At the time of the battle of the Elster, this pious defender of the Faith was sorely pressed by the Lombards, who sided with the emperor.  The imperial troops had gained a victory at Mantua, which revived the drooping royal cause.

When Gilbert de Hers parted from his father and friends, he turned his horse’s head to Matilda’s camp.  The partisans of the heroic princess took little notice of the nameless knight who came among them without follower or page, and whose shield was simply blazoned with an azure cross.  He was silent and reserved, shrinking from observation and mirth, and either engaged in meditation or prayer.

The gloomy aspect of the future was also capable of furnishing the youth with sufficient food for reflection.  The death of Rodolph spread consternation over Saxony and Suabia:  both circles were crippled by internal dissensions, and unable to profit by their victory.  Inspired by this, and by his rival’s death, and encouraged by the attitude and successes of the Lombards, Henry meditated an invasion of Italy, and the conquest of Rome itself.  He reorganized a powerful army, and penetrated Lombardy, leaving Frederick of Hohenstaufen to hold Suabia in check, while Saxony was convulsed by the rival schemes of Otto and Herman.

Never before had the Holy See seemed in such imminent danger.  England and France looked coldly on, and the emperor of the East sympathized with his brother of Austria.

Gregory alone awaited the storm calm and fearless, relying upon the sacredness and justice of his cause, neither dismayed nor discouraged by the fickle course of human events.  He deplored the spirit which arrayed itself against truth, but he found in the recollection of the trials of the Apostles and their successors abundant consolation for himself and his friends.  Florence, Padua, Cremona, Milan had fallen before the Austrian invader.  Lucca swelled the triumphs of the tyrant.  Fortress after fortress was wrested from Matilda; Henry sat down before the gates of Rome at last, in the plains of Nero and opposite the fortress of St. Peter.  Yet the sublime Pontiff displayed no symptom of uneasiness, though half of Europe was against him.

Gilbert’s first impulse was to fly to Rome, but the approaches to the city were all in possession of the enemy.  The noble Matilda could ill spare a good lance, and the Romans then displayed so much resolution and gallantry, that the German army was repulsed in every assault.  To the young knight’s heart, wounded by the siege of Rome and misfortunes of Matilda, the tidings of the reconciliation at home were like a sweet balsam.  And though the blessed intelligence was blended with the account of the Lady Margaret’s death, it was not the less welcome.  Gilbert had long since ceased to regard the Lady Margaret with human love.  He revered her as one sacred to heaven, upon whom death had already set the seal of eternity, and, far from weeping over her early grave, he exulted at her triumphant flight to the judgment-seat of God.