greeted the anti-pope with shouts of joy.  A severe chastisement 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 Cassino.

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 nobility 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 assist 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.”