485.

It was little more than fourteen hundred years ago, in the year of our
Lord 485, that a little girl crouched trembling and terrified, at the
feet of a pitying priest in the palace of the kings of Burgundy. There
has been many a sad little maid of ten, before and since the days of
the fair-haired Princess Clotilda, but surely none had greater cause for
terror and tears than she. For her cruel uncle, Gundebald, waging war
against his brother Chilperic, the rightful king of Burgundy, had with a
band of savage followers burst into his brother's palace and, after the
fierce and relentless fashion of those cruel days, had murdered King
Chilperic, the father of little Clotilda, the queen, her mother, and
the young princes, her brothers; and was now searching for her and her
sister Sedelenda, to kill them also.

Poor Sedelenda had hidden away in some other far-off corner; but even as
Clotilda hung for protection to the robe of the good stranger-priest Ugo
of Rheims (whom the king, her father, had lodged in the palace, on his
homeward journey from Jerusalem), the clash of steel drew nearer and
nearer. Through the corridor came the rush of feet, the arras in the
doorway was rudely flung aside, and the poor child's fierce pursuers,
with her cruel uncle at their head, rushed into the room.

"Hollo! Here hides the game!" he cried in savage exultation. "Thrust her
away, Sir Priest, or thou diest in her stead. Not one of the tyrant's
brood shall live. I say it!"

"And who art thou to judge of life or death?" demanded the priest
sternly, as he still shielded the trembling child.

"I am Gundebald, King of Burgundy by the grace of mine own good sword
and the right of succession," was the reply. "Trifle not with me, Sir
Priest, but thrust away the child. She is my lawful prize to do with as
I will. Ho, Sigebert, drag her forth!"

Quick as a flash the brave priest stepped before, the cowering child,
and, with one hand still resting protectingly on the girl's fair hair,
he raised the other in stern and fearless protest, and boldly faced the
murderous throng.

"Back, men of blood!" he cried. "Back! Nor dare to lay hand on this
young maid who hath here sought sanctuary!"(1)

(1) Under the Goths and Franks the protection of churches and priests,
when extended to persons in peril, was called the "right of sanctuary,"
and was respected even by the fiercest of pursuers.

Fierce and savage men always respect bravery in others.