#brunegilda

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Brunhilda

She was a powerful Visigothic princess from Hispania who became queen of the Frankish kingdom of Austrasia through her marriage to King Sigebert I. A highly educated and beautiful woman, she was known for her long and tumultuous life marked by ambition, political intrigue, and brutal conflict with her rival, Fredegund of Neustria. She ruled for decades as queen, regent, and influential figure, holding power for her son and grandsons, but her reign was ultimately ended by a brutal execution at the hands of Clotaire II. Chroniclers like Gregory of Tours depict Brunhilda as both wise and vengeful, making her one of the most striking women of Merovingian history.

The multitude of names associated with the queen of Austrasia—Brunegilda, Brunequilda, Brunichildis, Brunhild, Brunehaut, Brunhilda, among others —testifies to her enduring political and cultural significance across more than fourteen centuries. Each form corresponds to a specific linguistic community, documentary practice, or historiographical tradition.

The name borne by the daughter of King Athanagild of the Visigoths must be interpreted within the broader conventions of late antique Gothic anthroponymy. In contemporary Latin sources the standardized form is Brunichildis, a conventional Latin rendering of the East Germanic Brunihild or Brunhild. The name is transparently dithematic, constructed from brunni-—commonly understood in early Germanic philology as “armor” or “protective cuirass,” though occasionally associated with the broader semantic field of “protection” or “shining, metallic surface”—and hild, “battle,” a widespread element in feminine names of the Germanic nobility.

The form Brunichildis, precisely because it adheres to the Latin orthographic and morphological patterns used in Visigothic and Merovingian diplomatic and ecclesiastical documents, represents the historically appropriate designation for Athanagild’s daughter within the cultural and linguistic milieu of sixth-century Hispania. In royal correspondence, particularly in the Epistolae Austrasicae, the queen of Austrasia identifies herself explicitly as Brunichildis. For example, in her letter to the Byzantine emperor Maurice (584), she writes: “Brunichildis regina.”

In Castilian, the most commonly attested and academically accepted forms are Brunegilda and Brunequilda, derived from medieval Latinized variants such as Brunichildis or Brunechildis. These spellings conform to the conventions of Spanish historical writing and appear consistently in both medieval sources and modern scholarship.

The variant Brunhilda, common in modern Spanish and other Romance traditions, reflects the influence of German and English scholarship, where the simplified form Brunhild has become the conventional rendering. In French historiography, however, the dominant form is Brunehaut, inherited from medieval vernacular adaptations and preserved in modern toponymy.

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Brunhilda and Sigebert

The union of the Hispanic Visigothic princess Brunhilda and King Sigebert I, the Frankish ruler of Austrasia, stands as one of the most consequential royal marriages of the early Middle Ages. Raised at the Visigothic court in Toledo, Brunhilda was celebrated for her education, diplomatic acumen, and Romanized upbringing—qualities that rendered her an exceptional royal bride.

For Sigebert, surrounded by ambitious brothers, the marriage offered a prestigious alliance that elevated his status within the Merovingian dynasty. The match was strategically designed to counterbalance the growing influence of his rival and brother, King Chilperic I of Neustria.

Originally an Arian Christian, Brunhilda converted to Catholicism in preparation for the marriage, a symbolic act that endeared her to the Austrasian clergy and nobility. On her wedding day in Metz in 566, Brunhilda was still very young, likely in her early twenties. Contemporary poets praised her dignity and beauty, qualities that impressed the Frankish court as she entered her new kingdom. Sigebert, then in his early thirties, received his bride with evident satisfaction. The marriage was politically advantageous, but it was also warmly celebrated; the poet Venantius Fortunatus, in verses composed for the occasion, speaks of Sigebert’s joy and admiration, writing in the elevated language of courtly praise that the king was struck by love for his new queen.

Gregory of Tours and other contemporary sources depict the marriage of Sigebert and Brunhilda as unusually stable and respectful by Merovingian standards. Although the texts do not portray Brunhilda as a formal political partner, they consistently imply that she exercised legitimate influence within the Austrasian court. Sigebert’s evident esteem for her intelligence and bearing further suggests that her authority, though informal, was both recognized and consequential. The couple was blessed with three children: Ingund, Chlodosinda, and Childebert II.

In the kingdom of Neustria, Queen Galswintha was found strangled in 568, a death widely attributed by contemporaries to the machinations of her husband or his longtime mistress Fredegund, who soon afterward became queen. The killing provoked widespread indignation across the Frankish kingdoms. Brunhilda was deeply aggrieved by her sister’s death and became politically and personally hostile toward Chilperic and Fredegund. She did support and encourage Sigebert’s military action against the king of Neustria.

War swept across the Frankish kingdoms. Again and again, Sigebert’s armies prevailed. His captains pressed deep into Chilperic’s lands, seizing cities and forcing the Neustrian king into retreat. At the height of Sigebert’s advance, Chilperic abandoned his strongholds and took refuge in Tournai, nearly defeated.

It seemed that victory was within Sigebert’s grasp. The nobles of Neustria themselves invited him to Paris to be proclaimed their king. He arrived at the city’s gates on the brink of unifying the realm under his rule. And then, at the very moment of triumph, tragedy struck. Assassins sent by Fredegund slipped into the crowd and murdered Sigebert with poison-tipped daggers.

After the assassination of the king, Austrasia was thrust into political turmoil. The sudden vacuum of authority left Brunhilda in a precarious position, for her only surviving son and heir, Childebert II, was scarcely five years old—an age that rendered him incapable of exercising royal power.

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Brunhild could not help but be unmoored; her rival had been the one constant in the ever-shifting political waters. Fredegund’s actions had informed her own for the past thirty years. She had grown so used to trying to anticipate Fredegund’s next plot; it would have felt strange to drift to sleep without that worry. Brunhild also felt her age. Nearly every royal, bishop and duke she had worked with or against was gone, replaced by their own children, or by a new family altogether. Brunhild’s political activities in the aftermath of Fredegund’s death were strangely civil. She launched no attacks on Neustria, not even to take back the recently conquered territories. It is unclear whether that was due to bad advice by her military advisers or if Brunhild herself decided to allow Neustria to mourn its queen in peace. But Brunhild could afford to be magnanimous.

Shelley Puhak, The Dark Queens: A gripping tale of power, ambition and murderous rivalry in early medieval

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The Death of Galswintha

Brunhild’s elder sister, Galswintha, arrived in Frankish lands as Chilperic I of Neustria’s betrothed in July of 568, trailed by even more treasure and finery than her sister had been. At Rouen, Chilperic tripped over himself to provide an even more spectacular reception than his brother had given Brunhild. He marched his army more than one hundred miles west, so they might meet his new bride ‘near the curved bed’ of the river Seine as she disembarked from her ship. Rather than being greeted by a palace hall full of nobles, Galswintha was welcomed by Chilperic’s entire army on bended knee, swearing an oath of allegiance to their new queen. Chilperic never did anything in half measure. And Galswintha was married not in the great hall of a converted basilica, but in the cathedral at Rouen.

Less than six months later, though, a third wedding would take place. No cathedral this time, just a handful of nobles quickly assembled in the great room of a royal villa. A week before this third wedding, King Chilperic and Queen Galswintha had been fighting. As she stormed and raged, messengers were seen riding out from the palace at all hours, delivering missives and pleas to her sister and her mother. Galswintha had caught Chilperic in bed, again, with the slave girl Fredegund. The queen was furious that ‘he showed no respect to her at all’; she was distraught over ‘the insults which she had to endure’. She wanted to return home. Was it truly so unendurable? Yes, to be made a fool of like that. And Chilperic had such a temper! She would return home, even if it meant leaving her enormous dowry behind. One morning, soon thereafter, the palace woke to a horrible scene. Galswintha had been found dead in her bed, strangled in her sleep.

Chilperic did not once address his subjects on the matter of Galswintha’s untimely demise. There were no searches for her assailants or rewards offered for their capture. No one was ever questioned or punished, not even the guards who had been posted at the door of the royal bedchamber that night. It was Fortunatus’s friend Gregory who stated plainly what the whole of France was thinking: ‘Chilperic ordered Galswintha to be strangled… and found her dead on the bed.’

Just months after Galswintha’s wedding, Brunhild had received word that her father had dropped dead, presumably of a heart attack. When the next message arrived, this one from Galswintha’s terrified nursemaid, it was reported that Brunhild went into shock. In less than eighteen months, Brunhild had lost her homeland, her father and now her only sibling. At the news of Galswintha’s death, Spain falls into even greater lamentations, and her grieving mother ‘collapses in distress, her knees giving way’ and faints. The enraged mother of the murdered princess was still a major player in international politics; after the death of King Athanagild, she had married his successor.

The few tears Chilperic reportedly shed shortly after Galswintha’s murder may have even been genuine: he was sad that things had come to this. It was nothing personal; Galswintha was simply no longer useful to him. But Fredegund was. Chilperic was obviously incredibly attracted to her. And his attraction also solved several problems. A low-born woman came without the complications of a powerful family; she would be happy with whatever meagre morgengabe he gave her. Three days later, arrayed in the brightly dyed linens and jewels of her predecessor, Fredegund stood at the altar, smiling up at Chilperic.

Galswintha’s murder has been portrayed in art numerous times throughout the centuries since, and the blame always rests on Chilperic, so much so that illuminated manuscripts and paintings portray the king of Neustria himself, wearing his crown and grinning rakishly, wrapping a cloth around the neck of his sleeping wife. In some versions, Fredegund looks on. Whether Fredegund really urged him on or not, she knew people would always assume that she had, cleverly disposing of yet another rival for the king’s affections.

Source:

Shelley Puhak, The Dark Queens: A gripping tale of power, ambition and murderous rivalry in early medieval

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The execution of Queen Brunhild

The field was prepared for a trial. Brunhild was brought before them, straight-backed. King Clothar II, from his makeshift dais, declared that the charge against Queen Brunhild was the death of ten kings. She would have been incredulous. Then, Fredegund’s crimes were laid at Brunhild’s feet – the assassination of her husband Sigibert, the suicide of her second husband, Merovech, and the staged jailhouse murder of Fredegund’s other stepson, Prince Clovis. Brunhild was blamed for the death of Clothar’s infant son, who had died from natural causes. Clothar’s list of kings Brunhild had murdered also included her own great-grandsons, two of whom he himself had just executed. (The king listed three boys, either wanting to hide the fact that he had allowed young Prince Merovech to live or, more likely, wanting to hide news of Prince Childebert’s escape.)

Only three of the deaths Brunhild was accused of could possibly be attributed to her – most understandably, Clothar blamed her for the death of his father, Chilperic, whose assassin had never been found. Blaming Brunhild was the only way to decisively clear his own mother of that charge. The deaths of Brunhild’s grandson Theudebert and his baby son could also possibly be laid at her feet because she had supported Theuderic’s feud against his brother. Still, the assembled nobles and soldiers cried that Brunhild was guilty. Had not this wicked woman brought untold death and destruction to their realm? Brunhild was then legally deposed, symbolically stripped of her royal finery, as was the common practice. She stood motionless as her necklace, brooches, cape and embroidered gown were ripped off her, and she stood before them in her linen shift, shivering. Here was the part when she waited – exile, or a convent? Clothar pronounced her sentence: death.

The clamour was disorienting, the sunlight too bright. She had been ‘tortured in various ways for three days’ – likely whipped and beaten. Her face would have been bruised and dirt-streaked, her long grey hair bloody at the temples. She stumbled as she was yanked out of her tent. She was led before a great hulking beast. When her eyes focused, she realized it was a camel. Clothar had somehow managed to secure one – all the sources agree on this specific point – and Brunhild was lifted upon it. It may seem strange to expend the time and money to secure a camel when there were already numerous horses on hand. But this was a public ritual for humiliating deposed tyrants, a practice imported from Egypt to Byzantium. The victim would be whipped and then paraded around on a camel, facing backward, which was intended as the symbolic opposite of an emperor’s triumphant entry into a city on horseback.

Along with the Neustrian army, the aristocrats of Austrasia and Burgundy who had betrayed her lined up to watch. Many of these were the sons of the men who had craned their necks for a glimpse of her at her wedding. Brunhild was ‘already broken by old age’; now she made ‘a most sorry spectacle’. The crowd yelled insults or spat. This mockery went on ‘for some time’, but when the men tired of shouting insults at a great-grandmother, they brought out the horses. In some reports there is just one horse, but regardless of number, they are always described as wild and unbroken, rearing as they are led forward. Brunhild was dragged off the camel, and the men called for the rope. One source says she was bound to the horses’ hooves, another that she was bound to their tails, and yet another specifies that she was bound to a single tail by ‘her hair, one arm and one leg’. At this point, she must have understood. Her nephew gave the signal, and the horses were let loose and given a smack, urged to gallop across this ‘pathless, rocky terrain’. The last thing Brunhild heard was hoofbeats.

Nothing remained of the queen. The King of Spain writes that ‘her nameless and bloody limbs, pulled apart, were spread out, widely scattered’. A chronicler notes that she was ‘cut to shreds’. Another notes the effort Clothar went to, even after her death, to destroy what remained: ‘Her final grave was the fire. Her bones were burnt.’ Clothar could not take the chance that Brunhild would be regarded as a martyr, that her tomb would become a focal point for opposition to his rule. It seems, though, there may have been a tomb in the crypt at Brunhild’s church in Autun, complete with marble columns and mosaics. Although the church was destroyed during the French Revolution.

Sources:

Shelley Puhak, The Dark Queens: A gripping tale of power, ambition and murderous rivalry in early medieval

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Fourteenth Century: Fredegund the Fierce

Amid the many crises of the fourteenth century, Fredegund was portrayed as a warrior king would be, leading her troops into battle and overseeing the torture of her enemies.

Fifteenth Century: Victim of Ambition

Fifteenth-century illuminated manuscripts reveled in the gruesome execution that cleaves through the queens’ story. Alarmed by the power wielded by the likes of Isabella, the She-Wolf of France; Yolande of Aragon; and Margaret of Anjou, chroniclers used these images as a warning to other women with political ambitions.

Seventeenth Century: Shameless and Cruel

This deck of playing cards designed for a young Louis XIV showcases various queens. While some are described as saincte (holy) or a bonne femme (a good wife), Brunhild and Fredegund are cast as murderous villains, the sort of women the young king ought to avoid.

Eighteenth Century: Foremothers of France

A century later, both queens were rehabilitated. The rise of nationalism led to an obsession with the great men of the past. Brunhild and Fredegund were transformed into the respectable wives of the kings they overshadowed in life.

Nineteenth Century: Defiant Heroines

At a time when the ideal woman was submissive and self-effacing, Brunhild and Fredegund were cast as fighters. In a woodcut, Brunhild is carried by her warriors, and in an illustration, Fredegund battles with her daughter.

Nineteenth Century: Opera Darlings

By the end of the nineteenth century, both queens enjoyed newfound popularity. They appeared as the subjects of poems, the protagonists of plays, and, most notably, the leads of operas.

Twentieth Century: The Catfight

Illustrators lampooned Brunhild and Fredegund’s decades-long political rivalry. The two queens box one another on the back of a turn-of-the-century magazine; by mid-century they have progressed to yanking each other’s hair out in a lottery advertisement.

Shelley Puhak, The Dark Queens: A gripping tale of power, ambition and murderous rivalry in early medieval