with smoke from the
burning resin. Still the struggle went on, and many a German knight and
Lombard noble fell to rise no more.

Henry and Otho fought on; but in vain: their efforts were powerless to
break the wall of steel which the brave Milanese opposed to their
assailants. So far, the combat had continued without any decided
advantage; for, although they could hold their enemy in check, the
citizens were unable to drive him from his position. The image of their
patron saint waved proudly above them, and the cry of "Saint Ambrose to
the rescue!" rang through the air.

In the midst of the tumult were heard shouts of defiance and of cheer.

"Brothers, think of your liberty! Death to the tyrant!" shouted Pietro
Nigri, who was fighting in the foremost ranks.

"For Church and Country! Death to Barbarossa!" cried another voice.

"Death to the traitors! Death to the rebels!" thundered Otho of
Wittelsbach, cutting down an adversary at every blow.

The battle became more desperate, and the ground was covered with the
bodies of the dead and wounded, whose blood mingled with the boiling
oil. Fresh troops came up from the besiegers' camp, anxious to take
part in the conflict. The tower was now burning fiercely, and to the
cries of the soldiers and the clash of swords and cuirasses, were added
the groans of the dying and the crackling of the flames, which issued
from every loophole, fit ornaments to this bloody tragedy.

"Back! back!" was heard on all sides; "the bridge is on fire!".

But, though like burning serpents the flames were twisting themselves
around the frail passage, although many of the soldiers had retreated
from the _melee_, Henry of Saxony, the Count Palatine, and a few other
knights still held their ground. Careless of the enemy in their rear,
they gallantly fought onward towards the city. It was in vain; the
courage of the besieged increased with the danger. A horrible crackling
noise was heard; the tower had commenced to give way, and was sinking.
Then those who were on the bridge lost their last hope; an instant
more, and all would be lost, for already it was wrapped in flames.

At this moment, the consul Oberto, a white flag in his hand, sprang
forward upon the ramparts, and, as the shrill blast of a trumpet pealed
out,--

"Valiant knights! noble gentlemen!" he cried; "cease this fearful
strife! We value courage, even among our foes; the burning ground is
giving way beneath your feet; lower your w