The sun had barely risen when there was a knock at the front door.
"It is time," Haedde said, smiling excitedly. Since yesterday she'd remained with Edithe. Waiting, preparing her for this very moment and, now it was here, Edithe's stomach churned with nerves.
For a brief few seconds, she considered what would happen if she simply ignored the knock and bolted the door. But with Haedde by her side, there was no such option.
"Good luck, child," she said, encouraging Edithe from the chair and squeezing her tightly, before nudging her towards the door.
The knock sounded again and Edithe answered, finding Lagertha standing before her. They'd never been formally introduced but she knew her by reputation alone. Ragnar's wife, a great warrior by all accounts.
"Are you ready?" Lagertha asked solemnly.
"I'm ready." Maybe saying the words would make them so and even if it didn't, there was no other answer to that question. Not if she wanted to return home.
"Then come," Lagertha gestured, stepping aside.
Edithe glanced back to Haedde, who waved her hands, ushering her to leave. "I will see you at the feast, child."
By then it would be all over.
In the street, a group of four women waited, all of them strangers except for Solveig who looked upon her in the way she usually did, with utter disdain. If Edithe were home it would be friends and family who would make up her bridal party. But here she was alone.
She wished it could be Haedde who led her to the bathhouse but as a slave, she was not permitted to partake in such a sacred ceremony. So instead, she followed Lagertha and the others, feeling more of an outsider than ever before.
The bathhouse was made up of one large room, well proportioned for the wooden tub which stood proudly in its centre. Three or four people could have easily fit inside but today it was just for her. A place to cleanse away her maidenhood, a place for rebirth.
"I am Ama," the oldest of the women introduced herself before pointing to the others, "this is Hilde, Tyra, Dagmar and you already know Solveig, yes?"
Edithe nodded, feeling as though the names were already slipping from memory. Feeling as though she could not think of anything but the way her stomach churned. Tonight Rollo's hands would be on her skin, their bodies moving as one and the anticipation of that, consumed her more than anything else.
"Do not look so afraid," Ama said, looking her up and down.
"I'm not afraid," Edithe lied, but Ama's gaze remained shrewd, as was Lagertha's when she caught Edithe's eye.
She wondered briefly what they truly thought of her. If they hated her as much as her people would have hated them. The idea of her brother bringing home a Viking bride to wed was unimaginable and such a woman would not have been as well-received as she was being now.
Dagmar and Hilde moved closer to her, their fingers nimble as they unlaced the fastenings of her clothes. Stripping her, until she wore nothing but firelight and the prickle of their scrutiny.
"She will be pleasing to Rollo," Ama decided after a while, erupting a chorus of giggles from Dagmar and Hilde.
"Is it true, Rollo has never laid with you?" Tyra asked as she began unbraiding her hair.
Edithe couldn't stop the blush which spread along her cheeks and trickled down her chest.
Again the younger women giggled. "She is shy," Hilde teased.
"She is of gentle birth and a Lady," Ama corrected, taking Edithe's hand and inspecting her palm. "Such soft hands. I bet you've never had to work for anything. Not even Rollo."
"Well-" Dagmar interrupted, speaking to the others as if Edithe wasn't there, "-my husband says she is a swan maiden and that after the battle in Northumbria, Rollo found her bathing and stole her clothes so she would forget she was a Valkyrie and marry him."
Edithe couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not a swan maiden."
"But he calls you Valkyrie. I have heard him," Dagmar added, her eyes bright with youth and superstition.
"Yes, but as a term of..." she thought of the word rolling from his tongue, " affection ."
Dagmar smiled dreamily as did Hilde and Tyra, who asked, "what else does he say? Tell us, what is he like when you are alone?"
Edithe shrugged, unsure of what they wanted to hear, "when we're alone, mostly we just talk."
They giggled, sharing sceptical glances and even if they didn't believe her, Edithe had to admit, it was nice to be in the company of women who weren't old enough to be her mother.
"My husband," Hilde began as she fetched a bucket to add more water to the tub, "is like a pig, he sits in the corner picking at his toes while I do everything ."
"Well I hardly see mine," Tyra sighed, "when he comes home he falls asleep in the chair and in the morning he's gone. What about you Solveig?"
Solveig, who had been sitting silently in the corner, stood and circled Edithe, like a crow circling a wounded animal, her smile a sneer. "I know what Rollo is like when he's not talking. He fucks you, day and night until he grows bored and finds another woman to wet his cock. You're nothing special, Christian, and soon you'll be forgotten just like all the other women he's had in his bed."
Edithe resisted the urge to step backwards as Solveig advanced into her personal space, until they were staring each other down, barely an inch between them. Standing nude, with a stomach full of nerves, she felt in no position to fight and even words escaped her. Perhaps because a large part of her was wondering if what Solveig said was true. Would he grow bored and seek the company of another? Even if he did, it shouldn't have bothered her. She was only marrying Rollo for safe passage to Briton, what did it matter if he strayed into another woman's bed? But it did bother her, more than she'd care to admit.
Solveig laughed, "you're just a stupid Saxon whore, nothing more."
"That's enough!" Lagertha commanded, grabbing Solveig by the arm and pushing her aside. "If Rollo heard you talking like this he would gut you where you stood."
Solveig spat on the ground at Edithe's feet, "let him, I would rather die than serve his Christian whore." And with that, she left. The door flinging open, straining on its hinge and letting the cold air inside.
Goosebumps prickled on Edithe's skin and she hugged her arms around herself, for warmth and consolation.
"She's just jealous," Lagertha whispered, while the others began adding more water to the tub.
It was not difficult to imagine there were women, like Solveig, who would want Rollo for themselves. The Northmen placed tremendous value on a person's strength in battle and Rollo was fierce, strong, utterly unstoppable when he put his mind to it. But despite his strength and brutishness, there was still tenderness and generosity, understanding and good humour, things she placed great value on.
There was also the way the sun caught the green of his eyes and the way his smile crinkled into his cheeks. When that happened, Edithe thought he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen and would waste more than a moment just to gaze upon him. So yes, she could very easily understand why women wanted him and how easy it would be for him to stray.
"Perhaps she is just speaking the truth," she said, unable to stop her thoughts from pouring from her lips.
"It is true Rollo has lain with many women," Lagertha agreed, as she continued to unbraid her hair where Tyra had left off. "But-" she paused, "he's never married any of them. Rollo likes to have what is not easily taken. You were meant for a King and now you will be his ."
Marrying a Prince and becoming Queen of Northumbria had never excited her in the way it might have excited others. It was duty and nothing more, any power garnered by the match would belong to her Father. While she would be a wife, just as she would be a wife to any other man of power and position. "So I am just a prize for him?"
"I thought so at first. But not anymore. Only the blind cannot see how deeply he cares for you. Do you care for him, Edithe?"
"I… I don't know," she admitted, knowing how selfish it was to crave his loyalty while holding onto hers so tightly.
Lagertha smiled, "by the end of the day, we will be sisters. You can come to me or Ragnar for anything you need or if anyone is ever bothering you. Including Rollo."
Edithe returned her smile and soon after, Ama beckoned them over to the tub.
When the bathing was finished they moved to an adjoining room to dress her in the gown Haedde had made. For her hair, they left it loose and flowing, decorated with tiny white flowers. Reminding her of the daisy chains she'd made for Nessie last summer.
Her little sister would have loved being part of this, would have revelled in the girlish attention and the beautiful dress far more than Edithe ever could. She was a romantic and a dreamer and would probably have forgiven Rollo for all his sins the moment he smiled at her.
"This is your wedding crown," Ama said, presenting her with a beautiful headdress of silver vines interwoven with wildflowers. She recognised their colours from the meadow and wondered if Rollo had picked them himself. "Crowns are passed from mother to daughter. One generation to the next. But Rollo had this made for you and any daughters you might have."
From the way the women reacted to the sight of the crown, she could tell it was not usual to have such a thing made new. Perhaps, not even usual to have a crown made with such fine materials.
"It's beautiful," Edithe admitted, admiring it before Ama placed it on her head. The finishing touch to a morning spent transforming her into a Viking bride.
She wondered what her mother would have thought seeing her dressed like this. Or what it would have been like if the Vikings arrived peacefully at her village and her father gave her hand to Rollo. But such musings were only cause for melancholy. So as soon as they crossed her mind, she pushed them away. Focusing her attention on Hilde and Tyra who were once again sharing stories of their husbands while Dagmar raced across Kattegat to see if Rollo was ready to begin the ceremony.
"He's waiting for you," she said, upon returning and suddenly the room felt too hot, the air too thick to breathe.
Edithe actually welcomed her first steps outside, as if they weren't bringing her closer to that which made her suck down the fresh air like a drowned woman.
"The sky is clear, that is a good sign," Ama noted and the others agreed while Edithe concentrated on breathing in and out and placing one step in front of the other.
She had never been the kind of girl to succumb to fragile nerves but she felt faint now. Her limbs detached from her consciousness. As though she was in a dream, drifting through the deserted streets of Kattegat to the pounding rhythm of distant drums.
This was it. Her last chance to flee. Not that she would get very far. Like Rollo always told her, this was her fate. By the end of the night, she would be bound to him. Even if she did not believe in his Gods or his vows. They would be bound in body and in the eyes of her people, that was enough.
God forgive her. She crossed herself, the drum sound drawing closer, a hubbub of voices intermingling with the beat.
It seemed like all of Kattegat waited by the water where a newly erected altar stood for their wedding. She hadn't seen it before now and it was decorated with the same flowers she wore in her headdress. A vibrant cascade of colours backdropped by what seemed like a neverending expanse of blue where the water touched the sky. Then in the middle of it all, standing tall and proud, was Rollo. Her one constant in a sea of unfamiliarity.
He smiled when he saw her and somehow it eased her nerves, steadied her breathing. If she held his gaze she could ignore all the eyes watching and move one step at a time until she reached him. Until her hands were in his and his smile was deepening into his cheeks.
"I feared you would not come," he whispered. "You look beautiful."
All she could do was stare. First at Rollo then at the three Viking priests who stood to greet them. Gothi, Haedde had called them. Long white robes, bald heads and most striking of all was the black paint which marked their faces. The way they watched her was frightening and the sound of the drums picking up speed only added to the intensity.
So she held Rollo's hands tighter and he matched her pressure, anchoring her to reality while everything else seemed to blur.
The flash of a knife, the squeal of a boar. Blood, thick and warm, spittled on her face. The pagan rituals were as mesmerising as the chanting of the priests. Promises to the God's. Words which held no meaning to her.
They exchanged swords and then rings, the band feeling heavy and unfamiliar as Rollo carefully pushed it on before repeating his vows as they were given to him by the Gothi.
Then it was her turn and she could feel the heat of his gaze, watching as she eased the ring over his knuckle where it was meant to sit for the rest of his life. As she began her vows, her eyes found Rollo's and before now, she'd had no intention of keeping them. Yet saying them face to face made them more real than she'd imagined. More unbreakable.
"I pray to Freya, to always make us fruitful.
To Thor, to always make us strong.
And to Odin, to always make us wise.
Rollo, I wed you to honour you.
To be the lady of your house, the shield on your back.
To share your bed, your hearth and all that I have and will ever have.
From this day until my last.
You are my husband and I am your wife. "
When she was finished, the weight of her words sank into her bones, into her very soul, as the onlookers cheered and the Gothi blessed them once more.
"You are truly mine now, Valkyrie."
"And you are mine," she replied, not with horror or regret, but with acceptance.
"Always," he promised, his hands circling her waist, the green of his eyes catching the sun.
He brushed his nose against hers, seeming to savour the scent of her skin while memories of their first and only kiss drew to mind. Exciting a part of her which she always tried to repress. But now it was impossible to ignore the fluttering of butterflies which danced in her stomach or the way her heart raced. A perfect cocktail of fear, excitement and anticipation.
In his arms the onlookers faded to black, leaving only Rollo as he slowly leaned down to kiss her. The press of his lips so familiar yet so uncharted. Soft, firm and over far too quickly. Curling her fingers into his tunic she held him tightly and he leaned in to claim her again, to kiss her how she wanted to be kissed. His tongue hot and wet, his lips commanding while she floated, weightless in his arms.
When it was over she was breathless and wondered if it was usual to have such overwhelming feelings coursing across her body. Just as she'd wondered it after the first time they'd kissed. Was this what lust felt like? Or was it something else? Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and despite herself, she wanted more.
Instead, Rollo released her from his embrace and she felt empty without the press of his arms to make her whole.
He smirked, seeming to know exactly what effect he had on her and suddenly the sound of the crowd filtered in from the background. The cheers, the vulgar comments and her cheeks burned with shame at her immodesty.
A gentle kiss would have been a far more suitable level of intimacy to share with spectators and a gentle kiss was what he tried to give. It was her who pulled him closer, her who'd laid her traitorous urges bare for all to see.
"Now we must race… wife," he said, the last word holding new meaning to them both as he backed away from the altar.
"Race?" she asked, confused, still reeling from their kiss.
"Come, Edithe," Lagertha called, pulling at her hand, "we cannot let them win."
"Win what?"
"The race of course," Dagmar shouted, urging her to follow.
Haedde had not told her about this and Rollo was out of sight before she'd even gathered her wits.
Hitching up her skirt she chased her bridal party. All of them running through Kattegat like children and she couldn't help the laughter which bubbled, uncontained from her lips.
Last year she never would have imagined she'd one day be spittled in boars blood, with a hundred flowers in her hair, racing through foreign streets with Vikings. How strange life could be and how exciting, if she allowed herself to forget, that she wasn't supposed to be enjoying every moment of it.
"The men always win," Lagertha lamented when they reached the longhouse just in time to see Rollo stab his sword into one of the beams.
"Hm, it went deep. You will have many children," Dagmar added as if it was a simple matter of fact.
Stepping towards the threshold, Lagertha held her back, "it is bad luck."
Superstition was what Edithe would call it, but even Christians had their superstitions so she waited patiently by the door. Watching Ragnar, Rolf and others she did not know congratulating Rollo on his virility. He seemed to enjoy it, he seemed to have the same boyish happiness she'd seen on their journey across the sea and, when he looked towards her, the swell of butterflies erupted once more.
In an instant, he swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold, tender kisses and the brush of his beard nuzzling against her cheek. She had no cause to stop any of it, except, now and again, a small voice at the back of her mind would scream. Reminding her of all the reasons she wasn't supposed to be marrying a murderous heathen and the one reason she was. To get home, nothing more.
That was the deal she made with God. The deal she made with her conscience. Yet today she'd also made a deal with Rollo. To honour him and belong to him for the rest of her life.
Sooner or later one of her promises would have to be broken.
