Ever since Rouen, ever since the spouses have accepted that their own God and Gods had a plan about them and this foreigner to whom they are married to, their relationship has progressed. The great wolf is now quite territorial about his wife as for the princess she has developed a sincere interest in the well-being of her husband's warriors. Rollo's men are well fed and well cared; they are also well-preached. Not that they listen much too busy as they are by war and the Frank nurses they have discovered. Rollo is not alone in having chosen a Frank as bed-fellow.

Whatever has happened to the ducal couple during their first night together has been forgotten; Rollo sleeps in his spousal bed every night. Enjoying every snatched instant to the dispiriting evolution of the uphill war he is leading against Bjorn. His marriage is his only consolation, one could say.

His arms, his back are covered in scars. The tattoos are holding though Gisla is as disapproving as before when it comes to heathen practices.

Two wolves trying to eat the sun and the moon? The Norse wolves must be experienced charioteers; maybe they have trained in Constantinople? Long gone are the days the Empire was wrestling its survival from the hands of the Red, white, Blue and Green factions; it remains chariot races are a by-word of sophistication. Rollo hates everything coming from the Southern Roman Empire. He hates their refinement when it compares to his stern North; he hates the comparison of their supposed culture since it makes Kattegat look Barbaric. He hates it when Gisla admits Charles's court is downright provincial. He likes the old Imperial palace in Paris and he knows a crook when he sees one like these Greeks trying to sell relics of dubious origin to a gullible wife. These bones, that dust or the shredded pieces of cloth supposedly having wrapped the body of some long dead martyrs will not save Paris. It will be fresh troops. Luck and the will of the Gods; certainly not the certified milk from the Holy Mother of the Christ God. If Jesus is indeed Son of God made Man to redeem us all, it stands to reason baby Jesus would drink all the milk the Holy Breasts would have been offering to His hungry mouth. Babies, God or mortal, are notoriously partial to milk. They do not share nor leave drops to survive centuries later. No divine left over stands to reason.

The relics merchant has looked at him with disgust, suggesting hypocritically that the duke's new faith is too young to understand the subtle nature of miracles. The comment has been a mistake as Rollo has flipped over the table on which the trader had disposed of his wares. The so-called milk bottle empties its content in the undignified dirt of a Parisian street. Leaving no choice but for the trickster to run away quickly under the mocking jibes of the Norse Man and his warrior companions…

- "I do not mock you God, Gisla. I really wish he would talk to me. Now I know he talks to you. I know of your sincerity; I have seen you with the Oriflamme. And it angers me a lot to see swindlers like him trying to make a profit on your faith!"

As the weeks have turned into months, his Frank has improved though his accent remains thick. Gisla, on her side, does her best though she is deaf, as tightly close as a seashell is to the knife of the fisherman, when her husband or Sinric try ever so lightly to introduce her to the Gods of Kattegat. Maybe, if she was to be cut from her people, maybe she would listen. In Frankia, surrounded by bishops, priests and nuns, she is safe from his attempts to try and ever so subtly get her to hear Odin's voice. Not that he hears it often himself in Kattegat; as for here in Frankia, he has not heard Odin at all, Thor still manages to reach out and Freyr somehow is the most successful. Yet it is the All Father who remains silent. Deaf to his prayers and uncompromising with his traitorous son. Just as unyielding as his former family, friends and people are. He has betrayed them all. Betrayed the Gods. Floki must not be surprised; Floki knows that once baptized, the Christ God would use Rollo as a tool to enter Kattegat and compromise for all its inhabitants their entry to Valhalla. Rollo has betrayed their present and their future afterlife along shaming their ancestors who cannot believe that the berserker shares the same bloodline as theirs.

Yet as gangs of criminals do, Rollo and his warriors claim their families live in Frankia; claim their land is in Frankia. Worse, now for some and it includes their duke, they pretend to become Christians. It was bad enough when Ragnar got baptized albeit the Norse King has done it to enter the city and has not altered the faith of his people. Rollo has, Rollo will never return to Kattegat. Rollo is now rootless, is now just a wanderer without a home to call his own. His family does not pray for his return, his ancestors do not claim kinship. The skalds when they spell the genealogies never mention that Ragnar once had a brother. Rollo is alone under the watchful, the disapproving eye of Odin.

Rollo does not care. Too busy to fight, too busy to slow down Bjorn's desire to raid the Seine. Too busy when the night comes to make love to the Frank woman he calls wife. Rollo does not care if Odin disapproves of him; with Gisla, he has found a fountain which water is always fresh and cooling to his parching thirst. To be loved, to be the loved one. The Chosen one.

There is somehow a divine justice rendered as Odin, Thor and Freyr have prevented Rollo to add insult to injury as his hall is empty of a cot. Rollo knows and does not care. Gisla says nothing. Too well aware that in some parts of her country, some call her the scarlet woman of the Revelations. The woman who will give birth to the ante-Christ. A cuckoo in the long dynasty of the Kings of Frankia. A bastard indeed. She is a traitor. God and his mother the blessed Marie have protected her from the dishonour of presenting a mongrel, a half Norse half Frank grandchild to her father.

If she is barren, so be it. At least, she has Rollo. At least, she has him. For how long? She does her best to trust in him; but he is a Pagan. Politely he smiles and pretends to listen to the bishop who has been assigned to his religious education. The questions he asks show that not one grain of meekness to the great designs of God has entered his heart. Why did his people not fight the Roman invaders? Why did the Jews accept for so many years slavery in Egypt without rebellion? As for Jericho, he wishes Ragnar had owned such magical instruments: this way, they would have entered Paris straight away. Rollo roars when his laughs; Rollo mocks her faith under the cover of pretending to learn about becoming a Christian. Barren she may be; at least the shame of giving birth to a little pagan is spared to her…

He is a traitor, she is too. But they are not alone. They have each other. Ragnar for all his might and Bjorn for his prowess in battle are lonely men. Rollo has Gisla, Rollo has found happiness. Ragnar can keep his crown; Rollo does not want it, does not envy it. Rollo has found love, better he is loved. Whatever follows will not matter; this love is of what sagas are about. A berserker met a princess, their eyes locked. For her love, he betrayed his people and fled from what was his home. Where he should have felt shame, he found happiness. End of the saga. Nobody is interested about happy people; this nobody is ignorant of what true happiness is.

The next day brings bad news; the next day always brings bad news. The road of Beauvais has been cut. They are almost encircled. This is a bad day; made worse as this is the day Charles informs his soldiers and his son-in-law of his great plan. A plan which includes Gisla as she will travel with him to safety. The princess will go where no North Man has ever gone before. To the safety of the great mountains and their monasteries. Charles will go further down South to Rome. The Pope will guide him; will help him to find the way to save his country…

This plan meets with incredulity, this being the polite version for the reaction of the Norse warriors. The Franks approve; most of them approve. For Charles's daughter, it makes sense. A pope Stephen the Second guided King Pippin over some complicated dynastic matters; a Leo whatever Leo it was crowned Charles, son of Pippin emperor. The Holy See can give, will give through careful reading of the Scriptures the answer that Charlemagne's grandson is looking for.

If he was king and he is not, Rollo would make a deal with his, this is Charles's half-brothers. He would accept personal humiliation but bring fresh troops to Frankia. He is about to say so when he hears of Magyar assaults in the Eastern marches; endless waves of Moorish activity in Italy. Sicily is about fallen. Constantinople is almost always routed by the Bulgars and the Caliphate and his commanders….

Christianity is in peril. Taking advice from he who sits on the throne of Peter becomes logical.

- "I shall bring a new throne for the Pope which I shall collect at the monastery where I will leave you, my daughter. No North man, no Moor, no Saracen or Magyar knows its direction. You will be safe here. Safer than in Paris."

The maid of Paris has not stood by the Oriflamme to allow the duchess of the Nordmanni to hide like a coward. The blessed banner has saved Paris once; it can save it twice. Has Father forgotten how another maid had saved Paris from King Attila? These days were dark indeed as the Western Empire was ending its long life. Yet Genovefa has saved Paris; yet she has counselled the son of a successful Germanic warlord to become one day her ancestor. His ancestor.

- "Genovefa did not flee Paris, Father. I shall stay as I have done. My people are in Paris; I am safe among my people. Among our people. All our people"

And she turns to Rollo with such a shy smile to include in the people she calls her own the courageous Nordmanni who have been vigilant allies from the beginning. Their duchess is safe with her people, all of her people.

Rollo remains silent rolling in his head many ideas, possibilities and gives his answer.

- "If your brothers could or would have helped, they would have done so a long time ago. A wise man in these circumstances will ask guidance from the Gods… I mean the Christ God. Our king does so in Kattegat. As for the princess, her safety preys heavily on my mind"

It is not that he wants to get rid of his wife; if he had a say in the matter of Frankia, she would stay with him. Frankia is not his land; it is the land ravaged by Bjorn and this land he is fighting for its freedom. What he needs are more warriors, not a woman whose wrist is not accustomed to the weight of a sword. Better be it that she stays safe, away from Paris. A siege when one is the prisoner inside the walls is not what he wishes for his bride.

Said bride replies she knows very well what it is to be inside a besieged city. She has seen men dying on the walls. Her dress has been spattered by the blood of good bishop Gozlin. The North Men must surely not be this much different than they were a year ago. She will stay.

Charles raises his eyes, shakes his head and sighs. It is not from him, the North Man will get support in convincing his wife it is safer for her to ride away from Paris.

- "What if my uncles capture me? They will hold a plaid and will have me divorced in less time than I can pronounce Ave Maria"

This Rollo knows. His marriage is considered null and void in large chunks of the empire; to see his wife as a glorified prisoner under the care of her uncles is a serious concern.

- "Then it is a settled thing: you will ride with me to Rome!"

- "If this is safe, I agree. You will leave tomorrow with your father. Before it is too late and Pontoise becomes another new stronghold for Bjorn"

The she-wolf is angry; all the explanations, all the soothing protestations of love are falling on deaf ears. However cruel it is for her husband, he holds against the winds of her rage. Just like he holds against Bjorn slowing him so much that it will almost make two years before the son of Ragnar sees the great city walls again. He holds when all he wants is to make peace with Bjorn, all he desires is care for his land and be happy with his wife.

- "Tomorrow, you will ride with your father. Collect whatever you need in Paris and leave for Italy. And do not tell me it is going to be like last time. I have ordered that all the women, all the elderly and the children to leave Paris. Ragnar wanted for some reason to spare in a way your capital. Bjorn has no reason to do so"

The siege is not going to be this civilized affair where warfare was limited to the walls. Once they will get in and Bjorn will get in, it will be a battle house after house, street after street with a dwindling number of Frank soldiers and Nordmanni warriors. Until the end and the final butchery.

- "I will not see my wife blood-eagled or raped ending up in abject slavery"

How dare he? Does he think her weak? She has seen some Nordmanni women fighting along the warriors; if he calls her his shield maiden, then she should be at his side. The reply flies back like a sharp spear. Women have been known to wish to become shield maidens, they have trained, they have fought battles; he has seen what battles can turn out to be. Too many women killed or severely injured and wounds of the minds can be as deadly as the ones cut by steel. The little woman walks in front of her towering husband, planting herself as a cliff beaten by stormy waves yet standing aloof to the irate sea.

- "I am not a shield maiden, nor do I care to be one. I am a Frank. Married to you. Just like my duty is to my people, my duty as your wife is to stand by your side. I will stay in Paris. How dare you to think Frank women are weak. Are cowards! I will stay in Paris. I must. This is my place."

The duty of a princess is to obey her father and her husband. Has she forgotten her solemn vows when they were married not so long ago? She is to obey him and he has given her marching orders.

The door slams behind her. But not after she has imparted to him an unabridged version of how Charlemagne must have looked like when rage was seizing the great emperor … if he had been a woman.

His heavy fist hits the wall. Why is it that he never can fully protect his people? Once again it is like in Kattegat when Jarl Borg was attacking it. He had had no choice but leave like a cowered dog, tail between its legs. Siggy had approved of his handling of the situation as it was his clever management which had allowed Ragnar victory at the end. Siggy, who was no shield maiden, who had wanted to fight like one? … Porunn who wanted so much to be like Lagertha training endless hours and broken by a simple scar. Only Lagertha, only her, is a true shield maiden. A shield maiden of the North. There is no dishonour in strategic retreat. Better Gisla be safe by this great seer of the Christians, better Rollo be locked inside the walls of Paris than going through the same black days he has been through upon learning of Siggy's death. These days, he does not want to live again; losing Siggy was bad. Losing this she-wolf of Frankia would … would kill him.

Tomorrow she will ride to Rome. Tonight, she sleeps with her maids. Far from her husband, who is too busy to notice, too occupied to prepare for a distraction to fool whatever Viking scouts who might attack the royal convoy. Pontoise will fall but on Rollo's terms!

She has left.

Charles has blessed the ones who stay like Roland and the guards of the Emperor. Charles has left almost humming as the little man seems lost in a trance. There must be a great plan afoot. A plan nobody is privy of. His country is ransacked, pillaged in every way yet the emperor smiles as if he knows that at the end, he and only he will win. Gisla rides behind him, her face covered by a mask and a dark veil. Barely acknowledging her husband by a cold nod, eager like her father to leave this fortress, eager to ride to lands which know naught of barbarian North men or stupid husbands who refuse to listen.

If he had hoped that the morning would find her smiling, said hopes are dashed to the ground. Face hidden, head bent, she does not talk to him; does not wish him goodbye. It is as if it was Paris all over again when she had informed him of her disgust at their coming nuptials. Rollo does not wave good bye. Rather, he looks at the dust raised by the horses which are trotting away to Paris, taking a wife who seems set to take away all her warm love. Pontoise is cold. Very cold and unfriendly indeed.

He sighs.

- "They will be safe. No North man can climb over the Alps, lord duke"

Roland stands behind him, ready to obey to his command.

- "You do not know Bjorn"

Roland has this curious smile of his when he is staging a winning battle.

- "No man, no mortal man can climb the mountains in winter. As for summer, you need good guides. Something tells me your nephew is no different than us. The Alps will defeat him"

Something in the voice of the soldier intrigues Rollo; something tells him these mountains he has heard about must be indeed quite something to behold, to give to him the feeling that Bjorn will not succeed.

- "It took great elephants from Africa to allow King Hannibal to cross the Alps. Elephants are from the South, my lord duke. There is no elephant in your North!"

Rollo is not sure whether to approve or not at the sudden brisk bout of laughter of the Frank soldier. Yet all the Franks start laughing as sharing the same hidden joke. He has heard of the great beasts and it gets him thinking. Bjorn is about to discover that the Gods of the South have a way to protect their people the son of Ragnar has no idea of. Gisla is indeed very safe…

Gisla is safe. This is all what matters to him. Safe from Bjorn. Safe from his own kin. Safe from the nephew he wants so much to call son. Yet Rollo feels so lonely. Why is it that when one has done his duty, one feels dissatisfied? Rollo does not care for the Alps, he cares for his wife...…