Henry himself, the eagle
of the Empire waving in the dim streets beside the flag that displayed
the simple column in a plain field. It is not hard to hear and see it
all again--the clanging gallop of armoured knights, princes, nobles and
bishops, with visors down, and long swords and maces in their hands, the
high, fierce cries of the light-armed footmen, the bowmen and the
slingers, the roar of the rabble rout behind, the shrill voices of women
at upper windows, peering down for the face of brother, husband, or
lover in the dashing press below,--the dust, the heat, the fierce June
sunshine blazing on broad steel, and the deep, black shadows putting out
all light as the bands rush past. Then, on a sudden, the answering shout
of the Orsini, the standard of the Bear, the Bourbon lilies of Anjou,
the scarlet and white colours of the Guelph house, the great black
horses, and the dark mail--the enemies surging together in the street
like swift rivers of loose iron meeting in a stone channel, with a
rending crash and the quick hammering of steel raining desperate blows
on steel--horses rearing their height, footmen crushed, knights reeling
in the saddle, sparks flying, steel-clad arms and long swords whirling
in great circles through the air. Foremost of all in fight the Bishop of
Liege, his purple mantle flying back from his corselet, trampling down
everything, sworn to win the barricade or die, riding at it like a
madman, forcing his horse up to it over the heaps of quivering bodies
that made a causeway, leaping it alone at last, like a demon in air, and
standing in the thick of the Orsini, slaying to right and left.

In an instant they had him down and bound and prisoner, one man against
a thousand; and they fastened him behind a man-at-arms, on the crupper,
to take him into Sant' Angelo alive. But a soldier, whose brother he had
slain a moment earlier, followed stealthily on foot and sought the joint
in the back of the armour, and ran in his pike quickly, and killed
him--'whereof,' says the chronicle, 'was great pity, for the Bishop was
a man of high courage and authority.' But on the other side of the
barricade, those who had followed him so far, and lost him, felt their
hearts sink, for not one of them could do what he had done; and after
that, though they fought a whole month longer, they had but little hope
of ever getting to the Vatican. So the Colonna took Henry up to the
Lateran, where they were masters, and he was