The fancy of the chroniclers has surrounded his death with legends, which are worth repeating as curious examples of what mediaeval writers offered and mediaeval readers accepted as history.  One of them tells the story of a naval engagement between Otho and the Greeks, in which the fight was so bitter that the whole sea around the vessels was stained red with blood.  The emperor won the victory, but received a mortal wound.

Another story, which does not trouble itself to sail very close to the commonplace, relates that Otho met his end by being whipped to death on Mount Garganus by the angels, among whom he had imprudently ventured while they were holding a conclave there.  These stories will serve as examples of the degree of credibility of many of the ancient chronicles and the credulity of their readers.

THE FORTUNES OF HENRY THE FOURTH.

At the festival of Easter, in the year 1062, a great banquet was given in the royal palace at Kaiserswerth, on the Rhine.  The Empress Agnes, widow of Henry III., and regent of the empire, was present, with her son, then a boy of eleven.  A pious and learned woman was the empress, but she lacked the energy necessary to control the unquiet spirits of her times.  Gentleness and persuasion were the means by which she hoped to influence the rude dukes and haughty archbishops of the empire, but qualities such as these were wasted on her fierce subjects, and served but to gain her the contempt of some and the dislike of others.  A plot to depose the weakly-mild regent and govern the empire in the name of the youthful monarch was made by three men, Otto of Norheim, the greatest general of the state, Ekbert of Meissen, its most valiant knight, and Hanno, Archbishop of Cologne, its leading churchman.  These three men were present at the banquet, which they had fixed upon as the occasion for carrying out their plot.

The feast over, the three men rose and walked with the boy monarch to a window of the palace that overlooked the Rhine.  On the waters before them rode at anchor a handsome vessel, which the child looked upon with eyes of delight.

[Illustration:  SCENE OF MONASTIC LIFE.]

“Would you like to see it closer?” asked Hanno.  “I will take you on board, if you wish.”

“Oh, will you?” pleaded the boy.  “I shall be so glad.”

The three conspirators walked with him to the stream, and rowed out to the vessel, the empress viewing them without suspicion of their design.  But her doubts were aroused when she saw that the anchor had been raised and that the sails of the vessel were being set.  Filled with sudden alarm she left the palace and hastened to the shore, just as the kidnapping craft began to move down the waters of the stream.

At the same moment young Henry, who had until now been absorbed in gazing delightedly about the vessel, saw what was being done, and heard his mother’s cries.  With courage and resolution unusual for his years he broke, with a cry of anger, from those surrounding him, and leaped into the stream, with the purpose of swimming ashore.  But hardly had he touched the water when Count Ekbert sprang in after him, seized him despite his struggles, and brought him back to the vessel.