The Murder Of Wine-Merchant Christopher And The Hunt For His Killers

Around the year 585, France experienced a severe famine, which the merchant class savagely used to their advantage. A man named Christopher was one such opportunistic trader who scurried to sell food and drink to the parched and starving people of France at a predatory price. He was apparently from a larger merchant family, and with him in France was at least one other brother who was helping to administer the family’s business interests in the Frankish lands. Their buying and selling schemes were aided by the family’s access to a network of ships that could navigate the rivers and seas of Europe. Christopher’s last known mission brought him to the city of Orleans, where he ensured that a shipment of wine was loaded onto boats and sent down river to its destination. Although the wine was being carried by way of the river, Christopher went in a different direction. Instead of hitching a ride on one of the ships, he hopped on a horse and traveled by road in another direction. His path brought him into a forested region, yet his next mission and intentions are unknown, for he was murdered during his journey and all of his effects were stolen.

Before long, Christopher’s body was discovered, and his brother made his way to the vicinity of Orleans to complete the morbid task of overseeing the funeral arrangements. Yet, the brother was likely not prepared for the gruesome nature of the crime. Wounds on the victim’s body told a foul tale—he had been stabbed in the back and mutilated by blows to the head and torso. The number and ferocity of the blows hinted at the murder being a crime of rage and hate instead of a robbery gone wrong.

Christopher’s wealthy family strove to avenge their kinsman’s death. The brother in Orleans gathered a posse to hunt down the killers, and he already had some persons of interest in mind. In Orleans, witnesses had seen Christopher traveling with two servant-slaves of Saxon origin. While the late merchant had been brutal on the prices of his wares for the starving, he was even more savage in his treatment of his slaves. Christopher’s brother knew the two Saxon slaves had been flogged many a time by their late master and that the two had unsuccessfully tried to run away in the past—leading to even more punishment. As the slaves in question had not been found dead, injured, or present at the scene of the crime, they became prime suspects for the murder. As such, Christopher’s brother had his mercenaries and bounty hunters search specifically for the missing slaves.

After the death of Christopher, whether or not the Saxons were involved, the two servant-slaves fled from the scene and split up. One of the two was unluckily caught by the manhunters, but the Saxon did not give up without a fight. In a second escape attempt from his captors, the unlucky slave killed one of the mercenaries and tried to run away. He did not get far, however, and was soon recaptured. Christopher’s brother had apparently, by then, moved to Tours, so the arrested Saxon slave was brought there by the mercenaries for punishment. Christopher’s brother was in a bitter and unforgiving mood, leading him to push for a merciless and brutal sentencing. When the bounty hunters arrived in that city with their prisoner, tales of the grisly events that they were all involved in reached the ear of Tours’ bishop, Gregory (c. 539-594), who was a historian as well as a clergyman. Gregory of Tours recorded the account of Christopher’s murder for posterity and wrote that the captured Saxon slave was “taken by the others to Tours, submitted to various tortures and mutilated: then his corpse was hanged from a gibbet” (History of the Franks, VII.46). As for the surviving Saxon fugitive, he apparently escaped detection and was not seen again.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of the death of William the red, dated to c. 1864, by James William Edmund Doyle (1822–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Battle Between A Crime-Fighting Prophetess And A 6th-Century Bishop Of Verdun

Around the year 585, a curious woman was making a name for herself through interesting means. One part psychic, and the other part private detective, this woman (whose name has unfortunately been lost to history) was reportedly able to solve crimes and locate criminals with little difficulty. As she charged a fee for her services, or at least expected a reward for her skills, she became quite wealthy from her impeccable sleuthing. Yet, her accomplishments, reputation and riches drew suspicion and jealously among the men who held power in her home region. Such men accused her of using divination, witchcraft or other supernatural or diabolical talents to achieve her craft.

On the other side of France, the exploits of this crime-fighting woman reached the ear of Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), who was a historian as well as a clergyman.  He wrote down the story of the anonymous psychic, and commented on the effect that her skills had on the population:

“If anyone had been the victim of a robbery or any other disaster, she would immediately announce where the thief had fled, to whom he had handed over his ill-gotten gains, or what else he had done with them. Every day she acquired more and more gold and silver, and she would walk about so loaded with jewellery that she was looked upon by the common people as a sort of goddess” (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, VII.44).

Whereas Bishop Gregory of Tours was content to read and write about the woman’s deeds, his clerical comrade in Verdun, Bishop Ageric, felt more threatened by the crime-fighting prophetess and decided to launch an investigation. Ageric ultimately had the woman arrested and during the course of his interrogations, the bishop became convinced that the psychic was possessed by a demon. He even tried to perform an exorcism to prove his theory. Yet, as Bishop Gregory of Tours was informed, “Ageric was not successful in freeing the woman of this devil, and she was allowed to depart” (History of the Franks, VII.44).

Despite winning her battle of wits against Bishop Ageric, the psychic woman no longer felt at home in the bishopric of Verdun. Not wanting to put up with any further harassment from the local clergy, the prophetess decided to pack up her bags and relocate. As the story goes, she found a place for herself in the entourage of Queen Dowager Fredegund, mother of King Chlotar II (r. 584-629).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

William The Conqueror’s Rebel Roundup Of 1071

Although William the Conqueror defeated the Anglo-Saxon King Harold Godwinson and seized the throne of England in 1066, the surviving Anglo-Saxon royals and their loyalists continued resisting Norman rule for years to come. The late King Harold’s sons launched several ineffective attacks against Norman-controlled England from a base in Ireland, while another Anglo-Saxon claimant to the throne, Edgar the Ætheling, inspired more threatening (but ultimately unsuccessful) rebellions in the Northumbrian region, even going so far as to enlist the help of the Scots and the Danes in his doomed uprisings. For many a ruler, such attacks, uprisings and foreign interventions might have been fatal. William the Conqueror, however, was one of the most competent rulers of the Middle Ages, and with his Norman war machine and castle-building prowess, William’s occupation of England was too firm for the Anglo-Saxon resistance to overcome.

By 1071, the hopes and morale of the resistance in Northumbria had plummeted. Even Earls Edwin and Morcar, two of the most prominent leaders of the resistance, decided to abandon England and flee to Scotland, where Edgar the Ætheling had already found asylum. The earls decided to split up for their journey, Edwin leading some followers on a route by land, while Morcar took to the sea with other high-profile resistance leaders. Unfortunately, neither party would have any luck on their journey in 1071.

Earl Edwin’s attempt to escape came to a quick end. As it happened, there were traitors in the party of rebels that fled by land. Consequently, Earl Edwin’s life ended in a grisly ambush on the road.  Earl Morcar and the resistance members who decided to flee by sea made better progress. They successfully boarded a ship and started working their way up the network of English rivers, eventually reaching the Isle of Ely, a haven for dissidents. Yet, Morcar’s party, too, did not escape the attention of King William’s spies and informants. When the rebels landed in Ely, King William was quickly informed of their location. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle concisely described the king’s swift and overwhelming siege of the rebels’ position: “when king William was informed of that, he ordered out a naval force and a land-force, and beset the land all about, and wrought a bridge and went in, and [simultaneously attacked with] the naval force on the water-side. And then the outlaws went and surrendered to the king” (A.n. M.LXXI).

Of all the resistance leaders at Ely, only the semi-legendary figure, Hereward the Wake, was able to escape. The less-fortunate warriors who were captured during the siege faced more gruesome fates, including mutilation, imprisonment or execution. Earl Morcar was reportedly imprisoned for the rest of William the Conqueror’s reign and died, still in jail, sometime during the reign of William II Rufus (r. 1087-1100).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene from the life of William the Conqueror by James William Edmund Doyle (1822–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012.
• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/William-I-king-of-England/The-Battle-of-Hastings 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Edgar-the-Aetheling 
• http://www.englishmonarchs.co.uk/normans_15.html 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Hereward-the-Wake 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/William-II-king-of-England

The Linked Deaths Of Thane Liulf And Bishop Walchere

William the Conqueror, king of England from 1066 to 1087, successfully arranged for Walchere of Lorraine to become the bishop of Durham around 1072. Around the time of Walchere’s appointment to the bishopric, resistance among the newly-conquered Anglo-Saxon population to King William’s Norman rule was beginning to die down. One visible example of this growing acceptance and assimilation among the Anglo-Saxons was the case of a certain wealthy man named Liulf. During the pre-1066 heyday of the Anglo-Saxons, Liulf had been a powerful thane with landholdings scattered in several regions of England. Sometime after 1072, however, Liulf chose to accept Norman rule and decided to live out his retirement in Durham.

As an Anglo-Saxon nobleman, Liulf had business and government experience, and he attempted to cultivate a friendship with the Norman administrators in Durham by offering his advice to them on any matters that they were willing to discuss. He had some success growing closer to Bishop Walchere, but the other administrators, such as the bishop’s secular counterpart, Gilbert, never warmed to the retired thane. As Liulf grew closer to the bishop, the other Norman officials in Durham only continued to become more and more irritated with his presence. Nevertheless, Liulf was safe as long as his friendship with Bishop Walchere remained intact.

Unfortunately for Liulf, something occurred around 1080 that caused a breach between the bishop and the thane. What exactly caused the divide is unknown, but Bishop Walchere’s faith in Liulf was shaken to such a visible extent that the Norman officials operating out of Durham predicted that if they struck at their Anglo-Saxon rival at this time, there would be little repercussion from the bishop. Putting their hopes on this hunch, Liulf’s enemies made their move, and the Anglo-Saxon thane was murdered in his home.

It is difficult to gauge the bishop’s reaction to the death. On the one hand, he reportedly did an investigation, accusing the aforementioned administrative and military official, Gilbert, of being involved in the murder. This official, along with other people implicated in the death, faced banishment from the region of Northumbria. Yet, on the other hand, Bishop Walchere reportedly allowed Gilbert and other such banished people to secretly stay at his Durham church property.

Unfortunately for the Normans in Durham, Liulf had been a well-connected man. His family, friends and other angry Anglo-Saxons marched on Durham to demand revenge. This force became all the more irate when they learned that Bishop Walchere was sheltering the very people that he had earlier banished for being involved in the murder. The bishop, for his part, apparently attempted to negotiate some sort of peace settlement between the accused murderers and the Anglo-Saxons rioters who had poured in from various sections of Northumbria. Bringing these two parties together, however, had a disastrous effect. The fates of Bishop Walchere and his Norman comrades were reported in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which stated, “In this year [1080] bishop Walchere was slain in Durham, at a meeting, and a hundred men with him, French and Flemish; but he himself was born in Lorraine. This the Northumbrians did in the month of May” (AD 1080). In response to the massacre, King William reportedly sent a Norman army to ravage the region of Northumbria.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (A scene from the reign of Henry IV, illustrated by James William Edmund Doyle (1822–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012.
• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854.  

The Rumored Theft Of Zeno’s Treasure

During the reign of Emperor Justinian (r. 527-565), a wealthy man named Zeno was appointed to be the emperor’s prefect of Egypt. After receiving this order, Zeno started gathering his treasures of gold and jewels, for he wanted to live in luxury during his term of office. Vast quantities of gold, silver, emeralds and pearls that he owned were transported to the empire’s capital city of Constantinople, where the treasure was stockpiled on the ship that would soon take Zeno to Egypt. The voyage, however, never took place—before Zeno could leave for Egypt, his ship caught fire and the wreckage sank below the waves. With the ship went his treasure. To Zeno’s horror, not a single salvageable coin or jewel could be found floating above the water or down in the debris field on the seabed. Yet, Zeno’s misfortunes did not end there. Not long after the fire, Zeno mysteriously and suspiciously died. After his death, a will was discovered in which Zeno bequeathed all of his property to the imperial couple, Emperor Justinian and Empress Theodora.

Zeno’s death became a hot topic for gossip. With the suspicious fire on the ship, the unexplained absence of treasure in the wreckage, and his subsequent mysterious death not long after the incident, many people in Constantinople were convinced that there was foul play afoot in Zeno’s sudden downfall. One of the people who expressed this concern was Procopius (c. 490-565), the greatest contemporary historian of Justinian’s reign. In his Secret History, Procopius took the side of the gossipers, suggesting that Emperor Justinian sent henchmen to steal Zeno’s treasure and then burned the ship to cover the crime. The historian was less assertive, but still insinuative, in implicating Justinian in Zeno’s later suspicious death. Procopius wrote, “Not long after, as it happened, Zeno died very suddenly, and the two of them [the imperial couple] took over his estate as his lawful heirs, for they produced a will of sorts, which it was openly rumored was not of his making” (Secret History, chapter 12). It must be noted that Procopius was extremely critical, and often libelous, of Justinian in his Secret History, and the historian’s allegations should be taken with a grain of salt. Procopius had no definitive proof or evidence that Justinian was involved in Zeno’s death; the historian likely believed, however, that such a crime could fit with the emperor’s conniving and opportunistic character.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Painting of the Archimedes Mirror being used to burn a ship, by Giulio Parigi  (1571–1635), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Secret History by Procopius, translated by G. A. Williamson and Peter Sarris. New York: Penguin Classics, 1966, 2007.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Justinian-I 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Justinian_I/

The Tricky Tale Of How Gundovald Seized Comminges

In 585, politics in the lands of the Franks was disrupted by a man named Gundovald (or Gundoald), who claimed to have been a long-lost son of the Merovingian Dynasty’s King Chlotar (d. 561). The late king, as well as his sons, denied Gundovald’s claims, labeling him as a pretender to the throne. Nevertheless, Gundovald was more than willing to recruit disgruntled or opportunist lords and clergymen. By 585, he had recruited various counts, dukes and bishops to his cause. Yet, before he could rally this rag-tag band of followers into a truly threatening force, the patriarch of the Merovingian Dynasty at that time, King Guntram (r. 561-593), rallied his own forces with the intention of hunting down the pretender.

Fleeing from Guntram’s approaching army, Gundovald dragged his forces from town to town, eventually ending up in a place called Comminges. After giving the locals his usual speech about his dubious ties to royalty, the people of Comminges invited Gundovald’s army into the town with open arms. Gundovald reportedly informed the people of the city that an enemy force would soon be approaching, and he proposed that they gather any friends, family and belongings that happened to be outside of the town walls and bring them into the safety of the city. The gullible and trusting people of Comminges followed their guest’s suggestions, concentrating all of their supplies and belongings in the city. When this was completed, Gundovald launched a mischievous plan. The scene that reportedly followed was recorded by the bishop and historian, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594):

“Gundovald remained in Comminges. He addressed the inhabitants a second time. ‘The enemy army is approaching,’ he said. ‘You must sally forth and fight.’ They marched out to do battle. Gundovald’s men then seized the gates, slammed them to and so shut out the people of Comminges and their Bishop. They thereupon took possession of everything which they could find in town” (The History of the Franks, VII.34).

Thus, Gundovald allegedly took possession of the belongings of an entire community. He did not, however, have long to enjoy the plunder. King Guntram’s army quickly closed in on Comminges and successfully besieged Gundovald in the city. Trapped by the king’s military, Gundovald’s coalition of supporters began questioning their loyalty. Before the end of 585, Gundovald was betrayed by his supporters and faced execution.

Written by C, Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Swordsman illustrated by H. Pyle, c. 1888, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

Widowed Queen Fredegund’s Assassination Attempt Against Widowed Queen Brunhild

In 566 or 567, two Visigoth sisters married two Frankish brothers. The brides were Galswintha and Brunhild, daughters of King Athanagild of the Visigoths (r. 551/554-567), while the grooms were Chilperic and Sigebert, both sons of the Merovingian Dynasty’s King Chlotar I of the Franks (r. 511-561). At the time of the marriages, Chilperic and Sigebert (with two other brothers, Charibert and Guntram) had succeeded their father as kings of different sections of the Frankish Empire. This was the fractured environment—with several independent Merovingian kings vying for primacy in the Frankish sphere of influence—that the Visigoth princesses were marrying into. With the unions of Galswintha to Chilperic, and Brunhild to Sigebert, life could have been like a fairytale or a folk story if the times and people were kinder. Yet, in the end, events unfolded more like a saga of horrors and bloodshed, with feuds that lasted for generations.

Brunhild and Sigebert, it appears, had a happy marriage and got along quite well. Galswintha, however, found Chilperic to be a poor husband. Despite the presence of his new wife, Chilperic continuously returned to concubines and mistresses that he had favored in the past, particularly a woman named Fredegund, whom he valued above all else. Chilperic, after only a year of marriage, came to the conclusion that he had made a mistake in marrying Galswintha. Driven on by these thoughts, Chilperic ultimately decided to end the marriage. He, however, did not complete this goal by separation or by sending his wife off to a convent. Instead, he horrifically had Galswintha strangled to death in 567 or 568, and quickly married Fredegund, who reportedly had encouraged the murder.

Brunhild, understandably, was infuriated and enraged when she heard the news that Chilperic had murdered her sister. Brunhild was supported by her husband, Sigebert, who admirably championed her cause and eventually mobilized his forces for a war against his own brother Chilperic. By 575, Sigebert was visibly winning his war against Chilperic, but just as the conflict was seemingly nearing its end, Sigebert was assassinated, leaving behind Brunhild and a five-year-old son named Childebert II. Chilperic and Fredegund were the prime suspects for the murder.

Childebert II, though a vulnerable child-king, was looked after by his uncle, King Guntram (r. 561-593), and by the late Sigebert’s loyal vassals. Brunhild, although she was sometimes separated from her son, also continued to act and intrigue for his interests. The realms of Childebert and Guntram were aligned against Chilperic until around 581, when Chilperic had some success convincing the teenage Childebert to turn against Guntram. Uncle Guntram, however, was able to bring young Childebert back to his side by 584 by giving the boy control of Marseilles. Later that very year, history would repeat and another assassination would occur. This time, it was King Chilperic who fell to an assassin’s blade, leaving behind Fredegund and an infant son named Chlotar II.

With the death of Chilperic, King Guntram was now the undisputed patriarch of the Merovingian Dynasty, ruling alongside two nephews, one an ambitious teenager and the other a baby. Immediately upon his brother’s death, Guntram seemingly acted with two goals at heart—self empowerment (he seized for himself lands such as Paris, Tours and Poitiers), while also striving to save the Merovingian Dynasty from further royal assassinations within his lifetime. In furtherance of the latter goal, he placed baby Chlotar II under his protection and sheltered the widowed Fredegund from Childebert II, as the teenage king wished to avenge the death of his father (Sigebert) and his aunt (Galswintha), in whose deaths Fredegund had been implicated.

After Childebert’s demands for Fredegund to be handed over had ceased, Guntram sent her off to live at a manor in the vicinity of Rouen. As had happened with young Childebert II, the vassals of the late Chilperic pledged their loyalty to baby Chlotar, and like her rival Queen Brunhild, Fredegund took upon herself the task of wielding espionage and intrigue on her young son’s behalf.

Not long after reaching her manor near Rouen, presumably still in 584, Fredegund launched an assassination attempt against Brunhild. As the story goes, she sent an agent to infiltrate Brunhild’s household. The assassin took on the guise of a cleric and acted with such piety and humility that he quickly worked his way closer and closer into Brunhild’s inner circle. Yet, something was off about him—maybe observers could sense insincerity, or perhaps his cover story just didn’t fit. Whatever the case, Brunhild’s household became suspicious of the cleric and eventually interrogated him. During the questioning, in-between bouts of flogging, the would-be assassin reportedly confessed to everything. Brunhild, for her part, spared the agent and merely sent him back to his master. The move, however, may not have been too merciful, for Fredegund had a reputation for wanton use of torture and execution. According to Bishop (and historian) Gregory of Tours, “When he [the assassin] told Fredegund what had happened and confessed that he had failed in his mission, she punished him by having his hands and feet cut off” (History of the Franks, VII.20).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Fredegund watching the marriage of Chilperic and Galswintha, c. 19th century, painted by Lawrence Alma Tadema, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Fredegund 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Brunhild-queen-of-Austrasia 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780198662778.001.0001/acref-9780198662778-e-520 

The Murder Of Moneylender Armentarius

Armentarius was a moneylender who operated in the late 6th century. As a man of the Jewish religion, he was able to work around the medieval Christian stigma against usury, and could lend money, buy government bonds, and charge interest on his loans. Yet, his benefit of being able to receive interest payments came at great risk, especially as Armentarius’ clients could often be at the top of society, with leading nobles and their assistants making up much of his business.  If he pushed too hard for his loan payoff, or if his clients became distressed because of debts, Armentarius could easily find himself in peril. Armentarius had to manage these touchy relationships himself, for the kings and courts of public opinion in medieval Europe were becoming more and more tainted with antisemitism, allowing for angry debtors to fight back against moneylenders by stoking bias, bigotry and the us-versus-them mentality. Despite the dangers, Armentarius continued lending money and the governing nobles and officials continued to be his targeted audience.

In 584, Armentarius arrived in Tours, hoping to collect money that he was owed by Count Eunomius and Vice-Count Injuriosus. The moneylender knew that his mission was potentially dangerous, so he brought two Christian protectors along with him to Tours, and a fellow Jewish friend also joined the party.  Armentarius and his three companions, upon entering Tours, had a meeting with Count Eunomius and Vice-Count Injuriosus, in which the moneylender was assured that his loans would be reimbursed with interest. After the meeting concluded, Injuriosus invited Armentarius and his associates to his nearby estate in Tours, where they could further discuss payment options over dinner. Injuriosus also promised to provide his guests with lodgings on or near his own property.

Injuriosus, keeping his word, held a feast for the moneylender’s party and, when night began to fall, the vice-count had his servants lead the guests toward their promised lodgings. Yet, all was not as it seemed. Injuriosus had ulterior motives for luring Armentarius onto his estate, and the servants that he had leading the guests were not simple butlers. According to Gregory of Tours, the bishop of the city at the time of these events, “the Jews and the two Christians were killed by the servants of Injuriosus and their bodies were thrown into a well which was near the house” (History of the Franks, VII.23).

The murder of Armentarius and his companions did not go unnoticed, but it was outside influence that finally prompted an investigation and trial. Family and friends of Armentarius became concerned when their loved one disappeared. They retraced his steps to Tours and scoured the city for news of what happened. After some admirable sleuthing, they successfully found the well near Vice-Count Injuriosus’ house and recovered the remains of the four people that had been thrown down into the depths. Citing local hearsay, the suspicious location of the body dumping site, and the large debts that the vice-count owed Armentarius, the family and friends of the moneylender brought their case before the local justice system. Injuriosus, however, had friends and clout in the court, and he assumed a simple defense of swearing that he had not been involved in the murders. Bishop and historian Gregory of Tours reported on this lackluster trial, writing, “He was prosecuted: but, as I have said, he denied his guilt vehemently, and the plaintiffs had no evidence on which he could be convicted. He was sentenced to clear himself by oath” (History of the Franks, VII.23). After this disappointing result, Armentarius’ family reportedly followed up by bringing their case directly to King Childebert II of the Franks (r. 575-595). The king and his court ignored the case, however, and no further trials of Vice-Count Injuriosus were held concerning the murder of Armentarius and his associates.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene from Frankish History of Duke Guntram Boso being ambushed on the road, painted by Lawrence Alma-Tadema  (1836–1912), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Fight Between A Tough Medieval Homeowner And Two Looters

In the year 584, King Chilperic of the Franks was assassinated, and the late king’s treasurer, Eberulf, was accused of being involved in the murder. Chilperic’s brother, King Guntram (r. 561-593), was convinced of Eberulf’s guilt and sent troops with instructions to take him dead or alive. Hearing this news, Eberulf fled to the city of Tours and sought sanctuary in Saint Martin’s church, bringing him into contact with the city’s resident bishop and historian, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594). Gregory found the fugitive to be an annoyingly rude and sacrilegious man, yet Eberulf was not the only disturbance in the city—bounty hunters and warriors sent by King Guntram also arrived to arrest (or at least contain) the fugitive, and while they stayed, they were not very courteous in their interactions with the city folk.

Gregory of Tours was a fan and admirer of King Guntram, but that did not stop the bishop from detesting a band of warriors from Guntram’s base of power in Orleans that arrived to keep Eberulf from leaving Tours. When these men arrived in the city, they reportedly became more interested in extorting and pillaging the locals than simply keeping an eye on the accused murderer. According to Bishop Gregory, when this particular armed group from Orleans had served out their guard-duty shift, “they set off home again, taking with them a vast amount of loot, carrying off pack-animals, cattle and whatever they could lay their hands on” (History of the Franks, VII.21). Of particular outrage to Gregory, his own mules had been stolen by the looters. The bishop’s animals would eventually be returned to their pasture, however, and Gregory of Tours happily recorded the tale of how it occurred in his History of the Franks.

As the story goes, the mule theft was carried out by two of the men from Orleans. Driving a herd of mules can be thirsty work, and, as the two thieves were ushering the animals away from the city, they decided to pick up a drink for the road. After surveying their surroundings, the two mule-thieves picked out a house that was sure to have a stockpile of fine beverages. With spears in hand, they pounded on the door to the house, and when the startled inhabitant of the residence appeared at the threshold, the thieves threatened him with their weapons, demanding that the homeowner bring forth something for them to drink.

In picking the house they did, the mule-thieves had horrible luck. The man who came to the door owned a sword, and he apparently had a military background, for he knew how to use his blade with deadly efficiency. Feeling threatened by the demanding, spear-waving thieves, the homeowner decided to fight back and protect his wine cellar. According to Gregory of Tours, “he drew his sword and pierced them both. They fell to the ground and died on the spot. Saint Martin’s beasts arrived home safe” (History of the Franks, VII.21). Gregory of Tours did not elaborate on whether the freed mules found their own way back to pasture, or if the sword-wielding hero did one last deed by helping them return.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image of a kneeling knight with a sword, by Stewart Watson (fl. 1843-1847), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.