The calm face of the dead was not paler than Gilbert, who, unmoved by the shout of victory, watched the clay that had so lately been--a king.
While they bore the body to the royal pavilion, the pursuit was continued with terrible effect.

The Saxons remembered the losses they had suffered five years before--the Suabians saw their desolated homes and their expiring duke.

The small remnant of Henry's army that escaped the relentless sword and the equally fatal depths of the Elster, were only reserved for a fate still more dreadful.

After wandering about, a prey to want and misery, they were now butchered by the peasantry of Saxony and Thuringia, who, armed with hatchets and scythes, flew to avenge upon the relic the wrongs they had suffered from the whole army.
Many of the fugitives plunged into the forests, preferring the slow tooth of famine to the swifter stroke of steel.

Others, concealing themselves until the first gust of passion was over, besought the mercy of the peasantry, who, at last moved with compassion or glutted with slaughter, received them as fellow-beings, healed their wounds, and sent them to their homes.