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Dana Schwartz (0:31)

You welcome to Noble Blood, a production of iHeartRadio and Grim and Mild from Aaron Menke. Listener discretion advised. With the king lying dead out in the stable yard, chaos reigned inside the villa, nobles grabbed what valuables they could and fled, servants scrambled as rumors spread about assassins in their midst, and the queen frantically paced in an advisor's chambers, unable or unwilling to visit her husband's body. Any shock or grief that Queen Fredegunde felt on that fateful September night in 584 was outweighed by her survival instincts. Fredegund knew how swiftly the pendulum of power could swing in the warring realms of Francia, having experienced higher highs and lower lows than just about anyone. If she did not act quickly, she and her infant son, whose existence she had kept a secret, would both be at the mercy of her enemies. By that point, she had already lost four boys and could not bear to lose another. She had spent years clawing and scheming her way from slavery to to the pinnacle of the Merovingian monarchy, and she wasn't about to lose it all. So Fredegunde fled to a cathedral in Paris and holed up with her baby, cornered but still calculating. Historians do not definitively know who ordered the hit on Fredegunde's husband, but it's not hard to make an educated guess. Fredegand herself would have had an instant hunch about the Orchestrator, because roughly a decade earlier, she herself had planned the assassination of a neighboring king who was the husband of a fierce rival. Fredegund also knew that whether or not that rival Queen Brunhilde was responsible, Brunhild would certainly seek to capitalize on the frenzied aftermath of the killing, because that was exactly how Fredegune's rival operated. Sure enough, as panicky members of Frattagoon's entourage fled, Brunhild was already waiting to intercept them with her own son and their robust army. Similar to Fredegunde, Brunhilde had weathered grave tragedies and engineered stunning victories. She, too had once even found herself vulnerably confined in Paris after suddenly becoming a widow. As Brunhilde's forces closed in, she was likely unaware that Fredegunde had recently given birth. She was probably hoping that this conquest would help her own teenage son consolidate power over Francia with her expanding role as regent. The news that Fredegunde had eluded capture and entrenched herself in a church would have surely been vexing to Brunhilde, but probably not surprising. After all, that was how Brunhilde's rival maneuvered. To some, the two queens looming showdown might have seemed like it would finally bring an end to their epic war perpetuating conflict. But for Brunhild and Fredegunde, this would be yet one more blood stained piece of their utterly unprecedented puzzle. I'm Dana Schwartz and this is Noble Blood. Quite a lot happened in Brunhilde's and Fredegunde's storylines prior to where we left them at the end of Part one. And in quickly recapping the highlights, eerie parallels and stark differences in their reigns, the narrative practically comes off like a sensational boxing match. In the Austrasian corner, there was the early crowd favorite, Brunhild, the highly touted princess turned queen, fighting out of Neustria. There's the underdog, Fredegunde, a survivor who lifted herself all the way from forced servitude to the highest seat of power available. The early rounds of their battle saw fierce sparring everything from Fredegunde possibly influencing her husband to murder Brunhilde's sister, to Brunhilde helping mastermind a clever legal claim so that her husband, King Siegbert, could invade Fredegunde's country. Just when Brunhilde's side seemed poised to strike a knockout blow, Fredegund came in with a stunningly sneaky jab, engineering King Siegbert's assassination. This flipped the whole fight and left Brunhilde on the ropes. Nevertheless, she opted to go down swinging, saving her children and getting herself sent off to a convent. This is where we pick back up, with Brunhild stuck desperately figuring out how to get herself back in the game. Fortunately for Brunhilde, in that convent in Rouen, she reportedly found an ideal co conspirator, Otivera, the banished first wife of Chilprick, Fredegonde's husband. According to some accounts, Odivera had high status among the insular world of the nuns. This won her certain privileges and a level of respect from the older bishop in charge, which in turn made her a useful ally for Brunhilde, especially because the two had so much in common. Both Brunhild and Odivera had been deposed by Fredegund and Chilpric, suffering losses and humiliating ostracisms in the process. On top of all the painful and personal reasons the queens may have wanted to seek revenge against the Neustrian monarchs, immense power and lucrative assets were hanging in the balance. Brunhild's son was in a risky position as the king of Austrasia, since he was so young and did not have her there as a protective regent for Odivera, her own children were supposed to inherit lands and titles after Chilprick's death. Except those agreements were put in jeopardy by all of Fredegoon's plotting and the birthing of her own heirs. So despite their limited resources inside the nunnery, Brunhilde and Odivera yearned to execute a decisive move. Odivera's connections evidently allowed them to send and receive covert messages, but the all important question was whom should they contact? Meanwhile, Fredegunde was enjoying the dominance that her successful regicide had won. Her sources claimed that her husband would defer so significantly to Fredegund on court matters that he would sometimes refuse to take unilateral action without her approval. As previously mentioned, Fredegund seemed particularly keen on using her newfound authority to dole out brutal justice. She reportedly regularly sentenced failed assassins, servants and supposedly disloyal subjects to having their hands, noses and ears hacked off. There are also several recorded instances of of her ordering her enemies to be broken on the rack or burned alive. Fredegunde also often pursued her own ends without input from her husband, by bribing many officials and planning further assassinations. She was so effective in her aims that many Franks, particularly Brunhild's supporters, increasingly labeled her in an evil witch. But there appears to be little to no evidence that Fredegund even tried to refute those supernatural rumors. Presumably, she preferred being feared. With word of Fredegunde's growing influence reaching even their convent, Brunhilde and Odivera knew the clock was ticking on their comeback. So their strategic instincts hit on the fastest means of gaining marriage. They hatched a mutually beneficial plan for Brunhilde to contact and marry Audovera's oldest living son, who was Chilpric's son and Fredegund's stepson, if you're keeping track. Bucking norms, Brunhilde even probably proposed to him. This is not just revisionist history. A 7th century scribe stated it that way, reframing the bride as the active party. In theory, that match would greatly elevate both banished queens positions. Ottovera's son would become even more prominent and they could then claim that he was the rightful heir of Neustria, undermining Fredegunde and her children. And Brunhilde would be regent as her son ruled Austrasia. And she could be a queen consort. If her new husband overthrew his estranged father, she could potentially become queen of 2/3 of Francia. Brunhild and Olivera's son wed in 576 in the same cathedral where Brunhilde's sister had married Chilpric. This wedding was much more cobbled together than Brunhilde's. First, it was also somewhat scandalous since technically a groom marrying his uncle's widow was a form of incest frowned upon by the church. But their union was bolstered by several elements. First, Brunhilde and her new husband were not blood relatives. Second, Odivera had previously gotten the presiding bishop to agree to be the groom's godfather, so he likely fancied himself a plum position if his godson became the new king of Neustria. And third, stirring up a bit of scandal was the whole point. Brunhild was trying to stoke a rebellion against her ex brother in law and new sister in law. Sorry for all the complicated inter family dynamics here, but the headline is this was a power move and time to get your royal rivalry scorecards out because both queens were fully back in the ring. Unfortunately for Brynhilde, her new husband's army seems to have been defeated in such a quick manner that their downfall comes across as mystifyingly vague in most historical accounts. Nevertheless, what was clear was that Chilpric easily captured the newlyweds. He forced his wayward son to become a priest. Then, apparently tired of all the scandals and headaches that Brunhilde was causing, the king negotiated with her to allow her to return to Austrasia if she promised to completely abandon her new husband. Brunhilde's dealmaking skills were so honed by this point though, that on top of securing her release, she also bought herself some added time to sneakily shore up her alliances before returning home. She supposedly secretly delivered more accrued treasure to that same enterprising bishop in case he could support her now disavowed husband in a second effort to overthrow his father. And on top of that, Brunhilde somehow also got Chilpric to agree to return her hostaged daughters to her. So miraculously, if you're keeping track, in a matter of months, Brunhilde had managed to escape her convent, return home richer in gold and allies, and reunite her family so she could watch over them as regent of Austrasia. Fredegunde may have gained the upper hand in the last few rounds of their fight, but this one went resoundingly to Brunhilde. Over the next eight years, both Brunhilde and Fredegunde both proved to be productive rulers. As regent, Brunhilde became a skilled diplomat, deftly managed the squabbling nobles of her court, and heavily invested in infrastructure that included included repairing old Roman roads and constructing a hospital and beautiful churches. Fredegunde was noted for her popular tax reforms, as well as for sniffing out plots against her, both legitimate and perceived, and even for her military acumen. The legendary boldness and creativity that Fredegund exhibited, especially when her forces were vastly outnumbered, won her the respect of her armies and inspired numerous historians, writers and tacticians. But Fredegund also suffered many tragedies through this period. She devastatingly lost four sons in a seven year span, mostly due to dysentery. And just after birthing a fifth son in secret, her life would once again be turned upside down. While staying at a villa outside of Paris in 584, her husband, Chilpric, returned to his stables after a hunt. His party began to disperse and allegedly, as he dismounted himself, an assassin lunged forward and stabbed him multiple times. Whether or not Brunhild sent the assassin, momentum was massively swinging back into her favor. The king bled out on the ground, and his death caused such an instant frenzy that no one dared approach the body for hours. Being either afraid of associating themselves with the murder, or too preoccupied with planning their next strategic moves, Fredegunde fell into the latter category. While Brunhild and her Austrasian forces rapidly approached, Fredegunde fled to Paris to seek sanctuary in a huge cathedral that was by all accounts as extravagant as most palaces. But it essentially amounted to Fredegund as an ornate bunker, as she once again had to brainstorm how to avoid death or imprisonment. Ultimately, she would choose a similar strategy as the one Brunhild had used years ago. Namely, using persuasive talents as well as a large stash of treasure, Fredegunde successfully drew Brunhilde and her son's full attention, while also drawing the eye of another influential figure, Guntram, King of Burgundy. We haven't brought up Guntram and his third kingdom of Francia much until this point, because, Frankishly speaking, his ambitions and actions did not seem to be as consistently dramatic or earth shaking as his brother's, let alone those of his sisters in law. Guntram often fell into the role of peacemaker, buffer, or underdog supporter in the civil war. Basically, he didn't want either neighboring kingdom to become too powerful. Guntram also detested the idea of women ruling and thought widowed deposed queens should stay stashed in convents. But when needed, Brunhild and Fredegunde both found ways to get crafty with him. Knowing that Guntram had no surviving heirs, Brunhilde had managed to make a deal with him to adopt her son as heir to Burgundy in exchange for agreeing to stop the Austrasians war against Neustria. Once again, she was angling to ensure that her line would eventually be able to control at least two thirds of Francia. However, Fredegund was apparently aware that Guttrym had done that, and she had also intuited that Guttrym was still resentful of Brunhilde for wielding so much power. So, while still stuck in her Paris cathedral, with limited time and means of communication, Fredegunde thought carefully on the best tact to take with her potential lifeline. She tapped into Gutrum's paternal instincts, but rather than asking him for any adoption favors, she sent him a message appealing for pity, since she had a newborn baby. According to Bishop Gregory of Tours, our most thorough source from this time, Fredegund wrote to let my lord come and take charge of his brother's kingdom. I have a tiny baby whom I long to place in his arms. At the same time, I shall declare myself his humble servant. Fragigoon's cleverly timed baby surprise was worked. Guntram stepped in, and he prevented Brunhilde and her son from capturing Fredegund and her infant son. And Guntram also pushed for an end to his fellow Frankish country's civil war. For his troubles, he also likely helped himself to some of Fredegune's treasure. So major diplomacy points go to fresh Fredegund here. Although as part of the deal, she agreed to step away from royal life. But at last there was relative peace, at least until Guntram died. Soon, Brunhilde and Fredegund went right back to leading their queendoms against each other. Fredegunde planned more assassinations and again grabbed her throne. Serving as regent for her son, she oversaw Neustria's army and won decisive military victories despite almost always being outnumbered. At one point, after one of her generals was felled on the battlefield, Fredegunde reportedly shocked the enemy by leading the Neustran charge herself. At the same time, Brunhild shepherded her son's reign so skillfully that she was credited with impacting almost all of Austrasia's biggest decisions. The young king is usually portrayed as dependent and ineffectual. In 595, Brunhild's son died, leaving behind three of his own children. Surely there were some tributes to the dead king. But the fact that so many chronicles paid so little attention to his death goes to show how unremarkable of a ruler he probably was. Likewise, Brunhilde's reaction to this loss comes off as murky. In some accounts, it must have been an emotional blow. But having learned the hard way that a king's death could rip away a queen's power, Brunhilde prudently secured her position as regent for two of her grandsons. They were 9 and 10, and technically the new rulers of Austrasia and Burgundy respectively. At that time, Fredegoon's king son was only 11, meaning Francia was entirely in the hands of child kings. Although not really. The two queen mothers wielded all of the true power. And though both were in their rule dueling primes, if we were to update our royal rivalry scoresheets at this point, Brunhilde probably is winning for presiding over 2/3 of Francia. Still, anytime Brunhilde or Fredegund got the upper hand, the opposing queen would pull off a gritty move to save herself and her lineage. Astonishingly, considering how powerful and wide wily they each could be, Brunhilde and Fredegunde were so evenly matched that in the end, neither was able to directly defeat the other and settle the final score. In 597, Fredegunde suddenly died. She was in her 50s. She didn't seem to have a specific illness, and it didn't appear to be poison. It was a surprisingly quiet end for such a fiery person. And at long last, her decades spanning quarrel with Brunhilde was over. Mostly, Brunhilde may have outlived Fredegunde, but eventually Fredegunde's line would get the final say and Brunhild's death wouldn't be anything close to quiet. Fast forward to 630. Brunhild served as regent for her great grandson, meaning that she had been regent for three different generations, and no surprise, she was helping him wage war against Neustria. But many of their side defected and Fredegunde's ruling son finally captured them. In the spirit of his mother's penchant for creative punishment, he purportedly had Brunhilde quartered, that is, tied to several horses and pulled apart in a grisly public spectacle. For the first time in 52 years, Francia became united under one ruler. But Fredegunde's and Brunhilde's legacies and long simmering hostilities would continue to haunt the realm for centuries. Although many subsequent monarchs and historians obscured certain facets of Brunhilde's and Fredegunde's lives, their reigns remain uniquely fascinating and have had meaningful impacts on art and popular culture. For example, Fredegonde's military genius was on full display during the Battle of Drozy in 593. Far outmatched by Austrasian forces, she disguised her army with branches and leaves. This made it appear to an enemy sentry as if the forest were moving, which reportedly got this watchman derided as a drunkard. Fredegunde also had her mounted troops attach bells to their horses to make opposing soldiers think they were simply grazing cattle, thus allowing her army to sneak up and steal a victory. These specific tactics became so famous that scholars claim that Shakespeare borrowed and featured them in Macbeth. Brunhilde was also an inspiration for the slightly differently spelled character Brunhilde, with an e at the end and the lead Valkyrie in the famous four part cycle of musical dramas composed by Richard Wagner called the Ring Cycle. This became such a memorable role that Brunhilde even affected how Vikings are commonly visualized today. Many historians assert that by outfitting performers in winged and horned helmets, the costume designer of the opera's cycle 1976 premiere inextricably linked Vikings with that headgear in modern depictions, despite there being no actual evidence that Viking warriors really wore pointy horns on their helmets. For many, the name Brunhilde might even first conjure up images of Bugs Bunny evading Elmer Fudd as he sings Kill the wabbit in the 1957 Looney Tunes cartoon what's Opera Doc? It's impossible to say what Brunhild would have thought about her decades in power being distilled into an animated opera parody starring a rabbit in drag. But on the other hand, in terms of lasting legacies, how many other 6th century rulers can you say have been immortalized that way? Analyzing Fredegunde and Brunhilde also brings up intriguing questions about why the two are so often framed as adversaries in a heightened personal feud. On a basic level, conflict obviously sells, and the two did try to kill each other and each other's families quite a bit. It's worth asking whether Fredegund and Brunhilde's actions, though, would be discussed or framed in these same terms. If they were kings, was it easier, particularly from many male historians perspectives, to frame their relationship as a vindictive personal feud rather than a complicated imperial dispute? To be sure, there was ample fuel for personal vendettas, but there were also critical economic factors in play. Treasuries, titles, lands all up for grabs. Again, Brunhild and Siegbert did didn't invade Neustria on the official grounds that Brunhilde's sister was murdered, but technically in order to reclaim her extremely valuable land. All of that said, just as viewing Fredegunde and Brunhilde's relationship through too much of a personal drama focused lens wouldn't reveal the full picture, neither is viewing their interrelated reigns as solely hinging on coldly logical chest moves. In 6th century Francia, it was difficult for women to exercise various freedoms, much less rule. Yet both Brunhild and Fredegunde maintained power for many years, perhaps partly because both were able to effectively master political strategy and harness deep levels of emotional intelligence. Another possible way to look at it is that instead of a passionate feud being a narrative that was forced on the queen's histories, it could be the other way around. Is it possible that having such a worthy adversary in some manner forced each other to, for lack of a better phrase, up their game, which then catapulted both to new history impacting heights Brunhilde and Fredegund are each undoubtedly worthy of extensive individual study, but nevertheless, discussing the two as a pair doesn't have to be reductive and can actually be tremendously informative and also interesting. Even today, it's pretty tricky to find examples of two competing female rulers who simultaneously hold the amount of power that Brunhild and Fredegund did. Even with all the violence, upheaval and lingering questions of the two queens reigns, one thing is for their epic rivalry was unrivaled. That's the second part of the fascinating story of Brunhilde and Fredegunde, but stick around after a brief sponsor break to learn an additional method of trying to quantify our queen's power.