Gregory received Rodolph’s envoys with every mark of affection, but dismissed them, saying he could not comply with their request.  The Pontiff’s object was to keep royalty within its legitimate sphere, not to depose a particular king, and he wished to accomplish this with as little bloodshed as possible.  He saw clearly enough that to declare for Rodolph would be to proclaim war to the knife.  He also hoped that Henry would have recourse to his mediation after his defeat.  He was again disappointed.  His very friends now began to desert him, upbraiding him with ingratitude and coldness.  The Saxons addressed him several epistles in which they threatened to abandon him.  But less moved by their threats than their entreaties, the Pontiff accused them of weakness and insolence.  There was another reason sufficient to deter him from confirming the nomination of Rodolph, had none other opposed it.  All Italy, with few exceptions, espoused the cause of Henry, and waited only the pontifical coronation of his rival, to rise in open rebellion.  When the history of the times is carefully studied, it will be confessed that the Pope’s refusal to accede to Rodolph’s request was dictated by the greatest wisdom, enlightened and purified by the greatest virtue and forbearance.

Still hoping to arrest the purple tide of civil war, Gregory despatched legate after legate to Henry, charging them to omit no lawful means to incline the monarch to peace, and induce him to abide by the decision of a diet which should be convened to judge between him and his rival.  This was the pacific adjustment to which the Pontiff looked.  But Henry remained deaf to all these remonstrances, constantly declaring that the sword alone must decide.  He was again at the head of a powerful army, and burned to retrieve the lustre of his arms.  Rodolph, perceiving that another battle was inevitable, prepared for it without delay.  Each king was now in quest of the other.

They met near Fladenheim in Thuringia.  As at Melrichstadt, the allied forces of Suabia and Saxony were drawn up in two divisions under Rodolph and Otto.  The former occupied a steep hill on the bank of a deep stream, which separated the combatants.  Otto with his Saxons was stationed in the van, and was to sustain the attack, while the division of Rodolph was to act as a reserve.  It was a bitter cold day in January, and a thick mist had canopied the river.  Under cover of this, Henry, by a retrograde movement, gained the rear of his adversary.  Rodolph, unconscious of this, was anxiously listening for the din of battle as the fog partially obscured his view.  Gilbert had never seen the new king’s noble brow so calm and unclouded—­he had never seen his eye flash so proudly and joyously, or the same sweet, buoyant smile upon his lips.  But as the hostile army filed out into the plain, and Rodolph found that the enemy he had expected in front was in his rear, a deep frown for a moment dispelled his smiles.  It was only for a moment.  He saw that Henry was now between him and Otto.