Queen Clotilde Influences Clovis Conversion

The wind cut across the courtyard stones when I heard her voice rising again from the chapel door. Clotilde knelt on the bare floor, hands pressed flat against the cold flags, speaking the same words she had used every morning since the messengers brought word of the Alemanni massing. Her veil had slipped; I saw the line of her neck tight with the effort of holding still. No one else entered. The servants kept their distance after the first child died.

I had carried her messages to Clovis twice that week. He listened, nodded once, and turned back to the maps. The boy Ingomer was already in the ground. Clodomir still breathed but barely. Clovis had said the same thing each time the fever took one of his sons: the old gods had not failed him yet.

I left the palace before dawn the next morning with the king’s guard. We rode west into the mist that hung over the river. The Alemanni waited on the far bank, their shields locked. Clovis rode at the front, the three frogs still painted on his shield. By midday the line had broken twice. Men fell into the mud and stayed there. I took a cut across the forearm that kept bleeding into my glove.

Clovis sent a rider back at the third hour. The man found me near the baggage and told me the king wanted every man who could still hold a spear. When I reached him the sun had dropped behind the trees. Clovis stood alone for a moment, reins loose in his hand. He looked toward the ridge where the enemy pressed hardest and spoke without turning.

“Clotilde’s God,” he said. The words came out low, as if he tested them. “If you give me victory here I will take your faith.”

He raised his shield and rode forward. The men around him heard it. Some crossed themselves the way the queen’s women did. Others spat and kept their eyes on the ground. The line steadied. We pushed the Alemanni back across the water until the light failed. By morning they were gone.

Clovis did not speak of the vow again on the march home. He rode ahead of the column and kept his own counsel. I stayed with the rear guard, watching the stragglers. When we reached the palace gates Clotilde stood on the steps. She did not run to meet him. She waited until he dismounted, then walked down the last three stones and placed her hand on his arm. He looked at her for a long moment before he spoke.

“Remigius,” he said. “Send for him.”

The bishop arrived from Reims within the week. Clovis met him in the hall with three thousand of his men drawn up outside. The weather had turned cold; frost lay on the spearheads. Inside, Clotilde stood to the left of the throne, her hands folded. She did not smile. She watched the king’s face as Remigius asked the questions the old rite required.