The entire ritual of worship became infected with militarism and fear of the common enemy beyond the sea. In 1188 the Pope ordained that prayer against the Saracens should be offered everywhere daily. In the Church of St. Paul a recognition of the distressful condition was introduced into the liturgy. On Sundays there was read the psalm beginning, “Why do the heathen rage?” On Mondays, “Save us, O God, by Thy name.” On Tuesdays, “O God, why hast Thou forsaken us?” On Wednesdays, “O God, why hast Thou cast us off forever?” On Thursdays, “O God, the heathen are come into Thine inheritance.” On Fridays, “God standeth in the congregation of the mighty.” On Saturdays, “O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth, show Thyself.” The peace between Henry II. and Philip Augustus made under the crusader enthusiasm, like other sudden excitements of religious emotion, did not long continue. A believer in the doctrine of the perseverance of the saints would hardly expect to find its proof in the house of Anjou, save by its exceptions. The recklessness of Richard again embroiled his father and the French king in war. An attempt to restore the truce on the same “sacred field” of Gisors where it had been solemnly enacted failed, and Philip Augustus cut down the elm-tree under which they had sworn it, that nature might not taunt them with their perjury. Saladin’s tithe was first devoted not against the Infidels, but to the infidelity of Christians in warring with one another, and was ominous of much of the subsequent use of that treasure. Rome excommunicated Richard, who drew his sword upon the papal legate that announced to him the decree. Philip as quickly repelled the interference of the spiritual power with what he deemed the more sacred right of conducting his own quarrels. It required the opportune intervention of a thunder-storm to shake the worldly purpose of Henry II., who, in genuine terror at the voice of heaven, at length agreed to peace. In the meanwhile William of Tyre had electrified Germany with his appeals. The old emperor, Frederick I., took the cross, together with many of his chief nobles, including his son, Frederick, Duke of Swabia. Frederick I., called Barbarossa by his Italian enemies because of his red beard, was the most astute statesman, the most experienced general, and the most powerful of the crowned heads of Europe during the twelfth century. He had been thirty-seven years on the throne of Germany. Though not altogether successful in his strifes with the popes, he had been able to consolidate his empire and extend its prestige. Now, at sixty-seven years of age, the peace of his dominion offered him the most envied imperial honors and the quiet ending of his days; but his heroic soul forgot the fatigue of age; he spurned the enjoyments of his palace when he heard the call for new adventures. He was the first _en route_ for Palestine; indeed, had completed his ill-fated expedition before the younger princes of the West were afield.