The pigskin wrap was yellowed and stiff as dried horn. Tomas eased it from the brass tube. Then, the outer skin gave off the heavy, stale odor of rendered mutton fat that had turned rancid in the dark of the glacier.
Nessa reached across the table with her ivory bone folder. She held the edge of the pigskin while Tomas worked the binding cords. The cord was made of waxed flax, tied with a standard military double hitch. The knot had not slipped. It had frozen into a rigid knot that needed three minutes of careful prying with a blunt brass needle before the loops yielded.
Inside the casing, the thick parchment roll was four inches wide, rolled tight around a central core of split willow wood.
“Slowly,” Nessa cautioned, her brass horn resting against her shoulder. “If you force that skin flat while it’s cold, the sizing will crack across the ink lines. The letters will flake off like soot.”
Tomas nodded. He held the rolled parchment eight inches above the stone hearth. That let the rising dry warmth from the pine coals soften the animal hide. Slowly, inch by inch, the tight roll relaxed. The stiff, semi-clear thick parchment flattened under the weight of four polished iron paperweights Tomas placed at each corner.
