Chapter Text
~~
Rollo
“Hello.” Rollo pronounced his greeting carefully, as Sinric had taught him, and smiled broadly. Being here in this splendid hall, seeing the princess and the king and all their people waiting for him – him, Rollo of Kattegat – filled him with an immeasurable joy. The seer had been right; he could happily dance naked on the beach today.
He looked about after his greeting, to see what the reaction would be. The princess looked slightly surprised, but said nothing. Her haughty look continued to confront him. He wondered what exactly she had said, but Sinric had seemed embarrassed to translate it. The king seemed suddenly to notice him and nodded graciously. So, it was clearly only the king who wished this.
“Sinric, what did she say?” Rollo leaned down to the wanderer.
“I – I – it is hard to translate.” Sinric looked down, as if ashamed that he couldn’t translate it, but Rollo was not fooled.
“Sinric, it’s clear that she’s not happy with this arrangement. She is glaring at me even now. Does she think me an idiot?”
Sinric hesitated. “Among other things, yes.”
Rollo laughed. “Very well. We shall call their bluff.”
“Their bluff, Rollo?”
“Yes. Ask the princess if she willingly agrees to this marriage. Tell her that it is usual in the North for women to have a say in whom they marry – or whether they marry or not.” This was not entirely true, but true enough for his purposes.
Sinric thought for a moment, looked a little nervously at the princess, but complied. Rollo watched to see the reaction of the princess. She looked astonished, and after a glance at the king and a moment of thought, said something in rapid, sharp words and sat staring at him in open challenge.
Rollo waited, admiring the fire in her eyes.
Sinric translated carefully. “I cannot – and will not - marry a man who is not a Christian.”
The king put his hand up to his forehead in obvious distress, but Rollo just nodded and smiled. “As it happens, I have been baptized as a Christian.”
Gisla looked startled as she heard Sinric’s rendition of Rollo’s words. She glanced about in confusion. But then she regained her composure and shot back a stream of words so quickly that Rollo thought even Sinric might not understand them.
But he did. “Ahem. Rollo. She says, umm, she says, ‘Just as your brother the king was baptized? Is that the sort of Christian you are? He murdered the archbishop and threatened my father – and kidnapped me!’” Sinric looked at Rollo uneasily.
Rollo drew a deep breath. It would take all his will to hold his temper. He did not bother to try using their language. He would let Sinric translate this however harsh it sounded.
“I…am…not…my…brother.” His anger over Ragnar’s deceit welled inside him. He’d made a fool of all of them. Rollo recalled the stunned look on Lagertha’s face and Floki’s spitting in disgust when Ragnar limped back out of the city. “My brother duped you all. He had a vision that he would take this city and all its riches. That was not my vision. But he is my brother – and my king. So I fought as he desired.”
He paused to allow Sinric to finish translating. The king nodded, attempting to show understanding, it seemed. Gisla appeared unmoved.
Rollo continued, “I am told that you call me a ‘crazed bear.’” He allowed his voice to reflect the anger that he felt at Ragnar. He noticed that the king looked uncomfortable again. Good. He stepped a little closer, drew himself to his full height, eyeing the king as he proceeded, “That does not insult me – that is exactly how I fight and how all of my men will fight….”
Again he waited as Sinric poured out his words and caused the king to shift in his seat nervously and some of the king’s men to grasp their weapons defensively.
“…to defend Paris and these lands according to this treaty we have made with you.” He relaxed his stance for a moment and watched the king’s face as his words sunk in. Relief. A nod and a tentative smile.
“And I will fight to defend the safety and the honor of this woman who will be my wife.” He allowed his gaze to drift to Gisla and regarded her with warmth. Her strength, her bearing, and her subtle beauty all attracted him. Never in his life had he so wanted to win over a woman.
She stared at him openly, her eyes boring into his as if by doing so she could determine his trustworthiness. She seemed to come to no conclusion, and instead turned to her father.
Rollo was enthralled to see that it was Gisla who looked stern and demanding as she appealed to her father with only her eyes. And that it was the king who looked back at her with pleading eyes. Rollo recalled that his brother had said that the king had done nothing when Ragnar had sprung from his funeral boat to launch his attack. That it was Gisla who had tried to fight him, tried to defend her own father. And rumor had it that the king had actually fainted when Ragnar had escaped with Gisla. What sort of man was this king? Rollo watched carefully as Gisla took in the silent appeal of her father. She seemed to resign herself; the set of her shoulders dropped, her eyes lost their fierceness. Slightly. Drawing herself back up with a great breath, she said something in a strong, firm voice.
Sinric listened with alertness, and then translated slowly, “I agree to this marriage to save my people and my city.”
Again, she looked toward Rollo with proud, if slightly less haughty eyes. He smiled and dipped his head at her.
“Good. I -- am -- pleased.” He hoped his words were spoken well; Sinric nodded at him, so the words must have been right.
The king stood up, smiling and holding out his hands in welcome to Rollo, and then, turning to Gisla, said something in a calm, even relieved tone. Rollo eagerly awaited Sinric’s translation.
“Then let us proceed to the chapel for the betrothal ceremony.”
Rollo nodded. His men around him congratulated him.
The holy man – what did Sinric call him? – the Bishop – walked forward and beckoned him and Gisla. Rollo strode forward.
~~
Gisla
Before she knew what was happening, Gisla found herself in the chapel, standing before the bishop as he read the words from the Holy Scripture, preparing her and the hulking man beside her for the betrothal vows. She was only half listening, as her thoughts fluttered around her. She had agreed to this despite all her determination not to. How did that happen?
She had held out one last hope that her father, upon seeing the actual man she was to wed, would take pity on her and seek out a different agreement with these invaders. But her father’s eyes, no longer commanding as they’d been at dinner yesterday, had pleaded with her. He could see no other way and would sacrifice her to this brute of a foreigner who was to be her husband. It took an enormous effort not to shudder openly when she thought of it.
There was nothing to be done but to go on with it. The bishop had beckoned to her. Ignoring her intended, Gisla had stepped down from the dais, and alongside her father, followed the bishop to the chapel. She was vaguely aware that the Northman and his little interpreter followed them, talking in whispers. The short walk down the palace hallway was like a strange, misty dream to her. Only the excited murmurs of the Northman’s horde entering the gilded chapel recalled her to her surroundings.
Now she watched the bishop’s face intently, trying to keep her mind on the sacred words. But she could only see that savage’s boorish face instead. As he had grinned at her like a buffoon, railed at her and her father, and then leered at her openly – how could she be marrying that?
Yet here he was standing right beside her. She would not look at him, but his presence was overbearing. She could smell the musky odor of the furs he was wearing. At least, she supposed it was the furs. And now he was turning towards her. What was the bishop saying?
“Now you will exchange the betrothal vows. Rollo, take her right hand in yours. Repeat the words,” the bishop commanded solemnly.
Gisla turned toward the Northman – Rollo he was called -- dreading to look into his eyes, but saw that he was looking down towards the translator as the little man explained things to him. Rollo nodded and faced her, but just stood there, staring like a fool. She glanced away in embarrassment.
She started as Rollo took her hand. It was as if a snake had bitten her. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but steeled herself and let her hand lie in his. He held it loosely at first, as if uncertain, but then he tightened his grip, and she felt its warmth and strength as he continued to hold it firmly while they listened to the bishop.
The bishop spoke the words very slowly, and Rollo repeated them carefully in Frankish, all the while gazing into her eyes, making her uncomfortable. “In the name -- of our Lord, I, Rollo, pro -- mise -- that I will -- one day -- take thee, Gisla, as -- my -- wife….” He broke off both words and his gaze to look to the bishop to follow the next words.
“…according to the ordinances of God and holy church,” the bishop continued. Rollo shook his head, told Sinric something, and Sinric asked the bishop repeat the words. Rollo frowned as the bishop continued, even more slowly, and then tried the passage.
“…ac –- cord -- ing to the or –- di –- nances….” His mouth seemed to have a life of its own as it formed itself around the strange words, and Gisla found herself thinking she might almost laugh if it was someone else standing here promising to marry him.
“…of God and ho -- ly church?” He looked first at Gisla, then to the bishop, who nodded and went on.
“I will -- love -- thee -- even as -- myself. I will -- keep -- faith and – loy -- alty -- to thee….”
Gisla stared back at Rollo as he spoke these words and wondered if he even knew what he was promising. As if he’d heard her thoughts, he suddenly stopped and spoke in a frustrated tone to the translator. The blond man glanced apprehensively at the bishop, but then rattled off a few sentences to Rollo. A glimmer of understanding appeared in Rollo’s eyes and he nodded, then turned back to Gisla and smiled. Without breaking eye contact with her, he raised his free hand to the bishop to indicate that he could go on.
Rollo continued with the rest of the vows, stumbling over words, stopping once to have his man translate. “…which things and all that man ought to do unto his –- es -- poused I promise to do unto thee and to keep by the -- faith that is in me.”
Rollo continued to stare into Gisla’s eyes after these words. But how could he make these promises “by the faith” when he was a heathen? She did not trust his supposed baptism; she’d seen the mad look in his brother’s eyes as he’d slain the archbishop and threatened her father, all the while grasping her by the throat. What if this man was just toying with them all? All the while he’d been speaking, his hand had tensed around hers, his grasp tightening unconsciously. Suddenly her hand felt just as her throat had – squeezed, trapped – she wanted to wrench her hand away as she felt the panic rising. She couldn’t marry this man!
But now the bishop was addressing her, asking her to repeat her part of the vows. Everyone was waiting expectantly, her father smiling beatifically at her from just beyond the bishop. She forced the panic back and repeated the words slowly, methodically, “In the name of our Lord, I, Gisla, do declare that, in the form and manner therein thou hast promised thyself unto me, do declare and affirm that I will one day bind and oblige myself unto thee and will take thee, Rollo, as my husband. And all that thou has pledged.”
Bind and oblige myself. She had made the vow before God and the witnesses about her. Rollo smiled and nodded at her as he realized she had finished and looked about as if for direction.
The bishop took the two ends of his stole, placed one over the other in the form of a cross, and placed them over their clasped hands. He intoned, “I bear witness to thy solemn proposal and I declare thee betrothed. In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Then he sprinkled them with holy water, causing Rollo to let go of her hand and draw back as if he’d been burnt. The witnesses murmured, some chuckling slightly. Gisla shook her head at such a disrespectful display. Rollo recovered himself, shaking his head, reminding her of a dog shaking off water by the riverbank.
“The ring?” the bishop asked. The interpreter started to translate, but Rollo had already begun to fumble about in his tunic and brought out a heavy silver ring. It was clearly a man’s ring, but a thin piece of leather had been wrapped around part of the band to make it fit a smaller hand.
The bishop took the ring and said the words of the blessing over it, then returned it to Rollo, who turned to Gisla. He waited, listening for the bishop’s instructions and the interpreter’s translations. Then he repeated the bishop’s words, and gently placed the ring on Gisla’s finger. It was loose, but she closed her fingers under it to hold it in place. It was hard and smooth and its encircling solidity made her realize the finality of what was happening. Bound.
Now the bishop was holding out the holy book, opened to a page with the crucifix drawn on it. He indicated to Rollo to kiss the crucifix. Rollo listened to the translation and a look of utter incredulity spread over his face. He said something to his companion, and the little man nodded, so, shaking his head, Rollo bent to kiss the page. As he arose, he looked about as if he expected lightning to strike. Gisla was torn between amusement and disgust as she watched him. Baptized as a Christian indeed.
When the bishop held the book out to her, she kissed the crucifix reverently. She gave Rollo a sideways glance as she straightened.
Finally, they stood together for the bishop’s blessing. He held his hand out over the two of them and said the words. And it was done. They were betrothed.
And Gisla felt – numb. She tried desperately to feel God’s will in this terrible thing she had been forced to do, but could only feel that this must be a bad dream that would surely end soon.
Yet the man before her was grinning like a madman again. He was asking the translator something and the little man was shaking his head. Rollo looked disappointed. What could he have asked?
But now Rollo had turned around and announced something to his pagan friends who stood behind them. They gave a cheer and began to come around him and slap him on the back, clearly congratulating him. Gisla was shocked. Such behavior in the chapel! And some of them seemed to be eyeing the gilded cross and candleholders. But her father seemed only mildly concerned; he nodded and gently suggested that they go into the feast hall. The interpreter seemed to have heard him, for he raised his voice and told the men something and they nodded vigorously and gave another round of congratulations to Rollo.
Rollo turned back towards her and offered her his arm. There was a warm, almost gentle look in his eyes. Skeptical, she took his arm, and they led the procession into the feast hall. A chill rose from the stones of the ancient hallway as they went, and she wondered what the future with this man would bring.
~~