Henry of Austria, with a suite little proportioned to his rank, fled to Bohemia.
There was none of the exultation of victory in the allied camp that night: each soldier seemed to feel that the conquest had been too dearly won.

Rodolph was not only beloved by the Suabians, who from their cradles had experienced his bounty, his virtue, and justice, but he had endeared himself to the Saxons by his affability, his wisdom, and his valor.

He had healed their private quarrels and humbled their public enemies; he found them divided and feeble, he left them united and vigorous.

They regarded him as the savior of Saxony, and affectionately styled him "_Pater patriae_." Nor was the grief of the bishops and priests less ardent and sincere, for they felt that a zealous and dauntless defender of the Church had fallen.
The soldiers, scattered about in groups, slept little, but whispered to each other, and fixed their eyes upon the torches that burned so steadily in the royal pavilion.

There was stretched, cold and stiff, the victor of the day, his noble features rigid in death, while his barons knelt weeping around the bier, and the Archbishop of Mayence recited prayers for his soul.