The funeral took place the next day. Chlothar insisted Radegund ride by his side. The brothers had brought their mother’s body to the palace and it lay on a litter, set on a cart, wrapped in bandages from head to toe. Though soaked with resin and perfumed with myrrh and aloes, these could not hide the sickly-sweet smell of corruption. As the cart came out on to the main street, Radegund imagined the old queen’s wizened cheeks and white hair, her face formidable even in death; the face of a woman who had once urged her sons to war then prayed that they avoid it, who had fought to bring Christ to the pagans.

Radegund and the other queens joined Theudebert and his two uncles behind the body, followed by Sigebert, Chilperic, and the other princes, and then kings or emissaries of the Ostrogoths, the Visigoths and the Burgundians, and behind them dukes and counts from all over Gaul, dressed in white, with only the simplest touches of gold or diamonds to show their rank. Behind them, on horseback, the bishop of Paris led bishops from across Gaul, followed on foot by priests and deacons holding lit candles.

As the procession moved up the main street, people crowded close to the wagon to get a glimpse of the holy queen, then waited to join the line. Acolytes walked about, handing out candles. By the time the wagon reached the bridge, the procession stretched almost all the way back to the palace, ending with the poor in their soiled, faded clothes, each holding a lit candle.

The group began to climb the hill, past the vineyards and through the ruins of the old Roman houses. Smoke still streaked the shattered walls where, over and over again, invaders had burned what remained of Lutetia. Sometimes, incongruously, a satyr would leer from what remained of a fresco or faded bowls of fruit would appear on a painted table. The procession reached the top of the hill, where the church’s three arches looked down on the rectangular ruins of the old Roman forum. The group continued past these and around to the back, where a curved building was set against the church and St. Genovefa’s tomb.

Men lifted the litter off the wagon and carried it down a few steps into the underground vault. The kings dismounted and followed, along with Radegund and the other queens.

Inside, torches lit a low room filled with stone arches, nooks set all around the sides. To the right, one stone sarcophagus held the younger Chlothild, who had preceded her mother into the grave. Two small sarcophagii filled the nook beside it, holding the bodies of the murdered princes.

Straight ahead two larger sarcophagii sat side by side. One was closed and ornately carved. Clovis lay here, who decades before had claimed Gaul for the Franks. The carvings showed his conversion on the battlefield and his baptism. The one beside it was simpler. Chlothild had had it made while she was alive, insisting it show only the Cross, set in circles repeated around each side. A huge stone lid lay beside it on the marble floor.

Men carefully moved the body from the litter to the sarcophagus, then stepped aside. Radegund trembled at the sight, feeling the holy power of the old queen and of the saint, so near, who had, all on her own, saved Paris.

Bishop Germain stepped forward and led the group in prayer, recalling the promise of the Resurrection:

The day will come when bones

Stir again with warm breath,

When souls return to bodies

Throbbing again with blood…

Eight men then struggled to lift the stone lid and set it on top of the sarcophagus. At once, the simple folk who had been held back outside burst in, holding their lit candles, hurrying to place them at the foot of the sarcophagus, even as the guards tried to beat them back. Soon so many candles lit the stone, they became one bright light, outshining the torches to either side.

Everyone knew what this meant: the crowd was demanding that the holy queen be declared a saint. Though the Church would take some time to act, from that day on she was known as St. Chlothild.

Shrine -->