Chapter LIII · BARBAROSSA IN ROME.

Alexander was in safety at Gaeta before his flight was discovered by the Romans. Frederic's anger knew no bounds.

"He has succeeded, after all, in eluding your guards and your Brabançons," he said to Rinaldo, who communicated the fact to him.

"If we were unable to seize the Pope in Rome, we shall be more successful at Beneventon or Naples," replied the Chancellor. "It is probably a piece of good luck by which not only Alexander but also his champion, King William, will together swell the triumph of the Roman Emperor."

The news spread rapidly through the city, and a thousand details were added, all in favor of the Pope's sanctity. Some even asserted that he had penetrated unseen the line of sentinels, and that Guerrazzi had perceived and tried to seize him, but had been thrown by invisible hands into the Tiber. As he was going, added the crowd, the Holy Father had fulminated the anathema against Barbarossa, and had called down the vengeance of Heaven upon the head of the wicked Emperor, while a flash of lightning had pierced the clouds, announcing the most dire misfortunes.

These marvels were related everywhere, and acquired additional credit from their very circulation.

Frederic determined to make his triumphal entry into Rome on the 3d of August, when he and Beatrice would be crowned in the Church of St Peter, and receive the allegiance of the inhabitants. It was necessary that Frederic should enter Rome with becoming pomp, and immense preparations were being made for the reception. St. Peter's Square and its vicinity was profusely decked with flags, and flowers, and laurel crowns; and tall poles, hung with streamers and appropriate emblems, were set up in all the streets through which the procession was to pass. Frederic had announced three days of popular festivity, during which he was to appear in public, robed in the Imperial purple, and dispense his bounties in person. The Romans were favorably disposed; all the avenues were alive with crowds of citizens in their holiday attire, and in each house everything was being made ready for the banquet.

In the army, too, every one was busy; the squires and men-at-arms brightened up their armor and polished their lances and bucklers; in the ecclesiastical quarter, the chaplains were preparing the sumptuous vestments of the prelates, while the nobles were assembled in Council near their sovereign, deeply intent upon the organization of the cavalcade.

Heaven alone appeared unwilling to take part in the festival. Until then the burning sky had diffused a stifling heat, but on the eve of the ceremony heavy clouds began to collect upon the distant horizon, and pile up in dark masses, whence flashed lurid sheets of fire, while the thunder rolled menacingly. Still the air was calm, and scarcely a puff of wind fluttered the gay pennons of the knights. All nature seemed hushed in dread expectancy.

Goswin was seated at his door, watching the darkening sky, and as the weather became more overcast and the lightning blazed more fiercely, he shook his head uneasily.

"Tighten the tent-cords, Bruno," he said, turning to his squire; "we shall have a storm soon."

Hardly was the order given before the tempest burst forth in all its fury. The tents were prostrated or else whirled away by the wind; and on all sides were heard the shouts and cries of the soldiers struggling amidst a deluge of rain to repair the wild confusion.

Fortunately the hurricane was of short duration, and subsided as rapidly as it had arisen; but it seemed as though a threat from Heaven weighed down the army and the city. The lightning had ceased, and the thunder rolled no longer, but the clouds, which had been chasing rapidly through the air, suddenly stopped, as though they had reached their destination, and hung over Rome, gloomy and mournful as a funeral-pall.

Knights and pages looked with apprehension upon this ominous calm. To most it seemed as though the storm was only massing its strength in order the better to destroy all within its reach.

"What a singular tempest!" exclaimed Frederic, who had been driven from his tent by the violence of the gale; "it is as though chaos had come again."

As if in answer to the Emperor, a dazzling flash furrowed the sky, and extended from above the camp to the Eternal City, as though to presage its destruction, and then the lightning again blazed forth, and crash succeeded crash, while the rain poured down in torrents. Then there was a pause, followed by three deafening peals, at regular intervals, and all was still.

The statue of the Archangel no longer guarded the summit of Saint Angelo; the tempest had hurled it from its pedestal. All was wild uproar; and the affrightened soldiers sought shelter where they could from the violence of the storm.

"Woe to us!" they cried; "our last day is at hand; we must all perish in this deluge!"

But although the environs of the city were laid waste, no one was fatally injured, and soon the clouds rolled away, and the stars shone out brightly in the dark azure of the cloudless sky.

During the height of the storm, two soldiers were riding towards the camp, but it was in vain that they spurred on their jaded steeds; the terrified animals tumbled and stood still, as each flash burst forth.

So far as his appearance went, one of these horsemen belonged to the highest rank of the aristocracy; his armor was costly and richly arabesqued in gold, and his helmet bore a Count's coronet; but on the shield the only device was a simple cross, the emblem of the crusaders. His face, half hidden under his casque, was bronzed by the suns of Asia, and his eyes shone brightly, as if he would have defied the fury of the elements. He rode on calmly, with loosened rein, and at times patted his charger's neck, with words of encouragement.

"What is the matter, my good Velox?" he said; "we have braved many a storm before. Courage, good horse, we will soon be there."

On his arrival at camp, the stranger requested to be taken at once to the Imperial tent.

Frederic was seated at a table; before him a parchment was spread out, which he was reading attentively, and occasionally crossing out words and writing marginal notes. He was correcting the sermon which his Pope was to deliver next day in the Church of St. Peter.

A heavy step was heard, and the Emperor looked up, angrily, for he had expressly forbidden all intrusion. But when the curtain of the tent was drawn aside, and a man of tall stature and noble bearing entered, Frederic uttered an exclamation of glad surprise. Throwing down his pen, he sprang forward and caught Rechberg in his arms.

"God be thanked! You are back at last.--Come here, my boy, and let me look at you!" and the Emperor led him to the table. "Why, you have grown to be a man, Erwin! Your eyes glow with the fire of the Eastern sun, and your face has gained a look of energy and resolution."

He again embraced him, and laying aside the sermon, ordered in some refreshments.

"You are wet to the skin, Erwin; change your clothes first," said Frederic. "Why did you travel in this horrible weather?"

"The storm broke upon me suddenly, and as far as I can judge, it has done some damage in the camp. All I need do is to change my surcoat."

The powerful figure of the young man stood out in bold relief before the Emperor, who looked upon him with an expression of almost paternal interest, which softened his stern features.

"How does it happen that we have had no news of you for the last two years?"

"The Infidels captured me while I was asleep, and for eighteen months I have been in a dungeon, with scarcely a hope of release, for the ransom which they demanded was exorbitant."

"I don't blame them," said Frederic, laughing; "you cost them dear enough. All the pilgrims returning from the Holy Land relate marvels of your prowess."

"At last the Knights of the Temple stormed the fortress where I was confined, and delivered me."

"Ah! the Templars!--Valiant warriors! Their courage is wonderful, and their daring amounts wellnigh to rashness; but how did you get back to Europe?"

"On a Norman ship, which landed me at Tarentum."

"Well! you will tell me all your adventures when we have more leisure. I look forward with pleasure to their recital. But you arrived most opportunely for the celebrations of our late victories. We are to crown Pascal to-morrow in the Church of St. Peter."

Rechberg made no answer, but his face wore a pained expression.

"As I have just returned from Palestine," he said, after a brief pause, "I trust, my dear godfather, that you will excuse me from taking part in Pascal's glorification."

"Very good! I understand," exclaimed the Emperor, with a slight frown. "The Crusader is not inclined to recognize our Pope! Well, well, be it so! you shall be entirely free to act in everything which concerns your conscience."

The two kinsmen continued their conversation until a late hour of the night.