Fortunatus had a new friend.

On one of his trips to Tours, he had met a deacon named George Florentius. Florentius was from one of the old senatorial families and had the understated good manners of one raised with a deep sense of his family’s own position and duties. This alone was rare enough, even at royal courts, to make him agreeable to Fortunatus. But what endeared him most to the poet was his love of learning and letters. For his part, Florentius was diffident about his literary abilities and envied Fortunatus his education at the best Italian schools.

“My Latin is barbaric,” he said. “I know that too well.”

Fortunatus was too polite to tell him that this was true, that he misused tenses and cases. But no more than most he had met in Gaul. Where Florentius differed was in his love of writing. Not verse – he had done little in that line – but prose. He was even then writing the lives of several saints, starting with Saint Martin. If he could not craft verse like Fortunatus, he was erudite enough to appreciate the latter’s skill. And so they would share and discuss their different writings, to Fortunatus’ delight.

He spoke so often of Florentius to Radegund and Agnes, they almost felt they knew him. Yet he remained a stranger. What was it Fortunatus found so compelling about this deacon? They grew eager to meet him and were delighted when Fortunatus returned from a visit to Tours with Florentius at his side. He was a modest figure, of moderate height, wearing the white robe of a cleric, his dark hair tonsured. His round full face might have seemed bland were it not for the lively intelligence in his green eyes. In many ways, he was a plain man, with none of Fortunatus’ wit or hushed enveloping tone. Yet he drew the two women in with his evident interest in each word they said and a humble air which belied his family’s high rank. Only sometimes would he surprise them with a sharp remark on some distant figure.

Clearly, as kind and quiet as he was, he could speak his mind.

The two women began to look forward to his visits. But he took his duties, especially towards the poor, seriously and came less to see them than all would have liked. Still, his dedication gratified Radegund, who had seen too many in the clergy neglect their duties for the benefits of their posts.

Euphronius died.

Fortunatus rode to Tours for the magnificent funeral at the basilica, which, though still in disrepair, was restored enough to host it. Sigebert too came and invited Florentius and Fortunatus to accompany him to Poitiers to visit Radegund.

After she and her nuns received him in the courtyard, he asked to speak with her apart. She had already written him to thank him for his help with the True Cross, but repeated those sentiments now.

“It is I who should thank you, Holy Lady, for honoring my kingdom.” But he had other things on his mind. While he could not openly choose Tours’ next bishop, his opinion was key to that decision. He had reviewed several possible candidates while in Tours, but was not sure any were worthy.

“And the deacon Florentius?” asked Radegund.

“Ah, Florentius! I have seen little of him. But yes, his devotion seems genuine enough. And, from what I am told, he is highly competent, which is essential for a bishop. He must rule Tours, after all, as much as his part of the Church.”

Returning to Tours, he met with those bishops who had remained after the funeral. All who knew Florentius agreed with the choice. And when the idea was presented to the people of Tours, many of whom he had personally served, they acclaimed it.

Only one person opposed the idea: Florentius. His humility had never been feigned; he truly thought himself unworthy of the post. His only desire was to minister to those in need and, when time allowed, to work on his history of the saints. He had no desire to be a bishop, to take on not only the spiritual but many secular duties that implied.

And so, when he heard he might be named, he begged Sigebert to let him accompany him back to Court. But the bishops, now urged on by letters from Radegund, were not to be denied. He had not yet reached the palace when a group of bishops caught up with the group and, right there, far from his city, made him its bishop.

With the office, he took on a new name: Gregory. He was now Gregory, bishop of Tours.

Fortunatus, though he still loved his little pleasures, was no longer the light, witty traveler who had first come to Poitiers. Perhaps he had never been; his wit and charm, after all, had gained him patronage and shelter when he had no home. But Poitiers was his home now and the convent where he spent so much of his time differed in every way from the raucous courts where he had paid his way with laughter and verse; it imposed a certain sobriety. The model of his two dear friends also made him more contemplative.

He had already begun to study for the priesthood. With his friend a bishop, he now began to go to Tours for private instruction. Radegund and Agnes stirred with tenderness at the idea of his serving the Church.

He had long traded his rich Byzantine robes for excellent, but more modest, ones of brown or blue. One morning he left for Tours and returned the next morning in a white alb, his sleek black hair cut in a ring around the shaven top of his head. He had taken the tonsure and was now a priest.

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