After the murder of her grandsons, the old queen Clothild had fled to Tours to seek solace from St. Martin. No doubt she thought as well of their father, the son she had urged with his brothers to avenge her family, only to have him die. Having heard that one of her sons now threatened the other, and with the help of his nephew, she spent her days, it was said, in fervent prayer, begging God to spare the sons of Merovech more bloodshed.

Word came to Soissons: Chlothar was trapped in a forest. If he was killed, the city would soon fall.

Radegund knew too well what happened to conquered cities. She prayed for her husband, as was her duty, but for the safety too of all his subjects, and above all for Berthefred, who fought beside Chlothar. Would he end up like one of those bodies piled in the Gera, or lying with his throat cut like one of the guards outside the Thuringii palace? She had never had cause for worry before; the Franks were always the strongest in any battle. But now Chlothar faced two Frankish armies, joined together. In the streets and at the palace, everyone spoke fearfully of the King’s plight, and of their own fates if the city fell to Childebert and Theudebert.

As the fear was reaching its peak, as some made plans to flee to the woods, hoofs were heard from far off, hundreds and hundreds of them. Terror ran through the city; these must be the victors, come to claim their spoils. But the guards on the towers pointed joyfully off in the distance to a banner bearing a bee: Chlothar’s standard.

A miracle had saved the King. As he rode deeper into the forest, a sudden storm had bent the trees and hid him from his enemies, and soon he had led his army out of the trap. As Chlothar himself came in sight, Radegund rode out to meet him, relieved to see her brother at his side.

They all rode back together through the old stone gate, as the troops took up positions around the walls. “Are they behind you?” she asked. “Will they attack the city?”

“We shall see.”

But in fact the allies had fallen back, terrified, not of Chlothar, but of his mother, of the old sainted queen who had called upon Heaven to intervene. No one doubted it was her prayers that had brought the storm to Chlothar’s aid, and the two kings dared not defy Divine wrath.

And so, as Theuderic and Chlothar had reconciled after the attempted assassination, as Theudebert had forgiven Childebert his attempt to take his throne, Theudebert and Childebert sent envoys and gifts to Chlothar, and soon the three kings were at peace again. None of this shocked Radegund, who had known such shifts since she was a child. It only reminded her how treacherous the world was, and filled with sin, and how precious that life to come which Christ promised the faithful.

This was to be the last great work of the pious, strong-willed queen. A year later, peacefully praying to St. Martin, she died. Chlothar and Childebert went together to Tours to bring her body to Paris. She was to be buried beside her husband, at the church they had built together on the top of a hill to house St. Genovefa’s remains: the Church of the Holy Apostles. Radegund and Agnes started for Paris, to meet the kings and attend the funeral.

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