Aeleva; The Viking Saxon

Chapter 3

Hagen let me walk freely behind him, through the dirt track, downhill. This new place was quieter than the port town I had come through. There was no market, or children running around. But there were men from the boat wearing the grime that accumulated on a boat journey. The fuss that was brought out from Hagen's return had moved from the gates; the people had dispersed over the town. Some beat out rugs, others painted runes on their walls. The patterns were odd, each symbol made out of straight lines all composed together to make their heathen language.

A priest wandered around stark naked. He coated his hair in bird dung mixed with mud. It shot up in spikes and crusted to make him a devil. I crossed myself at the sight of him as he pranced from door to door, chanting in an ugly tongue. He held a staff with a grey spotted wolf's tail sown around the handle and the tip of the staff had been painted cobalt blue with ravens' beaks poking out in jarring angles.

Hagen took no notice of him and moved further down the town to a daisy field that was broken by a river. The waters were green and flowed with unflinching boldness, I was envious of its liberty. It was wide and held a small island in its depths. The island was bare and only large enough to hold 5 men.

The field had tents and beams erected sprouting from the ground in small circles. Logs served as benches closer to the river and a wooden platform was just before the river bank.

People from the town ran around, busing themselves. Some noticed me and every pair of eyes that found me made my skin crawl and the lump in my throat grow. My clothes were still filthy, my hair matted. My body stank of sea, boats and blood.

Two of the Saxon slaves were bound together and ordered by Knud to perform some sort of carpentry. They did not look at me, although I am sure they saw me. I equally pretended not to see their grey faces.

Women were gathered around a tent in the tree line. Hagen brought me closer to them, most of them stared, their eyes scaled me. But some stared at Hagen, smiling coyly to grab his attention.

"Aeleva, Frida will help you be ready," Hagen said and waved me over to her. Frida was a woman of maybe 40 years. Her face was puffy and she had a crooked nose.

"Komme," she said and spun and stormed off. Flipping the doors of the tent open and disappearing inside. Inside the tent, the smell of old meat and dried bones wallowed in the air. Women of all ages sat on the floor braiding and painting each other's hair. Some women appeared as warriors, like those in the port town.

Frida sat me down and attempted to undo the havoc that the sea had made my hair. Her fingers pried apart the braid my mother had put in the morning of my capture. She brushed and yanked the knots out, sometimes ripping with her teeth or cutting it with a knife.

I sat still the whole time, not daring to protest or cry out when Frida yanked a little too hard. The women in the tent stared at me as my head was jerked about. Those that weren't staring, whispered to their friends. I tried to swallow the lumps and cries in my throat. A few tears slipped out of my eyes, but I wiped them away before anyone could see.

Frida plaited and bunched my hair, in a complex fashion. She tied red leather bands in parts and herbs and flowers in another. It was a Danish braid.

After half of my hair had been ripped from my scalp, Frida moved on to another girl. No words were ever spoken between us and Frida did not look at me if she did not have to. The moment she was done, she left me alone, sitting on the ground, heart beating.

I stood up and Frida did not turn to see me, nor did the other women in the tent. I walked slowly towards the door, edging further away from the women. No-one turned, no one glanced. No one cared. So, I disappeared into the crowd outside.