeping silently along, as though impelled by the breath of a demon.

From within could be distinguished the dull grating of the machinery, and from the loopholes peered the fierce faces of the German archers as they discharged a cloud of arrows upon the besieged.

Anselmo, the chief of the Milanese artillery, an old man, still vigorous, with bold features and a quick eye, examined the tower carefully, as it neared the walls. The troops, watchful of the least movement of their leader Oberto, were ready to act; but if Anselmo's skill did not succeed in destroying the tower, they felt that the city would be taken.

"Let go the catapults!" cried Anselmo, his eyes always fixed upon the machine.

The order was immediately executed, and the old man stepped back to judge of the effect. There was a deep silence, and all gazed anxiously upon the stern visage of their leader, as he touched the spring of the engine. There was a violent shock and a cloud of stones dashed full upon the front of the tower; but the hay and brushwood, with which it was bordered, broke the force of the concussion. A second discharge was attended with a like result.

"By my holy patron saint!" cried Anselmo, shaking his head, "the jade is solid. If four hundred weight of stone have no more effect than a shower of snow-balls, we have little chance of escaping Barbarossa's companions. However, let us try again."

A larger stone was brought forward and put into the catapult; a moment after it whistled through the air and struck heavily against the tower, but without producing any impression.

"It is useless to try," said Anselmo; "the devil himself must have built that tower!"

"Would it not be advisable," said Nigri, "to arrange the smaller machines for the reception of the stormers, as we cannot prevent the assault?"

"Let go the catapults!" interrupted Anselmo.

But it was all in vain, the advance of the machine could not be checked; and the garrison turned their attention to the smaller engines, which were filled with missiles of every kind, and to the pitch and boiling oil, which was to be poured upon the enemy as he clambered up the walls.

"Attention! hold everything in readiness!" said Anselmo; "mix well the tow with the oil and pitch. Be lively, boys! take care that your casks be filled."

Already, severe fighting was going on, in the open space between the tower and the walls. On both sides bolts and arrows flew unceasingly, and wherever a head appeared at a loophole it became a target for the archers. Germans and Milanese had both suffered severely, for the arrows and stones penetrated through every opening.

"Those Milanese fight very gallantly," said Henry the Lion, as an arrow struck his helmet. "We have already lost fifty men in the tower."

"The foul fiend seize this style of battle!" said Otho of Wittelsbach, who awaited, with impatience, the moment when the tower should close upon the walls.

"We shall encounter worthy adversaries, Count," replied Henry. "They are loading their engines in our honor!--I only trust that the fire may not ruin the tower! The Milanese are skilful artificers."

"Upon my honor, as soon as we are on their walls, they may burn it and welcome," said Otho.

The scene soon began to change; the Milanese had covered their ramparts with boiling pitch, and had lighted a fire at the spot where Henry designed to halt the tower, while barrels filled with burning tow were rolled over on the heads of the assailants.

"Forward now!" cried Anselmo. "Get ready the fireballs!" and he rushed to where the smaller machines were raining a cloud of projectiles upon the drawbridges.

The battle now raged fiercely. The burning tow balls had communicated their fire to the machine, the top of which was in flames; the Germans worked diligently to keep the conflagration in check, until they should be close enough to sally out upon the bridges, while the Milanese with locked shields and drawn swords awaited the attack.

For a moment there was a deathlike silence, and then the bridges fell, and Henry of Saxony and Otho de Wittelsbach, followed by their troops in good order, sprang upon the ramparts. They were resolutely met. Otho had one foot upon the wall, but he was driven back; and though his blows made large gaps in the ranks of the enemy in this fierce hand-to-hand encounter, their places were filled at once with new combatants. The Lion raged, and although a foeman went down at every thrust of his heavy sword, he was still upon the bridge, and could not advance a step upon the rampart. The tower was now in flames, and a cloud of projectiles darkened the air already black with smoke from the burning resin. Still the struggle went on, and many a German knight and Lombard noble fell to rise no more.

Henry and Otho fought on; but in vain: their efforts were powerless to break the wall of steel which the brave Milanese opposed to their assailants. So far, the combat had continued without any decided advantage; for, although they could hold their enemy in check, the citizens were unable to drive him from his position. The image of their patron saint waved proudly above them, and the cry of "Saint Ambrose to the rescue!" rang through the air.

In the midst of the tumult were heard shouts of defiance and of cheer.

"Brothers, think of your liberty! Death to the tyrant!" shouted Pietro Nigri, who was fighting in the foremost ranks.

"For Church and Country! Death to Barbarossa!" cried another voice.

"Death to the traitors! Death to the rebels!" thundered Otho of Wittelsbach, cutting down an adversary at every blow.

The battle became more desperate, and the ground was covered with the bodies of the dead and wounded, whose blood mingled with the boiling oil. Fresh troops came up from the besiegers' camp, anxious to take part in the conflict. The tower was now burning fiercely, and to the cries of the soldiers and the clash of swords and cuirasses, were added the groans of the dying and the crackling of the flames, which issued from every loophole, fit ornaments to this bloody tragedy.

"Back! back!" was heard on all sides; "the bridge is on fire!".

But, though like burning serpents the flames were twisting themselves around the frail passage, although many of the soldiers had retreated from the melée, Henry of Saxony, the Count Palatine, and a few other knights still held their ground. Careless of the enemy in their rear, they gallantly fought onward towards the city. It was in vain; the courage of the besieged increased with the danger. A horrible crackling noise was heard; the tower had commenced to give way, and was sinking. Then those who were on the bridge lost their last hope; an instant more, and all would be lost, for already it was wrapped in flames.

At this moment, the consul Oberto, a white flag in his hand, sprang forward upon the ramparts, and, as the shrill blast of a trumpet pealed out,--

"Valiant knights! noble gentlemen!" he cried; "cease this fearful strife! We value courage, even among our foes; the burning ground is giving way beneath your feet; lower your weapons, and return peacefully to your camp."

From this act of generosity there was no appeal. Henry sheathed his sword, and retired. An instant after, the bridge gave way, and then the tower shooting up one vast column of fire, tottered and fell.

The fight cost the besiegers six hundred men, and the Milanese loss was equally heavy; but it had proved one thing, at least, to Barbarossa,--that Milan could not be taken by assault.