No one noticed when the poor got sick. Beggars at corners looked weaker, as swellings grew under their arms and in their groins, and they began to break out in pustules. People stepped back further than usual, but otherwise paid no mind as they died and their bodies were briskly removed. Nor did most notice that fewer stood in the doors of the poorer houses. But more and more bodies were brought out and more and more sparse processions made their way from the houses to the graveyard outside the city.

When a priest at the cathedral fell ill, and a servant at the palace, and a merchant who had only arrived the week before, panic began to set in. Candles were lit in the cathedral and the few small churches and outside houses of the dead as people prayed fervently to be spared.

The nuns from the cathedral feared to help but Radegund put on her simplest robe and went with Agnes and the palace doctor and urged them to visit the homes of the sick. She washed the pustules herself, spooning hot barley tisanes into the mouths of the sick and praying by their sides.

Still, every day more died and more thin processions trudged towards the graveyard. Carpenters ran out of wood for the coffins of the poor, whose bodies were now dumped ten to a grave. In their despair, some townspeople sent to the exiled bishop, who arrived outside Soissons, stopping in a town where, it was said, he miraculously called forth a spring from out of the ground. Soon the contagion began to fade and more people began to recover. It may be that the plague had simply run its course, but many credited Blandy and his prayers and so he was installed again in the cathedral.

Chlothar did not dare object. The bishop, for his part, now knew better than to attack the King.

Berthefred prepared to leave. “Our cousin in Constantinople is ready to help us. It is time I joined him.”

“Oh Berthefed!” Already Radegund felt grief at the thought of his absence. And fear. “Is it not better you wait until the King is away? Think how quickly he might send men after you if you leave now.”

Berthefred considered this. “You may be right. I am to go hunting with him soon, and he would notice my absence at once. Very well. I will wait. But only for you, dear sister.”

Days later he rode south with the King, into the woods in search of game. She looked forward to his return, relieved to know he was not in battle.

One morning she returned from Mass to find Ragingot waiting. Happiness filled her, since this meant the King and Berthefred would have returned. But the Mayor of the Palace’s narrow face showed no joy. He looked, not stern exactly, but as if willing himself to be so.

“What is it, my lord?”

He swallowed. “I bring sad news, Your Piety.” A chill went through her, even before he went on. “Your brother is dead.”

“Dead? How? There was no battle! He –”

“He went into the forest.” Ragingot looked down. “He did not come out.”

“The forest? Alone?” But Radegund knew very well what had happened. What she had dreaded for so long.

Struggling to stand, she leaned on a small table. “Where is his body? We must…” She could barely speak. “We must bury him properly.”

“There is… no body. No doubt the wolves...” He forced himself to look Radegund in the eye. But only for an instant.

Because she had fainted dead away.

DEACONESS -->