Peyrusse le Roc, Charlemagne's dad conquered this area

In our trip to France we visited some obscure sites. One that gets a lot of blank stares, even from Frenchmen, is when I say I visited Peyrusse le Roc.

I happened to find a listing of it while browsing through the Michelin Green Guide for Languedoc Rousillon Tarn Gorges. I had been considering visiting Peyrepertuse during our trip and saw the nearby heading of Peyrusse le Roc. There was a mention of ruins and that the area had once been conquered by Pepin le Bref, better known as the father of Charlemagne.

Ultimately we did not visit Peyrepertuse. In the guides were warnings about severe winds and safety. If the winds are too strong, tourists are not allowed to climb the ruins. The drive to get to Peyrepertuse would have been about three hours. I did not like the idea of driving that far with no guarantee about whether or not we could even climb the ruins once we got there.

Instead, I chose to visit ruins which I hoped might date back to the eight century and had a link to the Carolingian dynasty.

The Michelin Green Guide said that the site was closed on Mondays. As it turns out, the ruins are always accessible. It is the tourist office that is closed on Mondays and, like elsewhere in France outside of Paris, it is closed between the hours of noon to two as well. The tourist office sells a brochure with pictures and a brief history of Peyrusse le Roc for 3.5 Euros. (At least that was the price two years ago.)

Getting to Peyrusse le Roc was an adventure all in itself.

The village is about two and a half hours north of Toulouse and about half an hour south of Figeac in a region known as the Rouergue.

Before our trip to France we purchased a Garmin Nuvi as well as a package of French maps. I was unable to find Peyrusse le Roc either by the site indexes or by even typing in the name. As far as my GPS unit was concerned, Peyrusse le Roc did not exist. We were left to navigate our route the old-fashioned, low tech way: maps and road markers.

We kept the GPS unit on just to show us what road we were on, and at one point I laughed because it stopped doing just that. It appeared as if we were traveling overland as the D287 looked as if it disappeared.

It didn't but the satellite did not seem to recognize that fact.

Here is an aerial view via Google maps so you can get a sense of the area.


View Larger Map



Only upon arriving at the village did the Garmin reluctantly acknowledge its name.

The village itself is small and very quiet.
It was the only village in France where I did not see a boulangerie or a charcuterie. Nor did I see any restaurants.

I was glad we packed a picnic lunch.

The present day village is on the hilltop and to get to the ruins, you wind up walking up and down steep grades. Over the course of that day I walked inclines more times than I care to remember. My knees and shins were complaining that day and the next.


Talking with the woman in the Tourist office was of little help in my research. She spoke no English and so our communication was based solely on my limited French skills. I wanted to know what was still standing that was conquered by Pepin le Bref. As I said his name, she perked up and nodded in recognition. However, I could not convey to her the essence of my inquiry. Alas, she resorted to telling me again and again where to start my tour.



Their tourist guide indicates that the first mention of Pétrucia (a previous name for Peyrusse le Roc) was in 767 when Pepin le Bref advanced in Aquitaine in pursuit of Duke Waiffre. I discovered that Pétrucia was a previous name by a quick Google search. At first I thought it was the name of an unfamiliar historian.

I found a monograph titled: PETRUCIA-PERYUSSE (Histoire politique, administrative, économique et sociale d'une commune française)
It is available for 35 Euros.

The following is an automated translation, forgive any irregularities. At least it does not include references to convents of chocolate éclairs.

"A site as impressive as Peyrusse-le-Roc, situated at an altitude of 465 m, with the remains of the ancient and imposing Rupes Peruciae and walking paths, also riding high, has even today in early ^3rd millennium, an evocative dramatic. This is even more sensitive for someone who, as the author of this work, has ancestral links with the locality, once formidable fortress, "eagle's nest surrounded by a fortified wall" is found, Indeed, the evidence in this book, a notary Gleyrose in 1598, a Mr. Jean-Louis Gleyrose, practitioner in 1778 and a citizen Gleyrose Mayor in 1793. Here, the ties of blood feeding the aesthetic emotion and passion of the researcher and we are more surprised than Paul Gleyrose, descendant of the above, we present here a dense monograph also includes the history of Petrucia-Peyrusse, origins prehistoric till the year 1900, with its colors of epic (role of the city in the war against the English), but also its demographic, economic and social (poverty of some of the inhabitants, after 1789, and "lack of relations" with the surrounding villages) and a complete and detailed portrait of the little town in the late ^nineteenth century, once important capital of royal bailiwick, a clear vision and contrast always faithful to the documents d 'archive.
Long the city, the preferred site, named in official documents, sometimes Oppidum Petruciae, Villa Petruciae, Rupes Peruciae or Castrum Petruciae derives its power from its topography, albeit at a price of almost incessant wars, the eighth ^century (seat of Pepin the Short) through ^sixteenth (unsuccessfully attacking the Calvinists in 1568), through acts of armed resistance against the agents of the kingdom (XII ^century), the Albigensian war (early XIII ^century), the long conflict between France to England (XIV ^century) and the struggle of two rival factions, the Armagnacs and the Burgundians (XV ^century). Reporting directly to the counts of Rouergue, because of its position high up, she sees her fate tied to them (from 849) until the royal sovereignty necessary, with Hugh Capet and his descendants. But from the ^sixteenth century, lost its place as a stronghold (discovery of gunpowder, advances in artillery, pacified regions around), Peyrusse its activity will fall until 1789, while tax burdens, they , heavy. The abolition of privileges is greeted with joy by the inhabitants, but "no drop of blood was shed (the city) during the Revolution." In 1848, the communal life "seems to get some momentum," the ways of improving communication: Peyrusse the beautiful, picturesque village Aveyron, becomes little by little, aflaming torch high in the past."

As we came upon the ruins, my husband took one look at the structure and announced that he was not climbing it. He also said that my life insurance policy was up-t0-date and if I wanted to climb it to go right ahead.

I was thrilled to hear that sentiment.

If you look closely you can see a rickety ladder leading up to the top of that rock. Then there is a skimpy little railing that surrounds the top portion.


I decided against climbing it. I took copious pictures from beneath and did not wish to discover firsthand the wonders of the French health care system.

We were told by a couple who were return visitors that on Bastille Day firecrackers are set off at the top of these ruins. I cannot imagine climbing up or down those ladders in the dark. The thought of setting off explosive devices on that summit....YIKES!











Here is an even closer look at the stairs and surrounding fence.













I am reprinting the top photo so you can see the brave soul standing on the top of the big rock. That was not me. Although I do think the view from up there would have been spectacular.

There was an artist's rendering on the back of the tourist guide showing a wooden structure with a pitched roof between the two towers. I do not think that castle could have been thought of as spacious or comfortable. I can also only imagine how many fatalities occurred during the construction of that edifice.



The guide also says that this iconic structure dates to the 11th century, so that is past the time of Pepin le Bref. I do not know what was standing that Pepin conquered, but most likely it was destroyed. Either at the time or over the centuries.


To take those pictures I first had to walk down a steep hill to get to the base of the ruins.


Beneath the structure is the sign designating it as the Château inférieur. Clicking on the photo will enlarge it for you so that you should be able to make out the words including "de l'epoque carolingienne."



After taking my pictures at the base of the chateau, I went through a doorway in the wall that surrounded it and ventured onward and downward.

Next up was the ruins of Notre Dame de Laval. Here is the marker for that.


Here are ruined pointed arches that are now covered with foliage.




This next picture you can see where the church ruins are in relation to the Château inférieur. Just look at the top of the picture to see the familiar tower.

I love this next picture because it is a jumble of stones and vegetation. As if the earth is slowly reclaiming its bones from Man.


Here is another picture of the church's ruins with various shadows playing over its remains.



Next are the ruins from a hospital dating back to 1213.

Here are two signs denoting its significance.


Here is the exterior of the hospital which does not look all that bad, but...


from another angle you can see that it is not fit for patients to be seen today.


Then the path curved and I discovered moss covered steps leading back to the village.


There were some structures not in ruin such as the beffroi, what we call a belfry.



Here I am at the end of the day after walking up and down the hill to the village one too many times.

Montauban, A City of Art and legends

Memorial to the 1870 war by Antoine Bourdelle

In my trip to France there were a couple places that I had to visit. One was Paris and another was Montauban.

I could find plenty of Americans who had been to Paris and were willing to offer advice about places to see and things to do, but I could not find anyone who had been to Montauban.

And that is a shame.

Montauban is a beautiful city in a gorgeous part of France and it deserves more tourists.

I needed to visit Montauban because one of the heroes in the legends of Charlemagne is Renaud de Montauban. Renaud is the eldest son in the famous French poem Les Quatre Fils Aymon or The Four Sons of Aymon.

Renaud's sister Bradamante is the heroine of my story. Therefore I found it necessary to for me to set my novel in the area surrounding Montauban.

Even though it is not historically accurate to the time period of my story. Blame it on the poets who wrote the Matters of France. They were fabulous dramatists, but not well versed on history.

The city of Montauban was founded in 1144 and Charlemagne died in 814.

However, trying to divorce Renaud from Montauban would be like trying to take Robin Hood out of Sherwood Forest.

Or using another Italian city other than Venice when refering to Leonardo. Perhaps Leonardo de Firenze.

It wouldn't work.

By my accepting the idea that dramatic necessity required my using Montauban, it mentally freed me to include similar historical inaccuracies when I deemed it a plot necessity.

That also meant my visit to Montauban was less demanding when it came to fact finding. I needed a sense of the surrounding area, but there would not be any buildings dating back to the time period of my story.

I also wanted to find examples of the legends of Charlemagne influencing their art and heritage.

Unfortunately, that was the most disappointing aspect about Montauban. I had tried via email to connect with any historians, professional or amateur, who were fans of the Matters of France. The Tourism Office sent me a lead, but I did not receive any reply.

It was not the first, nor shall it be the last time an email query receives no response.

My disappointment increased during our visit to the tourist office. I asked if there was anything such as a statue, a mural, streets, etc. in honor of Renaud de Montauban.

The only thing they knew of was a stone face on the side of the Ingres Museum thought to be of Renaud de Montauban. You can see it if you stand on the Pont Vieux and look at a certain angle.

Here is the Pont Vieux or "Old Bridge" over the Tarn River. This bridge dates back to the 14th century.


And here is the stone face that reportedly belongs to Renaud de Montauban.


While having found this face in order to take a picture seems worthy of earning points in a scavenger hunt, I was expecting more for this literary hero by the city of Montauban.

I had hoped to find statues, sculptures, paintings, or possibly a mural. I would not have been surprised to find streets being named after Renaud, Aymon, Guichard, Alard, Richardet and Bradamante. Maybe even a restaurant or two.

Les Quatre Fils Aymon Café.

As far as I know, that name is still available.

Something to demonstrate pride and ownership of this legend by the city of Montauban.

No other city or town can lay claim to being the home of Renaud.

In Chantilly I saw this painting depicting Renaud's magical horse Bayard who could expand to accommodate all four sons of Aymon on his back.



I asked the people working at the Tourism Office why there was not anything else celebrating their literary heroes. I wound up annoying them since they are not in control of artworks for the city or naming streets.

Their only answer to me was that this was only a story.

Only a story.

Rocamadour claims they have the sword Durindal embedded in the side of a rock (similar to Excalibur.) This was the sword of Roland made famous in the epic poem Chanson de Roland. I do not know how they claim it came to their town, but if Roland were to have thrown it as he lay dying in the Roncesvalle Pass and it flew through the air to Rocamadour he would have to have made one helluva toss.

That sword would have to go about 190 miles or 308 kilmeters by my quick and dirty measurment on Google Earth from Roncesvalles to Rocamadour.

Yet Rocamadour uses that bit of legendary lore to lure tourists. It is based on a story.

Carcassonne uses a legend to describe how their town was named. The legend involves successfully withstanding a siege by the Emperor Charlemagne.

They made up their own legend of Charlemagne. It's not true, but it makes a good story.

Portland, Oregon has bronze statues in a park dedicated to characters written by children's author Beverly Cleary. Statues based on stories.

I remember a restaurant on the campus of Wayne State University in Detroit named Friar Tuck's. There is no legitimate claim to the legend of Robin Hood by a college town restaurant/bar in Michigan, yet they proudly used a name they thought would be inviting to patrons.

A name based on a story.

I love the vibrancy of the city of Montauban. I love its history and its surrounding beauty, but I think the city is missing out on tourist dollars. Tourist dollars that are waiting to be claimed.

My plea to the city of Montauban is for them to honor Renaud de Montauban and his fair sister Bradamante through artwork.

Carve it and they will come.

Paint it and they will come.


If nothing else, do this because I want to come back and take pictures of that artwork. I also want my picture taken standing near them.

Okay, enough babbling about what I did not find in Montauban.

Here are some photos I took of a city known for its beautiful brick architecture. Montauban is sometimes called Toulouse's "little pink sister" due to the color of the bricks. The vibrant color is due to the rich color of the soil.

This next picture is from the Place Nationale in the heart of downtown Montauban.

Our visit was on a bright sunny day and unfortunately the carved inscription is washed out in this photo.

Here is a closer look.

On the left is the Occitan Cross which was the standard of the Counts of Toulouse and on the right is the standard of the city of Montauban.


Here is a nice colorized version of Montauban's standard taken from the pages of Wikipedia.



Next comes tables for the lunch crowd on the Place Nationale.



We chose to eat at a restaurant whose tables were underneath beautiful arches.



Our first stop of the day before we went to the Tourist Office was actually the Farmer's market held on the other side of the Tarn River.

We were unsure where the market was, but was told it was near the Pont Vieux. We parked near the Ingres Museum but did not see any sign of the market. Then we saw women carrying bags laden with fresh produce. We set off trying to find where they had come from and after crossing the bridge soon discovered a large open air market teeming with people and the bounty of the land.



The fruits and vegetables were wonderful. Chasselas grapes are a specialty of the region and were bursting with flavor.

Yummmmm.

I sampled brioche for the first time in my life and we bought a marvelous apple tart for dessert.

We had the best bruschetta of our lives using heirloom tomatoes and fresh basil we bought at that market.



After our lunch we visited the Musée Ingres named after Montauban's most famous artist Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (1780-1867).

The building at one point was an episcopal palace, later it was a town hall and finally became a museum. It houses paintings by Ingres, sculptures by another famous Montauban artist Antoine Bourdelle (1861-1929), as well as other artwork and Gallo-Roman artifacts. The basement of the building is called the Black Prince room another reminder of the longreaching impact of the Hundred Years' War.


One of the most famous paintings by Ingres was inspired by the Matters of France. It is Roger délivrant Angélique. (1841)


The original hangs in the Louvre.


Here is a better version I found on the web.


Ingres was so fascinated by Angelica that he has another painting without Ruggiero. I apologize, but the lighting was not ideal at this point in the day and this was the best photo I could manage.


I do not care for the character of Angelica in either Orlando Innamorato or Orlando Furioso. She is more in the archetype of Aphrodite and I prefer the character of Bradamante who follows the archetype of Athena.

Too bad Ingres did not depict Ruggiero and Bradamante together. Or Renaud de Montauban.

Enough pounding on what I want versus what they have.

Here's a painting that impressed me. It is Le Songe d' Ossiane by Ingres.



A Gallo-Roman mosaic dating back to the fourth century.


There was also a few display cases with Greek pottery.



On the way downstairs there is a wood carving showing the patron saint of Toulouse, Saint Saturnin being martyred by being tied to the back of a bull.



Downstairs are more mosaics. You can tell by the color of the tiles next to the bricks that the materials were made in the nearby area.



A close up on the fine detail of the mosaic.

I would love to have something that intricate and beautiful in my house.


Then the room of the Black Prince. Check out the vaults on the ceiling.


Some stone sarcaphagi.


An old stone fireplace.




The close up is of a bear and a dog holding the crest.

On the left side of the mantle is the Wild Man of the Woods.


And on the right side is the lesser seen Wild Woman of the Woods.

Yay for equal representation!


One of the most disturbing things we saw in our travels in France was le banc de question.

Otherwise known as The Rack.



Here is a nice picture of colored glass to cleanse your palate.



And to leave you, here is the marvelous spread of food that my husband lovingly prepared for our dinner including the fresh fruit and baked bread we bought at Montauban's farmer's market.



It was a good day. The next day on our travels brought us to the town of Peyrusse le Roc. A town reportedly that was once conquered by Charlemagne's father Pepin le Bref.



I shall be sharing some of my pictures of my travels with my friend Lee Lofland on his blog this Saturday. Feel free to stop by.

Bruniquel and the tragic story of Queen Brunehaut

Time for another massively long travel post filled with photography and anecdotes.


One of my favorite stories about my trip to France deals with our visit to the village of Bruniquel.

While plotting out locations for my novel I had a keen eye for those areas that were historically credible sites, but I had to make a few exceptions out of plot necessities. As I scanned the towns near Montauban in the Michelin Green Guide for the Languedoc Roussillon Tarn Gorges area, I noticed the listing for Bruniquel where Gregory of Tours mentioned this village in his History of the Franks regarding Queen Brunhilda. (The French name is Brunehaut, and in deference to townspeople of Bruniquel I shall use their preferred spelling unless I am quoting from a source that uses a different spelling.)

Brunehaut was a Visigothic princess (the daughter of King Athanagild) and married Sigebert, king of Austrasia and a grandson of Clovis.

The town of Bruniquel is named after Brunehaut who is credited for the town's founding.

I had read some about Bruniquel before our trip and had viewed the town's website, but I was unsure of whether or not there was anything still standing that dated back to the time period of Charlemagne (8th and 9th centuries) or even Brunehaut (6th and 7th centuries.)

Upon arriving at this hilltop village we went directly to the Tourist Office. I wanted to know whether or not there was any buildings or fortifications or anything that I could view that dated back to the time of Brunehaut. The office was staffed with one employee and as I entered I saw there were several other tourists.

I waited my turn to ask questions.

Then there was an elderly gentleman who began a conversation with the official. I did not understand much of what was being said, but I recognized that this was not going to be over quickly. The only way that I was going to be able to talk with the employee would be to interrupt and that would not go over well.

I also was unsure if the employee spoke any English.

I did not want to interrupt a conversation and speak in halting French to ask my questions. I thought that would have been the height of rudeness, and so rather than wait for what might have been fifteen minutes or so, I left the office and decided to just make my way to the top of the village to the castles.

Yes, the plural is correct. Castles.

There was a family dispute and this brought about competing castles built on the same site. And you think you have "issues" with your family or next door neighbors!

At the entrance to the village is a sign depicting an aerial view of those castles. Here is a photograph of that sign. It looks as though the town is on the river, but it is deceiving because this is another strategic hilltop town that overlooks a river.



The next photograph is of the history of the town written in three languages.

Pardon the shadow of the camera hand, but these pictures were taken in the afternoon and nothing could be done to eliminate some shadows appearing.



Here is a monument found at the base of the town across the road from the Tourist office. It is in commemoration of those who gave their lives in World War I and II and stands in front of the church.


We made our way up the narrow streets and continued to marvel at the beauty of the stone used in the town to create buildings that have lasted for centuries.


Once we were at the top of the hill we had to walk around the fortifications surrounding the castles until we could find the entrance. I was struck by the drama of a tree and other foliage growing over these walls as if Nature was trying to reclaim the area from Man.


Here is another view from outside the walls where vegetation has been allowed to grow without being cut down.



Here is a wall with arrow slits and the outside of one of the castles.


Here is a view of the Aveyron River from outside the village, but outside the castles.


Once inside the castle, we paid our entrance fee and were asked if we wanted a guided tour.

I then said, "Anglais, s'il vous plaît?"

The woman shook her head sadly and replied, "No, because my English is not that good."

I told her (in my best French) that I was writing a novel based on the legends of Charlemagne and was interested in anything before that time. I also mentioned that I wanted to know if anything stood that dated back to the time of Brunehaut.

As I mentioned Brunehaut's name, the woman's smile grew broader. The town is proud of this notorious woman from history.

She brought out an English language map of the site as well as a paper detailing its history, and suggested that after our tour that we should visit the town's museum the Maison Payrol.

I had not planned on going there because the description in the Michelin guide did not make it seem as if there would be much of interest to my time period. I thanked her, and then left to explore the castles.

After having been in Paris and Carcassonne where most of the historical sites were renovated, as well as Guédelon where a castle was under construction, I was a bit unprepared to see a site that had not been renovated. There were places that looked in dire need of repair.

Let us start with an ancient bread oven.


The glow is actually sunlight and not due to any red hot embers.

As we stepped outside we saw the remains of old domestic buildings.


Inside the shed is something for my fellow wine lovers: an old wine press. The better to squeeze you with my dear.


Here we get closer to what was labelled as the Salle des Chevaliers (or Knights Room) from the 13th Century.



Inside was a ruined fireplace and hearth.


Here is a view into the courtyard and you can see one of the castles in the background. If you notice, the pillars are decorated with fantastic animals.


Here is a close up of one pillar.



I think it might be depicting a griffin due to the wings, but the facial features look more like that of a donkey than a bird, however the legs look distinctly avian-like. Even the hind legs.

Has anyone ever heard of a four legged bird? Even the fantastical beasts?

Either way, when I zoom in and analyze the picture it appears that the creature depicted is male.

Here's a view of another pillar with animals.

I think it is of a monkey standing on the back of something with legs bent in unnatural angles.

I do not know what the creature on the left is, but it appears to have four legs, feathers and male.

Any medieval bestiary experts out there who can tell me what kind of beasts they think are depicted on these pillars?

Moving along, here is a sign showing the outlines of the various structures within the confines of the fortified walls as well as a brief history.


There is a square in the center which is identified as the Keep or the Donjon.

Here is the sign outside of that structure denoting that it was named after Queen Brunehaut even though it was constructed centuries after her death.


From the inside of the Donjon looking up.


The Keep is on the left hand side of this picture and on the right is the outside of the New castle and in the center is a tower from the old castle.


Here is a better picture of the old castle. It appears to be in pretty good shape from the outside.


Ah, but the inside is not as pretty. I am not altogether sure what this thing was used for, but it is rusty and looks decrepit.



Here is another area that does not look inviting to me.



The castles in Bruniquel are used by the community to showcase artwork. Here you can see photographs displayed that were part of an exhibit of "ghost photography."

If you look closely you might be able to see spirits.




Into another portion of the castle there was a mural on crumbling plaster.



From the vantage point of an upstairs window you can look down upon the Salle des Chevaliers and the roof of the shed that held the wine press.
From another window facing a different direction you can look down upon the Aveyron River.


I believe that the following pictures were taken from the "new castle." You can see that the floor for the second story has been removed. Otherwise why else would there be a fireplace in mid air?

Here is another floating fireplace and the post holes from the missing flooring are evident. You can also see artwork hung by a pipe and chains under the hearth with care.


After touring the castles I wanted to ask a few more questions of the woman who I had spoken with earlier. I was disappointed when I saw someone else at her window.

We then walked through the streets of Bruniquel to find La Maison Payrol and saw this beautiful house along the way.


I was surprised when we arrived at the museum to find that the woman I had wanted to ask a few more questions was there. She was waiting for us.

She took me upstairs and showed some handwritten notes about Queen Brunehaut.

I was told about the road outside Bruniquel was known as "La Voie Romaine et le Chemin de la Reine" and she thought it might be from Cahors to possibly Albi.

For those who are unaware of the history of Queen Brunehaut, it is one of revenge, violence, fratricide, repeated assassination attempts and ultimately a tragic death.

Brunehaut as mentioned previously was the daughter of King Athanagild of the Visigoths and married Sigebert who was king of Austrasia. Gregory of Tours described her as "a maiden beautiful in her person, lovely to look at, virtuous and well­behaved, with good sense and a pleasant address."

She was so impressive that Sigebert's brother Chilperic, king of Nuestria, wanted to know if Brunehaut had a sister. He wanted someone just as beautiful and refined to be his queen. King Athanagild then sent his daughter Galsuenda to be married to Chilperic.

The problem was that in order for Chilperic to wed Galsuenda, he had to put away his previous wives. One of which was a woman named Fredegunde.

The marriage of Chilperic and Galsuenda did not last very long. It appears that she did not like his dalliances with other women and she wanted to go back to her father. That did not happen. Instead, she was found strangled and Chilperic was soon remarried to Fredegunde.

This led to a decades long feud between Brunehaut and Fredegunde.

Brunehaut was later awarded her sister's dowry since Galsuenda died an unnatural death.

And as to the cities, namely, Bordeaux, Limoges, Cahors, Lescar, and Cieutat, which it is well known that Galsuntha, lady Brunhilda's sister, acquired as dowry or morganegyba, that is, morning gift, when she came into Francia, and which lady Brunhilda is known to have acquired by the decision of the glorious lord king Gunthram (a third brother and king of Burgundy) and of the Franks when Chilperic and king Sigibert were still alive, it is agreed that the lady Brunhilda shall have as her property from today the city of Cahors with its lands and all its people, but the other cities named lord Gunthram shall hold while he lives... Gregory of Tours History of the Franks, Book Nine in the Twelfth year of King Childebert: 20

And this is where Bruniquel comes from because of the proximity to Cahors which is approximately 55 kilometers away.

A war was fought between the brothers Sigebert and Chilperic, and Sigebert died at the hands of assassins sent by his brother.

The widowed Brunehaut became regent for her son Childebert II who was only four at the time of his father's death. According to Gregory of Tours, King Chilperic kept Brunehaut in exile in Rouen at this time.

Chilperic was betrayed by his son Merovech who left his military detail to go to Brunehaut, who he then secretly married. The nephew marrying his uncle's widow was considered to be incestuous and Chilperic put an end to the marriage and forced his wayward son into a monestary and then a series of intrigues which resulted in Merovech asking someone to kill him lest he fall into his enemies' hands. Gregory of Tours wrote, "There were some at the time who said that Merovech's words, which we have just reported, were an invention of the queen (Fredegunda), and that Merovech had been secretly killed at her command."

Gregory of Tours documented plots and counterplots between Brunehaut and Fredegunde as well as plots and counterplots with other Frankish nobles, but alas Gregory died before he could chronicle the end of Queen Brunehaut's life.

She wound up being regent of Austrasia three times: first for her son Childebert II, second for her grandson Théodebert II, and later for her great-grandson Sigebert II.

Brunehaut is reputed to have built many churches over the years and fixed old Roman roads, but she also crossed many nobles and created enemies.

Even after Fredegunde's death, Brunehaut's archenemy still had a role to play. Fredegunde's son Clotaire exacted the downfall of his mother's nemesis.

Fearing Brunehaut's coming to power once again as regent on behalf of her great-grandson Sigebert II, Clotaire brought together a meeting of the nobles and he accused his aunt of heinous crimes. They sided with him and she was tortured and then put to death.

She died at the age of seventy nine.

Seventy nine.

Just when you think that no one lived all that long in the middle ages, you find examples such as Charlemagne and Brunehaut living long and full lives.

I asked the grande dame who was showing us the museum how Queen Brunehaut died because I had seen conflicting reports. I wanted to know if she had been drawn and quartered.

The lady shook her head vigorously. "No. She was dragged to her death on the back of a horse."

Which was the other version I had seen.

I then wanted to know where she was put to death.

Bruniquel.


And Normandy, as well as Brussels.

She laughed and I realized that Brunehaut's body had not been transported from one site to another and dragged again, it was that this story was so dramatic that multiple places wanted to claim the distinction of having been the site of her death.

Look again at this image from the top of the page and read the bottom lines if you can understand French.




En 613, CLOTAIRE II, le fils de FREDEGONDE, condamne BRUNEHAUT à périr attachée à la queue d’un cheval indompte.

La légende veut que ce supplice eut lieu à BRUNIQUEL, sur la <>, à l’ouest du village.

--
My own translation:

In 613, Clotaire II, the son of Fredegonde, condemned Brunehaut to die by attaching her to the tail of a horse.

The legend is that the torture took place in Bruniquel on the red road west of the village.

--



I then suggested that there was another legend of the death happening in Paris, but she shook her head.

Upon arriving back home and I had time to referred to some of my notes that I realized why I thought Brunehaut might have died in Paris. I had read that in Robert Cole's A Traveler's History of Paris.

The chronicles relate that she was taken prisoner, 'reproached' with responsibility for the death of ten kings. She was then set on a camel for three days to be mocked and insulted by the army, after which she was tied to the tail of a horse 'which was lashed into a fury.' Soon all that remained of Brunhild was 'a shapeless mass of carrion,' as Thomas Okey described it with something less than delicacy. Tradition places the execution at the corner where Rue Saint-Honoré meets Rue de l'Arbre Sec. page 18

Here are two different depictions of Brunehaut being executed. The first makes her appear as if starch were applied quite liberally throughout her body.

Talk about stiff.

And the legs are disporportionately long as well. (Did she get put on the Rack first?)

Grandes Chroniques de France, XIV°, Bibliothèque Nationale.

This next one shows more realism as well as drama. However, the body does not seem like it belongs to a seventy-nine year old woman.

Histoire de France, by François GUIZOT 1875

This tragic story of power, assassinations, and assassination plots as well as a brutal execution demonstrated to me the stark difference between historical reality of being in a royal family over the "prince and princess stories" fed to children as an idyllic life.

Think of the story of Brunehaut the former Visigothic princess the next time you see a little girl dressed up in a pink frilly Disney princess dress. Although I do not suggest you tell the girl the story of Brunehaut and Fredegonde, just keep that as your own inner monologue.

In retrospect, I wish I had asked to take a picture of the woman who was so kind to me.

Her grasp of English was better than my grasp of French and we communicated by talking as much as we could in each other's language. It is when either of us could not come up with words we needed that we resorted to using our own own tongues. Somehow in the middle we were able to have a meaningful conversation.

She had finished her day working at the castles and waited for me at the museum so that she could share the history of her village. That is a kindness that I shall remember for years.

The time spent in Bruniquel is one of my fondest memories of my trip to France and it is one that I mention when asked about the hospitality we received by the French people.