Chapter 2

Rollo watched as the sun sank in the sky. He had always loved this time of day when the world began to turn dark. Back home it was the time people would serve the evening meal, it was also the time of feasts and celebrations. When the community would gather around the hearth and drink to excess. Things were dull around here by comparison and he was lonely.

His new life reminded him of when he was a boy and someone captured a wolf and chained it inside the village. The children all challenged each other to see who was brave enough to pet 'Fenrir'. For the first few days no own dared to touch the snapping, snarling beast, instead they stayed to the side and watched beast as it struggled in its bonds. Rollo felt like the Franks watched him as he once watched the wolf. They admired his strength and feared him, but they did not wish to befriend him or be close to him.

His days were lonesome. Women would flee at the sight of him, men would go stiff when he approached. He had given much so that he could be here. He had seen that his own people were slaughtered so that he could become great in the eyes of the Franks. So that he may be his brother's equal.

None of this was going as he planned though: the people detested him for who he was, his wife openly scorned him and was seeking a divorce, and except for Abbot Lupus he was alone in the world.

A bitter smile crossed his lips. He would never be Ragnar's equal, he should have known this. He remembered that only one child had been able to stroke the wolf, his brother. When he had stretched his own hand out the wolf snapped at him and if he had not been quick it would have caught him. The gods had always favored his brother more.

The last bit of sun disappeared in the sky and the world fell into darkness. Rollo was growing restless. He should flee. That is what the wolf did; it broke it's chains and stole off in the night. What did he have to lose?

Gisla was going to leave him, and without his marriage to her he suspected it would not be long before he died at the hand of some Frank. He had already shown them most of what he planned to do to protect Paris. They would not need him much longer.

Perhaps he should just go now. Disappear into the night and condemn himself to a life of outlawry. There was not glory in that. No honor. He would simply become one of the thousands of faceless, forgotten men who had gone before him. Those who had achieved nothing and had no belonging. It did not seem to matter what he did the gods seemed to have already designed his life for this fate.

He stepped out into the cool night air. He could run now. Who would notice? Who would miss him? He sprinted for a few paces, but then turned and looked back. He knew the princess's chamber was above his and he wondered for a moment if she might be watching from her balcony. He looked and did not see her.

This was not unexpected, but he was still disappointed. What he would give to have her standing there beckoning him back.

From the moment he first laid eyes on her he knew he wanted her to be the woman his heart would love. He could still recall the way the sun tangled in he dark hair as she stood on the wall as fearlessly as a Valkyrie. He knew from that instant he wanted to be near her, drawn towards her by some unseen force. Like a hooked fish being drawn out of the water. He climbed a wall to be near her, and even though he had been thrown off, she was the first and last thing he saw.

It was as if someone had slipped him a love potion after that day. Or as if someone had once told him strong poetry about her, because all his thoughts traced back to her after that moment. He knew he had to have her.

When the envoy of the Franks came he was not even interested in their promises of power and land. It was the idea of marrying the princess that swayed him. Yes, the words of the seerer had run through his mind, but he would have wanted this woman even without having his fortune foretold.

He thought back to his happiest time in Frankia before his marriage, when Sinric was sent a message daily by the Franks. All the communications were the same: that the princess was overjoyed at her engagement, that she was pleased to be given to such a fierce warrior, that she prayed to her god that they would have many children together.

Some of these words surprised him, at their first and only meeting she had seemed displeased, but Rollo could not have been happier. She still had the fire within her that he had seen on the wall. She was not defeated or cowering like the rest of her people. He had been thrilled by the idea of winning her over, but was never given a chance. The Franks refused to let him see her again until the marriage, saying that it was not their custom. Rollo had not minded, he could wait a week or two as long as in the end she was his bride.

It was not until he saw her at the wedding that he realized what he had been told was all lies. She was more than displeased to be there. Tears had covered her face and her father had forced her to kneel so that the marriage could be done. This was never what Rollo wanted and he tried in vain to make amends. He had sent the witnesses from the room and tried to reassure her he meant her no harm. But he did not speak her tongue and whenever she heard his words she cringed and scowled. Rollo hoped that if he slept and did not touch her she would understand that he would not be a bad husband, but it seemed to do nothing but increase her resentment.

He should have learned to speak to her sooner, but with the false messages he thought she would be happy enough in the beginning and that he could learn later. He realized now that he should not have been such a fool.

Yet, a love struck heart was always filled with folly, and Rollo wondered once more if he should try to speak to her. He knew the Frankish words to say now, perhaps he could sway her. In his mind it was worth one more try. If he failed now he would leave.

He walked back to the palace to a tree that's limbs dangled over the top of the princess's balcony. He hoisted himself up the trunk and began to climb. His feet landed lightly on the floor and within a few steps he was inside the princess's chambers.

Historical Note: 'strong poetry' the vikings believed that poetry held certain kinds of magical qualities especially when it came to love.