Ease The Dawn

Chapter 7

The horn blew signaling the return of the army to camp. Dropping her chunk of charcoal onto the wooden table, Aethelswith sighed analyzing the two smudged ravens perched upon a wispy birch branch. The drawing, her most recent fixation, had become too detailed to enjoy working on.

The rumbling of heavy footsteps and thundering of horses could be felt in the ground below her feet and the whooping and hollering heard in the distance. Sighing again, she thought how pleased they seemed with themselves, returning from some violent, callous pillaging of a nearby village. Likely one she would recognize the name of.

Tucking the parchment into a stack of loose pages, she stood, dusting off the sooty grime from her fingers, and headed out the tent door, her large Viking shadow quickly falling into step. The wind was sharp and smelt of the approaching cold season and she tightened her lavender shall around her shoulders, making her way to the back of the crowd gathered to welcome home the army. Pushing through, she nudged passed the tall individuals for a better position to watch the returning parade. Stopping, her eyes searched the steady stream of cheerful men and shieldmaidens.

Where was it, she wondered, her forehead crinkling? She could not hear it. Turning to Gussr, she lifted her brow in question wishing she had learned simple Norse in order to communicate. Returning her look, he gave her a flat smile and assurance with a subtle nod.

There it is! Whipping around, she looked at the men cresting the grassy knoll and in the distance was the sound. Rolling, rattling, wooden wheels, crashing over uneven ground. The head of the iron decorated white horse was first to come into sight. Ivar had returned. His face was bright and even from a distance, his blue eyes shone as broadly as his smile. Biting her bottom lip, she forced herself not to mirror his expression, while wondering how such a violent creature could have such a captivating face. It reminded her of the stories from sermons at home, the devil placing demons in the world to entice the innocent. His smile dimmed as his brilliant blues seemed to search the crowds on either side of the rough trail. Instinctively, she rose onto her tippy toes as his eyes locked with hers. The intensity of his stare caused her to nod a modest greeting and quickly look away. Turning, she made her way back through the thralls heading for Brana, who would be grateful for an extra set of hands.

There she is, he thought, noticing that her slender shoulders seemed to soften once she saw him. He wondered what that suggested along with the faint simper that crossed her peach coloured lips.

This had become a custom, Ivar seeking her out upon returning to camp after a day away raiding or hunting. He would tell himself that it was simply the burden of ensuring her safety that compelled him to find her, return to her. She was wearing her soft coloured shall again and it made him think how amazed she would be by the exotic garments brought in from far away lands for trade in the busy market of Kattegat. Images of her wandering the merchant stalls at home flickered through his mind.

A bluster of cool wind bit the skin of his cheeks as he slowed the chariot outside the meeting tent. A stable hand raced forward to take the leads and he barked at the thrall to inform Brana that he and the princess would require warmer furs that night. Clearing his throat, he stopped and shook his head catching his own thoughts, telling himself, his concern for her comfort was only to prevent being disturbed by her complaints. Ignoring the truth that she had never once fussed about any detail of her captivity. Ever.

—

Placed on the corner of her pallet bed was a small wooden box with an intricately carved lid. The design included angular lines knotted and woven together around a small heart. The heart appeared to be a different type of wood, inlaid with the deeper coloured wood of the box. Opening the lid, she found seven smooth cylinders of charcoal. The box was resting on twelve sheets of thin, coarsely edged, blank parchment. The skin on her face bloomed with heat and a surge of excitement filled her chest. This was for her artwork; real tools for an artist. This was a gift from Ivar.