Holy Blood, Holy Grail

by Baigent, Michael

  Given the magical, mythic, and totemic status of the bear in the Merovingian heartland of the Ardennes, it is not surprising that the name "Ursus"—Latin for "bear"—should be associated in the "Prieuré documents" with the Merovingian royal line. Rather more surprising is the fact that the Welsh word for bear is arth—whence the name Arthur derives. Although we did not pursue the matter at this point, the coincidence intrigued us—that Arthur should not only be contemporary with the Merovingians, but also, like them, be associated with the bear.

  THE SICAMBRIANS ENTER GAUL

  In the early fifth century the invasion of the Huns provoked large-scale migrations of almost all European tribes. It was at this time that the Merovingians—or more accurately, the Sicambrian ancestors of the Merovingians—crossed the Rhine and moved en masse into Gaul, establishing themselves in what is now Belgium and northern France, in the vicinity of the Ardennes. A century later this region came to be called the kingdom of Austrasia. And the core of the kingdom of Austrasia was what is now known as Lorraine.

  The Sicambrian influx into Gaul did not consist of a horde of wild, unkempt barbarians tumultuously overrunning the land. On the contrary, it was a placid and civilized affair. For centuries the Sicambrians had maintained close contact with the Romans; and though they were pagans, they were not savages. Indeed, they were well versed in Roman customs and administration and practiced Roman fashions. Some Sicambrians had become high-ranking officers in the imperial army. Some had even become Roman consuls. Thus, the Sicambrian influx was less an onslaught or an invasion than a kind of peaceful absorption. And when, toward the end of the fifth century, the Roman empire collapsed, the Sicambrians filled the vacuum. They did not do so violently or by force. They retained the old customs and altered very little. With no upheaval whatever they assumed control of the already existing but vacant administrative apparatus. The regime of the early Merovingians thus conformed fairly closely to the model of the old Roman empire.

  MEROVÉE AND HIS DESCENDANTS

  Our research exhumed mention of at least two historical figures named Merovée, and it is not altogether clear which of them legend credits with descent from a sea creature. One Merovée was a Sicambrian chieftain, alive in 417, who fought under the Romans and died in 438. It has been suggested by at least one modern expert on the period that this Merovée actually visited Rome and caused something of a sensation. There is certainly a record of a visit by an imposing Frankish leader conspicuous for his flowing yellow hair.

  In 448 the son of this first Merovée, bearing the same name as his father, was proclaimed king of the Franks at Tournai and reigned until his death ten years later. He may have been the first official king of the Franks as a united people. By virtue of this, perhaps, or of whatever was symbolized by his fabulous dual birth, the dynasty that succeeded him has since been called Merovingian.

  Under Merovée’s successors the kingdom of the Franks flourished. It was not the crude, barbaric culture often imagined. On the contrary, it warrants comparison in many respects with the "high civilization’’ of Byzantium. Even secular literacy was encouraged. Under the Merovingians secular literacy was more widespread than it would be two dynasties and five hundred years later. This literacy extended up to the rulers themselves—a most surprising fact, given the rude, untutored, and unlettered character of later medieval monarchs. King Chilperic, for example, who reigned during the sixth century, not only built lavish Roman-style amphitheaters at Paris and Soissons, but was also a dedicated and accomplished poet who took considerable pride in his craft. And there are verbatim accounts of his discussions with ecclesiastical authorities that reflect an extraordinary subtlety, sophistication, and learning—hardly qualities one would associate with a king of the time. In many of these discussions Chilperic proves himself more than equal to his clerical interlocutors. 6

  Under Merovingian rule the Franks were often brutal, but they were not really a warlike people by nature or disposition; they were not like the Vikings, for instance, or the Vandals, Visigoths, or Huns. Their main activities were farming and commerce. Much attention was devoted to maritime trade, especially in the Mediterranean. And the artifacts of the Merovingian epoch reflect a quality of workmanship that is truly amazing—as the Sutton Hoo treasure ship attests.

  The wealth accumulated by the Merovingian kings was enormous, even by later standards. Much of this wealth was in gold coins of superb quality, produced by royal mints at certain important sites, including what is now Sian in Switzerland. Specimens of such coins were found in the Sutton Hoo treasure ship and can now be seen in the British Museum. Many of the coins bear a distinctive equal-armed cross, identical to the one subsequently adopted during the Crusades for the Frankish Kingdom of Jerusalem.

  BLOOD ROYAL

  Although Merovingian culture was both temperate and surprisingly modern, the monarchs who presided over it were another matter. They were not typical even of rulers of their own age, for the atmosphere of mystery and legend, magic and the supernatural surrounded them even during their lifetimes. If the customs and economy of the Merovingian world did not differ markedly from others of the period, the aura about the throne and the royal bloodline was quite unique.

  Sons of the Merovingian blood were not "created" kings. On the contrary, they were automatically regarded as such on the advent of their twelfth birthday. There was no public ceremony of anointment, no coronation of any sort. Power was simply assumed, as by sacred right. But while the king was supreme authority in the realm, he was never obliged—or even expected—to sully his hands with the mundane business of governing. He was essentially a ritualized figure, a priest-king, and his role was not necessarily to do anything, simply to be. The king ruled, in short, but did not govern. In this respect his status was somewhat similar to that of the present British royal family. Government and administration were left to a nonroyal official, the equivalent of a chancellor, who held the title "Mayor of the Palace." On the whole the structure of the Merovingian regime had many things in common with modern constitutional monarchies.

  Even after their conversion to Christianity the Merovingian rulers, like the patriarchs of the Old Testament, were polygamous. On occasion they enjoyed harems of Oriental proportions. Even when the aristocracy, under pressure from the Church, became rigorously monogamous, the monarchy remained exempt. And the Church, curiously enough, seems to have accepted this prerogative without any inordinate protest. According to one modern commentator:

  Why was it [polygamy] tacitly approved by the Franks themselves? We may here be in the presence of ancient usage of polygamy in a royal family—a family of such rank that its blood could not be ennobled by any match, however advantageous, nor degraded by the blood of slaves ... It was a matter of indifference whether a queen were taken from a royal dynasty or from among courtesans ... The fortuna of the dynasty rested in its blood and was shared by all who were of that blood. 7

  And again, "It is just possible that, in the Merovingians, we may have a dynasty of Germanic Heerkönige derived from an ancient kingly family of the migration period."8

  But how many families can there possibly have been in the whole of world history that enjoyed such extraordinary and exalted status? Why should the Merovingians do so? Why should their blood come to be invested with such immense import? These questions continued to perplex us.

  CLOVIS AND HIS PACT WITH THE CHURCH

  The most famous of all Merovingian rulers was Merovée’s grandson, Clovis I, who reigned between 481 and 511. Clovis’ name is familiar to any French school child, for it was under Clovis that the Franks were converted to Roman Christianity. And it was through Clovis that Rome began to establish her undisputed supremacy in western Europe—a supremacy that would remain unchallenged for a thousand years.

  By 496 the Roman Church was in a precarious situation. During the course of the fifth century its very existence had been severely threatened. Between 384 and 399 the bishop of Rome had already begun to call himself th
e Pope, but his official status was no greater than that of any other bishop, and quite different from that of the Pope today. He was not, in any sense, the spiritual leader or supreme head of Christendom; he merely represented a single body of vested interests, one of many divergent forms of Christianity— and one that was desperately fighting for survival against a multitude of conflicting schisms and theological points of view. Officially the Roman Church had no greater authority than, say, the Celtic Church— with which it was constantly at odds. It had no greater authority than heresies such as Arianism, which denied Jesus’ divinity and insisted on his humanity. Indeed during much of the fifth century every bishopric in western Europe was either Arian or vacant.

  If the Roman Church was to survive, still more assert its authority, it would need the support of a champion—a powerful secular figure who might represent it. If Christianity was to evolve in accordance with Roman doctrine, that doctrine would have to be disseminated, implemented, and imposed by secular force—a force sufficiently potent to withstand and eventually extirpate the challenge of rival Christian creeds. Not surprisingly the Roman Church, in its most acute moment of need, turned to Clovis.

  By 486 Clovis had significantly increased the extent of Merovingian domains, striking out from the Ardennes to annex a number of adjacent kingdoms and principalities, vanquishing a number of rival tribes. As a result, many important cities—Troyes, for instance, Reims, and Amiens—were incorporated into his realm. Within a decade it was apparent that Clovis was well on his way to becoming the most powerful potentate in western Europe.

  The conversion and baptism of Clovis proved to be of crucial relevance to our investigation. An account of it was compiled, in all its particulars and details, around the time it occurred. Two and a half centuries later this account, called The Life of Saint Rémy, was destroyed, except for a few scattered manuscript pages. And the evidence suggests that it was destroyed deliberately. Nevertheless, the fragments that survive bear witness to the importance of what was involved.

  According to tradition Clovis’ conversion was a sudden and unexpected affair, effected by the king’s wife, Clotilde—a fervent devotee of Rome who seems to have badgered her husband until he accepted her faith and who was subsequently canonized for her efforts. In these efforts she was said to have been guided and assisted by her confessor, Saint Rémy. But behind these traditions there lies a very practical and mundane historical reality. When Clovis was converted to Roman Christianity and became first Catholic king of the Franks, he had more to gain than his wife’s approbation and a kingdom more tangibly substantial than the kingdom of Heaven.

  It is known that in 496 a number of secret meetings occurred between Clovis and Saint Rémy. Immediately thereafter an accord was ratified between Clovis and the Roman Church. For Rome this accord constituted a major political triumph. It would ensure the Church’s survival and establish that Church as supreme spiritual authority in the West. It would consolidate Rome’s status as an equal to the Greek Orthodox faith based in Constantinople. It would offer a prospect of Roman hegemony and an effective means of eradicating the hydra heads of heresy. And Clovis would be the means of implementing these things—the sword of the Church of Rome, the instrument whereby Rome imposed her spiritual dominion, the secular arm and palpable manifestation of Roman power. In return Clovis was granted the title of "Novus Constantinus"— "New Constantine." In other words, he was to preside over a unified empire—a "Holy Roman Empire" intended to succeed the one supposedly created under Constantine and destroyed by the Visigoths and Vandals not long before. According to one modern expert on the period, Clovis, prior to his baptism, was, "fortified ... with visions of an empire in succession to that of Rome, which should be the inheritance of the Merovingian race."9 According to another modern writer, "Clovis must now become a kind of western emperor, a patriarch to the western Germans, reigning over, though not governing, all peoples and kings." 10

  The pact between Clovis and the Roman Church, in short, was one of momentous consequence to Christendom—not only the Christendom of the time, but also the Christendom of the next millennium. Clovis’ baptism was deemed to mark the birth of a new Roman empire—a Christian empire based on the Roman Church and administered, on the secular level, by the Merovingian bloodline. In other words an indissoluble bond was established between Church and state, each pledging allegiance to the other, each binding itself to the other in perpetuity. In ratification of this bond, in 496 Clovis allowed himself to be formally baptized by Saint Rémy at Reims. At the climax of the ceremony Saint Rémy pronounced his famous words:

  Mitis depone colla, Sicamber, adora quod incendisti, incendi quod adorasti.

  (Bow thy head humbly, Sicambrian, revere what thou hast burned and burn what thou hast revered.)

  It is important to note that Clovis’ baptism was not a coronation— as historians sometimes suggest. The Church did not make Clovis a king. He was already that, and all the Church could do was to recognize him as such. By virtue of so doing the Church officially bound itself, not to Clovis alone, but to his successors as well—not to a single individual, but to a bloodline. In this respect the pact resembled the covenant that God, in the Old Testament, makes with King David—a pact that can be modified, as in Solomon’s case, but not revoked, broken, or betrayed. And the Merovingians did not lose sight of the parallel.

  During the remaining years of his life Clovis fully realized Rome’s ambitious expectations of him. With irresistible efficiency faith was imposed by the sword; and with the sanction and spiritual mandate of the Church, the Frankish kingdom expanded to both east and south, encompassing most of modern France and much of modern Germany. Among Clovis’ numerous adversaries the most important were the Visigoths, who adhered to Arian Christianity. It was against the empire of the Visigoths—which straddled the Pyrenees and extended as far north as Toulouse—that Clovis directed his most assiduous and concerted campaigns. In 507 he decisively defeated the Visigoths at the Battle of Vouillé. Shortly thereafter Aquitaine and Toulouse fell into Frankish hands. The Visigoth empire north of the Pyrenees effectively collapsed before the Frankish onslaught. From Toulouse the Visigoths fell back to Carcassonne. Driven from Carcassonne, they established their capital and last remaining bastion, in the Razès, at Rhédae—now the village of Rennes-le-Château.

  DAGOBERT II

  In 511 Clovis died, and the empire he had created was divided, according to Merovingian custom, among his four sons. For more than a century thereafter the Merovingian dynasty presided over a number of disparate and often warring kingdoms, while lines of succession became increasingly tangled and claims to thrones increasingly confused. The authority once centralized in Clovis became progressively more diffuse, progressively more inchoate, and secular order deteriorated. Intrigues, machinations, kidnappings and political assassinations became ever more commonplace. And the court chancellors, or "Mayors of the Palace," accumulated more and more power—a factor that would eventually contribute to the fall of the dynasty.

  Bereft increasingly of authority, the later Merovingian rulers have often been called les rois fainéant—"the enfeebled kings." Posterity has contemptuously stigmatized them as weak, ineffectual monarchs, effeminate and pliably helpless in the hands of cunning and wily counselors. Our research revealed that this stereotype was not strictly

  io The Merovingian Kingdoms

  accurate. It is true that the constant wars, vendettas, and internecine strife thrust a number of Merovingian princes onto the throne at an extremely youthful age—and they were thus easily manipulated by their advisers. But those who did attain manhood proved as strong and decisive as any of their predecessors. This certainly seems to have been the case with Dagobert II.

  Dagobert II was born in 651, heir to the kingdom of Austrasia. On his father’s death in 656 extravagant attempts were made to preclude his inheritance of the throne. Indeed, Dagobert’s early life reads like a medieval legend or a fairy tale. But it is well-documented his
tory.11

  On his father’s death Dagobert was kidnapped by the presiding mayor of the palace, an individual named Grimoald. Attempts to find the five -year-old child proved fruitless, and it was not difficult to convince the court that he was dead. On this basis Grimoald then engineered his own son’s acquisition of the throne, claiming this had been the wish of the former monarch, Dagobert’s deceased father. The ruse worked effectively. Even Dagobert’s mother, believing her son dead, deferred to the ambitious mayor of the palace.

  However, Grimoald had apparently balked at actually murdering the young prince. In secret Dagobert had been confided to the charge of the bishop of Poitiers. The bishop, it seems, was equally reluctant to murder the child. Dagobert was therefore consigned to permanent exile in Ireland. He grew to manhood at the Irish monastery of Slane,12 not far from Dublin; and here, at the school attached to the monastery, he received an education unobtainable in France at the time. At some point during this period he is supposed to have attended the court of the high king of Tara. And he is said to have made the acquaintance of three Northumbrian princes also being educated at Slane. In 666, probably still in Ireland, Dagobert married Mathilde, a Celtic princess. Not long after he moved from Ireland to England, establishing residence at York in the kingdom of Northumbria. Here he formed a close friendship with Saint Wilfrid, bishop of York, who became his mentor.

  During the period in question a schism still existed between the Roman and Celtic churches, with the latter refusing to acknowledge the former’s authority. In the interests of unity Wilfrid was intent on bringing the Celtic Church into the Roman fold. This he had already accomplished at the famous Council of Whitby in 664. But his subsequent friendship and patronage of Dagobert II may not have been devoid of ulterior motive. By Dagobert’s time Merovingian allegiance to Rome—as dictated by the Church’s pact with Clovis a