Only after she had returned did Radegund realize that it was just a year since the Franks had destroyed Erfurt, just a year since she had last prayed to the household gods. And yet already she had been reborn.

Radegund was a fidelis now – no longer a catechumen, or even a neophyte, but a full member of the Church – and joined the clerks in taking Communion. As she watched Father Elias bless the small hemispherical loaves of bread, cut crossways across the top, she trembled with the mystery of it, the knowledge that this bread had now become the Body of Christ. And each time she lifted her cupped hands, covering them now with her own cloth, she felt a rush of exaltation at the thought of being one with the Church.

Ingund continued to teach her. Sometimes she would return to Court, either at Soissons, Chlothar’s capital, or Vitry, his favorite villa. But her sister had displaced her in the King’s affections and her children were being trained for their various roles. She spent more and more time at Athies, more a mother to Radegund than to her own children.

Radegund moved slowly out of childhood, becoming more and more a Frankish lady, even as she turned ever more to the life of the spirit. She knew Latin well now and read St. Augustine along with the Bible and the lives of the saints. But she could also weave and embroider and choose which hairpin to wear with which brooch. She still saw to it that the poorer children got all the villa’s scraps, but she no longer had time to play with them, buried as she was in study, prayer and meditation, and learning the duties of a lady of rank.

She was barely twelve one spring when Ingund returned from Court with unexpected visitors: her own older children and three of their cousins. It was striking for Radegund to see so many long-haired boys together. Gunthar, the oldest, was already almost a man. Caribert was about her age, Childeric slightly younger; their brothers Gontran and Sigebert were still small, the last fruit of Ingund’s long reign in Chlothar’s favor. Their sister had not come with them, but the three children of Chlodomir, Chlothar’s brother who had died just years before, had come from Paris, where they lived in their grandmother’s care. Thibaut was seven, Gunthar six and Clodoald, born after his father’s death, barely four.

They all, except for the smallest, wore fine clothes of wool, warrior’s tunics, the two oldest boys even axes and swords. Gontran and Sigebert were restless and quarrelsome, though in an affectionate way, like young wildcats idly swiping at each other. Childeric did his best to join in, slightly older though he was. But he was pale, and a little listless. Caribert stood aloof from all this horseplay, doing his best to act the man.

Radegund asked Thibaut about Clothild, his grandmother. Like other Catholics in Gaul, she held Clovis’ widow, the mother of the four kings, in awe. It was she after all who had brought Christ to the Franks, urging her pagan husband to turn towards the Church, until one great victory showed him the power of the Lord. The fact that she had outlived her fearsome husband and done only good works since showed how touched she was by the Holy Spirit; many said already that she was a saint.

Yet Radegund knew that this same saintly woman had pushed her sons to war just years before, to take revenge for a slight to her family. That war had cost Cholodmir his life and left his three sons without a father. “How is it you live with the old queen?” Radegund asked the oldest. “Have you lost your mother as well?”

“Why no,” he said. “She is married to Chlothar.”

“He married his brother’s widow?” Before, she thought, marrying another wife’s sister. “To gain possession of your late father’s kingdom?”

“Certainly not!” The little boy, with his long blond hair, stood up proudly. “Only we, his sons, can inherit that. Our grandmother is training us to be kings!” Radegund tried not to laugh, seeing the sturdy arrogance of this child, already determined to take his father’s throne. But if the formidable Clothild had taken the boys in hand, who knew what they could one day do?

Gunther came and stood by his brother, clearly proud to be by his side. He too did his best to look regal, though the effect was merely endearing in a six-year-old boy. As for Clodoald, he looked sweetly at his two older brothers, full of infant admiration.

Radegund had thought she would take the younger boys down to play with the tenants’ children, but Thibaut and Childeric recoiled in horror, and the others took their lead. “We are of royal blood! We cannot frequent peasants and slaves!” Samuel, standing to one side, shook his head sadly. Radegund too was ashamed at their pride. But in the end they all remained about the villa or, when she took them to see the fields and vines outside, looked proudly before them as the tenants half-knelt in homage.

Nurses had come with the younger boys, but most stood back and let their charges play. Only Clodoald’s nurse, a sturdy young peasant woman, hovered about him, always watchful. He for his part often returned to her, hugging her legs. Clearly she adored him and he her.

Within the confines of the villa, the younger boys became more playful and let Radegund kiss and caress them like the children they were. Gunthar, Caribert and Childeric arose early and went out to hunt with the warriors and servants from the estate, and packs of hounds they’d brought for the purpose. The first day, they returned only with several hares, the limp grey bodies with their long ears and rear legs slung from a pole carried by the servants. But the next they stayed out later and returned with a boar, its huge body, bristling with dark hairs, bending the two poles used to carry it up the hill, trailing blood from wounds left by spears. The tenants came from every side to see the great dark head, narrowing to a snout with terrifying tusks to either side. It took two days for the group to track and wound a stag, then find and finish it the next day. The great carcass, already split in the field, again drew a crowd, all the more impressed now by the great set of horns on the beast. The three young princes marched proudly behind their prize.

In the evening, some of the warriors would sit around a fire outside and tell the boys tales of various battles. Sometimes too they told old sagas. Radegund was dismayed to hear mentions of Odin and Thor, but Father Elias quietly told her to let it be. “The warriors hold to these old tales. They find strength in them.” Was not Christ enough, she thought, to arm any man?

All were very respectful with Ingund, even her own children; they addressed her more as a queen than a mother. Radegund could see this saddened her, but when she asked about it, Ingund said softly, “Others are raising them for their place in Life, raising them to rule and make war. And no doubt my daughter will soon be someone’s queen.” To be a queen? Did that mean to leave your home and spend your life among strangers? To watch your husband marry your sister and see your children raised by others? It did not seem so fine a fate to Radegund.

As rough as the boys were through the day, she was pleased to see that none ever missed morning or evening Mass. Chlodomir’s boys especially, raised by their devout grandmother, went eagerly, knowing how important it was to live in Christ. Their serious air during the service touched Radegund, so different from their airs of being future kings. Little Clodoald, barely old enough to sing the psalms, watched with particular intensity. One morning, after everyone had left the chapel, he looked back with wonder at the altar inside. “I love Christ,” he told Radegund, to her great pleasure.

His brothers and cousins, however, gave no thought to the Lord once services were done. They preferred mock battles and minor quarrels. Having these restless, unruly boys around reminded her of Berthefred in former times and she took some pleasure in their rough-hewn ways. Still, she was relieved, days later, when they left for their different homes.

Sin and blood -->