Aye, such was the hatred, the disgust, the horror, the dread inspired in Gaul by those two names—Fredegonde and Brunhild—that large numbers of people found it impossible to resist the curiosity of knowing and seeing what was to be the issue of the capture of Brunhild by Fredegonde's son. The multitude, accordingly, moved in the direction of the village of Ryonne. Fifty horsemen in arms headed the march and cleared the way. Behind them rode Constable Herpon armed cap-a-pie, and closely after him, riding between two other warriors on horseback who held her palfrey by the bridle appeared Brunhild. The old Queen's arms were pinioned behind her back and she was bound upon her saddle. Her long, gold-embroidered purple robe was dusty and mud-bespattered, and hung in tatters from her body. The indomitable woman had offered a desperate resistance when she was finally overtaken by the constable and his men. One of her sleeves, together with half her corsage, was torn off, and left bare her neck and shoulders and one of her arms, all of which were covered with livid, bluish bruises, partly hidden under her long, grey, tangled and tumbled hair to which fragments of dung and ordure, that the people had flung at her while whelming her with insults, were still seen to cling. From time to time, the fettered lioness gave her head a convulsive shake in the effort to disengage her face from the disheveled locks before it—at such times, glimpses were obtained of her hideous, horrible visage. Before being finally caught, the woman had defended herself like a wild animal at bay. The desire of her captors was to take her alive to the son of her mortal enemy. In the brutal hand to hand struggle of Constable Herpon and his armed men with Brunhild she was smitten with their fists in the face and kicked in the body. Her arms, shoulders, bosom, limbs and face were severely bruised. One of her eyes bore the mark of a violent blow, given with the hilt of a sword. The eyelids and a portion of the cheek disappeared under a large blue and black contusion. Her upper lip was slit and swollen as the result of another blow, that broke in two of her teeth and bathed her lower face in blood. The blood had since dried on her skin and added to the hideousness of her appearance. Nevertheless, of such temper was that being's savage energy, that her forehead retained its wonted haughtiness, her eyes their wonted pride. Firmly fettered though she was, bruised, tattered, covered with dust, mud and even dung, Brunhild still looked redoubtable. Imprecations, hisses, jeers, threats, hurled at her along the route—nothing had been able to shake her inflexible soul.
In his haste to relish the sight of his captive and victim, Clotaire left the village and rode out accompanied by Warnachaire to meet her. Other seigneurs of Burgundy and Austrasia, who sided with Clotaire, also followed him. Among the latter were Dukes Pepin, Arnolfe, Alethee, Eubelan, Roccon, Sigowald, the Bishop of Troyes and many more.
Seeing the King from a distance, Constable Herpon hastened towards his sovereign, after issuing his orders to the two riders who led Brunhild's mount. The latter immediately spurred their horses and rode rapidly upon the heels of the constable leading the fallen Queen between them. Old though she was, had she not been pinioned, Brunhild would have held her saddle like an Amazon. But hindered by the bonds that bound her, she was unable to follow with suppleness the motion of her mount. As a consequence, the gallop of her palfrey threw Brunhild's body into ridiculous jumps and postures. The escort of armed men on horseback, together with the mob, followed her on the run and whelmed her with fresh jeers and hisses. Constable Herpon finally reached the King, leaped from his horse and pointing to the old Queen said to his men:
"Set her on the ground. Leave only her arms tied behind her back."
The riders obeyed, and the cords that bound Brunhild to the saddle were unfastened. But the long pressure of the ligaments had so benumbed her limbs that she was unable to stand upon her legs and forced her to drop upon her knees. Immediately she cried out, lest her fall be construed as an evidence of weakness or fear:
"My limbs are numb—Brunhild does not fall upon her knees before her enemies!"
The Frankish warriors raised and held the Queen. Her favorite palfrey, the same that she rode on the day of the battle, and from which she had just alighted, stretched out its intelligent head and gently licked the Queen's hands, tied up behind her. For the first time, but only for a moment, were Brunhild's features expressive of aught but savage pride and concentrated rage. Turning her head over her shoulder, she said to the animal in a voice that sounded almost tender:
"Poor animal; you did your best to save me with the swiftness of your flight—but your strength gave out; and now you bid me adieu in your own way; you entertain no hatred for Brunhild; but Brunhild is proud of being hated by all others—because she is feared by all—"
Clotaire II drew slowly near to the old Queen. A wide circle consisting of Frankish seigneurs, warriors of the army and the mob that had followed formed itself around the son of Fredegonde and her mortal enemy. What with the sight of that King, and what with her own determination not to falter in his presence, Brunhild summoned an energy and strength that seemed superhuman. Addressing the warriors who held her under the arms she shouted savagely:
"Back—take your hands from me—I can stand alone!"