The relic first arrived in Tours, where Euphronius met the Byzantine lords outside the city. People came from all around, as much to see the magnificent silk robes of these exotic lords, vividly colored with complex patterns, and high cylindrical headdresses, woven with gold and inlaid with jewels, as to catch a small glimpse of the box which held the sacred relic. The bishop then led a procession, ever swelling with townsfolk, into Tours. Fortunatus, representing the convent, rode behind him. St Martin’s basilica was still in ruins, but the bishop had the jewel-encrusted box suspended above the rubble and prayed to Jesus for the church’s rapid restoration.

From there, he led the crown to an oratory, where he personally set the relic on a stand. For a month the devout came to pray before it, leaving a wealth of gifts as they did. Fortunatus wrote a poem honoring both the Cross and the oratory: “Virtus celsa crucis totem recte orbum”.

The virtue of the Cross penetrates the universe,

Restores all that has been lost in the world.

What the venom of the serpent has infected

Christ’s blood washes in this sweet liquor.

The sheep which were the wolf’s prey

Are restored to life by the Lamb,

The Virgin’s son hung on the Cross.

He lovingly described the white veils, embroidered with crosses, around the relic, surrounded by images on purple silk; all gifts from the faithful.

For a month, long lines formed outside the oratory. All of Tours stirred with fervor. When the time came to take the relic south, crowds stood by the road and wept.

Radegund and Agnes rode outside Poitiers to meet the bishop and the gold chariot which carried the box beneath a canopy. Throngs of the faithful from Poitiers slowed the procession’s progress. More than one in the crowd, overcome by emotion, fainted.

At last, the procession reached the town gates and turned into the convent. Roses, lilies and violets were hung all around the entry and rose petals strewn along the path. Just inside the convent walls, everyone dismounted and two priests gingerly took the jeweled box from the chariot. Radegund, Agnes and Euphronius led the way to the chapel where the nuns had been praying and singing hymns since dawn. Flowers hung all along the walls, more rose petals were strewn across the nave; vases on the altar held lilies and roses. Candles burned on stands along either side of the chapel and on candelabrae flanking the altar. Light, color and scent filled the space.

The priests set the box on a table before the altar. Euphronius stood between Radegund and Agnes, wearing his whitest stole and a robe of white silk, richly worked with gold thread. He prayed fervently and at length before lifting the lid on the box, where blue enamel framed the wrapped relic, almost as with a bit of sky. Slowly he removed the silk cloth, revealing a crudely carved cross – carved from the holy wood – encrusted with jewels and inlaid with gold.

The nuns cried out at the sight. As with the townsfolk, more than one collapsed from the emotion. Not a one remained unmoved, least of all Radegund, who knew beyond doubt that this wood had touched Christ’s own earthly form, that she was as physically close to her Lord as she would ever be.

For a moment, all the horrors, all the memories which haunted her were washed away in perfect bliss.

Fortunatus had written a hymn for the occasion; now the nuns began to sing it: “Vexilla regis...”:

The royal banner flies:

The mystery of the Cross shines

Where once the Creator’s flesh

Hung in torment.

Pierced by nails,

His outstretched hands

Grace us with Redemption;

The victim is sacrificed here.

Here is fulfilled

What David foretold to the faithful,

Telling the Nations

God reigned from the Tree.

Bedecked and beautiful Tree

Adorned with royal purple,

Worthy trunk chosen

To touch the Holy Limbs.

Blessing from whose arms

Hung the price of the Ages,

Beam by which the Body

Robbed Hell of its spoils.

Thou, Trinity, fount of salvation,

Let every soul Thy Praises sing;

Let the Cross’ victory

Grant us our reward.

And so Vexilla Regis was first sung here, in Poitiers; soon it would be sung all over Gaul, and then beyond, and for centuries to come.

Radegund had held back some of her riches, knowing they might one day serve Christ. Now she sent a jewel-encrusted crown and a cross of gold to Justin and Sophia. But for the Emperor and Empress, of course, these were no more than tokens, and so she asked Fortunatus to compose a poem in their honor. This was familiar ground for the poet, who knew how to praise the great.

He began with appropriate piety:

Glory to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,

One God adored in three beings…

But soon shifted the theme to Justin:

Glory to you, Redeemer and Creator of all things

Who gave Justin to rule the world.

He showed Justin as the Defender of the Faith, even in Gaul and among the Bretons. He enumerated all the peoples of the known world, showing them brought to the Truth by Justin. He then began to praise Sophia, who was in fact said to rule, and no doubt had authorized the gift of the relic. He compared her to Constantine’s consort, Helen.

Glory to You, Redeemer and Creator of all things,

Sophia is on the throne.

He repeated this in several verses, each beginning a long section of praise for the Empress, only coming, deep into the poem, to the heart of the matter:

The queen herself gives Radegund of Thuringia

A fragment of the Holy Cross

Where Christ, deigning to take fleshly form, hung,

Washing away our sins with His Blood.

And so, he said, after further praise, that the faith of nations grew as the royal gift allowed them to reinforce it with the evidence of their own senses. He ended by showing Radegund, couched in the dust, praying for Sophia’s reign to continue, and begging the Empress to keep Radegund in mind as she would the Empress.

It was a long and grandiose poem, but a small thing, Radegund and Fortunatus agreed, for so great a gift.

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