Beware of Jezebel

4. Rex

Ivar's face darkened- she already knew that look: it said that he felt betrayed. "BUT- there are no signs of uprising. The people are merely upset. Yet, you must redeem yourself, and soon."

She once again courtsied and turned to walk away, but Rollo was studying her curiously. He was surprised, so Mary assumed he hadn't spotted her earlier. She courtsied to him, "Majesty."

"Now that's unexpected. Ivar, how did you get yourself a nun?" Said Rollo and leaned sideways to look at Ivar over Mary's shoulder.

"In York. She's a thrall," Ivar replied coldly.

Mary wondered how should she talk to Rollo. Christians didn't have slaves, thus for him she should not simply be a free woman, but even more important- a nun. On the other hand, he was a viking and was in the Viking land. He was brother of the famous Ragnar Lothbrok, and now joined his heathen son.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, duke Rollo. Many kind words had reached us from Paris," she said. When Rollo smiled, she added, "I hope you find your stay here pleasing. I will ensure that needs of you and your men are met."

Without waiting for a reply, even fearing to receive one, Mary stepped away, courtsied to both men and darted out of the room.

"So, you've found yourself your Athelstan," said Rollo. Him and Ivar were sitting on a bench outside the longhouse and observed the people running around with their duties. The sun was already setting, and further away thralls were rushing to finish with loundry. Basked in orange sun, Mary stood there as well: her face was serious and she looked very focused on her task. Ivar watched as she shook a crumpled piece of fabric high in the air, and closed his eyes in embarrassment as it detangled itself into his underpants. He heard Rollo chuckle through his nose. Ivar thought back, that for quite some time now, his laundry came back not simply washed, but also smelling pleasantly. Even his socks were being sorted and put in matching pairs- he had never noticed that they all were slightly different and simply wore them at random.

The mention of his father's monk friend/ rumoured lover angered him. Ragnar's legacy should be his battles, not messy christian affairs.

"What are her duties anyway?" Rollo spoke again. Ivar didn't turn to him.

"Does my laundry. Serves me food. Gives me baths. Looks over soldiers."

"So she's your Dame de compagnie," when Ivar looked at him confused, Rollo explained. "That's what they call these women in French court."

Soon Mary found herself attending another council meeting, quietly mending Ivar's tunic as the men spoke among themselves. Ivar had begun to raise his voice once again.

"In order to win, we must overwhelm them, Ubbe," he said. "But, may I remind you again, dear brother, our armies are EVEN!"

That phrase had been said many times by Ivar, and even Mary couldn't hold back any longer.

"But that is not the question, is it?" She suddenly exclaimed, her voice frustrated, but still kind.

Her sudden interjection startled everyone in the room and the men turned to her, their faces a mixture of outrage and surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked, surprisingly calmly. Mary stopped fidgeting with her work and took a deep breath.

"You're looking for a way to overwhelm the enemy, but instead you're focusing on the army size. That is unrelated- solders never fight at exactly the same moment, right? It's impossible. Thus, the army size is always changing, therefore, unimportant. Now, how do you overwhelm the enemy, when total number of your men doesn't matter? Think, Ivar, you know the answer! Think!"