The air was somewhat tense, as Clothar of Neustria entered, attired in full royal regalia, walking calmly on the golden rug in the middle of the floor, towards the wide throne at the far end, where Brunhilda and her great-grandson Sigebert were seated.
“Ave Chlotharius Rex!” went the acclamation in Latin, from the courtiers and clergy lined up on both ends of the chamber, once he reached the foot of the stone dais. “My lady” he said softly, acknowledging the Queen with a soft nod.
Ah, I finally won…you old hag.
When the embassy from Burgundy first arrived, he had thought it a ruse, a trap to lure him out, and get rid of him. The offer had sounded too good to be true; nevertheless, after a month of exchanging ambassadors, he had agreed. In his opinion, the old fox was indeed raising some good points. Young Sigebert was King alright, but Theudebert had just lost his last war to Sigebert’s father, Theuderic, before the later departed to his death in Italy. The Austrasian monarch had motives to attempt revenge; to strike at the Burgundians now when they were at their weakest. Although it was common knowledge that Brunhilda was no fan of his, it seemed logical to realize that he had the strength necessary to protect the child King and to keep Theudebert at bay. By the same token, the additional requirements she had insisted on were rather modest; for him to name Sigebert as his heir in Burgundy, and to defeat the Romans, and their Lombard vassals, who had been crossing the Alps to raid the kingdom. In exchange, he would become the uncontested ruler of almost all of Francia. Pragmatism had forced his hand.
Brunhilda stood and proclaimed in Frankish: “Here stands Clothar, rightful King of all the Franks, and protector of our lord Sigebert!” A round of applause followed, before she added, “my lord, please join us at the dinner hall to celebrate your safe arrival.”
“I will be most obliged, my lady” he replied. He had to comply with all the formalities, all the niceties, of the royal protocol.
All that bunch of shit.
As the attendants began to lead the line into the arched doorway to the left of the dual throne, Clothar continued to ponder. The preconditions were not hard to deal with at all. He could launch a small foray into Italy as a way to avenge Frankish honor, dealing with that portion of the bargain; maybe even profiting some from it. And Sigebert, well, he could always be dispatched to meet his father in death at a later point before reaching his majority, once his own rule was secure and unchallenged. Furthermore, and perhaps most important to him, he was now in a position to complete that longtime goal of his own mother’s, to kill Brunhilda. The old Queen was no longer in a position to oppose him, even if she had wanted to; he had marched into the realm at the head of large army, “to combat the Romans” of course, and the following day after mass, he was to be crowned as the sole King of Burgundy and Aquitaine, ensuing the abdication of his great-nephew.
The seat at the head of the table was now his; on sitting down, the chair creaked under his heavy weight, since he was no slim man. Sigebert took his place to the Clothar’s right, led by a domestic; Brunhilda to his left; the mayors of the palace of Burgundy and Neustria, Berthoald and Landeric [1], followed further down. The rest of the local nobility took their respective seats shortly afterwards.
Once the servants began serving the refreshments, Clothar turned to the four year old sovereign to his right. “Sigebert, it’s good to finally meet you son. Have you been behaving? Listening to what your grandmother says?”
The child assented eagerly, his golden hairs and the little crown on his head reflecting the dancing light from the candles. “Yes uncle.”
“Good, good then,” he answered in a jovial tone, before turning to Brunhilda. “It’s also great to see you in such good health, my lady…” No sooner had he finished uttering those words, a young brunette approached him from his left side, and filled his goblet with some of the sweet smelling wine she was carrying in a pitcher. Clothar glanced at the beautiful maid for a moment, forgetting about the Queen. The girl’s face was round, with a thin and elegant nose, and adorned with two wide, green eyes. Nor did he fail to notice the feminine curves under her dress, as his gaze involuntarily dropped lower.
All right…
“Thank you” he said mechanically
.
“My lord…” she replied shyly, somewhat surprised, before moving on to serve the mayors.
“It’s good to see God has kept you safe as well, my lord” Brunhilda responded aloud, recalling his attention abruptly.
“Yes…I… I beg…please enlighten me with regards to the extent of the damage that the Romans have caused. It was such a blatant example of bad judgment for Theuderic to get involved with them…” he petitioned, grabbing ahold of his cup. But his eyes continued to follow the damsel, as she left the room.
“He was a hotheaded youth. What could we have expected from a teenager?”
With the focus of his manly attention gone, he turned his head, only to realize that the Burgundian regent’s piercing blue eyes were now on him. That cold stare unnerved him; this woman was the cause his mother Fredegund’s death. The decade old feud had consumed her, and she finally had expired cursing her enemy’s name. It might have seemed trivial to some, how the whole affair had started.
But it had been this bitch’s sister that dared to take my mother’s place at Father’s side. Until Fredegund took care of it all, and did away with Galswintha [2], anyhow.
This witch killed her, I know she did. Now, I’ll have her pay. “It is a real shame. Some young men have…what’s the word? Vision, yes that’s it. Foresight!” he replied, slapping the tabletop softly, and taking a sip of his drink shortly after. He could notice that she had not taken the comment lightly. Clothar was not an old man himself at twenty one; he had taken care of pointing that out.
“That is true, my lord” she answered finally, breaking eye contact.
That’s right. I’m your King now.
The food was served, and the rest of the afternoon was spent on casual conversation until the guests began departing. By the time everyone was gone, and Sigebert had been sent to bed, it was well past dark. Only Brunhilda, Berthoald, Landeric, and himself remained in the ample hall. Leaving the long table behind them, they walked over to the couches by the massive fireplace, and sat down before the twirling flames in the firebox.
“Well… now that we can talk at ease, tell me about the Roman problem” he demanded.
“My lord, since last year’s campaign, we’ve had to endure about two raids a month. At first the Romans themselves took part in them. But lately they’ve let their Lombard dogs off the leash. They’re the ones attacking now” Berthoald informed him.
“And you haven’t been able to manage
that?” he inquired, sardonically, and making a face. “What strength do the Lombards have left?”
“Ahhmm…”the mayor mumbled, at a loss for words.
“We’ve had to guard the border against Theudebert. We do not possess enough strength at the moment to address the needs of both fronts” Brunhilda cut in.
“Perhaps, all we need is to chastise the Lombards. Give them a good bloody nose; that ought to keep them quiet for a while” Landeric proposed, crossing his arms.
“If you want partial results, take partial measures” the Queen declared, in a patronizing tone. “Besides, the Roman army is gone. And we’ve caught word of some interesting developments which should greatly ease your task in Italy, my lord…”
“And what would that be?”
“The Lombards have revolted against the puppet that ruled over them. They are in a war against the Romans themselves now” she announced, triumphantly.
Ha! Possibly, there might be more benefits to this raid after all…
“If that’s the case, why don’t we just let the problem take care of itself?” Clothar teased.
“Because whoever wins will have all of Italy and its resources, making it much harder to deal with in the future” Brunhilda snapped.
“I guess you’re right then. That surely does make things much, much easier, my lady” he retorted, amused.
I can always deal with you when I get back, weighed down with Roman gold..
“I am glad we concur. I am afraid that is all the information that I have to share with you; Berthoald here will be able to brief you more extensively on any details you might want to know about” she offered, getting up from her seat. “If you would excuse me now, it has been a long day, and I would like to get some rest before tomorrow’s celebration.”
“By all means, my lady” Clothar answered, waving a hand before adding, “I’ll retire to my quarters myself. We’ll have enough time to discuss this later.” Both mayors stood up, but he remained seated, staring into the fire.
“Goodnight then.”
The Queen exited the room first, followed by Landeric. Yet, when Berthoald walked past him on the way out, he grabbed the Burgundian mayor by the arm and looked assertively into his eyes. “Just thought I would remind you; you work for me now. Is that clear?”
The older man nodded in silence, narrowing his own eyes slightly, “yes, my lord.”
“Good” Clothar said, letting go. “Now find the girl serving the wine at the table earlier, and send her to my room. I’m a widower [3] and tomorrow, I’ll be King of this land. Let me learn about its people.”
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[1] Landeric, Neustrian Mayor of the Palace (c.604-c.613)
[2] Galswintha (b.540–d.568.) Daughter of Athanagild, King of the Visigoths, and sister of Brunhilda. She was married to Chiperic I of Neustria, but was murdered at Fredegund’s instigation, which aroused Brunhilda’s hatred and gave way to their long feud.
[3] Clothar’s first wife, Haldetrude, had died the year before in 604. Some sources claim that she passed shortly after the birth of her son Dagobert I, OTL’s Clothar’s heir.