Chap. IV

In the months that followed, Rollo scarcely spoke to her and made no attempts to meet alone. It seemed like Rollo had decided to keep her at a distance, just as she was determined to be more than a pawn. Despite the radical changes in her life, of how far she was from her glorious court, the young Queen was a survivor, bent on getting back her throne - even if it meant sharing it with a heathen. For that's what they were, heathens. Living in the past, farming their unproductive land with primitive tools. If they've succeeded, they've done it through sheer willpower. Determination - that was their real strength. But they seemed unaware of it and believed their old gods grated victory. From children to elders, all were honoring those pagan forces, asking for good luck, victory and bountiful harvests. Poor ignorants.

She'd lost that naiveté years ago and losing her faith in God's goodness had set her free - triumph or downfall was all man's doing! Indifference, pain, brutality, they were all inflicted by man. And men could be influenced, persuaded, seduced. Her fate lied in her own hands!

Since Rollo was out of her reach she used her time gaining Ragnar's sympathy, fascinating the king with her tales of the greatest fighting forces ever known to man - Romans, Greeks and Persians. Alexander the Great, and the Arab sheiks - none was overlooked. The king was fascinated by fame and conquest, as any ambitious man was. She could tell that Ragnar was intrigued, attracted by a strong, sharpened mind of a woman, but at the same time, she was willing to bet that he couldn't truly respect one. Not a woman willing to step out of his shadow.

She suspected that it was the reason why things were difficult between him and the women in his life. The reason why Lagertha had left; the reason why he treated his queen poorly. She pitied Aslaug for she'd been Aslaug, but above all, she was sickened by Ragnar. He reminded her too much of Athanaric - a father who could love his daughter, only as long as she didn't stir jealousy in his heart. Only as long as she wouldn't challenge his power.

Eva balled her hands into fists remembering how all her life she'd been educated, conditioned, for a political marriage which would retain her family's hegemony over the lands. She remembered how her father sold her in marriage, to exploit her position of power afterwards. For years, she'd been his useful little pawn, performing her tasks, influencing the right people.

But regardless of Athanaric's efforts, Eva developed a strong sense of personal identity and an equal ambition. In time, those two, turned the tension between father and daughter into the purest hate. It was good Ragnar didn't have daughters!

Her mind drifted to Rollo again. He was ambitious too, strong, ferocious, but she could sense he didn't have a taste for scheming or inflicting pain. It seemed like he'd made mistakes, learned his lessons and gone on without loosing his humanity. Than again, one could never be certain. It was batter to prepare for the worst.

She was now watching delegations of different tribes negotiating the terms of the raid. The overall strategy was rather simple: Rollo planed to strike swiftly. The large army was to be divided into small units, to cut down through the enemy lines. It was not a new idea, Eva thought; moreover, the Vikings were neglecting one important aspect - behind the fortress walls, Athanaric could sustain losses for weeks, maybe months. She waited until all guests left the meeting sanctuary and then addressed Rollo, her head tilted as she studied him.

"Do you know what makes my city famous? … Apart from its wealth? No? Its fortified walls. They're wide as wagons but not made of wood - they're made of stone!"

She drummed her fingers along the table while walking towards him, slowly, like a cat stalking its prey. She wasn't truly aware of the fact that, this time, the prey had it's own claws.

"What do you want, Eva? Came back for more of what I gave you?"

She glared up at him. Remembering how he'd managed to reduce her to a needy bundle of nerves provoked her temper. She could endure not being in control of her body, but loosing the reins of her self control was unacceptable. She'd learned long ago that the more she felt, the weaker she was. She'd survived her father, her marriages by controlling fear, humiliation, anger. Through indifference, not tears. Men could touch her body, but they couldn't touch her. She lifted her chin, eyes holding a silent challenge.

"Don't flatter yourself! Tell me, what will you do when you get to the fortress? Scratch against the walls?"

Anger was creeping under Rollo's skin too. It was the damned steady tone of her voice, which held a challenging undertone. It made him want to throttle her. How could she be so hard and calculated in such a vulnerable body? A body that left a branding outline on his own flesh. He never anticipated the impact she could have on him. All he had wanted that night, was for her to acknowledge the hunger between them for what it was. But the way Eva felt in his hands stirred emotion he'd blocked out. She was alluring. Intoxicating. Selfish and proud. Trouble, that's what she was! The kind of woman a man would have to constantly keep an eye on.

"Spread your venom elsewhere, I'm done listening to you!" he groaned, walking past her.

Realizing her comment did more than she intended to, Eva reached out and caught his arm. The soft pressing of her fingers made him want to feel her hands all over him. Apparently, a month away hadn't dulled his lust for her.

"Wait Rollo! I'm not here to mock you. I just want to offer a... suggestion."

"I don't remember asking your advice."

"But you shall have it all the same! Get some men inside the fortress before attacking. You'll never breach the walls, otherwise."

Rollo smiled. She was doing it again: trying to manipulate him into action. But if he was to be honest, he had considered the suggested approach too.

"I spent enough time there to know its strengths, its faults. Previous sieges have weakened the south-east fortifications. That's where you strike."

Rollo fixed her curiously. With her sharp mind, it was good to have Eva as an ally. She went after what she wanted fiercely, with determination. He admired that and was drawn to the woman both physically and emotionally. Bothersome feelings because, obviously, Eva's motives went beyond feelings. She merely saw an opportunity in him and offered a way to gain power, power he'd never dreamed of, in exchange.

Eva's eyes were gleaming haughtily, bearing the stamp of royal blood.

"Why do you look so impressed, Viking? I did promised you a crown, didn't I. But go ahead and thank me nevertheless..."

She patronizing, goading him into revealing more of his temper, spreading her nets like goddess Rán.

"Is that what you want Eva? My gratitude?" his eyes were scrutinizing, assessing her reactions.

She smiled. Rollo could not decide between enticing and wicked. Maybe it was both.

"Are there limits in a game of wanting?"

The question sounded almost ingenuous on her lips, oblivious to what it implied.

"There are no limits. No rules. It's a dangerous game. " he whispered boring into her dark eyes.

"The only one worth playing."

The woman had something deep and ominous. He suspected that she was deliberately trying to use his attraction to her. Being so arrogant and confident. The problem was that he ached, indeed, for power and glory, but he also wanted her. He wanted to tear down those defenses she'd build in her mind and heart and have her, welcoming and sweet. Daring anything, risking anything - for him.

He wanted her, with or without the kingdom.