discipline did not even in these instances extend to the hired soldiers who followed the camps and helped to swell the numerical force of the troops, whose movements they often impeded rather than assisted.

In Tuscany Beatrice had her own company of knights and men-at-arms on whose fidelity she could rely, and who had served under Boniface her late husband. She supplemented these as we have seen by her subjects in the villages and towns, and by peasants from the mountainous districts. These men, untrammelled by uniforms to which they were unaccustomed and which would have but impeded their freedom of action, were soon equipped. Seizing upon their bows, to the use of which they had been trained from childhood, and filling their pockets with pebbles in the slinging of which they were adepts, they hurried to join their comrades in the valleys. The lowland peasants were no less quickly ready. They armed themselves with various agricultural implements, which though innocent in times of peace, inflicted deadly and often mortal wounds when delivered with muscular energy against their foes. They provided themselves with huge portions of black bread and some fruit, and taking a tender farewell of their families were able without further preface or preparation to march to the field.

Among her accomplishments Matilda had from childhood practised the art of horsemanship. In this exercise her fearlessness, her powers of endurance and her vigorous constitution rendered her an expert. So remarkable was her influence upon the animals she rode, that by her firm kindness she controlled the temper of the most restless steeds and rendered them obedient and docile.1

Fears for her child's safety began to fill the mind of Beatrice with gloomy forebodings, and gladly, if it were possible, would she have recalled her consent to her departure on so perilous an undertaking. With many entreaties to the

1 This characteristic of Matilda has been remarked by mediæval painters, who have represented her as "seated on the back of a fiery horse, whom she is holding in check."

First Battle

knights to carefully guard the princess, she assured them of her prayers during the trying ordeal through which they were about to pass, and with many tears took, as she believed, a last farewell of her beloved daughter.

Matilda, with the buoyant confidence of youth, entertained no fears as to the issue of the conflict which she anticipated would end the tyranny under which the Church and Italy had so long groaned. Embracing her mother, she sprang lightly upon her horse, which she rode with an easy and graceful seat, and placed herself at the head of her troops.

In this manner did a girl of fifteen, of high culture, and delicately brought up far from scenes of strife and bloodshed, overcome the natural timidity and reserve of her sex, and "expose herself to all the horrors of actual war." Thus, without any apprehension of personal danger, did she place herself as a bulwark in defence of her Church and country. Thus she entered upon a struggle for their interests, which lasted until her death, and in which though unaided by any of the potentates of Europe, she was ultimately the victor.

So little time had the preparations occupied, that scarcely had Cadalous crossed the north-west frontier of Tuscany than he was confronted with Matilda's small but determined band. His troops far outnumbered the Tuscans, but the promptness and freshness with which the latter advanced gave them the advantage over his men, who were fatigued from their toilsome journey over the mountain passes.

With shouts of "St Peter and Matilda!" "St Peter and Matilda!" the loyal mountaineers broke from all restraint, and rushing forward threw themselves upon the straggling ranks of the Germans with that daring and fearlessness of danger to which a life of peril had inured them. A fearful hand-to-hand struggle ensued, and for a time nothing was heard but a confused mingling of the hoarse shouts and curses with which the imperial officers urged forward their men, with the inspiriting watchwords of the combatants and the groans of the wounded. Regardless of their exposed persons and the variety of their instruments of war,

the Tuscans fought fiercely, and with all the force of their sinewy arms inflicted ghastly and deadly injuries upon their antagonists.

What were Matilda's feelings during the affray, it is difficult to discover. During the pauses of the conflict, when the Tuscans were ready to drop from very weariness, the clear tones of the young princess stimulated them to fresh exertions and fresh acts of heroism. The tax upon her courage was not of long duration, and to her intense relief she detected uncertainty in the movements of the enemy. Her heart beat almost to suffocation and her breath came quickly as with dilating eye she saw her brave men rapidly gaining ground.

The imperial troops, disorganised by the unexpected and savage nature of the onrush, wavered in their advance, and after a short engagement were hopelessly repulsed and fled in wild disorder.

Matilda was left master of the field, and as soon as she perceived that the enemy was in full retreat she gave orders for the return of her men from the pursuit of the stragglers to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. Nor did she quit the scene of her victory until she was assured that the wounded of both sides were well tended and the helpless conveyed to the village which nestled under the shadow of Canossa. This humane duty performed the princess, who had sent messengers to allay the fears of her mother, rode with eager haste towards the Castle, from the battlements of which Beatrice had watched the progress of the conflict.

Springing with agility from her horse the worthy descendant of a line of warriors rushed with the impetuosity of girlhood into the enfolding arms which were extended to embrace her. Beatrice, trembling with joy and pride, pressed the valiant maiden convulsively to her heart, while in faltering accents she thanked her people for the loyalty and bravery they had displayed, and congratulated them on the victorious issue.

The anti-pope, frustrated in his design of proceeding

Defeat of Cadalous

through Tuscany, hurried from the field almost at the beginning of the engagement. Fearful of being pursued by the infuriated Italians, but still determined to press on to Rome, he made a detour by way of the Marches.

The Archbishop, however, was disappointed of the triumphant entry which he believed would have crowned his expedition. News of his repulse by Matilda had, however, reached the city before him, and the inhabitants hastily closed their gates at his approach. In no enviable frame of mind he fixed his encampment without the walls of the unfriendly capital, and there awaited with ill-concealed impatience the arrival of his straggling army. From their post of vantage the citizens were able to amuse themselves by annoying and defying the foe, who were too disorganised by their hurried retreat from Tuscany to effect an entrance by force. Unable to retaliate, the Germans contented themselves with vowing to take a full revenge upon their merciless tormentors when once they became masters of the situation.

Military commanders in those days had no charts or maps to give them topographical information of the countries through which they marched, and unexpected difficulties arose at almost every step. The German soldiers, who had been hopelessly dispersed by the sudden attack of Matilda, were therefore considerably at a loss to know which direction the fugitive anti-pope had taken. "Mountain passes, deep ravines and torrents, sometimes fordable, at others impassable for even those born on their stony banks, presented themselves at almost every turn." It was in vain," continues the historian, "that they endeavoured, even at the sword's point, to gain the services of the Tuscans as guides; they were too devoted to Matilda to be tempted to her betrayal." That" all roads lead to Rome," was not then a recognised proverb, although in this case the axiom held good. The imperial forces, travelling by routes more or less direct, arrived in separate detachments before the walls of the capital even while Matilda in her anxiety for the Pontiff's safety was pressing close upon them."

Matilda's temperament was so equable that not even the excitement of actual war had power to overthrow the even balance of her well-regulated mind. Aware that Cadalous had early quitted the field, she feared, lest by taking the Romans unawares, he should have succeeded in gaining entrance to the city.

There was no time to be lost, and finding that her stepfather still refused to take command, the courageous girl prepared at all hazards to go to the rescue of the Pontiff, whose life might even then be in danger.

Beatrice, in an agony of maternal solicitude, refused to remain behind, and the princesses immediately set out, accompanied by a body of picked men-at-arms to form an escort for Alexander's retreat to Canossa.

When the cavalcade neared Rome, a sight met the eyes of Beatrice and Matilda which caused them to forget their weariness and removed from their minds all apprehensions for the Pontiff's safety. Before them lay the pitched tents of the Germans, and the fact of the troops not having entered the city, was sufficient evidence that the Romans had been warned of their approach in time to be on their guard.

Finding there was no need for the continuation of a journey which would possibly expose them to another encounter, the princesses retraced their way to Canossa ere the German outposts had warning of their presence.

Although in those days news travelled with tardy feet, the fame of Matilda's exploit had spread with incredible rapidity, and her return was heralded with exuberant demonstrations of joy. Her people greeted her with deafening shouts, and her name was hailed with acclamation as the watchword of liberty. She became the centre round which rallied all who were prepared to defend their religion and country.

It is difficult to realise that the heroine of this universal ovation was but young, and that at an age when most girls of modern times have scarcely quitted the school-room, she had commanded an army in the field. Nothing was now