Author's Note: Yes I know I didn't post yesterday, but I have a bit of a good news/bad news situation. The good news is that I am now officially no longer unemployed. The bad news is I am now busier than a one armed wallpaper hanger because of it. I don't think there will be any more daily updates because of this, though the chapters should be slightly longer.

Chapter 5

One by one he plucked the tender stems from the ground, being careful not to crush the tiny, white bells. The fresh clean scent of the flowers covered his hands. And he thought back many years to another time when he had picked flowers for a different girl. He remembered that he had almost given that girl flowers like these, but instead settled for purple ones, for purple was the color of love. A smile crossed his face, the color choice had not helped him; the girl left to love another man.

For this new love Rollo was determined to do things the way he wanted. It had been so long since he had been driven by any other emotion than jealousy for his brother. This time he would love a girl without looking over his shoulder to see if Ragnar was looking. If Ragnar was seeing that he could succeed too.

Rollo was going to forget tradition and try and win her using whatever ways he knew. It was true she did not love him in the daylight, but there was still hope for him at nightfall.

Today had been a particularly trying day. He had been too tired in the morning to focus on his lessons with Abbot Lupus. The old man was trying to explain to him the finer points of the Christian faith which only left him further confused.

The father was the son, and and the son was also the father, and together they were also a spirit. He shook his head. It was all so overcomplicated. He asked why they could not all be separated, and why the father could not have more children so that things could be more straight forward. Abbot Lupus just shook his head at his thoughts and told him that the sacred wisdom would be imparted to him in time.

He was glad the abbot was patient with him, with Gisla it was not so. He remembered the first mass he had attended. She had done her best to keep him away from the chapel, sending men when he first entered to lead him away. He had followed the men, not knowing any better at the time. Count Odo had been sent to fetch him and bring him back inside when he was on the steps of the chapel. He had been so confused by two groups of people telling him which way they wanted him to go when he did not even speak the language. At one point one of the guards laid their hands on him trying to get him to follow. This was too much and Rollo shoved the man hard enough to knock him to the ground.

From inside the chapel he had heard a scream, and he looked up to find Gisla standing near the entrance pointing at him and yelling at her father. Rollo could still see in his mind's eye all the faces of the people who had gathered around to watch inside the church.

In the end he was brought back into the chapel and attended mass with the rest of the people. However, in some ways he wished he had just been left outside. The whole ceremony was very boring to him, with soft singing and candle lighting. They filled the room with sweet smelling smoke and then expected him not to sleep. And the whole thing was done in their 'latin' the language of their holy men, which only added to his confusion.

He had left disappointed. There had been no sacrifices, toastings, or oath takings. It had been a very dull affair full of talking, and he wondered how anyone left feeling closer to the gods.

The next Sunday he had tried to avoid mass altogether, but soon learned that if he did not go inside he would be the only man in the city not there. Rollo did not want to live as an outcaste again and went inside.

Abbot Lupus had now taught him all the responses to say during the service which helped him not dread it so much. In fact, the first week after he learned to say the prayers he was quite eager for Gisla to see that he was a learned man and that he now knew her holy words. Gisla had seen to it however, that she sit in a different spot far away from him. And so she did not see what he had learned.

He finished plucking his last flower, this one he was particularly pleased with for it had many blossoms on its stem. Learning prayers would not please his princess, he must earn her affection. Night would come soon and they would sit and talk once more.


Gisla went into her bed filled with anticipation at the thought of her mysterious visitor coming again. She had watched for him all day, but he had not revealed himself. She had looked among the royal advisors, but they all seemed too old. She had made a study of all the young squires in the court, but they were barely more than boys. And Gisla could not imagine how someone common place could make it inside the palace walls unseen. He could not be Count Odo for he was too fat. Nor could he be Roland for he was too thin. It was almost as if this mysterious man did not exist at all.

Gisla wondered if it all had been an act of her imagination for he was no where to be found. Yet she knew someone had been next to her in the night. There was no mistaking the signs she had found in the morning. She knew he would return this night for he had promised to protect her.

Dread and excitement filled her up all at once at the thought of him being next to her again. She would have to send him away of course. It would be a great sin to let him stay again. She relished the thought of when she would have to send him away. He would be truly disappointed to be dismissed she was sure. Even if it was sin, it was a great honor for him to even be in the same bed with her.

Gisla tucked herself into bed and drew the sheets up around her to that they covered her mouth to suppress a giggle of excitement. She could almost hear his deep voice now, as he begged her to let him stay.

She fell into a soft doze and when she was stirred into consciousness she knew he was in the room with her again. By the light of the moon she could make out his figure as silver strands of light clung to his form. She did not think he had been lying now when he said he was one of the strongest men in Frankia. He was very tall and his shoulders and arms seemed square and sturdy. She had never seen his equal before.

He walked to the side of the bed where he had slept the other night, and started to climb in.

Gisla sat up, "I beg your forgiveness, but you must not get in again."

"Oh, and why is that?" The man answered.

"Because last night was a mistake I should not have made. It is not right for me to be with a man who is not my husband."

"Do you have a husband, truly?" He asked in an entertained voice as he climbed into bed.

"Yes of course! You must be the only man in Paris not aware of him. He is one of the heathens who sieged this fair city."

"No, I know that," the man said with a hint of laughter. "What I meant was are you married to him in truth. There is word you wish to leave him over him not being a true husband to you."

Gisla's pride was wounded that this man was speaking so openly about her private affairs. It was true she publicly scorned the heathen, but she always viewed it as her issue and not be discussed openly by others. "That is a lie! I wish to leave him for being a savage and not worshipping the one true God. He helped attack my city and killed my people. And I find being forced to be married to him a great insult to me. If I were a man it would not be so."

"What would you do to him if you were a man, as you say?"

"I would strike him down, and wet the ground with his heathen blood, that is what I would do. And I would be the Great Champion of Paris and everyone would know and fear me far and wide."

"I have no doubt," the voice said with a lilt of amusement. "So you regret being born a woman?"

Gisla paused for a moment in thought. "No," she finally answered, "it is not that I dislike being a woman, it is just I am tired of being trampled and passed over by others because I am not a man."

"And would your husband do this to you?"

"Yes, of course! He is a pagan and has no soul. I am sure he wishes to harm me very much. He is like a wild beast. He has no respect for me and I am sure he would maim me if he were given the chance."

"And what has he done to hurt you?"

"I already told you he attacked my city–"

"No, I asked what he has done to you." He interrupted.

"I– Well– He has…" Gisla felt her temper rise up inside her as she struggled for words, "You are very tiresome and I thought I told you that you could not be here."

A soft chuckle escaped the man, "Very well I will leave you. But what am I to do with these?"

Gisla felt a soft bundle of stems pressed into her hand. "What are they?" She asked.

For once she stumped him and it took a moment for him to say, "They are…forest…flowers."

She bent down and inhaled the flowers unmistakable perfume, "No they are muguet."

"Muguet." He repeated almost wistfully. Gisla felt the weight of the bed shift as he began to move.

"Wait," she said.

She saw his head swivel in the moonlight.

"Yes?"

"Wait, I suppose it would not be too wrong if you stayed a little longer with me."

Historical Notes: "Purple the color of love" The vikings did attribute certain colors to certain characteristics (i.e. red for valor, white for cowardice) but saying purple was the color of love may be a bit of an exaggeration on my part. We do know when a man wanted to ask a woman to marry him he was suppose to bring her purple flowers. Historians aren't really sure why it had to be that color though.

"Muguet" is the modern French word for Lillies of the Valley. I really didn't want to do the research to find the old Frankish term for them, if anyone else does please let me know :)