Three days later it happened. Mina woke tense, looking fearfully around. Bry saw nothing, but her nervousness made him nervous too. She was too much in tune with the spirits; her fear might be groundless, but Bry did not care to gamble on that. So he went out and checked all around the house, looking for the tracks of predators or for anything unusual in the water. He saw nothing.
Still, he was watchful as Chip and Mina emerged from the house. He knew it wouldn't help to ask her what she was afraid of; her awareness was not of such a nature. What she knew came to her on its own, and could not be consciously evoked. The spirits could not be commanded by living folk.
They had been improving on their fish spearing, day by day; the fish were good when roasted on the fire, and even when they didn't manage to spear any, it was fun trying. The days tended to get dull, because they never ranged far from the house. Dullness was preferable to danger, while the adults were away. So as the day warmed, they took spears and basket and went to the water's edge.
But the fish were slow in coming. There was only a mossy log floating slowly by. They waited patiently; once the log passed, the fish would fill in the space. Chip squatted, spear posed, and Bry stood behind him, watching.
Suddenly the log opened a huge mouth and lunged at them. Mina screamed almost before it happened. It was a crocodile! Chip, closest to it, lurched to his feet, lost his balance, and fell back on the sand. The narrow snout swung toward him.
Bry brought his spear up and plunged it at the monster. He was only dimly conscious of the pain at his ribs as he did so; the threat was making it fade. The point bounced off the tough green snout without doing any apparent damage. He realized that it was foolish to strike at the hard parts; he needed to go for the vulnerable ones. So he jabbed at the nearer eye. But it was hard to score on; the creature was moving, and the eye was small, and when the point touched it, it closed, and the spear slid on past it.
But at least it was a distraction, for the crocodile did not snap at Chip. The boy scrambled away, leaving his small spear behind. Mina's screaming was continuous in the background; this was surely what she had feared, without knowing its identity.
They retreated from the water's edge, getting clear of the menace. The river had become fearsome, but the land represented safety, in this case.
However, the crocodile was not giving up. Perhaps realizing that these creatures were after all vulnerable on land, it crawled on out of the water, orienting malevolently on Bry. He did not dare turn his back on it, and he was afraid that if he backed away too fast, he would trip and fall. So he kept jabbing at the eyes, forcing the heavy eyelids to close, momentarily baffling the thing.
But something more was needed. Even when fully healthy, he could not hope to hold off a crocodile for long. This was by no means a large one; it was not much longer than Bry himself. It must have been attracted to the fish remnants they had left in the water. But it was big enough to do them real damage, once its teeth closed on flesh. He had to balk it decisively, so as to make it go away. He knew it would be impossible to kill it. Those enormously long, mighty jaws—
Then he had a notion. "A rope!" he cried. "Fetch a rope!" He did not look to see if the children were doing it, because he dared not take his eyes from the crocodile. In the instant he looked away from it, it could loom up and get him, like a storm cloud.
In a moment Chip was back with the cord woven from fibers. "A loop!" Bry said. "Make a big loop!"
Fumblingly, the boy worked the cord into a loop, the kind used to hold on to an outcropping when a person was using the rope to climb. The harder the pull on the rope, the tighter the loop became.
"Now we must get it over that snout!" Bry gasped.
Chip, showing increasing courage, approached with the loop. But Bry realized that it was simply too dangerous for the small boy to get that close to the monster. "Give me the rope!" he cried.
Chip held it out, and Bry grabbed it. He tossed aside the spear, then made a leap in the direction the crocodile did not expect: toward its mouth. Nevertheless, its reaction was swift. The snout came up to meet him, the jaws parting—and he put the loop over and jerked it tight. He knew he had been lucky to do it just right on the first try; he might never have gotten a second chance.
The crocodile whipped its head back and forth, aware of the impediment. Bry hung on, feeling his ribs being wrenched, but knowing that this was his only avenue to any kind of victory. He kept jerking on the rope, and with each jerk the loop pulled more tightly around the snout.
The crocodile lunged at him, the tip of its snout touching his leg. But now it was closed; the teeth could not bite. Still, the animal seemed to think that because its jaws were closed, it must have something pinned between them; it rolled quickly over, trying to drown its catch. But of course this didn't work. Bry kept stepping back, hauling on the rope.
Finally the crocodile had had enough. It righted itself and scrambled back toward the water. "But you've got our rope!" Bry cried, following.
He heard a giggle. It was Mina. Then he realized how foolish he was being: chasing after a crocodile! What was he going to do—go into the water to remove the rope? He let go of it and watched the creature splash away. But it was sad to lose the valuable rope.
It took them some time to relax, after that. Mina led the way, her apprehension gone. "I knew there was something," she said. "No more."
But Bry was not at all sure of that. Now, with his relaxation, his ribs were hurting worse; he had done some added wrenching in the heat of the battle. Suppose the crocodile had clamped its teeth on one of Chip's legs? They had overcome the creature as much by luck and blunder as by effort. Suppose another crocodile came—a larger one? They had had so much trouble with the small one, even when fighting it on land, which was the human terrain, that they didn't dare face a larger one.
He came to a decision: he had to make sure that there would never be a larger one. But how could he do that? At the moment he couldn't think of any way. So he asked the children.
They were intrigued by the notion. "Maybe rub on more stink leaf, to make it not bite," Chip suggested.
Bry smiled. That was clever, in its way. If the taste of the bitter leaf on the skin stopped the mosquitoes, would it stop bigger bites? But it was a foolish notion. "It would have to bite once, to find out about the taste," he said. "And one bite is too much."
"Make a wall," Mina suggested. "Keep it out." She liked to make walls in the sand, keeping the water back for a while.
Bry and Chip laughed. "A BIG wall!" Chip said, lifting a hand to show how high.
Mina frowned. "Why not?" she demanded.
"Because—" Chip started, then looked thoughtful. He looked at Bry for support.
"It might work," Bry said, reconsidering. "But sand wouldn't do it. The crocodile would knock it down with its tail."
"Stone," Mina said.
"We couldn't move any stones heavy enough to stop the crocodile," Bry said.
"Wood," Chip said, getting into it.
Bry considered. "Maybe if we hammered stakes into the ground."
They liked that. So their project commenced. They ranged the beach and the near paths, always together, searching out pieces of wood and carrying or dragging them back. There turned out to be a considerable number, because there weren't any other families near to search the beach for firewood. Some of it wasn't sound, but enough was; they would be able to make their fence.
It turned out to be no easy project. Some of the wood would have been difficult to manage when Bry was in the best of health, and it was almost impossible in his present state. But the children helped, and Bry gritted his teeth and bore as much pain as he could, and they got it moved by slow stages. Then they had to find rocks to use to pound in the stakes, and if the wood pounded in readily, it didn't hold, and if the stakes did hold, it was awful getting them in. Again Bry had to fight the pain as he used his arms for such work. Mina saw that, and came to touch his ribs, and surprisingly the pain did diminish, enabling him to work more freely. There was just something about that little girl! They had to sharpen points on the stakes, as if they were spears, and some had to be braced by lesser sticks that couldn't make fence stakes on their own. These were tedious tasks, and progress was slow. Bry thought the children would soon tire of the effort, but they didn't; the scene with the crocodile must have scared them more than they admitted, and they wanted to be safe. Also, they were good children, remarkably responsible for their ages. That spoke well for their parents.
Their parents. Bry remembered the beautiful music Hugh had made, and the phenomenal dancing Anne had done. That sound and that image would remain forever in his memory.
It became a system. Mina sharpened points by rubbing small rough stones across the narrow ends of the stakes. Chip held each stake steady, upright, while Bry pounded it in. He found that it helped to drag a good-sized rock across to the stake, so that he could stand on the stone and hammer from a greater height. When the stake was down as far as it would go, Chip used a smaller rock to pound in bracing pieces, getting the main stake firm. They had to place half-buried stones around it to brace it, because the sand was never completely firm, but the end result was pretty good. The work was wearing, and they had to rest between stakes, and they got only a few done the first day, but they were highly satisfied with their accomplishment. A line of several crooked but firm stakes extended from the shelter toward the river. Of course it wasn't enough, because the crocodile could simply go around it, but it was the start of their wall.
Next day they did more, extending the line along the side of the path. Bry began to wonder, perversely, whether there was really a point to this hard labor, suppose no crocodile ever came again?
Then, late in the day, the crocodile returned. They had been nervously alert for it throughout. It had gotten the noose off its nose, and seemed as aggressive as ever.
Chip and Mina screamed and ran in different directions. Bry picked up the stake he had been about to start pounding and carried it toward the reptile. The creature was chasing Mina, who darted a desperate look at Bry and ran to the end of the line of posts, then dodged around them and ran on to the house.
The crocodile came to the posts and went up the other side, trying to move directly toward the girl. There was space between the posts, so it could track Mina, but not enough to let it pass through.
This gave Bry a notion. "Chip! Here to the fence!"
Chip, by this time far afield, came in. The two of them stood just opposite the crocodile, who couldn't get at them. It lacked the wit to go around, so kept poking its nose into the spaces between stakes, and as quickly being balked. The tip of its snout was narrow enough to pass, but not its full head or body.
"Go away!" Chip cried, and picked up a handful of sand and flung it at the creature. The sand did no harm, but was very satisfying to throw.
Mina came out, realizing that they had found safety of a sort. She picked up a small stone and threw it through the fence. It bounced off the crocodile's nose.
That set them all off. They heaved double handfuls of sand through, so much that it started piling up around the creature, at one time half burying its snout. But the crocodile couldn't do anything about it, except go away—which, reluctantly, it did. It didn't seem to occur to the creature that it could have come around the fence; once it headed for the water, it kept going. They had won their second engagement more handily and safely than their first—thanks to the partial fence.
That gave Bry an idea. "We don't need to line the path both sides," he said. "Just one side—and be on the other side."
But they realized that this would not necessarily be easy to arrange. By chance the crocodile had come up on the side opposite to the one Mina had taken, but next time it might take the same side. How could they guarantee it would be on the wrong side?
They discussed it, and Chip came up with the answer: climb over the fence. But how could they do that quickly enough? The stakes were high enough so that getting over the fence was awkward. They thought of putting a pile of stones against it, that they could use to get high enough to step over it—but suppose the crocodile did the same?
But that idea turned out to be better than it had at first seemed. Suppose they put stones against one side—and not on the other? People could jump down from that height with no problem—but what about a crocodile? Accustomed to the level water, would it care to tumble off a high fence, to land snout-first? That seemed unlikely. But if it did, it would still surely take some time—time they could use to get clear. Or to cross back to the other side of the fence.
So they set up several piles of rocks, on both sides of the fence, but never right across from each other. Each was like a path leading nowhere, from one side or the other. Would it work? They would simply have to find out.
They resumed work on the fence, pounding stakes between sessions of foraging for food. They did not yet have the courage to try spear fishing again; they went to the water only to drink, and did that as a group, quickly, with two watching the sides while the third drank. But once they completed the fence, and knew that it worked—then maybe they would try for the fish again.
Several days later they had their chance. The fence was now much of the way toward the water, because they were getting better at it as they went. They went for a drink, because the labor made them thirsty, and Mina spied the crocodile. She screamed warning.
"Go on each side of the fence," Bry said, and the two of them ran toward it. Then, just to make sure the crocodile gave chase, Bry threw sand at it.
The creature lunged out of the water, snapping at him. Bry backed away, retreating no farther than was expedient. He had his spear, but merely gestured with it; he had no intention of fighting the reptile if he didn't have to.
It came after him, uncomfortably fast. Bry realized that it probably could outrun him, when it tried. He needed to get farther away from it. He turned and ran for one side of the fence, then paused. Both children made faces and rude noises at the crocodile, daring it to advance. And in a moment it did, going after Mina, the smallest and probably tastiest morsel. Chip, on the other side, made rude noises at it, but it ignored him for the moment.
Mina waited as long as she dared, then ran up the stone stile and paused. The crocodile was still coming. She jumped off to the other side, crying, "Wheee!" She landed in the sand, lost her balance, and fell, but was in no danger: the crocodile hadn't even mounted the ramp.
They stood opposite it, teasing it, as before, but the creature seemed to be unable to figure out what the stiles were for. It tried to get at them through the fence, without any hope of success. When they moved up the fence, beyond the ramp Mina had used, the reptile scrambled over the base of the ramp to get around it, and came back to the fence.
"Crocodiles are stupid," Chip said contemptuously.
"Yes," Bry agreed. "But don't go near it." The boy nodded. Stupid did not mean safe.
The crocodile returned to the water, again not even trying to circle the fence. It seemed that they had found a good defense against it.
They kept working the following days, completing the fence, which stopped just short of the water's edge. They made ramps at frequent intervals, so that they would never be far from one. And, as an afterthought, they made an extension across the path near the house, so that the crocodile could not ever get inside. They made ramps to cross it, but offset them so that it was still necessary to jump down, whichever way a person crossed. Just in case the reptile one day figured out how to use a ramp.
They remained alert, and that was just as well, because the crocodile did come again. They readily foiled it. "But remember," Bry warned the others, fearing overconfidence. "If it ever gets hold of you, you're done. The fence won't help then." They nodded, appreciating the point.
Now, with the menace of the crocodile somewhat abated, Bry was able to watch for his family's boats again. He had fretted, privately, when he couldn't do that, for fear they would row by and never know he was here.
They got up courage to try spear fishing again. Mina was on watch while the other two focused on the fish. Chip, his arm perhaps stronger after all the practice pounding support stakes, managed to spear a fish through the tail and pull it out of the water.
Then Mina cried out, making them both jump away from the water. But it wasn't the crocodile. "Boat! Boat!" she exclaimed.
It couldn't be Hugh and Anne returning, for only half a moon had passed. Bry had made marks on a wall of the shelter, one little line for each day, and a connecting line for each seven days. Four such larger units would signal the time for return. There were only two.
So it had to be the other. "My family!" he said. "You said they would come now."
"Yes," she agreed, remembering. "I must meet your sister."
Who almost might be her natural mother. Because Mina had been saved from a dead place as a baby, about the time Flo had left her baby. Except that the places had been far separated. So it couldn't be. Yet he couldn't be certain in his doubt.
They waved, and the boat spied them and stroked in to shore. It was Dirk rowing, and Flo steering, and Lin searching from the prow. Trust his sister to spy him first!
The boat heaved part way up on the beach. Lin leaped out and ran lightly to embrace Bry. "I knew you were safe!" she said though her tears. "I just knew it!" Then she oriented on the children. "Well, hello," she said over his shoulder.
"You must have become a man quite rapidly," Dirk remarked, smiling.
Bry released Lin and turned. "These aren't my children," he said, embarrassed though he knew it was humor. "They are Chip and Mina, of Hugh and Anne's family." He turned back. "And this is my closest sister, Lin."
Mina approached shyly. "You have the hand," she said.
Lin's left hand was closed into a fist, the way she normally kept it to conceal her deformity. She glanced at Bry.
"I never said," Bry said hastily. "Mina—she just knows things. The spirits tell her."
Lin extended her arm and opened her hand. Mina looked at the fingers, and nodded. "It's a good hand," she said.
Dirk and Flo came up behind Lin. Flo had Baby Flint, now one year old, in the harness on her back. Bry started to introduce them, but Mina launched herself into Flo's embrace before he got the words out. "Why did you leave me?"
Flo's mouth fell open. "Can it be?"
Mina wriggled free. "Look at my toes." She stood on one foot, lifting her other foot with her hands.
Flo bent to look, and saw the birthmark between the toes. Astonished, she sat down in the sand. "My baby," she breathed. "How—?"
"They found her in a dead place," Bry said. "But it was near here. They have not been far south."
"Then it can't be," Flo said. "Yet—"
"The hair, the eyes," Dirk said. "They match yours. The cheekbones, the chin. She's yours."
Flo began to sob. Mina put her little arms around her, comfortingly. "Why did you leave me?" she repeated.
"I had no man," Flo said. "I could not support you. Now I could, but then there was no way. So I left you. Then I changed my mind, and returned, but you were gone, and it was best. Since then I have thought of you every day, wondering, hoping—"
Bry was amazed. It was impossible, yet this did seem to be his sister's child.
"Now you have one of your own," Mina said.
"Yes." Still sitting, Flo lifted him out of the pack and brought him around to the front. "This is Flint."
"Hello, Flint," Mina said solemnly.
Meanwhile Dirk was getting along with the other child, as he usually did. "What is that you have made, my good little man?"
"A fence," Chip explained. "To keep out the crocodile."
"There is a crocodile after you?"
"Yes. It comes almost every day. But we hide behind our fence."
Dirk looked perplexed. "But suppose it comes on your side?"
"I'll show you," Chip said gleefully. "You be the crocodile."
Dirk quickly got into the game. He put his hands down on the sand and lunged at the boy. Chip ran around the end of the fence. Dirk did a beautiful job of almost crashing headfirst into it. Then he paused, pondered a moment, and made his way around it to get on the boy's side.
Chip ran up the nearest ramp and jumped over. Dirk came to the ramp, sniffed it, and then slowly climbed on it. He reached the top, peered over, and stopped. "I'd land on my snout," he said.
"So would the crocodile," Chip pointed out.
Dirk nodded gravely. "So it would. This is a good defense. But how did you make it?" He reached out and took hold of a post, pushing against it. "This is firm."
Bry explained how they all had worked so hard on it.
"With your ribs bruised," Dirk said, looking at him, seeing the way he favored that side. Dirk knew about bruised ribs.
"We had to get it done," Bry said.
"So you did." He seemed impressed.
"Where are your parents?" Lin asked Chip, and the boy explained about that.
Dirk looked at Flo. "We can't take Bry yet; he hasn't finished his commitment here. The other boat won't be back for some time. We'd better camp here until the parents return."
Flo nodded, looking at Bry. "We know what it's like to survive without parents."
"You can stay in our house," Chip said eagerly. "There's room."
Flo and Dirk exchanged another glance. "They surely do have room," Dirk said. "While the parents are away. Let's use their house, and return what favors we may."
So it was done. Dirk and Flo took the section where Hugh and Anne normally slept, and Lin found room at the edge, with the children scrambling to fashion a bed for her. It would be crowded, but could be managed.
Bry was much relieved. He hadn't realized how much tension he had had, until it dissipated. He hadn't known for sure that the rest of his family had survived, or that they would find him. It seemed that the boats had been carried far south, and the others had no idea where he had gone ashore—or if he had. He could tell by the way that Lin was letting go that she had been under similar tension. Now it was all right, and all of them could relax.
The next morning Dirk got serious about return favors. "That crocodile—we are going to take care of it," he said grimly.
They went about it methodically. The spear fishing that had been such an adventure for Bry and the children was inconsequential for Dirk; he quickly speared several fish, and cut them to pieces with his stone knife, and tossed the pieces back into the water. Before long that summoned the crocodile. Then Dirk stood back and let the children lure it out. When it was well up on the beach, Dirk cut it off from the water and went after it with two spears. The reptile that had been so bold against children found it another matter against a competent grown man who had killed crocodiles before. He poked it in the tail, and when it whirled around to snap at the spear, he poked it in the snout. He kept poking it, confusing it, until it stopped reacting and tried to charge him. Then he jammed the spear hard at its face, so that its own momentum added to the power of the thrust. Soon it had been stabbed through eye and belly, and was thrashing on the sand. Dirk looped its snout with a loop, and Bry held the rope taut while Dirk carved open the reptile's throat with a stone blade. Slowly the beast died.
Then came the work of carving it up. Crocodile meat was good, and so was the tough hide; they were not going to waste any of it. By the end of the day sections of crocodile were hanging from the branches of nearby trees. They made a big fire and roasted enough for an excellent meal. They would dry as much of the remaining meat as possible in the sun, and keep it for Hugh and Anne to use when they returned.
The day after that they took the children out for a boat ride. Though Chip and Mina were part of the boat culture, as all people were, their family's boat was small, and used only when they traveled to a new home base, or when on tour. Normally they lived on the shore, in protected houses like the present one. They never went far out to sea; they hugged the shore, so that if any storm or creature threatened they could immediately get to land. So it was a real experience for them to go far out in the big boat with oars.
Dirk rowed and Flo steered, as usual; Dirk and Sam were always the rowers, having the most brute power. Because the rower faced backward—another novelty to the children—and the one with the rudder was at the back of the boat, a young person normally perched in the prow to watch forward. Lin did that, taking the children up by turns to be awed by the prow cutting swiftly through the water.
Bry sat in the middle with the other child and Baby Flint. He faced back, watching the rear and side. "We have to watch all the time," he explained, "because we are crossing deep water and don't want to be surprised by anything."
Chip, with him for the moment, peered over the edge of the boat, down through the water, and then turned his head quickly back to the boat. He looked a bit dizzy. "It's so deep!"
"Yes," Bry agreed. "You can see things down there. Big fish, big turtles, sometimes seaweed, looking like a dark forest. It's peaceful."
"And you even sleep in the boat?"
"Yes, usually. We take turns lying down in the center, with one or two people always alert, even when we're not moving. Our boat is the safest place we can be—except when there's a storm."
"I thought I'd be scared," the boy confessed. "But you're right: it does feel safe. It's so big and steady."
"The outrigger steadies it, just as it does on your boat," Bry said. It was nice being the expert on things.
Then Mina crawled to the center. "Your turn," she announced. "There's even a wind up there."
The boy crawled forward, and Mina made herself comfortable between Bry and the baby, facing back. Like girls of any age, she was intrigued by babies.
"It moves so fast," she said.
"That's because of the rowing," Bry explained, nodding back at Dirk right behind him. "He pulls hard with both arms, instead of pulling with one and pushing with the other, the way you do with a paddle. But we paddle too, when we need to."
Baby Flint got bored or uncomfortable, and started fussing. Mina pulled him on to her lap, and he was quiet.
"You have the touch," Flo said appreciatively.
"Yes. The spirits are with me."
"I wish you were mine."
There was a silence. Then Bry became aware of something. They were all in the boat, and the boat was bearing south, toward a likely rendezvous with the family's other boat. They could just keep going. The children couldn't get off.
Had Dirk and Flo planned this? Bry was alarmed.
Mina lifted her head and looked at Flo. Bry saw only the glossy back of the little girl's head, but somehow realized that she was crying. There was no sound, no motion, but surely there were tears.
Then Flo's eyes changed, and tears came from them. She turned the rudder, and the boat began to turn. They were going back to the children's house.
Bry realized that there had been a tacit contest of wills, and the little girl had won. Mina loved her present family and didn't want to leave it. Flo wanted her baby back, but couldn't take her by force. No one could take anything from Mina by force. The spirits wouldn't allow it.
No further words were spoken. The issue had been decided. Dirk surely understood, and was keeping silent. Bry would keep silent too.
They resumed foraging and fishing, and Dirk explored the nearby forest. They were passing time until the parents returned.
When the moon was done, the small boat reappeared, from the opposite direction; they had completed their circuit, portaging inland to reach another stream.
Chip and Mina rushed out, joyfully welcoming their parents back. Dirk, Flo, Bry, Lin, and Baby Flint waited by the fence. The children would introduce them soon enough.
They did. It took a while for everything to be explained, including the crocodile and the fence, but it got done. Then, as abruptly as Hugh and Anne had done, Dirk and Flo made ready to depart. "We came for our brother," Flo explained. "We have found him. Now we will take him back, and rejoin the rest of our family. We thank you for rescuing him."
"But he rescued us!" Anne protested. "Without him, we couldn't have done the tour alone. We see that he did an excellent job." She glanced meaningfully at the fence. "You must stay and let us repay you for all the trouble you have taken."
But Flo shook her head. Bry realized that she wanted to get quickly away, before she revealed something she thought was best left secret. It was better that Anne not know. So he made a suggestion. "They can reward us with a song and dance. It won't take long. Then we'll go."
Dirk looked perplexed, but shrugged agreeably. So they sat in the sand, and Hugh brought out his flute, and Chip his drum, and the woman and the girl did a dance to music that quickly made Dirk discover the point of it all. Bry was glad to see his impression verified: this was a thing awesome to grown men.
He looked at Flo, and saw her fascinated too, but in a different way. She was seeing how well integrated her baby was in this nice family, learning to be a dancer, bound to become attractive as a woman in a way Flo, who was now fairly fat, was not. Mina belonged where she was; this was now quite clear.
When it was done, they moved to the boat. "Will we meet again?" Hugh asked.
"I think not," Flo said firmly. "We are going far north, looking for new shores. It is our way."
Bry knew that meant that Flo intended to put herself well away from temptation. He knew that was best. But it was sad to think he would never be with the children again. This had been, despite the pain of his ribs and uncertainty of separation, as good an experience as he could remember. He had been, for half a moon, the man of a wonderful little family.
Mina ran to hug Bry one last time. She kissed him on the cheek. "Never forget me," she said.
"I never will," he agreed sadly, knowing how true that was. And he knew she would never tell their true relationship.
Thus the boat folk may have explored all the coasts of the Americas, proceeding south along the west, circling the tip of South America, and moving north back to North America. Whether they had advanced to the level of oar locks and backward-facing rowing may be in doubt, but certainly mankind had boats capable of such excursions, because Australia was colonized 40,000 to 50,000 years ago by boat. There is some marginal evidence of their presence in South America as long as 35,000 years ago, at sites like Monte Verde in modern Chile and Pedra Furada in Brazil, where radiocarbon dates as far back as 32,000 years ago have been obtained. Cave art there has been dated as 17,000 years old. The site of Meadowcroft Rock Shelter in Pennsylvania, USA, dates to circa 17,000 years ago. The significance of such discoveries is this: Prior wisdom sets a limit for the colonization of America from Asia of about 12,000 years ago. This is because before then the way was blocked by glaciers across part of Alaska and all of Canada, extending to the sea on either side of the continent. Only when the ice retreated could a land crossing have been made. The evidence of the stones suggests that this was the case; the distinctive fluted Clovis points date from this time.
If, however, the continents were settled 20,000 years before the ice cleared, by people in boats, why is there so little evidence of their presence? Why did the pattern of extinctions of large game animals commence only 12,000 years ago? Why wasn't America already full of millions of settlers, repelling the newcomers from the Asian side of the ice? Well, there is some evidence that when the glaciers retreated, mankind moved north to Alaska from the region of the western United States, rather than the other way. But this is controversial as yet, with archaeologists having some trouble getting such a politically incorrect thesis published in reputable journals. It also does not address the question of why the limited evidence suggests a far earlier colonization of South America than North America. If the boat folk circled the southern continent as described in this setting, what happened to them? Surely they couldn't simply vanish after 20,000 years.
But they may have done just that. The boat folk may have been limited by their life-style to the coast, seldom moving far inland. Culture has strong continuity, especially when buttressed by the economics of survival. They depended on the water for their food, and never penetrated the enormous continental interiors where their home-boats couldn't go. Their numbers were limited, and they came not as a single massive invasion, but as a long series of trickles. Their tribal and band numbers may have been insufficient to enable them to expand their population significantly, as discussed in Chapter 5, so they were always thinly spread. Storms would have been a constant danger, because of the vulnerability of their boats. Then two things could have finished them and their works: a massive invasion of landbound folk 12,000 years ago, displacing or absorbing them without remaining genetic trace in the course of several thousand years, and the waters of the seas rising with the melting of the ice, covering or washing out most of the physical traces of their presence. So they were gone so completely that they were thought never to have existed. Until little bits of evidence appeared, widely scattered. Such as the chipped stones at the sites mentioned, and the genetic evidence of a tribe living eight thousand years ago in Florida: related to none of the three main Native American groups, but to folk now living in Japan. In short, a remnant of coastal folk. They were the true first Americans.
One frontier was that of the cold northlands. The great glaciers of the arctic had not yet retreated. Much of Europe was covered, but less of Asia; apparently the most massive ice formed downwind from the oceans. Between the ice and the tropic was the vast panorama of Siberia, where bison and mammoths roamed. Here life could be lean indeed, and people were dependent on big animals for food, clothing, and shelter. One indication of the times is the art they left behind: the "Venus" figurines, generally the torsos of naked women, often hugely fat. They might be missing heads and feet, but they had breasts and genitals, making clear what was important. Why so corpulent? Probably because when food was scarce, or available only intermittently, it was a significant advantage to be able to store it on the body, where its energy was always available. Especially for women, who had children to bear and nurse. Thus the feminine ideal became fat. In times of plenty, in contrast, the ideal becomes slender. Today in North America, the land of affluence, the Perfect Woman is supposed to be anorexically thin. However, there is doubt that historically many women could become even moderately fat, so there may have been one in a band who was truly corpulent: the wet nurse. Her huge breasts could feed the children of mothers who died in childbirth, thus preserving lives that would otherwise be lost, and so strengthening the group. Perhaps she would also feed any young children of the group, so that they could be healthy even when their mothers were not quite adequate. Such a service would probably have been very much appreciated, leading to veneration of this type of female body; it enabled the group to preserve its children.
But there was another innovation, similarly striking, in housing. The place is Siberia, 20,000 years ago.
FLO WAS DESPERATE. BRY WAS ill and rapidly getting worse. He had gotten his ribs bashed in a river accident, had been lost for a time, but survived nicely with a neighboring family. Now they had him back—and he had forgotten caution, tried too hard on a hunt, and re-injured himself. He had been able to walk, but it hadn't stopped there; now the boy was feverish. She knew how to care for him, but lacked the facilities.
Normally when they traveled to a new hunting site they cut sturdy saplings to make a framework for a conical house. The poles were tied together at the top, and spread out to form a circle; then the band's cache of hides was stretched over the pole framework and tied tight with cords. Stones anchored the base of the hides, making a nice tight shelter they could heat with a fire at its entrance. Two days of a warm shelter and a steady healing chant would drive out the boy's illness, and he would begin recovering.
But this new territory was a harsh windswept plain. No trees were near, and no natural shelter. That wind was tearing into Bry's clothing, pulling away the heat of his body, draining his vitality when he needed it most. If they had to spend a cold night on the ground, he would be finished. They could wrap him in hides, and lie close around him, but he would still be breathing the chill air. That was no good. The spirits were hovering near him, and they would take him if he did not find physical and magical protection.
She looked around. Maybe they could gather rocks, and make a circle high enough to serve as an effective windbreak, and stretch the hides over the top. They had done that on occasion when wood wasn't sufficient. But she didn't see any rocks; there were surely some scattered around, but clearly not enough to do the job in the time they had. In any event, Sam and Dirk were out hunting, so weren't here to haul the heavy stones. Ned was here, but he was a lean young man, not powerful, not made for heavy physical labor. Jes was very similar to him, though she was a young woman. She was a good forager and a hard worker, but no rock hauler. Flo herself was way too fat for that sort of thing, and Wona too skinny and disinterested in hard work. So rocks were out.
She looked at Bry. He was sitting on the ground, hunched together. Lin was trying to help him, but was plainly inadequate. No, they had to have a good shelter. And there was none to be had.
"We'll camp here," Flo decided, determined to be decisive. There were, after all, the others to see to. They would have to eat and get through the night, hoping that tomorrow would bring the men with fresh meat. Their success had not been great recently, so that the berries and roots foraged by the women served as the main sustenance. Flo had been able to gain weight on that diet, but not the others. Thus Flo was an ideal figure of a woman, with the evidence of her survivability layered on her body. She came closest of her generation to matching the standard of the goddess dolls which for as long as any tale-teller remembered had represented the pinnacle of the female form. But she was lucky; the others needed animal flesh to feed them, as well as foraging.
"I'll forage for firewood," Ned said.
"I'll forage for berries," Jes said.
"Go with them," Flo told Lin. "I'll take care of Bry." The girl looked doubtful, but obeyed. Flo sat down next to Bry and pulled him in to her to her copious bosom to share her warmth. He was shivering despite being well bundled. "We'll get you through this somehow," she told him, but she was afraid she lied.
She bared her huge breast and nursed Bry, as was the custom when the need was great. He was her brother, twelve years old and soon to be a man, but he needed sustenance. The youngest ones could get by on less, for a while. He smiled at her, wearily, and relaxed, reassured. Soon he was sleeping. She hugged him, aware of his burning heat; he would not sleep well, but any sleep was better than none. He was family; she had to help him all she could.
The two children, Wilda and Flint, came to join Flo, as they usually did. They were two years old and mostly weaned. Flo had nursed longer and better than Wona, having the body for it, and so both children seemed like hers now though Wilda was actually Wona's. Wona had never evinced any great interest in sustaining her daughter; she had wanted a boy, and resented the fact that Flo had been the one to get a son.
Wona looked around, then wandered off, theoretically to forage. Flo regarded her as a loss; she seldom pulled her share if she could avoid it, and was generally a force for dissension. But there wasn't much to be done about it; she was Sam's wife, and Sam still doted on her. Apparently Sam could see no further than her beauty, such as it was; she was way too lean to handle a winter properly. But it was better to have her out of sight than here, Flo concluded; but for Sam, she'd have driven the woman out of the band long ago.
She reflected again on the irony of the way things had worked out. At the time Flo and Sam had gotten their mates from the same neighbor band, it had seemed that Wona was the bargain, and Dirk the loss. It was the other way around.
Lin came bounding back, her hair flouncing under the tight hair net The girl was small for her age, but pretty, except for that hand. Sometimes Flo wished they had simply cut off the extra finger, back when the girl was a baby. But it hadn't happened, and now it was too late. She was twelve years old, the same as Bry, and very soon, food and climate permitting, would become a beautiful if thin young woman. But the years would put some mass on her, when needed.
"Bones! Bones!" Lin cried, excited.
So they had found some bones. Scattered across the landscape there were bones, because when animals died the bones were what didn't dissolve away. Many of their tools and weapons were made of carved bones, including some savagely barbed spears. Why did that so excite the girl?
"Bones!" Lin said again as she arrived. "All over! Big! Dry! Piles of them!"
Flo didn't want to deflate her, but didn't see the point. "We need food and scraps of wood for a fire," she reminded the girl gently. "And poles for a shelter. Your brother—"
"The bones—Ned says the bones will help—they're bringing them. I must go help haul." And she ran away again, following the faint path she had picked out.
What good would old bones do? They would have no usable marrow. But then Flo remembered that some bones would burn, if the fire was hot enough. Not as good as wood, but better than nothing. So maybe it was worthwhile.
Then Ned and Jes came into sight, looking like two young men, hauling on something. Flo strained her gaze, trying to make it out, without disturbing Bry. It was low to the ground and very long, like a pole. Its dragging end furrowed the ground, clearly marking what had been a faint path.
Then her mouth fell open. It was a tusk! A mammoth tusk. Almost as long as two people lying end to end. What a monster!
Panting, they brought it near. "We can make a house with these," Jes said. "There are so many!"
As a substitute for wooden poles. Now Flo saw the logic. "But that thing is curved," she said, getting practical. "They won't make a good point for the top."
"We'll tie them together anyway," Ned said. "If we can just get enough of them here."
Flo had a flash of inspiration. "If there are so many there—we should go there. Easier to move ourselves, than such heavy bones."
Ned paused. "You make me feel stupid," he said. "Of course we should build it there."
Had she really figured out something he had not? Flo wasn't sure. Ned was very bright. Maybe he had simply wanted her to suggest it. "Maybe we'll build another one here, later," Flo said. "But for now, let's go there."
She lifted Bry, who stirred sleepily. "We must move, Bry," she said. "But then we can rest. I will carry you." She knew he would have protested, had he had the strength, but he didn't.
Ned and Jes helped get the boy up in her arms. Then Flo marched after the two of them, following the scuffed line. She was used to carrying her own considerable weight around; she could handle his too, for a while.
The bones turned out to be in a hollow that looked as if it had once been a bend of a river. Perhaps a temporary flood during a heavy rain, that had carried the bodies along with it, then pooled here, leaving the bones when it sank away. There certainly were a lot of them; she had never seen such a white jumble. A dozen mammoths, maybe.
But first things first. She found a clear place and laid Bry down. "Can you build it here?"
"Anywhere," Ned said. "We just need to figure out how to do it."
"Tie the bones together," Flo said. "Lin and I will make rope."
But he hesitated. "These bones are big. The framework will be big. Our hides won't cover all of it."
So he had thought it through. He had a good notion of what to do, and had anticipated the problem. Big irregular bones could not make as efficient a house as straight wood poles, and they had no hides to spare. A house with big holes would be largely useless as shelter, because the cutting wind would keep the interior cold.
She looked again at the vast jumble of bones all around them. They were all sizes, but only the tusks were as long as good construction poles. Unless they made the house entirely of tusks—but there weren't that many good ones. They were stuck with an inefficient big bone-pile shelter—or nothing.
"Put the hides inside," Lin suggested.
Jes laughed. Whoever heard of such a thing? But Ned looked thoughtful. "Could we tie them in place?" he asked.
"We can sew them in place," Flo said. "Pass threads through the stitches, then loop them over the tusk-poles. It will be clumsy, but it can be done."
"Then it shall be done," Ned agreed. "Lin can work with you on the hides; Jes can work with me."
"What about Wona?" Lin asked mischievously.
"She can choose," Jes said, grimacing. "When she shows up." By tacit agreement they did not openly speak ill of their brother's wife.
They got to work. Ned and Jes hauled bones into a nearby pile and separated the tusks. Lin ran to dig out their supply of twine, but realized that it wouldn't be enough for this. But some distance away from the bones they had seen a mass of shed mammoth hair, so she went for that and carried it back. Flo drew out lengths of it and twisted them into a serviceable cord. They would need a lot.
Wona showed up. She surveyed the situation, then went to join Ned. Flo was surprised; usually the woman chose the least rigorous task to work on. But this time Wona threw herself into it and seemed really to be helping. They did need the help, because there were so many bones to move, and some of them evidently weighed more than any two people together did.
Bry stirred. Flo laid a hand on his forehead. He was still burning. "We are making a house," she told him. "Soon it will be warm." He sank back into his troubled sleep.
"It must be warm," Lin breathed. She was Bry's closest sibling, their two mothers having birthed them within days of each other, with the same father, and the two were also emotionally close. Just as Jes was to Ned, and Flo herself to Sam. Lin was in most respects a fine girl, but she would be a wreckage if Bry died. She had been distraught when Bry had been lost, and came to life again only when they found him. There had been a time when Bry had teased her about her fingers, and she had thrown dirt in his face, but that was long past; now he was her stoutest defender. The girl was neither crying nor showing particular concern now, and that was a troublesome sign, because normally she expressed herself freely. She surely thought that to admit there was a problem would be to give it power. And, indeed, the spirits did seem to operate that way at times.
Meanwhile the construction of the house proceeded. Ned laid out the parts in an expanding pattern that resembled a giant flower, with the largest tusks in the center. Flo wasn't sure what the point was, but knew that he had a reason. Wona continued to labor industriously, even working up enough heat to enable her to shed her outer jacket, just as Jes had; what was the matter with the woman?
Then they started assembling it. Ned heaved the point of one giant tusk up to waist height, which wasn't hard because this was the light end, and the curve of the thing allowed it to rest its center on the ground. Jes hauled another tusk up similarly. They walked toward each other, swinging their two points around, until they crossed like two enormous spears. Then Wona took a length of cord and wound it around the tusks where they crossed, tying them together. Flo couldn't hear their dialogue, but knew that Ned was giving instructions, so that their acts were coordinated.
They laid down the tied tusks, which now formed a huge semicircle. They picked up two more, and bound them together similarly. Then two more, smaller ones. Flo still couldn't fathom the purpose.
They took yet smaller tusks and used the points to dig in the ground in several places around the edge of the circle. What was the point of that?
Then they heaved the first set up again, this time all the way, until they were holding it up so that it formed an arch higher than any of them could reach. The two base ends of it were set in two of the holes in the ground they had made. Aha; now she saw it. Anchorages, just as they normally did with wooden poles. They got the arch steady, and two of them let go, leaving Jes holding it up. The arch weighed several times what she did, but she was able to keep it balanced. The other two rolled mammoth skulls to the two bases of it, bracing it in place, and wedged smaller bones around, until Jes was able to let it go. There it stood, like a rainbow made of ivory.
Now they hauled up the second arch, which was slightly smaller than the first. They got it standing crosswise, its bases in two more holes, so that its highest point was under the highest point of the first one. They braced it similarly, until it too stood by itself.
The third arch was the easiest, angled against the other two, passing under both. They braced it until it stood.
Then they rolled a larger skull to a point in the center, under all three arches. Wona stood on it and reached up with cord. But she wasn't tall enough to reach the intersection, even with that added height. Neither were Ned or Jes. Finally Ned got down, and Wona climbed onto his shoulders, her heavy hide skirt falling around the back of his head. Jes helped him get to his feet with that burden.
Now Wona could reach high enough to loop the cord around the three intersecting arches, without otherwise touching any of them. She made one loop and tied it; then Jes handed her more cord, and she made a second loop, and then a third. She pulled them all snug. The three arches were bound together.
There was a dialogue Flo wished she could hear. Ned seemed to be telling Wona to do something, and both Wona and Jes were demurring. That was unusual; Jes and Wona seldom agreed on anything. But Ned finally convinced them.
Lin was watching too, and she had sharper ears. "He told Wona to hang from the tusks!" the girl exclaimed. "But if she does that, she'll pull the whole works down on their heads! She's not that light."
Indeed Wona wasn't. She was entirely too slender for a grown woman, but she was adult, and weighed more than Lin or Bry. What was Ned thinking of?
What happened next astonished them both. Wona took hold of the bound central axis of tusks and held on. Ned dropped down and got out from under, leaving her hanging there. Then he pushed her, so that her body swung back and forth. Her scream was audible across the whole bone yard. Her feet kicked and her breasts stood out as she inhaled for another scream.
And the structure did not come tumbling down. It swayed just a bit, but held firm. What made it so strong?
"She's yelling to him to get her down," Lin said, beginning to enjoy the show.
"Why doesn't she just let go?" Flo asked. "It's not that far a drop to the ground."
"She wants Ned to get her down. She says he put her up there. Maybe it's a test of wills."
A test of wills? Between Ned and Wona? But the two had nothing to do with each other. They might as well have been in different bands. Flo couldn't understand any kind of contest between them. The useless woman and the brilliant stripling. They had no common ground.
Finally Ned came close, ducking his head as the woman swung toward him, her body turning as she lifted her feet high to avoid kneeing him in the head. Trying to dodge her, he dropped to the ground. Jes and Lin laughed together at the mishap, probably equally delighted by the man's fall and the woman's predicament. Ned looked up, and Flo saw him gape as if dizzy, before he got back to his feet. Flo knew what had happened; he had inadvertently seen right up under the woman's skirt, when her legs were spread wide, a stunning view for a young man. Then he called instructions, and she straightened out her body, and Ned did what he had first intended: he caught Wona around her swinging hips and held her so she could let go of the tusks. She grabbed his head and slid down his front, pressing her bosom hard into his face as it passed.
Lin laughed again. "He played a trick on her. But she got back at him!"
Flo did not laugh. She had a sudden dark suspicion. Wona, however useless she might be generally, remained exactly the kind of narrow-waisted, plush-bottomed, firm-breasted creature young men liked to get hold of—and Ned was a young man. He would naturally not have any notions about his elder brother's wife, and of course he knew Wona's shrewish, idle nature. But young men did not necessarily think with their heads; their interest followed the direction of their penises, and those organs could readily be roused by the proximity of almost any appealing female form. Legends were rife with lovely nymphs whose only seeming purpose was to oblige the lust of whatever men were nearby. Wona had just come to work with Ned, helping him accomplish his purpose. She had enclosed his head with her thighs, and then shown him her bottom and rubbed his face with her breasts. Of course she was clothed in her hide vest and leggings, as all of them were; still, such contact would have its effect. Was she making a play for him?
Flo pondered that as the others resumed work on the bone house. Why would Wona do such a thing? She had never been keen on joining their band; her own band had wanted to get rid of her, and only after she married Sam had it gradually become clear why. Wona simply was no asset to any band, because of her indifferent attitude. She did not pull her weight. But she was cunning enough to know exactly whom she had to please, in order to get away with it. She pleased Sam. But Sam, like Dirk, was away from the band much of the time, because hunting big game was no sometime thing. They might have to track a given herd for several days before finding a vulnerable animal, and then pursue that animal for several days more. The meat and hide were invaluable when they came, but the price of them was the absence of the hunters much of the time. Flo could live with it, and it had seemed that Wona could—but now it looked as if the woman craved a bit of entertainment on the side. That was extremely bad medicine.
So Flo hoped that her suspicion was wrong. Certainly she would say nothing about it. Because if it was right, they would have one awful problem. Better just to believe what the others evidently did, that Wona had for once made herself useful when there was a difficult job to be done, and had suffered a small mishap when testing the stability of the structure, and not intentionally vamped anyone. That was definitely the best interpretation.
Lin took the new cord they had made and went to join the others. Flo stayed with Bry and the children, and worked on more cord. The house was taking shape now, and Ned's design was impressive. The huge tusks served as the framework, and they were piling skulls and pelvises around the base, and weaving the long leg bones between the tusks. It was like a giant basket turned over, with bones instead of reeds. Individually the bones were nothing much, and in small groups they fell apart, but when the design was large enough, they could be woven into a durable structure. A basket of bones!
Finally Flo could remain apart no longer. She picked Bry up and carried him to the new house, calling to the children to follow. She set him on the lee of the structure, shielded somewhat from the continuing wind, and joined in the weaving of bones. This was after all her specialty, though she had never before thought to weave a house.
The work went well, with all of them participating, but there was no way to complete it by nightfall. Jes had to stop to prepare some of their packed dried meat, and Ned had to make a fire by the house's entrance. Lin had to take a hide bucket to the river they had spied in the distance, for water to drink. That left Flo and Wona to tie the hides up inside the house. Fortunately most of them were already linked together; they had simply folded them in large segments after taking down the last shelter. So all they needed to do was use the extra cord to loop around the tusk and bone supports, to hold the mat of hides up. It was weird, having the hides inside the supports instead of outside, but it worked in its fashion. The bones broke up the wind, so that only eddy swirls got through, and the hides stopped most of those.
The fire started to warm the sheltered interior. The smoke blew off to the side, so that little of it got inside. The house was working. Flo brought Bry inside. At last he was out of the wind and in a halfway warm place. Now he could mend—if the spirits allowed it.
They snuggled down inside the bone house, and it was surprisingly comfortable. "You did well, Ned," Flo told him.
"We had to have shelter," he replied, glancing at Bry. But he was pleased. He was also thoughtful. She hoped he was considering the further prospects for building in bone, and not for getting close to dangling women.
The next day they did more work on the house, chinking the remaining gaps with smaller bones and anchoring the hides more tightly. They foraged for roots and berries, and did well enough, considering.
And Bry, warmed in the shelter, improved. The signs were subtle, but Flo could tell that he had turned onto a better path. He would recover. Her gladness was tempered only by her awareness of the way Wona looked at Ned.
Actually, the "Venus" figurines could have been models not of the ideal feminine state, but of the most exaggerated image of fertility. Thus those aspects of a woman associated with reproduction were stressed—breasts, buttocks, thighs, belly, vulva—and those who approached such proportions may have achieved status. The fertility of the land is vital to the success of a human community, and most cultures did their best to encourage it, whether by practical, magical, or symbolic means. But the male taste in females could have remained much as it is today: variable, but remarkably consistent overall. An enormously pregnant woman is not a good sex goddess. So there may have been a distinction between fertility and lust. Most of the Venuses date from about 30,000 years ago for carved vulvas to 22,000 years ago for almost full figures, when the glaciers were advancing. Later figures became more normally endowed, as the climate ameliorated. There is one "Venus" that is just the head of a young woman with an exquisitely sweet face and a hair net. Some have string skirts, definitely an indication of sexuality.
The bone houses were crafted in Siberia and Europe, and later became sophisticated, the bones symmetrically interlocked. But they were braced by wood where it was feasible. The all-bone structure described here would have been an emergency measure. The pictures of such dwellings are quite striking.
Today the Sahara is the world's most formidable desert, but it wasn't always so. The region eased up enough to let Homo erectus out one to two million years ago, and to let modern mankind out about 100,000 years ago. It dried up again about 70,000 years ago in the east, but was halfway habitable in the west 40,000 years ago. Possibly 12,000 years ago the climate ameliorated again, and mankind followed the plants and animals in. Some of the earliest paintings found anywhere in the world are in Africa, on exposed rock slabs. But the Sahara region had to wait until it was habitable by mankind before it received its share of art. Then, however, it may have seen a good deal more.
The setting is Tassili n'Ajjer, in present day Algeria, dead center of the Sahara, 10,000 years ago.
NED STOOD FACING THE WALL, troubled. He had followed the path to this strange place of the standing stones to paint a picture of an elephant, but he needed inspiration, and it wasn't coming.
They were getting pressed. They had had a large hunting and foraging area, but other bands were moving in, and these bands were larger and stronger than their own. It was necessary to give way, but that meant that they had a more restricted region. Sam and Dirk were out hunting buffalo, but had to watch for the lions, complicating it. Flo and Wona were out foraging for sorghum and millet seeds, but these were less plentiful than before, because the group had been over this section too recently. Lin was taking care of the children, and Bry was helping her. Actually she was taking care of him, too, as he recovered from his injury and illness, but for the sake of his blunted pride they did not say that.
That left Ned and Jes. Ned did not like man's work, and Jes did not like woman's work. Ned was slight of build and tended to think too much, while Jes was as tall and lank as a man and dressed so that her breasts did not show. He had once thought he would fill out as Sam had and be a man, and she had once thought she would find the face of a woman, but both hopes had been disappointed. So they were cursed in their opposite ways, and much alike in person.
No formal statement had been made, but times were getting tough, and it was clear that the band needed to find a better way to get through this difficult time. Ned needed to join the hunts himself, or enable the others to hunt more productively. Jes needed to forage or weave or care for children, or find a way to get these things done more expediently. Or they both could go in search of mates, being now of age. As far as that went, little Lin was just about of age, and far prettier than any other in the band. Except for that hand.
So Ned was here to invoke the spirits' aid for more ambitious hunting. The band had never been able to hunt elephants; they were simply too big and strong. But if they could find a way, they would have as much meat and bone as they ever needed. Tradition said that a suitable painting could capture the spirit of any creature and make it subject to the will of the painter. So if Ned could paint the elephant he had observed, and tie down its soul, they would succeed, and the lean times would be over.
But he couldn't just sketch it on the wall. He had to paint its spirit too, or the effort would be for nothing. So he was spending some time in the mountains, wrestling with his thoughts, and Jes was serving as liaison between him and the rest of the band. Because in the past Ned had figured out things that had been significantly beneficial to the band, and enabled it to prosper while other bands suffered. The elder members respected his mind, so they were giving him the chance to use it again. If he could by some magic find a way to help the band despite its problems, find the way to catch the animal's soul from afar—
Magic. He had never really believed in it, but perhaps this time the spirits of the band would commune with him. He stared at the blank wall, trying to see through it, to fathom whether there was any spirit in it he could talk to.
After a time the wall of rock seemed to waver, and it was indeed as if it became like clear water. He searched for the spirit in it, for every thing of nature had its spirit, but didn't see it. Unless—there was something inside. A man, standing with a bow and one arrow. A hunter. Watching for his opportunity. Were there game animals in range? Ned stared into the stone, seeking some answer. Could that be his own spirit, ready for the hunt?
Suppose he painted his own image? Would that provide him with spiritual strength for the hunt? So that instead of pinning the spirit of the animal so that mortal folk could hunt it, he invoked the aid of his spiritual self, enabling him to pursue the spirits of the animals out in the field? The notion was amazing, but maybe true.
What special powers might his own spirit bequeath him? Could it show him the path to good hunting? If it could enable him to hunt well, as he had not been able to before, what else might it help him do? There was so much to comprehend that he knew he should not act hastily. He must first understand, then paint, for greatest effect.
There was a sound behind him. That would be Jes, arriving along the path from their camp. Rather than lose his insight into the stone, he remained as he was. His sister would understand.
She came to stand beside him, facing the rock. He smelled a faint perfume of crushed flowers. That was surprising, for Jes did not adorn herself with anything feminine. "I'm looking into the rock," he explained.
"What do you see?"
Ned jumped. That wasn't Jes's voice! It was Wona's.
The spell of the stone was broken. He looked at the woman. "Why did you come here?"
"Flo found a good haul of roots to bring back to cook. Jes has more muscle than I do, so we switched jobs. She will take care of the roots, and I will take care of you. I am better equipped for that."
"Take care of me?" he asked blankly. He had never really liked or trusted this woman, who had been a drag on the band ever since she joined. Oh, he was quite intrigued by occasional glimpses of her body he caught by accident; that was the one thing she had in full measure. She was a truly lovely woman. Once he had seen—but that was nothing he should dwell on. She was after all his brother's wife. The fact was that she was a liability to the band. She took care of no one except herself.
"You have been a stripling. It is time you become a man."
"I don't understand."
"Precisely." She stepped into him, put her arms around him, drew him close, and kissed him on the mouth.
Ned was stunned for a moment. Then he lurched back, pushing her away. "We have no business like that!"
"Not before this," she said, turning his objection into an agreement. She put her hands to her simple hide robe and pulled it open, showing her full breasts.
Ned was mesmerized by them. Women often enough wore no more than skirts, but Wona normally kept herself covered, especially in the sun. Thus her body had not only the appeal of its kind, but that of novelty. She was older than he was, but that simply meant that she was in the full flower of her sexual appeal, while he was, as she put it, a stripling.
She let him look as long as he chose. Her gentle breathing made her breasts rise and fall rhythmically, and they jiggled just enough to call attention to themselves. Her eyes remained fixed on his face, and he didn't dare lift his gaze to meet them.
Finally he forced himself to turn away. "I must return to my business," he said.
"And what business is that?" she inquired.
Suddenly it seemed foolish. "Looking at the rock. To—to find its spirit."
"Of course. We need the help of the spirits."
He turned back to her, and was caught by the sight of her breasts again. "You don't find it foolish?"
"Ned," she said seriously, "I find nothing about you foolish. You are the smartest man I have encountered. You have helped your band many times by figuring out better ways to survive. You will do it again. I have nothing but admiration for you."
He flushed with pleasure, though he distrusted this. "I don't know what better way I can figure out this time. Our territory is too small; other bands are crowding us, and in time they will displace us entirely. I can't make there be more animals to hunt or more wild grains to harvest. Even if I could, the other bands would just move in and take them from us."
She removed her robe the rest of the way and stood naked. Her body was the stuff of dreams. "Perhaps not. But if anyone can find a way, you are the one. I believe in you."
"I have found nothing," he said, rejecting something other than her profession of belief. It was in his mind that she was teasing him, trying to make him react, and make a fool of himself. She was probably bored, and this was her entertainment. There had been times before when she had touched him or rubbed against him, by accident he thought, but sending forbidden thrills of. desire through him. Once when he had had to lift her down from an upper ledge—it had been days before he stopped thinking about that. She was his brother's wife, he reminded himself again; he had no business thinking of her at all.
"Then let me help you search." She stepped into him again, enclosing him with her bare arms and body.
He froze. "Why are you teasing me?" he demanded. "Why don't you go away?"
Her reply was unconscionably direct. "I have had your brother's child. Now I want yours."
"But you can't—I can't—"
"No one else will know. But your child will be smart, like you. Give me a smart boy, Ned."
"But you are Sam's wife!"
"And I will remain so. No one will know. Give me your child."
"I will not!" But he didn't move. She was holding him, and he couldn't break away. It was not a matter of physical strength.
"Shall we see about that?" she asked mischievously. She put her hands to his clothing and began undoing it.
She was serious. He tried to back away from her, but found his back against the rock face he had been staring into; he could retreat no farther. She soon got him naked, and of course his eager member showed.
Still, he tried to protest. "I must not do this with you. I see your face; I know you for my brother's wife."
"Then I will not show you my face," she said. She turned around and put her back to him. Her posterior view was just as guiltily exciting as her anterior view. "Hold my breasts."
"I can't—"
"I think you can." She reached back and caught his dangling arms. She lifted them up to enclose her, and set his hands on her two breasts. She used her hands to press his hands in to her, so that they made the breasts flatten against her chest. They had a special soft resilience that could be like no other thing. Ned felt as if he were floating; this was unreal. But also wonderful. And awful.
After a while she spoke again. "I think you are ready now. Hold my hips."
"What?"
She reached up and caught first one hand and then the other, setting them on her soft hips. "Hold tight."
Of their own volition, his hands tightened on her evocative flesh. The breasts had been phenomenal; so were the hips. All of her was wondrous. His guilt only enhanced the appeal of the touching.
She bent forward, not falling, because his hands held her bottom in place. She reached under and behind herself, and caught him where he had become involuntarily hard, and guided him, and suddenly he was plunging into her hot slick cleft, unable to restrain himself any longer. Part of him was horrified that such a thing could happen with his brother's wife, but more of him was carried along by the explosive joy of the depth of her. She was, indeed, making him a man.
She held her position until he subsided, then straightened up and leaned her back against him. "You see, you were able to do it, and most admirably. And you did not see my face."
Then she was gone, how, he was not sure. He was so amazed by the whole experience that he hadn't seen her go. Had it happened at all? But he was naked and spent, and he could not have imagined so much. And there was the piece of bread she had left him, that Flo had sent for him to eat. She had been here.
He ate the bread, and stared again at the wall, trying to see the spirit picture in it. But all he saw was an image of Wona, slender, with soft breasts and soft hips. Was that her spirit in the wall? Because she had come to him? Or was it just an interference, preventing him from achieving the vision he needed?
He left the wall and walked around the area, staring at the blue sky and the brown rocks, trying to get his thoughts straight. He needed to clear Wona from his mind before he could focus on the proper painting. Why had she come to him? She said because she wanted his child, but she had shown little interest in her daughter by Sam. Maybe it would be different if she had a boy. Maybe she thought she could get a boy from him. A smart boy. That Sam would think was his own. That made sense, perhaps, but Ned didn't much like the notion. He wanted to have his own child with his own wife, when he found a girl to marry. He didn't want mischief with his brother, and this was surely that.
The answer was simple: he wouldn't touch Wona again. She had caught him by surprise, and seduced him, but if she came again he would tell her no. He would try to forget their sole encounter, and pretend it had never happened.
Satisfied, he returned to the wall. He stared into it. This time he saw a herd of giraffes. Should he try to paint them? None had crossed the local territory recently, but maybe they would come if he painted them.
The day was declining. He would wait until morning, and if he still saw the giraffes, he would paint them. He still wasn't sure whether it was better to paint the animal or himself, but maybe the spirits in the stone would guide him.
He heard someone coming. Was Wona returning? He nerved himself to tell her no. But it turned out to be Jes.
"It's a relief to see you," he said gladly.
"I had to switch jobs with Wona," she explained.
"She told me." Should he tell her any more?
Jes looked at him. "She's been at you," she said.
His sister could read him like a fresh trail! "What could I do?"
"Apart from telling her no?"
"I tried."
"She's just diverting herself, you know. She doesn't care about you or Sam or this band."
"I know. I'll tell her no next time."
She dropped the subject. "Have you figured out the picture?" The blank rock was evidence that he hadn't started it yet.
"I was starting to, when she came. I tried to see what spirits it contained. I saw my own, I think."
"But your spirit is alive," she protested. "There would be only dead spirits in the stone."
"I don't think so, because we couldn't hunt an animal that's already dead. I must capture a live spirit, and pin it to the stone by the painting, so the creature can't escape us. So there must be live spirits here."
She nodded. "I hadn't thought of that. But then you shouldn't have to look in the stone for them; they must be outside it, until you pin one down."
He nodded in turn. "That does make sense. So when I saw my own spirit, it was like a reflection in water. But later I saw a herd of giraffes."
"Maybe you should wait for an elephant."
"Yes. But suppose I let the giraffes go, and an elephant spirit never comes?"
Jes shrugged. "Maybe go for the giraffes, then, though I hate to seem them taken. They're so graceful."
"They're tall and lanky, like you." He could tease her about her form, because they had always been close. She knew he loved her as she was.
"Yes. But they have nicer faces."
"Your face is fine," he told her insincerely.
"Fine for a man, you mean."
This time he changed the subject. "I wondered whether to paint my own spirit. Do you think it would enable me to hunt well?"
"It might. Or it might pin you, so a lion could get you."
"That does it. I'll paint an animal."
"If Wona comes again, paint her spirit."
"But that would tie her forever to me," he protested, laughing.
"No, it would anchor her to this rock. Then we could move away, and leave her here."
"Except Sam wouldn't leave her."
"Sam's a great man, but an idiot."
"About Wona, anyway," he agreed.
She gave him a direct look. "Don't you be an idiot too, Brother."
"You had better get back to camp, before it gets too dark," he said. But she had broken his mood of doubt and despair, as well as giving him a good warning. She was right. He trusted her judgment, especially in this respect, because though she did not look it or act it, she was a woman, and she had always stood by him.
After she left, he found another crust of bread by his paints. He wasn't supposed to get two crusts in a day, but Jes must have given him hers. She was like that. She was a great person; how sad it was that she didn't have a body like Wona's. Unlike Wona, she deserved it. He knew that she really wanted to be a woman to a man, and only pretended otherwise because no man was interested.
He settled down on his bed of leaves in the shelter of an overhang. He had set up sharpened stakes to block the access, just in case some large nocturnal predator got a notion while he slept. He was remaining here by the wall until he painted the picture; that was the way it was done. Others could visit him, but he could not go back until he had a spirit pinned. It was a lonely business, but necessary. The spirits of the animals had to come to associate him with the countryside, rather than with the human band.
He slept, and dreamed of Wona, naked, backing into him, her buttocks soft yet firm, her wondrous breasts under his hands. The hot wet inside of her. He woke, quivering with desire. Oh, she had known what to do with him, how to make him respond! Even the memory of it brought powerful lust. He knew he should not have touched her, yet what an experience it had been.
He slept again, but the sensations returned. The woman was no good; he knew that. But what a body she had. What joy she had brought him—and what guilt.
In the morning he hiked to the nearby stream for water, and speared a fish. He was allowed to have anything he hunted or foraged near the picture site, as well as very limited supplies from the camp. It was the ritual. The longer he took to paint the picture, the hungrier he was likely to get. The spirits always came to those who got hungry enough. But he preferred to paint it soon, if he could.
He stood before the face of stone and willed his gaze through it, as before. At first his eyes would not cooperate, but then they did, and he stared beyond the surface. Would he find the man, or the giraffes? In time shapes formed, too small to be big prey animals, too low to be men. They were hyenas! Trust them to come and interfere with his vision. They were capable hunters, but often preferred to scavenge what others hunted, including what the band killed. They seldom actually attacked men, but neither did they retreat far; it was as if they were making up their minds about whether to fight. A concentrated charge with spears would make them give way, but they always returned. They were wary about arrows, and extremely hard to hit. They were a real nuisance, especially when the children were close. If a child ever got separated from the adults of the band—
There was a sound behind him. Was it Jes?
"No, it is me," Wona said, understanding his thought.
"Go away," he said, not removing his gaze from the stone.
"In a bit," she agreed. "What do you see in there?"
"Hyenas. They always appear where they are not wanted."
She laughed. "Do you really think of me as such a creature?"
"Yes."
"And you will not look at me."
"You are my brother's wife. I want nothing to do with you." There: he had told her.
"Your words are one thing. Does your body say the same?"
It did not. Her very presence raised a tide of lust. But he did not need to yield to it. "Go away," he repeated. "I am trying to fathom the spirits in the stone, so I can paint them."
"Surely you will succeed. I will leave you to it shortly. I am removing my clothing."
Another illicit thrill went through him. He fought it. "How can you be sure Sam will not see, here in the daylight?"
"I always know where he is. Now I am removing your clothing." Her hands touched him, doing it.
He continued to stare into the stone, lest he give her the victory by being made to look at her. But it didn't stop her. In a moment he was naked. She had at least a half victory, because now his lust was revealed.
"Shall I face away, again?" she inquired. "You do not need to look at me. It is not your eyes I need."
He did not answer. It did not stop her. He found himself staring into the wall past her head, his hands on her breasts, his member between her legs.
"Hold my hips," she said.
"No." So she would fall over when she attempted to do it.
But she merely lifted herself to her toes without bending, and reached back to guide him in, upward. She squeezed her buttocks against him, teasingly.
Suddenly he could stand it no more. He pulled her against him, his hands still on her breasts, and plunged deeply into her. She had made him do it, again, and it was just as intense and guilty as before. Even though his eyes were still fixed on the stone surface.
Then she was gone again, as before, leaving him gloriously spent—and ashamed. Because he knew he had wanted her to do what she had done, wrong as it was.
How was he going to stop this? It couldn't go on, yet he was vulnerable to her approaches as long as he was alone by the stone.
He tried to focus on the spirit animals, but couldn't. He turned away from the stone and walked to the river. He splashed the chill water on his face. He was supposed to be an intelligent man; why couldn't he figure out a way to stop this?
Because he didn't really want to stop it Wona had sought to have her will with him, and she had succeeded. He might have fended her off the first time, but once he had sampled her delights, he could not deny her again, however wrong he knew it was.
What, then, was he to do? He didn't know. So he put it as far out of his mind as he could, where it hovered like a hyena, and focused on his painting. He did not eat or drink any more, he simply searched the rock, determined to discover what was within it.
The heat of the day intensified. His vision blurred, and he felt oddly light on his feet, but he kept on staring into the stone.
Finally it came: the image of a lion. "What is your business here?" he asked it.
"I am keeping game animals away from this region," the lion replied. It did not seem odd that it spoke in a human voice; it had always been suspected that animals could talk, if they wanted to.
"But we need those animals to hunt," Ned said.
"I don't care. I will keep them away until you starve. Then this territory will be mine."
"Then I will stop you."
The lion laughed. "Stop me? You? How can you do that, you puny thing?"
"By shooting my arrows into you, and throwing my spears, and cutting your bowels out with my knives."
"What makes you think I will stay still for that?"
"I will pin your spirit to this rock, so that you can't escape us. You may run, but you will not be able to run far enough. You may fight, but there will be one of you and several of us. We will destroy you. Then the game will return here."
"How can you pin my spirit?" the lion asked contemptuously.
"With my paints. I will paint you here."
Then the lion grew nervous. "Spare me, and I will tell you how to get rid of the woman."
That was tempting. But that would be benefiting himself by hurting the band, and he wouldn't do that. "No." It was easier to say no to the lion than to the woman.
"You really should reconsider," the lion said. "I have had experience dealing with females. It is necessary to keep them always in their place. You are failing to do that, and the consequence may be dire. Women are worse than lionesses."
"Not all of them," Ned said, thinking of his sisters. Without removing his gaze from the stone, he made his way to his paints. He had to paint the lion without ever looking away, or it would escape him. If it got away, its spirit would go to warn the physical lion, and it would be twice as cunning as before, and ruin their hunting entirely.
"Are you sure of that?" the lion asked. "One is coming now."
Oh, no! Was Wona returning? She would ruin everything.
But it turned out to be Jes. "Oh, you are painting," she said, pleased.
"A lion," he replied. "I must not look away from him, or I will lose him."
"Of course. I'll help you. Here is your brush. What paint do you need?"
"First I need the charcoal, to sketch him in."
"Oh. Here it is." She brought him the chunk of charcoal.
He began drawing the lion, who had frozen in place when Jes arrived. That was not surprising; normally visions could be seen by only one person at a time.
"Did Wona come again?" Jes asked.
"Yes. I tried to deny her, but couldn't."
"I was afraid of that. She is good only for one thing, but she's very good at that."
"Yes."
"Ned, you must tell the band. That's the only way to make her stop."
"But Sam—"
"He won't like it, but with all of us telling him, he will have to accept it. Maybe he will get rid of her, then."
Maybe it would work. But it would be an ugly scene. Ned sketched a while, each stroke better defining the lion. Then he thought of an easier alternative. "I will tell her I will tell Sam. Unless she stops now. She will stop, because otherwise she will be routed from the band."
"Won't work," the lion muttered.
"But she'll still be here, then," Jes said.
"But there won't be any trouble," he argued. "She will behave herself, and Sam won't be angry or hurt."
"All right," Jes said. "If that ends it. I'd rather see her gone, but you're right, it would hurt Sam awfully, and we don't want that."
"Fool," the lion said.
"The lion says I'm a fool," Ned said. "He says it won't work."
"The lion talks to you?"
"Yes. He offered to tell me how to get rid of her, if I let him go, but I refused."
"Oh—in your vision in the stone," she said. "I can't hear that."
"Maybe when you have your own vision, the animals will talk to you."
"Maybe. Do you need me any more? I had better return to the camp."
"Go. Once I have the sketch done, I'll have him pinned. I'll do the painting right away, so that nothing can happen to the sketch and free him."
"Good. I'll tell the others you are painting a lion." She departed.
"You will regret this," the lion said. "You don't know a thing about dealing with scheming females. You will just make it worse."
Ned ignored him and continued sketching. Soon he had the whole animal outlined. Now at last he could look away. This was just as well, because his eyes were hurting from the strain.
And there was Wona. "I would have come to you sooner," she said, "but Jes was here. So I waited until she was gone."
"Then you can hear this now. If you don't stop coming to me right now, I will tell Sam what you are doing. Then he will drive you from the band."
She met his gaze. "If you tell Sam, I will tell him that you raped me when I brought you food, and threatened to kill me if I told. So I had to keep coming to you, much against my will."
"But that's not true!"
"He will believe it."
"Why should he believe a lie?"
"Because he will want to," she said simply. "The same way you want to possess me again, though it is the second time today."
Ned thought about his brother, and realized it was true. Sam loved Wona, and accepted anything she told him. And he, Ned, did want her again, much as he hated himself for it.
"I told you," the lion said smugly.
He faced the wall. "Tell me what to do, and I will free you."
"Too late," the lion said. "I would have made that deal before you sketched me, but now you have injured my pride, and I will let you suffer."
"But you will suffer too! We'll kill you!"
"It will be worth it, to see the mischief that woman does to your stupid band. I shall not speak again." And the lion shut its mouth firmly.
"If you are quite through talking to the wall," Wona said, "let's proceed with our little tryst."
Ned was defeated. "As you wish," he said dully. Yet part of him—the masculine part—was relieved that it had turned out this way.
"Come undress me," she said.
"But you have been doing that yourself."
"That was before we came to our new understanding. Now you will undress us, and you will face me. In fact, we shall lie together, instead of doing it awkwardly on our feet. I think that's more comfortable. Don't you?"
He didn't answer. She had indeed bested him in threats, and now she was in charge. He approached her and started pulling off her clothing.
"Kiss me," she commanded.
He kissed her. The taste of her was forbiddingly sweet. Her real power over him was the same as over Sam: he did desire her.
"Put your hands on my buttocks and squeeze." He did so, enjoying it, and hating himself for that.
"And after this rock painting is done, and you return to the camp," she said, "I will come to you on occasion, and you will stroke me and plunge me as I indicate, and make no sound. For I mean to have great satisfaction of you, little brother, until I get your child, and perhaps thereafter." She took his hand and led him to a suitable place for them to lie down together.
The lion had been right. He had only made it worse. And the worst of it was that any time she tired of him, she could simply tell her husband of Ned's "rape" of her, and the worst would happen.
Ned knew himself to be an intelligent and talented man. But he was no match for this merciless woman.
The notion of running streams in the middle of the Sahara, and of lions, giraffes, elephants, and all the rest, may seem strange indeed, but it was so. There are many rock paintings to document it. North Africa was a nice place to live, 10,000 years ago, though still somewhat dry; the running streams would have been intermittent following rain.
As the region slowly dried, the human and animal population became more pressed. Some creatures moved south, and some east, driven by the encroaching desert. People compensated by making several significant changes in life-style. Instead of merely hunting animals, they began to care for them: first short-horned cattle, then sheep and goats. That guaranteed a supply of meat and hides. Instead of merely foraging for wild grains, they began to grow certain types. Thus hunting and foraging gave way, to a degree, to herding and farming, as early in the Sahara region as in Asia. The same is true for pottery; we can not say for sure where it started, or whether it was independently devised. Its ultimate effect was potent; the language of the eastern Sahara folk of that time is now known by its Semitic derivative tongues, notably Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic. The folk of the Sahara had to leave the desert; but they didn't leave the world, and the systems they devised were to transform the rest of the world.
The stone age gave way to the ages of metals relatively rapidly in Europe: one millennium there was stone, the next there was copper, and the next there was bronze, to be followed ever more swiftly by iron and other novelties. Social changes were as significant; collective communities that granted little individual freedom gave way to a society where individual rights were valued. Multiple religions merged into a single religion, unifying the culture to a degree. Still, this was really the cultural and technological backwoods, primitive compared to what was emerging in Egypt and Mesopotamia. Yet here, perhaps, were the seeds of things that would in time bring the region to prominence.
This was also the era of the domestication of some animals, the cultivation of some plants, the making of pottery, and the weaving of cloth. These are all skills and technologies that had considerable impact on mankind, and that deserve separate explorations, but for now they must wait on a more personal event.
The setting is the Alps north of Italy, about 5,300 years B.C.E.—before the current era—at the fringe of what is known archaeologically as the Remedello culture. Later the Bell Beaker culture seems to have originated in Iberia—Spain—and spread north and east, in due course overlapping the corded pottery culture shown in the prior volume: the Indo-Europeans coming west. In the end, the corded ware folk were to prevail, with their battle axes and horses, but at this stage they had not yet arrived in this region. Instead a series of lesser known cultures existed in central Europe. A traveler from the fringe of the Mondsee culture might have crossed the Alps to reach the Remedello culture, where the copper-working tradition was superior, and there he could have interacted in a historically insignificant but personally significant manner with the natives.
SAM TRUDGED THROUGH THE CUTTING wind of the high pass. The mountain range was always a challenge, but he enjoyed it, because the exertion made him fit. His heavy load of good cloth merely added to it, making his muscles strain and his heart pound pleasantly.
Each community had its own rules, and strangers were not necessarily treated kindly. That made trading potentially dangerous. That was why it was Sam who took the cloth out and brought back the goods, instead of one or two of the women. Actually Jes had wanted to come with him, and she could carry her load and defend herself, but the family had decided that she was needed at home to help protect them from marauders during Sam's absence. There was only so much Dirk could do, if several raiders attacked.
There were weapons available to the north, but a hostile tribe barred that direction. So Sam was following the trail to the southeast, open because hardly anyone cared to brave its rigors. He had been here once before, years ago, so knew the general route. But not well. He would have been better off in the company of a native of this region.
However, if this mission were successful, the women would have much less to fear from roving men. For Sam was in quest of the great new equalizer, the weapon that could make a woman as deadly as a man. The copper dagger. So sharp that even the slight muscle of a woman could make it lethal. So small it could be concealed on her body and forgotten until needed. With such knives, Flo and Jes and Lin and Wona would be safe.
Sam did not like to admit it, but this high region was becoming less familiar by the hour. He feared he had lost the way, and would not find the village he sought. But there was nothing to do but plow on.
He crested the pass and gained speed as he descended. There was a settlement of the folk who used the odd wide-mouthed clay pots. It was likely to be somewhere in this vicinity; all he had to do was find it. It was a long trek to reach it, but surely worthwhile this time.
Then he spied sheep. That meant there was a shepherd near. And if there was one person who knew an area well, it was that area's shepherd. So Sam put his hands to his mouth and called: "HALLOOOO!"
This spooked a few sheep, but Sam remained still and in plain view. He wanted the shepherd to locate him, and to see that he meant no harm to the flock. So he raised his hands in a gesture of harmlessness which was more symbolic than real. Sam could take care of himself, and would fight if he had to. But he hoped it wouldn't be necessary.
Soon a man appeared. He was of average size, but had a competent bow. That would be the shepherd, and he could have put an arrow into Sam if he wanted to. And perhaps would have, had Sam not made a point of desiring peace. Because sometimes raiders stole sheep, and sheep were valuable.
"Who?" the man called, in the mountain dialect. Sam had picked it up during his prior travels; he couldn't speak it well, but could understand it well enough.
"Sam, of the northeast," he called back. "Coming in peace to trade cloth for copper. But I have lost my way, and need guidance to recover the trail."
The shepherd came closer. His bow was slung across his back, but he could reach it rapidly. Actually Sam could reach his weapon rapidly too, but he kept his hands raised inoffensively. "You missed it by one peak. Go west and recover it."
"I shall, with thanks," Sam said, and turned to face west. But the mountain slope was plainly impassable in that direction. "Perhaps farther down."
"Easier to pass through my village," the shepherd said, smiling.
Sam returned the smile. "Does your village have copper for trade for cloth?" Sam indicated the heavy burden of cloth bound to his back.
"Yes."
"Then it seems I am not lost after all. I will trade at your village. I thank you again."
The shepherd pondered a moment, then made a significant offer. "I will return there tomorrow. You may travel with me, if you care to help herd sheep."
"It is an honorable profession," Sam said. "I am no expert at it, but I can profit well from instruction." He was saying that he would accept directions from the shepherd without taking offense.
"Then come share my fire this night, and we shall be on our way tomorrow."
"Gladly," Sam agreed. He had half hoped for something like this, but it was not a thing that could be asked for.
"Follow me." The shepherd turned his back and walked slowly east. This was another significant gesture: no one turned his back on an enemy. But Sam knew that the man was well aware of Sam's position and movement; shepherds were said to have eyes on their backs.
So Sam waited a moment, then stepped forward, matching the pace. In a moment the shepherd increased it, and they made good progress.
Only now did the shepherd's dog appear, answering a signal from his master. Sam knew that the dog would have been on him the moment he made a hostile move toward the shepherd. The fact that he had neither seen the dog nor heard him before indicated how well the animal was trained.
It turned out that there was a small cave under a ledge of the mountain. No track led to it, and Sam would never have noticed it, had he passed by it alone. That was no accident, he realized; it was a hiding place as well as a shelter. The shepherd probably had a number of such refuges spread across his region, so that wherever the sheep went, he had a safe retreat.
The dog did not enter the cave. He ranged away, watching the sheep. The connections between man and dog were invisible to others, but Sam knew the animal obeyed his master implicitly.
Inside was a small cache of supplies, including some dried meat, tinder, and wood. The shepherd took his fire cup and soon blew up a small, almost smokeless fire.
"This is unexpected luxury," Sam said, removing his burden and lying down. He unstrapped the sheath for his stone dagger and set the weapon on top of the bound cloth. He was thus disarming himself, signaling his lack of hostile intent. Such continuing cues were important.
In due course the shepherd handed him a section of the heated meat. Sam bit avidly into it. It was tough but good.
And this was the most important signal of all: no man fought with the one he ate with.
Then they talked. "I am Otzi," the shepherd said.
"I am Sam," Sam repeated. But now the introduction was formal. Now they knew each other.
Periodically they went out to check on the sheep, but the dog had things under control. Sam knew that the animal would give notice the moment there was a problem. The sheep were pretty well settled for the night, near a mountain streamlet. Sam and Otzi drank there too, before returning to the cave.
As they settled for the night, they talked, for shepherding was a lonely trade, and so was traveling. Sam told of his tribe, and the manner his family group had formed when it had gotten isolated in a bad storm; times had been rough at first, when his sister had been raped and had to leave her baby in the forest because she could not support it.
But later she had married, and Sam had married, and they both had children they could support, and things were better now.
"Marriage," Otzi said thoughtfully. "I had a good wife, but I lost her to the fever. Now my daughter runs our house in the village, for I am gone for months with the flock."
"What will you do when she marries?" Sam asked sociably.
Otzi shook his head. "I fear Snow will not marry. She's a good girl with a fine healthy body, smart and competent and good-natured, but her face is not pretty."
Sam was sympathetic. "You have described my sister Jes. She's as much of a woman as any man could want, except that she is tall, lanky, and homely of face, so no man wants her." He shrugged. "Beauty isn't everything."
"That's true. But it takes a man time to learn that. When I was young I sought beauty, but few wished to be alone while I was with the flock. Snow is like her mother, and once I knew her mother, I did love her."
Sam pondered for some time before answering. He realized that he would probably never see Otzi again, after he left this region, so it was probably safe to divulge a confidence. "My wife is beautiful like none other. Yet if I had it to do over, I think I would seek a lesser woman."
"You have a truly beautiful wife, and you crave less?"
"She is not as lovely in her nature as in her form," Sam explained.
Otzi laughed, not unkindly. "I have seen it elsewhere. We men are fools about form and nature."
"We men are fools," Sam agreed ruefully. "Yet I can't tell her no on anything."
"That's the way it is, with beauty," Otzi agreed.
In the morning they herded the sheep down the mountain. There were a few ornery goats that gave the dog some trouble; Sam appreciated the magnitude of the job the shepherd had. But Otzi knew the terrain as well as only a shepherd could, and he knew the animals, and he maneuvered them efficiently in the right direction. Sam helped mainly by going to certain wrong paths Otzi directed him to, and waving his arms to dissuade the goats. When the goats went the right way, the sheep followed. Since there were three directions they could go—right, left, and forward—Sam wondered how Otzi and the dog ordinarily managed. He realized that probably the village sent up another man for this drive. Sam's presence enabled Otzi to handle the matter without waiting for the arrival of help.
The herding was arduous, but they couldn't stop, because there was no water for the sheep along the way. Otzi seemed indefatigable, and Sam held up, but he felt the strain. He had the muscle to accomplish heavy lifting or fighting, and the stamina to walk long distances, but this constant running from place to place, with his heavy load of cloths, was wearing.
By evening the outlying fields of the village appeared, to Sam's relief. The villagers came out to meet the flock. "You're early!" one cried.
"The sheep were ready, the weather was right, and I had help," Otzi explained, gesturing toward Sam.
"Good enough! We'll start the slaughter tomorrow."
Otzi, relieved of his job, guided Sam to his house in the village.
The village itself was formidably situated. It covered a substantial knoll, with a ring of sharpened stakes set around the base. There were piles of rocks inside, that could be thrown, and a few boulders that could be rolled down the steep slope if an enemy breached the palisades. Right now, however, there were no guards; everyone was busy with the rigors of the harvest and preparations for the slaughter. No guards? Sam frowned, disliking this carelessness, but not wishing to criticize the host village. Probably there were lookouts alert to spot any hostile intrusion long before it reached the village.
A woman came out to greet Otzi with a hug. She was much younger, close to Sam's own age, with strikingly light-colored long tresses, in contrast to the man's much shorter dark brown hair. She wore a necklace of amber beads. That meant she was unmarried, probably his daughter Snow. She would cut her hair shorter when she married, giving its fairness to her husband along with the beads. She was well shaped, and would have been pretty except for a somewhat coarse face.
Then Otzi introduced her to Sam, confirming the obvious. Snow smiled, but there was no denying that she was far from pretty despite having a very nice body. She really was not like Jes; she was better in the torso and worse in the face. If only that lustrous hair could cover her face!
She was apt in other womanly arts, though. They ate very well, and Sam was provided with a fine bed of straw to sleep on. Still, when he slept, he dreamed of Wona, the way she had been at first, avid for his embrace. The way she was only in his dreams, recently. He wasn't sure why she had changed, but suspected that she blamed him for giving her a girl baby.
Next day Otzi was busy helping with the threshing. Snow took Sam to the central house and departed, for she had work of her own to do. There were their wares, spread out on a table: bows, arrows, and what he wanted—several fine copper-bladed daggers. He had seen these elsewhere, and desired them, but had not had enough cloth to trade for them. Farther along was one of the necklaces of fine amber beads, that any woman would like, even if they weren't a signal of availability. But he was here for something more useful.
Sam unloaded his bundle and set his cloth down on the clear end of the table, and stepped back, inviting them to inspect it. He knew the workmanship was good; no one could excel Flo at weaving fancy material. She had worked for many months on this, helped by the other women of the family.
A woman came up and checked the cloth with practiced eye and fingers. She glanced at him and nodded, recognizing the quality of the handiwork.
"There is a problem," she said. After his night with Otzi and Snow, Sam was adjusting to the dialect, and knew he could use it well enough to get by.
"This is good cloth," Sam protested. "My sister Flo wove it, and she's the best—"
"No, the cloth is good. It's that we can't trade now. Crockson handles it, and he's busy with the harvest."
The harvest. Sam realized what that meant. Many villages had a policy of postponing all business during harvest time, because all their hands were needed. He should have realized that when he came down with the flock, he would by definition be there for the harvest.
"When will Crockson trade?"
"On our festival day, after the harvest is secure."
That did not mean a day, it meant a week, because they had to get it done during fair weather, lest all be spoiled. But he was stuck for it.
"The cloth is satisfactory?"
"Yes, of course. But I lack the authority—I merely care for the goods, while the able-bodied work." Sam noticed her hunch, realizing that she was not able-bodied; otherwise she would be out in the field too.
Sam sighed inwardly. "Then I will have to wait upon that day. But may I examine the wares now?"
"Certainly, if you wish."
The woman stepped back. He moved down to the daggers. He picked up the best one and touched its keen edges to his finger. He hefted it, feeling the balance. The handle was of wood, with the copper blade wedged into a split at the end, and bound in place by fine cord. It came with a wooden sheath, superior to the ordinary sheaths of woven grass, with leather thongs attached to tie it in place. A very nice instrument.
He smiled and set it down before him. He picked up the second one. This, too, was nicely made, slightly lighter but no less sharp. He set it beside the first.
He reached for the third, but the woman grunted negatively. "Crockson will not give three," she said.
Sam nodded. The woman might lack authority, but she knew what was what. They would give him two for his cloth, but not three. He considered; perhaps he could bargain. But he wasn't sure, because they were very nice daggers, and surely worth the price.
"Suppose I stay here and help with the harvest?" he inquired.
The woman studied his heft and muscle. "Then I think Crockson would agree to the third knife."
Sam nodded. The deal had in effect been made. "I shall see you again on the festival day," he said, rebundling his cloth and heaving it to his shoulder. She nodded in return.
The following days were busy indeed, as the work of the harvest proceeded. Sam stayed with Otzi and Snow, after making an informal oath of brotherhood to the girl so that it would be acceptable for him to remain with them more than a night. The more he knew of the father and daughter, the better he liked them. Otzi was a competent, hardworking herder and hunter, and Snow was the same in woman's work. It was too bad she was having such difficulty finding a husband. On occasion she removed her clothing so as to wash—something that women thought necessary—and though he studiously ignored her at such times as a matter of brotherly protocol, he was aware of her healthy body. She had breasts and thighs that could certainly put a man into rapture, if she chose. And weirdly lovely hair. Did a face matter so much?
At last the harvest and slaughter were done, except for a few loose ends. Some of the goats had strayed, and now they had to be rounded up and brought in for the slaughter. Sam went afield with Otzi and Snow, for it would take all three of them to catch the frisky animals. But it would be a relatively easy day. Tomorrow would be the festival.
"I'll be glad to make my trade and be on my way home," Sam said. "But it has been nice enough with the two of you."
Snow laughed. She did that often, pleasantly. "You know that Crockson wanted to have you stay this week, because of your strength for the heavy work?"
"I suspected," Sam said. "But it was good work, and I am promised an extra knife."
"We shall see that that promise is honored," Otzi said.
"I am glad you stayed," Snow said. "You are a good man."
Sam, embarrassed by the compliment, did not reply. They continued to the pasture where the goats had strayed.
They went after the goats, catching each one and tying it temporarily while they went after the next. Snow was good at it, for a woman; she seemed to like being out in the field for a change. She sweated as she got hot. Sam liked that; Wona was careful never to exert herself enough to sweat. Not even when having sex on a hot night. Not that she bothered, any more.
Sam spied another goat, and ran to head it off. He needed to get ahead of it and turn it back toward the others. But it was a fleet one, and it surprised him by running right down the path toward the village. By the time he caught up with it, they were almost in sight of the houses. He trapped it in a narrow spot, and managed to lay his hands on it so it couldn't get away. It seemed a waste to haul it all the way back to the pasture; he could take it the shorter distance in to the main village pen.
So he looped his rope around its neck and hauled it along. But as he approached the village, he heard something. So did the goat; its ears perked up, and it snorted.
The noise sounded like human screaming.
Sam's battle reflexes cut in. Maybe it was just a goat being slaughtered; they could scream like children when hurt. But maybe it wasn't. So he hauled the goat off the path, and approached the village under the cover of rocks and brush. He had gotten to know the area in the past few days, and hiding came naturally. The goat, nervous, was silent.
Soon Sam got a good look at the village mound. There was frenzied activity there. For a moment Sam couldn't grasp it. Then he saw one of the village children being carried to the edge by a strange man. The man threw the child to the ground, drew his knife, and stabbed the child in the chest. The child screamed once more, and died. The man turned and went after another child, much in the manner Sam had been going after goats.
Sam was chilled. This was an enemy raid! The village had been taken unaware, and the people were being slaughtered. There would be no mercy; only babies under a year old would be taken, because they could be adopted into the enemy tribe. All others would die.
Sam knew he couldn't help the villagers. All he could do was warn Otzi and Snow, so they could escape before being discovered. He loosed the rope from the goat's neck and let it go; there was no point in keeping it, now. Then he ran back up the path.
In time he heard something. He cocked his head, listening. It sounded like a faint scream ahead.
The girl! Something was happening.
Sam broke into a run. He charged on around a bend and over a small crest. Now he saw several figures in wild activity ahead. They were quarreling or fighting, not aware of his approach. As he pounded on toward them, he recognized the clothing of Otzi and his daughter. They were being beset by two of the raiders, who must have ambushed them. One knocked Otzi down and stomped his ribs. The other grabbed Snow and ripped at her clothing, hitting her in the face as she resisted. He was raping her!
Sam was running swiftly, but it seemed painfully slow because of the distance to cover. He could only see, not stop what the raiders were doing. But his rage was burgeoning, because once he had seen his sister Flo raped, and had not been able to stop it or even protest. Today he had a score to settle with all rapists.
Then at last he was there. He lifted his staff and knocked one man on the head, sending him spinning to the ground. Then, panting, he whirled on the other, who was pinning the girl to the ground. He grabbed the man's hair with one hand, and one leg with the other hand, and heaved him bodily up into the air. Such was the strength of his fury, he whirled around in a full circle, then threw the man into a tree. The man struck the trunk and dropped to the ground without a scream, just two thuds.
Sam turned back to the first raider—but he was already up and running away as fast as he could manage. Sam doubted he could catch him. So he went to Otzi, who was woozily sitting up. The man tried to lift his arms defensively, not recognizing Sam.
"Easy!" Sam said. "It's Sam. I routed the two raiders."
Otzi looked round, seeing that it was true. "Ambush," he said. "I tried to fight them—"
"They had clubs and surprise," Sam said. "I saw from a distance, but couldn't get here fast enough."
Snow groaned, and they both looked at her. Her skirt was half pulled off, and her face was a mass of blood. Blood was in her eyes, blinding her.
Sam went to her, pulling out the cloth he used to clean his own injuries, at such time as he had any. Wary of her reaction, he spoke before he touched her. "Sam. I am Sam. You know me. The raiders are gone. I will help you."
"Sam," she repeated, recognizing the name and voice.
"I will wipe your eyes," he said. He poured some water into his cloth, and used the wet material to clean out one eye and then the other, carefully.
"You are so gentle," she said as she opened her eyes.
Otzi snorted. He had gotten to his feet, and was looking at the raider by the tree. Gentle? The man had been pulped.
Sam cleaned off the rest of her face, then wrung out the cloth and gave it to her to stanch the continuing flow from her nose. "Hold it tight," he said. "I know it hurts, but you must not lose more blood. I think that's your only injury, except—" Then he caught himself.
She caught the implication anyway. Her free hand came up and ripped the amber necklace off. She threw it away. "Except I am no longer a maiden," she said bitterly. "No one will marry me now."
"No, that's not—" Sam started, but had to break off again. Because it was true: most men wanted to marry maidens. The raider had deprived her of her most precious attribute. The only thing that might have made up for her homely face—which now was worse.
She began to cry. Sam, feeling somewhat helpless, lifted her to a sitting posture and put his arms around her somewhat in the manner of a father, trying to comfort her. "That brigand is dead," Otzi said.
Sam realized that this, too, was probably true. "I was angry," he said a bit ruefully. "My sister—she was—I was then too young to stop it. I have been ashamed ever since."
Otzi nodded. "Justice has been done. Take his things."
Sam shook his head. "No. I want nothing of his. You can have them."
"I want nothing of his either," the man said grimly. He studied the body. "He's of the Green Feather tribe. Those folk are nothing but mischief."
"Yes," Sam agreed. "We know of them too. They plunder and—" Yet again he caught himself. What they did was rape any women they caught alone or inadequately protected, exactly as in this case.
"We can leave him here as he is, to rot without burial," Otzi said. "That is fitting."
"That is fitting," Sam agreed. Then, belatedly, he remembered the main threat. "The village—the raiders have taken it. They are killing all the people. We must flee."
"The raiders!" Snow cried. "The village!"
"Too many to fight," Sam said. "I saw them when the goat led me there. The one who ran just now will tell them of our presence. We must get well away from here, immediately. I was coming to warn you—"
"Then all is lost," Otzi said grimly. "They waited until the harvest to strike, so as to glean the richest spoils."
"Yes," Sam agreed. He did not comment on the village's laxness about defense. "We must go."
Otzi looked at his daughter, whose nose was no longer bleeding badly. It would, unfortunately, never be normal again. Her appearance had not been great before; now it was ruined. "We must go," he agreed.
"Yes," she said, understanding the situation all too well. Sam released her, and she started to get up—and stopped. "Oh!" She fell back flat on the ground.
"What is it?" Otzi asked, concerned.
"The pain," she gasped. "I can't stand."
Otzi winced. Sam knew why; things were already very bad for them, and would be worse if she could not walk.
"We must find the injury," Otzi said, his voice carefully controlled. Sam knew that the man did not want to further alarm his daughter, who already had more than enough misery. But they had to move out. "Where is the pain?"
She considered. "My back. My legs. I don't know."
Sam turned his back. "You must check," he told Otzi.
"Yes." There was the sound of clothing being moved. "I see nothing."
"I don't feel it now," she said. "Maybe I can get up after all." But then she cried out with pain. "Oh! I can't!"
"But there is nothing," Otzi said.
"There is pain," she retorted.
"Sam, you have the look of a warrior about you," Otzi said, carefully not implying that Sam had any affinity with the raiders. "Do you know of internal injuries?"
"Some," Sam admitted. "But only on men." He did not turn around. Instead he went to pick up the remnant of the amber necklace; it wouldn't be good to leave it here for the raiders. He knew Snow wouldn't take it back, so he tucked it in a pouch.
"Let him look," Snow said. "There must be something. I have no modesty left." Even in her distress, she was politely pretending that Sam had never seen her body. He was her ad hoc brother, having only familial interest in her. On occasion, at need, a brother would view a sister's body, but never speak of it.
But she was unfortunately correct again: the protocols had been savaged, and had become pointless. She had to get moving soon, or the raiders would catch them and kill them all. Sam turned to look at her. She was lying on her stomach now, stretched out.
He kneeled beside her. "I must put my hands on you," he said cautiously. "I mean no harm."
"Yes. Touch me."
He felt her upper legs, which were firm and well fleshed. There was nothing wrong with them. He struggled to maintain a brotherly perspective, but it was impossible. He felt her back and hips through the clothing. They were in good order too. She was a supremely shapely figure of a young woman, and his body responded regardless of his mind. "I find no injury."
"I'll turn over," she said. She started to—then stopped, with another exclamation of pain.
"In the belly, maybe," Otzi said. He looked nervously down the path toward the village.
Sam put his hands carefully on her and turned her over. She winced but did not cry out again. He felt her abdomen, but it seemed firm, and she expressed no pain. "Unless there is an injury that does not show—"
"Find it!" she said. "Take off my skirt. Find it." Her voice was rising with incipient hysteria.
Sam looked helplessly at Otzi, but the man only shrugged, glancing again toward the village. So Sam carefully worked her skirt off, laying bare her upper thighs and belly. Her genital region was in order, not betraying its recent violation. There was no apparent injury. He turned her over. Her bottom was well formed and uninjured. "Maybe when the raider—inside—" he suggested hesitantly.
"No. That hurts, but not the same way. This is farther back. And down my right leg."
He felt down her back. "Tell me when you feel the pain." He put gentle pressure on her back and hips, but got no reaction. He pressed her firm buttocks, and all around her right thigh, with no result other than his own quickening, guilty interest. Wona would not let him touch her this way. Actually, Wona seldom let him touch her at all, recently. That kept coming back to him.
"It doesn't hurt while I'm still," she said. "And your touch is very gentle."
"I have sisters," he said, embarrassed. "They are not tough like men. They are—soft." Like her. But he had never touched a sister this way. "I find no injury. Your body is—perfect." He felt an embarrassing flush forming.
"We don't have time to delay. We must find out what this is," she said. "I will try again to get up. You watch, and see if you can see where the pain is."
She tried to turn over, but felt the pain immediately. "It hurts when you move yourself!" Otzi said. He was collecting his scattered equipment. He didn't have his bow, because he had not expected to hunt, but he did have his knife and axe. "Not when someone else moves you."
"Yes," she agreed. "I realize that now. It hurts only with my own motion."
"Ah, then," Sam said. "I have had that. Once when I fell and banged my back. A bruise—something inside makes it hurt. It is bad for a few days, then it passes, and is as if it never was. When you were thrown on the ground—"
"Yes," she said. "That must be it. I felt no shock at the time, but I landed hard. So it won't last." She was visibly relieved.
Sam helped her turn back onto her back and put her skirt back on, concealing his masculine reaction to the sight of her inner thighs and buttocks as he lifted her legs for her. In everything but the face she was a most compelling woman. That, too, kept coming back to him.
"You can't walk?" Otzi asked, his hope fading.
"Oh, Father, I would if I could," she said. "But the pain is so bad—it just shoots through me the moment I try."
"The raiders—" he said. "I hear them coming. We must go."
"You must go now," she agreed. "Leave me here." She glanced significantly down the path. "But lend me your knife first." She meant to kill herself before the raiders reached her.
"I can't do that!"
"I—maybe I can help," Sam said. "I think I could carry her to that cave we shared. It's not far. Then she could rest until she can walk, while we forage for her."
"But you have your own journey to make," Otzi protested. "And the weather is threatening. You have been delayed too long already. You don't want to get caught here."
"I have nothing to take back," Sam said. "My cloths, and the knives I was to trade for, are in the village. I have no supplies for the journey." He bent to take hold of Snow.
Otzi nodded. "There are supplies in the cave. Take them, and welcome."
Sam stood, holding the girl in his arms. "But you will need them yourself!"
"No. I have other business." He stepped out along the path, going toward the village.
"Father!" Snow protested.
"The raiders are almost here," Otzi said. "You can't escape them, carrying her. I will decoy them. Carry her to the cave, and I will see that they never find you."
"Father!" Snow cried again, despairingly. "You are injured!"
"So I can't fight them," Otzi agreed. "Not without my bow. I'll make a new one. Until then, I'll lead them astray. They won't catch me; I know the terrain as they don't."
Sam nodded. "Come find us when it is safe."
"I shall. Now go!"
Without further word, or protest from Snow, Sam started walking up the slope toward the region of the cave.
He heard Otzi hoot. It wasn't for them; it was for the raiders, whose heavy tread Sam could now hear. There was the sound of running. They had spied Otzi, who had of course shown himself to them. The decoy was being pursued. "He's walking slow," Snow murmured. "He was hurt too. Worse than he wants to show."
"But he can avoid them," Sam said, hoping it was so.
"Yes. It will just be more difficult."
Sam carried her at as swift a pace as he could manage without making undue noise. The girl was light in his arms at first, but became heavier as time passed. He could walk at only half the speed he had when unencumbered. When the stress on his arms started to become painful, he knew that caution was better than valor. "I am tiring. I must set you down for a time, to rest."
"Yes, of course. You are amazingly strong."
Sam found himself blushing. He squatted, and set her carefully on the ground. He was able to put her against the trunk of a tree so that she could sit up comfortably. Then he turned away, stretching and flexing his arms, getting them limber again. There was no sound from the direction of the village; Otzi must be causing the raiders to save their breath for the pursuit.
"I must clean your cloth and return it to you," Snow said. "My nose has stopped."
"At the cave," he said.
She smiled, fleetingly. The effort was pitiful, considering her ruined face, but he appreciated it. She was still hurting, physically and mentally, he knew, but she didn't complain at all.
That was all. When his muscles had recovered, Sam picked her up again and carried her onward. At her suggestion, he detoured enough to splash through a mountain stream. They both drank deeply of its chill water, then he splashed some distance up it, so that the raiders' dogs would lose any scent.
"The dogs," he said. "If they send them after your father—"
"He will club them off the mountain," she said confidently. "He can handle wolves with just his staff; dogs are easier. After they lose a few dogs, they'll stop."
The cave turned out to be farther than he had thought. Snow did not weigh a great deal more than his load of cloths had, but she wasn't balanced on his back, and so distances seemed to be twice what they had been. It was evening by the time they reached it, and he needed Snow's help to find it, because it was more cunningly hidden than he remembered. That was good, because the raiders had little chance of locating it.
Sam did not dare start a fire, for the smoke would give them away. But the cave was protected from the wind, and he gathered leaves and straw to make a comfortable bed for Snow. He helped her wipe her face again; her nose was swollen and sore, but that was part of the healing process. Then he had to carry her out so she could urinate—another bemusing experience for him, because she needed to be held upright so she would not soil herself. She was surely embarrassed by the procedure, but did not show it. His respect for her nature grew.
Then, as they chewed on the dried meat stored in the cave, they talked in a way they had not in the village. Sam told her of his family, with one sister his age, one Snow's age, and one younger.
"And what of your wife?" she inquired alertly.
"She is a beautiful woman."
"Doesn't it bother her to have you away so long?"
"No."
She wisely changed the subject. In due course she slept. He made sure she was well covered, then curled up beside her to sleep himself. It had been a most wearing day.
On the following day Snow began to walk, gritting her teeth against the shooting pains, because now she knew there was no actual injury there. Sam held her up so she could not fall, his hands on her waist so she could use her hands to hold a staff to help brace her. That worked reasonably well, though her jerkiness as the pain took her caused her body to shift under his hands embarrassingly. "I'm glad you're my brother," she murmured.
When she rested, he traveled to the stream to fetch water for her, and to look for any traces of the enemy. There were none; Otzi was evidently doing an excellent job of leading them astray.
In three days the pains were fading, and Snow declared herself ready to travel. She still winced as she walked, but it was clear that she could handle it. However, they had nowhere to go, because they did not dare approach the village until they were sure the raiders were gone, and they didn't know where Otzi was. So they waited, eating the last of the meat, and foraging for tubers.
On the fourth evening Snow broached an awkward subject. "You have been kind to me, Sam, and I would repay you in some way, now that the pain is fading." She lifted the hem of her skirt. "I can cover my face so that my ugliness does not disgust you, and—"
"I'm married," Sam reminded her quickly.
"Yes, of course. But there would be no need to tell your wife."
"I made you an oath of brotherhood."
"And you have more than honored it. I release you from it. It is not as if I have any virtue to preserve."
"For you, it can be so," Sam said cautiously. "Only your father and I know what happened, and neither of us would tell. No one need know—"
"I know."
That ended that aspect. She was firm on that subject. Her bitter honesty might cost her a marriage, but she would not cheat. "Yet I also know I am married," Sam said.
She nodded. "I thought you would say that. You are true to your wife, though I think she is not true to you. It makes you a good man."
Sam stared at her. "She—how could you know such a thing?"
She made a bitter laugh. "I know the nature of lovely women, having so longed to be one. She finds you dull. She is a fool."
Sam did not know what to say. He suspected she was right. But what could he do?
After a time he responded to another aspect. "You are not an ugly woman. Wona is."
She laughed. "Thank you, Sam. I understand what you mean."
That made Sam think of something. "I have two daggers. Not as nice as the ones I was to trade for, but good enough. You must take one, until your father comes here. So that if we should be surprised—"
"What have I left to defend?"
This provoked him into a statement he hadn't intended to make. "Your life! You are still a nice young woman, with a very nice body."
"Oh, now you are interested in my body?"
"I was always interested in—" He caught himself. "No! I'm married. But if I weren't—"
She was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry. I am bitter, but I know it's no fault of yours. With my face, all I had to offer a husband was my maidenhood, and now—"
"No!" But of course she was right. So he amplified his thought. "My sister was raped, and I could not help her, any more than I could help you. I could not even avenge her against the man. It has been my shame. But her life continues."
"Your sister? You didn't say. Which one?"
"Flo. The eldest. She had a baby, and had to leave it in the forest. I think that hurt her more than the rape did. If I had only been grown, then, as I am now—"
"You would have thrown that man hard against a tree."
"Yes. After that, I might have treated him unkindly."
She had to smile. "At least you did that for me, and I thank you. He just rose up off me and flew through the air! But your sister—what of her, after that?"
"She married when I did. A man who had been injured, so could hardly walk. But when he recovered, he was a good hunter, and a good man. They made her take him, so that I could have Wona. She had a better bargain than I did." He hadn't meant to say that, but it came out.
"So Flo is happy now, and you are not?"
"Yes." Then he paused, surprised to hear himself say it.
So he had to try to explain it. "I was cursed to love an ugly woman. So I tried to break the curse by marrying a beautiful one. But it's only her body that's beautiful; her spirit is ugly. So I did not escape the curse."
"Didn't you say you had a daughter?"
"Yes. Wilda is three. But Wona has no interest in her. She wanted a son. So Flo takes care of Wilda and Flint, and Wilda thinks of Flo as her mother. So Flo has a full life, despite what happened to her. You should be able to have one too."
"I wonder."
"I have your amber necklace. Will you wear it again?" He reached over his shoulder, into his pack, and pulled it out. "It can be repaired."
Snow began to cry, as they sat in the cave. But finally she took the necklace, tied its broken ends together, and put it on over her head. Then she settled down for sleep.
Sam was greatly relieved. Snow had accepted the notion that her life, like the necklace, might not be beyond repair.
The next day it snowed. They remained inside the cave, huddling together for warmth. Sam found himself wishing that he had not turned down her offer of sex, yet knew that it remained open, and said nothing. The meat was running out, and so had the tubers, so it seemed best to save their energy, he told himself.
The snow made their tracks visible, and that was dangerous. But it also made animal tracks visible, and that helped. Sam tracked a rabbit and caught it with a stone, and they had food again. This time they risked a small fire, trusting that the smoke would not be visible in the night.
"My father should come soon," Snow said.
"He is making sure he doesn't lead the raiders to you."
"Yes. But they won't stay in our village forever. After they finish feasting and raping and killing all the women and girls, they'll pack up and go home. Then my father will come."
"Yes." They didn't speak directly of the utter disaster that had wiped out the village. They kept the focus narrow, as if this were merely an inconvenience. It was the only way to stop the tragedy from overwhelming them.
The snowfall didn't last; it was too early yet. But was a warning of the coming winter. The cave would not do for that; they would need to find a regular house for Snow, and Sam would have to travel back across the mountains to home before the pass became impassable.
When half a moon had passed, they got bolder. They explored more widely, looking for signs of human presence. There was a column of smoke in the direction of the village, which meant the raiders weren't yet gone. No raiders seemed to be out ranging the land, however. "They must be getting careless," Snow remarked. "They are sleeping off their indulgences, resting for the journey."
"Yes. But we dare not approach too closely."
"Yes."
"Soon they will be gone, and my father will return. He is staying clear to be sure the raiders have no notion where we are."
"Yes." But that rationale was wearing thin.
Otzi staggered through the pass as night came. He was dead tired, but he hadn't dared rest. He had seen two more raiders with dogs, and he knew that if the animals got any whiff of him in his present state, it would be the end. He would have gone to the cave long ago, if it hadn't been for those dogs, because the animals could follow his trail to it even days later. So he protected his daughter by staying well away from her. Soon the raiders would be gone, and then he could check on Snow and Sam. Until then, he had to keep moving through the most difficult reaches of the peak pastures.
He moved out of the pass to a high gully that would shelter him from the cutting wind. It was getting cold again, and he was inadequately dressed for it. But he had handled bad times before. One, two, perhaps three more nights up here; then it would be safe to check on the village, and if that was clear, he could go to the cave to fetch the others.
He leaned his bow against the face of a rock abutment and sat down on the ground. The bow was unfinished; he had been working on it the past ten days while he avoided the Green Feather raiders. If only he had had his regular bow with him when the raiders struck! Then Snow would never have been raped; the two raiders would have fallen before they completed their ambush. He had been stupid ever to let his guard down, even when working around the village, and it had cost him and his daughter horribly. The only saving grace was the visitor Sam. Sam was a decent man who would take care of Snow, even if he wasn't looking for a wife.
He brought out his last scrap of dried meat and slowly chewed it. He had stretched it out as long as possible, but now he had to eat or starve. Tomorrow he would see about netting a bird; that would be better. Tomorrow maybe the raiders would be gone. Tomorrow maybe he would see his daughter again. Tomorrow would be better.
He finished the meat and tossed aside the remnant of gristle. It was dark; time to sleep. He arranged his cloak and lay down on the side that didn't hurt. The air was fiercely chill, but he could handle it. He was so fatigued that he sank immediately into a halfway pleasant daze, and then into sleep. He didn't even notice that his ear was folded over against the ground. Tomorrow...
There was another snowfall, heavier than before. Sam knew it would be heaviest on the peaks. If Otzi was still up there, he would have a difficult time.
But after several more days, the smoke died out, and they ventured to the village. It was in ashes; the raiders had burned down every house before departing.
Snow stared. Sam knew she had insulated herself from this reality, but now she had to accept it. There was nothing to return to.
"Father," she said plaintively. "He should be here. He would have seen the smoke."
Sam wanted to argue, but couldn't. She was obviously right. Otzi must have been caught by the storm. That meant he was dead.
"Oh, my father!" Snow cried. "I thought I had lost everything, but it was nothing! I should never have let him go alone."
"We could go back to the pass and look for him," Sam suggested weakly. "He was going to stay in the peaks until—"
"There is nothing there I want to find. I don't want to see my father dead." She looked at him, her eyes abruptly blazing. "Cut my hair!"
The sign of mourning. For marriage it was stylishly cut, but for mourning it was hacked off. She had not mourned for the folk of the village, insulating herself from what had happened there, but the loss of her father was too real. Sam understood, but was loath to oblige. "Maybe he crossed the mountains, leading the raiders far afield—he will return later—"
"Cut my hair."
So, reluctantly, he brought out his dagger he had forgotten to give her to carry, and used it to cut off her beautiful snow-blond tresses. She became a wretched creature of grief, with no remaining asset above the neck.
She took the silken hanks of hair and hung them up on the edge of a stone outcropping. Then she screamed out her misery, beating her little hands against the rock until they were bruised and bleeding. She scooped up dirt and ashes and rubbed them across her face and remaining hair. Sam turned away, unable to watch or interfere. He listened as her grief wore itself out, or at least her voice did, sinking at last to faint sobbing.
As darkness closed, she recovered awareness of their situation and joined him, a miserable creature in appearance and attitude. Her copious tears had turned some of the dirt on her face to mud. "What am I to do?" she asked plaintively.
Sam had been thinking about that. It was obvious that she could not remain here. Snow was in no condition, physically or emotionally, to even make the attempt to survive alone.
"I will take you home with me," he said. "You can do well with my family. My sisters will accept you."
"But you are married."
"But my brother Ned isn't. He is very intelligent, and he doesn't judge people by appearances. I think you would like him, and he would like you."
"But I have no value."
"He wouldn't care about that. I don't; none of us do. Because of Flo. We know it is character that defines a person, and you are a nice and competent woman."
"Then I will go with you," she said, as if it were a simple decision. Perhaps it was, considering the low esteem in which she now held herself. "In the morning."
They foraged amidst the ashes for scant materials, and found some stones and bits of half-burned wood to fashion a temporary shelter of sorts. They lay down together, as brother and sister.
As he drifted to sleep, he felt her sobbing quietly again. The first fury of her grief was ebbing, but it was far from spent. There was nothing he could do about it. Her grief was real, and had to be expressed.
Tomorrow they would set off for his home. Sam hoped Ned would like Snow. Yet that thought was tempered by the realization that Sam liked her himself. It was true that her face was not beautiful, and her smashed nose and shorn hair hardly improved it. But she was a brave, honest, and feeling girl who would never treat a man the way Wona did. In fact, Snow was an ugly woman Sam realized he could love. If only he weren't married. But he was married, and there his speculation ended.
What happened to Otzi? As it happens, we know that with considerably more authority than we know about his life or family. He was injured in the rib-cage, and deadly tired, and so hungry that his body was metabolizing its own substance, and the climb to the pass was wearying. As evening came, he decided to rest, hoping to restore himself before going on. He lay down on the ground and sank into a deep sleep. Too deep; he was chilled, and his state became more like a coma. He was in the lethargy of hypothermia. And so he just kept sinking, as the night came on and chilled his body further. The snowstorm came and buried him, and he never roused. He was frozen where he lay.
The snow did not melt with spring. It became part of a glacier. It tried to carry his body down the slope, but he got hung up in a gully and remained. For five thousand years. Until the year 1991, when the snow finally melted in that region, and his body was exposed. This discovery made quite an impression on the modern world. He is now known as the Ice Man.
Circa 430 B.C.E. Greece was one of the centers of advancing civilization. The polis or city-state was the essential political, economic, and social unit. Most were not large, by later standards; populations of 5,000 to 50,000 might have been typical. Athens, with 250,000, was a giant, and thus one of the dominant cities of the region. Its main rival was Sparta, about a hundred miles distant by air, but considerably farther by foot. Most cities were oligarchies, with about 10 percent of their populations having power; Sparta was a monarchy. Athens was unusual, in that it was a democracy—that is, run by male citizens, not women, slaves, or foreigners (there are, after all, limits); each year 500 citizens over age thirty were chosen by lot to govern it. However, the principal power was wielded by a board of ten generals who were elected for one-year terms. Popular generals could be re-elected, so some became quite powerful. An example was the statesman Perikles, who was in power at this time, having been in office for twenty-eight years. He was a clear thinker and a great orator, able to use both reason and emotion to guide his followers. He was one of the factors in the greatness of the city.
But this was now threatened. Athens and Sparta went to war in 431 B.C., and because of their networks of alliances, this meant that most of Greece was involved. Athens was matchless on the sea, while Sparta dominated on land. Sparta marched her army into Attica, which was the home territory of Athens, and ravaged the countryside. The Athenians, outnumbered two to one, had to retreat. The population of Attica poured into Athens, hiding safely within its walls while the Spartan forces ranged outside. But Athens was not in much trouble, because her fleet of ships kept her supplied from elsewhere. Her fleet also launched naval raids against Sparta and her allies. Thus Athens more than held her own despite being under siege, and Sparta had to withdraw. It was a standoff. But the war was far from over; it was merely in remission for a few months. These were surely not great months for the residents who returned to their devastated farms and dwellings.
One family lived on the large long island of Euboea, to the east of the Greek mainland. They were in the hinterlands, and had not had to flee to the city walls, but they, too, had surely felt the ravages of the war. The island had been strategically significant during the Persian wars, being a staging area for the Greek defense, and was widely regarded as Athens's most important possession. It was a vital region for grain, being better than Attica for farming. When the war broke out, the people of Attica sent their cattle and sheep to Euboea for safety. Yet the association was not entirely easy; there had been a rebellion before the war, and would be another during it. So though there was no enemy invasion of the island that we know of, it was under stress. This family's resources had been severely depleted by the required "voluntary" support for Athens; and its fields had been overrun by poorly tended cattle belonging to others. The neighbors were in similar straits. They had to take strenuous measures to ensure their survival.
JES BROUGHT IN A BUNDLE of wheat stalks she had scavenged from the leavings of the rogue cattle and dumped it down before Flo. "What they didn't eat, they trampled on," she said, disgusted.
"That's the point," Flo said, shrugging. "To starve us out." She squinted at the bundle. "This is good enough; we'll thresh it and get enough."
Lin agreed, opening the bundle. She picked up her makeshift stalk beater.
"We need more." Jes turned to go back to the small coastal pocket of arable land that was their farm. Damn these cattle! She and the men would have driven them off, but the animals had been unstoppable, and they were not allowed to kill them. Three men, a boy, and a woman were not enough; they would have been trampled too. So they had had to hide like cowards, and let the creatures do what they wished. That meant the destruction of their gardens, severe damage to their house, and trampling of their crops. But it was not as bad as an enemy raid would have been; their men had not been killed, their women had not been raped, and their children had not been enslaved. They had been able to come out the moment the cattle left, thus saving some of their things. On the whole, they were well off, compared to those in Attica who had fled to the nearest walled settlements.
"Stay," Flo said, looking around. "We have something to do, while Sam is away fetching supplies."
Jes had heard that tone before. "Wona?" she asked.
"Yes. You know the problem?"
Jes glanced at Lin, who at twelve was becoming a lovely young woman. Except for those fingers. "Maybe."
Lin looked up. "She's seducing Ned."
So they did know. "Ned told me, and I didn't like it, but I kept his secret," Jes said. "We're close. He keeps my secrets too."
"I have no quarrel with that," Flo said. "Trust must not be broken. But I suspected, so I had Lin spy on them to verify it. I think you will break no trust if you tell us the rest of it now. We need full information before we act—and we must act."
"Now, while we can," Lin said. "While Sam is north, and Ned is buying wool in Geraestus." That was the city on the extreme southern tip of Euboea, their closest metropolis. They were country folk, but they did need supplies, and a market for their weaving.
Jes felt a load leave her. "She wants to bear his child, because he's smarter than Sam. She came on to him, and he—he was inexperienced, and didn't know how to stop her. She—he said she had overwhelming sexual appeal. It was like a conquering army, and he was vanquished before he ever tried to fight." She paused, ruefully wishing she herself had appeal like that. Ned had told her about it in excruciating detail, and she was ashamed to admit even to herself that it had driven her into a private sexual ecstasy of desire and frustration. "Then when they had done it—really, when he had stood still and she had done it to him—she told him that if he told, she would tell Sam he had raped her, and that Sam would believe her. He knew Sam would. Sam—" She shrugged, and both Flo and Lin nodded. Sam was a good man and a good brother, but what he didn't know about women would fill a long scroll. "Ned wants to get out of it, but doesn't know how."
Flo nodded. "That's what I thought. Ned is our smartest member, but a woman with a figure and a will can make a fool of any man when she sets her mind to it. Ned can't free himself. Neither can Sam, if he even suspects. That's why we'll have to do it for them."
"She won't go without reason," Lin said, glancing across to where Wona sat watching the children. The children didn't really need watching, but Wona never volunteered for any hard work, and this was easy work.
"I don't like killing," Jes said. "Not when it's someone I know." Actually, she had never killed a human being. But she had been ready to, once when she and Ned had been caught away from home by men intent on rape and murder. She had distracted them, and Ned had stabbed them, and she felt responsible. Jes had no affection for Wona, but she did know her personally, and that made the difference.
"Neither do we," Flo said. "So we'll have to make a deal with her. I have thought this out. If we can get her a better man, by her definition—one who can put her in idle luxury—she'll desert Sam. Sam may be unhappy for a while, but he'll be better off, and he'll be able to find another woman."
Jes nodded. "With those muscles, he can get a woman. But who would take Wona? Anyone who knows her would know better. Sure, any man would make a wench of her, for a night or a fortnight, but wouldn't many her."
"So we have to go farther afield," Flo said. "In the big city there should be men who judge by nothing but appearance. That is the one thing she's got. We've all seen how the men stare at her."
"And how she encourages it," Jes added. "It's amazing how her robe falls open when she's near a handsome or powerful man." Jes was again privately jealous of that ability, but would never say so.
"Big city?" Lin asked. "Do you mean Geraestus?"
"No; that's far too close. We don't want her ever coming back. Athens."
"But that's seven days' trek from here," Jes protested.
Flo shook her head. "Three days, if you row across the bay. You can do it; you row every day."
Jes nodded. "I like to row. Yes—and that would avoid Sam, if he is returning."
"That was also my thought."
"So I should take her, and find her a richer man," Jes said. "So she is gone when Sam returns."
Flo and Lin nodded.
"What of her child?"
"Wilda can remain with us. Wona's not much of a mother to her anyway. She wanted a boy."
True. Wona would be glad to be free of her daughter. "But it is not safe for two women traveling out of their territory."
"A woman and a man to guard her," Flo said.
"Her brother," Lin added.
Jes pondered. "I don't like it, but I agree it must be done. Can you talk her into it?"
"Yes," Flo said grimly. "I will give her harsh alternatives."
"I have no stomach for that," Jes said.
"You are too manlike," Flo said, smiling. "You can't bear to hurt a woman."
"A beautiful woman," Lin added teasingly.
"But you keep your word, once given, like a man," Flo said. "She knows that."
They had thought it out. "Then tell her I will conduct her to Athens, and not leave her until she is satisfied with a new man."
Flo and Lin got up without further word and walked across to talk with Wona. Jes picked up the flail and began beating the wheat stalks. But as she worked, she watched, covertly. She saw Flo talking to Wona, gesturing forcefully. She saw Wona's amazement, her defiance, then her capitulation. Jes knew that Flo had threatened to kill Wona if she didn't go—and Flo did have the stomach to do what she had to. So she had offered Wona a less harsh alternative, and Wona had had no choice but to accept it.
Wona got up and went to her daughter Wilda, a child of three. She was saying farewell, and the child hardly seemed to notice. Wilda cared about Sam, who played with her, and Flo, who nursed her; to the child, Wona was just another person in the family.
Then Wona came across to Jes, while the other two remained with the children. She looked grim, and there were tears on her face. So the separation was not entirely easy for her. Jes disliked her less, for that.
"You will guide me safely to Athens?"
"Yes."
"And neither harm me nor allow me to come to harm?"
"As best I can."
"And not leave me until I say it is all right?"
That was harder. "Until you have a satisfactory man."
"No. Until I say it is all right. I want a man satisfactory to me, not to you."
She had a point. She feared that Jes would declare a man to be suitable, just to be rid of her. "Agreed."
"Swear it."
"I swear it."
Wona looked at her cannily. "You will travel as a man?"
"Yes."
"Then make an oath of brotherhood to me."
"I'm not going to be a man to you!" Jes said, embarrassed. She liked to emulate the ways of a man, but she was always a woman beneath.
"But others won't know that."
Jes considered. A non-family man might indeed seek to make sexual use of a woman he guarded, while he had the opportunity. A brother would not; he would be seeking her best interests, and other men would appreciate that. "I swear to be your brother, for this mission," Jes said reluctantly.
Wona smiled. "I trust you, Jes. Others may twist their logic, seeking ways around their oaths. You don't. You hold to your given word without equivocation."
"Yes."
"Then I will travel with you now."
"Now?"
"Flo wants me out of here now."
Jes looked across to Flo. They were too far apart for Flo to have heard, but the woman nodded. Jes realized that she didn't want to give Ned any chance to reappear either. This had to be clean, involving no man. So it had to be now, while Sam was on a distant mission, and Dirk and Bry were out foraging for rebuilding materials. All the men must be innocent of this deed, though they would surely suspect its nature.
"Then get your things," Jes said. "I will get mine."
They went to the half-repaired house and packed their bags. Then they set off together, saying farewell to no one else.
They walked to the shore. They lived near the southern tip of Euboea, and so were part of the Delian League. The stately trieres of Athens, the ships with three banks of oars, protected them from any direct attack by the Spartans, who were not strong on water. It wasn't enough, however; that was why Sam had gone far afield to trade for vital supplies, and why Wona had become too much of a burden to support any longer. Wona was mischief, certainly, and had to be dealt with; but even if she had not cheated on Sam, she would still have been a liability, because she didn't pull her weight.
Jes's small rowboat was one of the things they had that was especially useful. She employed it to get around the long coast, trading supplies (in better times) with neighbors for many leagues around. Jes liked to row; the boat was so smooth, and carried so much, compared to portage across land. She could, and often did, keep it up for many hours at a time, pretending she was an oarsman on a trieres. There was a special joy in sustained moderate exercise that made her forget for a while her general dissatisfaction with life.
They got in. Wona made no pretense of helping; even had she been of such a mind, her thin arms would not have been able to do much. So she sat in the bow, watching ahead, while Jes faced back and took the oars. She hardly needed to see where she was going; she was well familiar with this shore.
They crossed to a small island Jes knew, and another island, heading west as darkness came. Then, at the western shore of the island, they camped. Jes had used this site before, and had no hesitation. She dug out blankets from the cache she kept here, then threw out a line to fish. Then she made a small fire and cooked the fish, sharing it with Wona. There was no point trying to make the woman do anything constructive, and Jes did not bother. Neither did she attempt to engage in conversation; Wona had nothing worthwhile to offer there, either.
They slept, without event, though Jes remained alert for sounds, just in case. It was part of her manly training, never to be caught off-guard, even during slumber.
In the morning she rearranged her homespun cloak, tying it in the masculine way. From here on, she would play the part of a man. Fortunately the clothing of men and women did not differ much; both wore loose-fitting garments that hung from the shoulder. Either a cloak called a peplos, or a sewn tunic called a chiton, made of homespun wool. The wealthy might don a cool linen chiton during the warm months, and have underclothing to alleviate the roughness of the wool. So about all Jes had to do, to change genders, was to tie a band of cloth around her chest to flatten her breasts, and arrange her short hair in the masculine way. And set her face in the somewhat superior mode men affected, especially in the presence of women.
There was one other thing: She used a peplos that had a special property. She had made it herself, and taken considerable trouble. It was reversible, sewn so that either side could be the exterior. The "male" side was rough gray; the "female" side was dull yellow. No man would wear yellow, unless in a play where he portrayed a woman.
They got in the boat, and set out across the channel. Jes stroked tirelessly, not pushing herself beyond her pace, for the distance was what would have been a day's march on land. Now Wona had to participate, because she knew the likely consequence of a wrong direction: much longer time in the water, and possibly getting caught by a wrong current or wind and being borne entirely out to sea. Neither of them wanted that. They were hardly friends, but they had a common mission to travel safely. Meanwhile, in the long silences, Jes could pretend she was alone, and experience some of the deep relaxation of it. She knew that she could never actually row aboard a trieres, because she lacked the huge tough muscles, but by herself she could dream.
In six hours they made it to the mainland shore. Jes had not pushed herself too hard, but her arms knew they had had a solid workout, and she was glad to give her legs a turn. She hauled the boat to a thicket and concealed it carefully. Normally coastal residents respected private property, but after the devastation of the raiders that might have been here, it wasn't safe to make assumptions.
Then Jes slung her bow over her shoulder, made sure of her knife, and was ready to travel. Wona, of course, was rested.
They set out on the hike westward. They were now on mainland Attica, the home territory of Athens. Jes had been here before, when trading on rare occasions with coastal folk, so knew there was a road not far inland. They walked until they encountered this, then Jes turned south.
"But isn't Athens west?" Wona asked.
"It is, as the crow flies. But it will be much easier to follow the road, because it follows the contour and is clear, as well as leading past sanctuaries and settlements. It will curve west soon enough. All roads in Attica go to Athens, ultimately."
"Oh."
They followed the road south, and sure enough, within the hour it curved grandly west, passing a defiled sanctuary and a harbor with wreckage. The raiders had certainly been here.
There was something in the road ahead. It turned out to be a human body. Wona averted her gaze, but Jes kneeled to examine it. It was a man, his blood turning brown on the dirt, his equipment gone. Evidently a farmer or laborer, caught and murdered by the raiders, robbed and left where he had fallen.
"I don't like this," Jes murmured, a coldness going through her gut. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Now she had to steel herself for violence.
"I hate gore," Wona agreed.
Jes grimaced. She wasn't partial to human gore herself, but it happened. They had seen the leavings of occasional quarrels on Euboea. "He hasn't been dead long enough."
"What does it matter? Two days or five days, he'll still stink."
"Precisely. He doesn't stink. This man died within hours."
Wona half turned, nervously. "Hours?"
"There has barely been time for the ants to find him. He was killed this morning."
"But that means—"
"That the raiders are still here," Jes finished grimly. "Probably a rear guard, to see that stragglers are collected, and that no Athenian troops are massing for a counterattack."
Wona was increasingly alarmed. "They are supposed to be gone."
"They are gone from Euboea, if they ever touched it. But this is farther in toward Athens. They must have recalled the outlying parties before withdrawing the main force. That's standard practice. An army needs spies ahead and behind, so it neither walks into an ambush nor allows an ambush to close in its rear. The peripheral troops are probably headed north now, after a final sweep. But we had better be watchful, in case some remain in the vicinity. We are following closer than we thought."
"Yes," Wona agreed, looking rapidly about. "What of this one?"
"We'll leave him. We have to reach a safe place to sleep, by nightfall."
Wona nodded. "How far to—to a safe place?"
"There is a walled settlement within range by nightfall, if we travel well. I haven't been there, but I know of it. From there it should be only another day to Athens."
They resumed their trek, faster than before. Wona had been a slight drag, but now she kept the pace very well. She had good legs, and could walk when she had to.
But with raiders actually in the area, would walking well be enough? Jes knew that they would be foolish to gamble on that. She would have to educate Wona for war.
"You have a knife," Jes said.
"Yes."
"Do you know how to use it?"
"Yes."
"Demonstrate."
Wona fumbled inside her garment, hauling out a tied purse-bag.
"You should have it readier to hand than that," Jes said sternly. "If we encounter raiders intent on mayhem, you must be ready to defend yourself instantly. I can't do it all."
Wona nodded, appreciating the point.
"Now pretend I am a man grabbing for you," Jes said, turning to her. "How do you dispatch me?"
Wona lifted the knife up above her head, pointing down.
"No good! He'll just knock your arm aside and take it from you." Jes demonstrated by blocking, then catching the woman's arm and twisting it slowly until the knife was about to drop. She took it from the flaccid hand and stepped back. "Now suppose I am the woman, and you the man. Come at me."
Wona reached for her. Jes brought the knife up from below her hip, until the point touched Wona's belly. "Fast and hard, there, where he is soft. Twist as it enters. Then step back and let him fall."
The woman seemed about to vomit. "I couldn't—"
"You would rather be beaten, raped, and killed?" Jes asked harshly. "This will not be a nice, gentle man like Sam whom you can twist around your finger. He will likely see you as a fruit to be bitten and thrown away. You may have just one chance to get him, before he gets you. So keep this in mind, and act when you have to."
Wona nodded wanly.
Jes had mercy on her. "Maybe we won't encounter any raiders. We just have to be ready, in case."
But in another hour, as the road bore northwest, they encountered exactly that kind of trouble. An enemy party of five men was marching down the road, toward them. Enemy mercenaries.
"Spartans!" Wona exclaimed.
"No," Jes said tersely. "Persian mercenaries."
"How do you know?"
"The Spartans generally don't use bows. They have bronze helms with red plumes. These men use wicker shields covered in leather, and cloth head wrappings."
"You know a lot about warriors," Wona said, impressed.
The two groups had sighted each other at the same time; it was too late to leave the road and hide. "This is mischief," Jes muttered, bringing her bow down from her shoulders. "Too many to fight, too late to escape."
"But they'll—"
"Kill the man and rape the woman," Jes said. "To start. We don't want that. We'll have to use desperate measures. I'll flee; you open your robe and scream helplessly."
"But your oath—"
"I'm not deserting you!" Jes snapped. "I can take out two with arrows; you can take out one with your knife, as I showed you. Don't let him see it before you use it. It's the other two we have to finesse. You must distract them, just long enough. Trust me, and do your part. Do you understand?"
Cunning showed through Wona's fear. She did have half a notion of the ways of necessity. She nodded. The knife was in her hand, hidden behind a fold of her robe.
"Wait for my signal," Jes said. "Remember: underhand, hard into the gut, and twist." Her heart was pounding, but she had already appraised the opposition. It was a rag-tag bunch, rather than a disciplined group; they might have been drinking pilfered wine while on patrol. Two had bows; three had spears. She had to take out the bowmen first.
She kneeled, nocking an arrow and taking careful aim. She had never before taken aim with intent to kill a human being, but she abated this concern by reminding herself that the enemy would surely do worse to the two of them if it got the chance, just as she had told Wona. Unless she could bluff them off.
The raiders kept coming, shouting battle oaths in their own foreign language. That was another sign of their ragtag status; well disciplined Spartan phalanxes often marched silently into battle, not wasting energy. These brutes had little respect for a party of two, especially when one was a fearful woman and the other had the appearance of a stripling boy. They probably expected the boy to prostrate himself and beg for mercy—which he wouldn't get. Stripling boys were preferred by some men to women, and would be treated similarly. Also, a prime means of acquiring slaves was by capturing them in battle, so they might have a continuing use for a stripling.
When the raiders were close enough to see that the boy had his bow aimed, they paused. Then the two bowmen laughed and unslung their bows. They thought this would be easy.
They were well within range. Jes pictured them in her mind as dangerous animals, and loosed the first arrow. It caught one bowman in the chest, a perfect shot. He went down immediately.
Glorious! Jes realized that her fear had left her. She was now a cold fighting machine, doing what she had to do. She was also relieved that these were not first line troops, because their armor would have turned her arrow.
The second raider got off one arrow before she could properly aim her second. But his missed her. The key to success was to take time to aim, and to have one's mind completely clear. She loosed her second as the man was standing, trying to see the effect of his own arrow. He was criminally stupid, and he paid for it by taking her arrow in his stomach. He wasn't dead, but he would be in time.
The three others, realizing the danger in separation, charged forward. They were stupid, but not cowards. They were lifting their long spears and shields. The only good defense against arrow fire was a shield; only drunkenness and overconfidence explained their vulnerability to her first attack.
"Now!" Jes said, running off the road.
Wona screamed on cue, and her robe fell open to reveal her fine breasts. She fluffed out her long hair, looking extremely feminine. She wasn't good for much, but she was excellent at appearances.
The three charging men exchanged shouts. Then two ran off the road, pursuing Jes, while one continued directly toward Wona. Good; they were separating.
Jes ran, not too fast. The two men gained, sure of their quarry. She glanced back. The third man caught up to Wona, whose breasts were flouncing like her hair. "Now!" Jes screamed again.
Then Jes whirled on the two, bringing her bow about, with its loosely nocked arrow. She aimed as she drew back the string.
Caught by surprise, both men reacted in phenomenally stupid fashion: they came to a sudden halt, staring.
Jes loosed at point-blank range. The arrow transfixed the larger man's chest, and he was done for. She felt another surge of battle glee.
The last man hurled his spear, belatedly. His arm was good, but Jes had anticipated it, and was already moving out of the way and turning sideways to present a narrower target. It missed her, but the man was already almost upon her. There was no time for another arrow.
But she had dropped her bow as she dodged, and was reaching for her knife. She brought it up.
The man paused again, and this time not stupidly. He was, after all, a soldier, accustomed to combat. His own thrusting dagger was in his hand, and it was a monster, far larger than Jes's knife. In fact it was a short sword.
Jes's eyes widened. So did her mouth. Clear dismay gutted her courage. She started to turn to flee.
"Haa!" the man cried, thrusting the sword straight at her. She smelled wine on his breath, and saw the slightly clumsy manner of his attack. He was pretty well inebriated, and that was her great fortune. Her odds would have been much worse against fully prepared troops.
Jes was already dodging back and turning again. The thrust missed to the front as she stepped sideways into him. Her small blade came around and caught him in the throat. "Fool!" she muttered as he went down in blood. He had fallen for one of the elementary ploys: fake fright.
She swept up her bow and turned back toward the road. One figure stood; one lay on the ground. Had Wona been dispatched? Then the figure waved, showing its bare bosom.
Jes ran back to the road. The man lay groaning, the knife still in his chest. Wona was in tears and hysterical. As Jes stepped onto the road, Wona almost leaped at her, flinging her arms around her. "I did it! I did it!" she sobbed. "Just as you showed me. It was awful!"
Jes held her, understanding. She herself had trained for exactly this type of encounter, but she had never killed a man before. Now she had killed four. The sheer need for action had prevented her from realizing its significance, but now that it was done, her battle mindset was fading, and she was shaking.
She realized with surprise that Wona was providing her with comfort she needed. They were comforting each other. She had never anticipated that. She had never been Wona's friend. She still wasn't. But for this instant, they needed each other. The horror of the killing each had done was overwhelming. Now, perhaps, they had a kind of understanding. Because they had both just been blooded.
But it couldn't last, and not just because Jes was no man to hold a woman like this. She pulled back, nerving herself for what else had to be done. "There may be others. We must get away from here."
"Others!" Wona exclaimed, realizing the continuing danger. Her fair bosom heaved. "Yes—we must go. But what of—?" She looked down at the fallen man.
"You're right. We must recover the knife. Help me roll him over." Jes knew that wasn't what Wona meant, but they had to be practical.
They both leaned down to take hold of the raider. Jes glanced across at Wona, noting how her bared breasts hung down in a manner Jes's never would. She could almost appreciate the effect such a sight would have on a man. No wonder this lout had not seen the knife that stabbed him.
As the body rolled over, the knife came into view. Wona had done it right, thrusting hard for the gut and jamming upward. She had scored through the cloth tunic, which fortunately did not cover a metal scale shirt, as it would have in a better appointed warrior. The point had not reached the heart, but had done plenty of damage to the gut. He would die in agony.
She took hold of the hilt and wrenched it out. The man groaned again, and blood welled out of the gash in his belly. Wona turned away, looking ill.
"We shouldn't leave him like this," Jes said, feeling ill herself. "He'll die in hours, horribly."
"What can we do?" Wona asked faintly.
"We should kill him cleanly."
"I can't!"
"I'll do it," Jes said. "It's my job."
She leaned over the man, bringing the gore-stained knife to his throat. His eyes opened, and he gazed at her.
Her hand shook. Her arm became paralyzed. "I can't," she said, echoing Wona. "Not when he's not attacking me."
The man's eyes narrowed. Then, suddenly, his hand came up. It slapped against Wona's knee, making her gasp. It reached up toward Jes.
Jes slashed the blade across his throat, cutting it gapingly open. Bright blood gouted out, soaking his neck. Jes leaped back, horrified at what her triggered battle reflex had made her do. But he was already done for.
Belatedly, she realized that the man had had the courage she lacked. He had acted to make her react, so that he could have a quick death. He was an enemy, a criminal, who had come to grief stupidly, but in the end he had shown a quality to be respected.
"You died bravely," she said, in a kind of benediction. That, oddly, made her feel better. Then, to Wona: "Now we must go."
Wona nodded, not looking. Jes wiped the blade on the ground several times until it was almost clean, then handed it to the other woman. She might need it again.
They left the man there and walked on along the road. After a few steps, Wona took Jes's hand, and Jes did not protest. All they had for the moment to stave off the numbness of the killings was each other.
They passed the other two men, the bowmen. Jes hesitated, then stopped to take one of their bows. "Can you use one of these?"
"No."
"Carry it anyway. And the quiver of arrows. I may need a spare. And we'd better get their knives, too."
They took one knife, but then the other man groaned. Both women stood and hurried away, unspeaking.
They had hardly gotten out of sight of the bodies before there was a sound behind them. Was one of the victims recovering?
"More raiders!" Wona cried, spying the glint of spears. "Three, four!"
They were in for it. They should have hurried away the moment the last man was down, instead of dawdling as they had. This party must have been coming behind them, expecting to rendezvous with the party moving east. "Run!" Jes said. "That walled town can't be far."
They ran, fright giving them energy. They left the new party behind, because the raiders were checking their fallen associates. But Jes knew their respite would be brief.
It was. In moments there was a cry of outrage, and the sound of pursuit.
To Jes's surprise, they kept their lead. Maybe they were fresher than the raiders, who might have been pillaging all day, or maybe desperation accounted for it. Or maybe they were simply more accustomed to running. Jes had always had excellent physical endurance. But Wona—what of her?
As if triggered by that thought, Wona's endurance faded. She was gasping. They had to stop.
"You walk on ahead," Jes told her, slowing to a walk herself. "I'll deal with these." She brought her bow around.
"No, I had better stay with you," Wona gasped. "You can't help me, and you could get caught yourself. Go on, get ahead while you can."
"I'm not being noble," Wona said. "I'm not that kind of person. If something happens to you, I'm helpless, so there's no point in my going ahead."
The woman was giving a sensible, selfish reason. Therefore it was suspect. "Is that true?" Jes asked her.
"No. I—I find I like you, to my surprise, and I want to help. If I can."
Jes felt an astonishing surge of gratitude. Wona was showing support and courage. But Jes covered her reaction with brusqueness, knowing that this was no time to be sentimental. "Then turn with me, and bring about your bow as if you can use it. Maybe we can back them off."
"Yes!"
They stopped and turned together. The men behind were coming rapidly. There were four, and all had bows. If they couldn't be bluffed, this was likely to be the end.
"Imitate my action, but don't loose your arrow," Jes said.
"I can't even draw it back," Wona said. "I will pretend I'm holding the string."
Jes aimed carefully. As the men came to the fringe of bowshot range, they stopped. Evidently they had seen the arrows in the slain men, so knew there was a competent archer here. They were consulting with each other. That was stupid on their part; they should have charged in without hesitation. Some archers were more accurate than others, at the edge of their range, if given time to aim. They were giving her time.
Jes loosed her arrow when she saw their attention was distracted. That prevented them from seeing her shot, so they did not take evasive action. The arrow struck the largest of the four raiders, and he staggered and fell.
Beside her, Wona held up her bow and drew back her arm, slowly. The three remaining men scrambled back out of range.
Jes smiled. "See—they respect you. But there may be more coming up behind them. We had better walk, as long as they let us."
They turned and walked. For a time the men did not pursue, not realizing their advantage. Three against one would surely prevail, but they thought it was three against two—and that the two were expert. Obviously these men were rough and tumble archers, whose accuracy was indifferent.
The sun was declining. They had perhaps another hour of daylight. Then they could either hide in the dark, or gain the protection of the walled settlement. If the raiders gave them time.
The raiders did not. Two of the men gathered themselves and charged forward, spears raised. The third kneeled to take proper aim with his bow, covering them, before joining the chase himself.
"I can take out one more," Jes said, turning. "Then it will be hand to hand. Do your thing." She dreaded this, because she lacked the brute strength of a man. These raiders would not again underestimate the strength of the opposition.
"First I'll fire an arrow," Wona said, making her pretense with the bow.
"As soon as I fire, throw yourself to the side," Jes said. She aimed more rapidly than she liked, and loosed her arrow. "Now!"
They hurled themselves to either side of the road. Just in time, for the arrow thudded into the ground behind them. Jes wasn't sure whether it would have struck either of them, but it certainly was possible.
One raider stumbled. She had gotten him on the leg. Well, that was better than nothing; she could readily have missed.
The other two paused to help their companion. That was their mistake, because they weren't following up their opportunity to get to close quarters. Praise the gods for the errors these brutes kept making!
"Stand and aim!" Jes cried.
She and Wona took the road again and presented their bows. The raiders retreated, dragging their comrade. They thought the odds were now even, and they had no stomach for that. What a stroke of luck!
"Now we can walk again," Jes said. "They have given up."
"Thank Zeus!"
"Better to thank Artemis, the huntress. She protects archers—and maidens." She made a sarcastic gesture at Wona.
They walked swiftly away. "I must learn to use a bow," Wona said.
"It takes muscle, and years."
"You showed me how to use the knife, and it saved my life. What other weapon can I learn?"
Jes considered. "Maybe the light club. A fast stroke can set a man back, even knock him out. If he has a knife, you can hit his knife hand before he can stab you. It's less deadly than a knife, but more versatile when there is more than one enemy. It won't get stuck in someone's gut."
"The light club," Wona agreed.
As evening came, they spied the wall of the settlement. They had made it!
But as they approached, men appeared above the ramparts. They had bows aimed.
"They think we're raiders!" Jes cried in dismay.
"But we wear Delian apparel."
"We could have stolen it from people we killed. Not that Delian differs much from any other everyday clothing in Greece. But they can see we're not armored or fully armed. They're being ornery."
"Then now must be the time to do my thing." Wona stood up straight and opened her robe as she flounced out her hair.
There was a pause. Then a hand beckoned. They walked forward, though several bows remained trained on them. They stopped before the main gate, which remained closed.
"Who are you?" a man, evidently an officer, called from above, while the bowmen stared avidly at Wona's open bosom.
"Wona from Euboea, traveling with my brother Jes," Wona answered. "We have encountered raiders, and seek safety for the night."
"I don't think so," the man replied. "Go your way."
"But the raiders are behind us!" Wona cried.
"Exactly. They can't force the gate, so they want to get an infiltrator inside to do it for them, at night. It's an old Spartan trick. We are not deceived."
"But we're Delians! We had to kill raiders to get here."
"Of course," the man said, with rich irony. "Like the Gorgon, you stunned them to death with your aspect." The bowmen laughed uproariously.
Furious, Wona closed her robe. There was a murmur of dismay from the wall.
"Now go," the officer said. "In deference to your beauty, we are letting you and your brother depart alive. But don't test our patience; we are already on edge because of being besieged. My men will kill you if I give the order. That would be a shame."
"But the siege is over!" Jes protested.
"So you say." He lifted his hand as if to signal the archers.
"It's no good," Jes murmured. "They think we're spies."
"Then we must go." Wona opened her robe to give them one more flash, then closed it and turned away.
Jes smiled. Wona had just made the defenders regret their decision. How could they know what might have been, had she been admitted? The town could have admitted two stragglers without serious risk, but evidently the officer was a martinet more interested in asserting his authority than in anyone's convenience. Now their situation was bleak. Had the raiders known they would be suspected? So there was no hurry to catch them?
"We'll have to hide in the hills, in the darkness," Jes said. "At least we have the night."
"At least," Wona agreed bitterly.
They made their way south, where they found a burial ground. "This is good," Jes decided. "They won't bother us here."
"But there are evil spirits!"
"No, there are honest Delian spirits," Jes said firmly. "They will protect us, not harm us."
Wona seemed doubtful, but she was even more tired than Jes, so acquiesced. "I hope so."
They ate the last of their food, attended to natural functions, and lay down among the burial markers to sleep. But though they were weary, sleep did not come immediately. Too much had happened, of too much significance. When Jes closed her eyes, she saw the bodies of the men she had killed. How many had there been? Seven, she thought. It was sickening.
"Why do you hate me?" Wona asked.
This was a ploy to make her deny it. So she resisted. "You don't work enough, you made a fool of Sam, and another of Ned."
"It is true. It is my nature. I envy you yours."
Jes was startled. "Me?"
"You are strong and honest and courageous."
"You value these things?"
"I value what I lack, yes."
"You, with the body to make men stare?"
"Do you envy me that?"
Jes had been brutally direct before. Now she had to be again. "Yes."
Wona laughed. "I would trade with you."
Jes snorted, not believing it. But as she drifted at last to sleep, she wondered.
She dreamed of bodies and blood and horror. The killing she had done might have been justified, but it was as if she had been raped. Whatever innocence she had had was forever gone. Her tears of remorse wet her face. The gore she had made was now part of her soul, a well of horror she could not escape.
Once she heard sobbing. For a moment she was afraid it was her own, but it turned out to be Wona's. Jes reached out and found the woman's hand, squeezing it in silent support. That sufficed.
In the morning they cleaned up as well as they could, and made their way west cross-country. It was slow and uncomfortable, but had some advantages: the raiders weren't prowling here, and there was some foraging to be done. They found a little overlooked grain in a battered shed, and there was some fresh water in a buried well, and a few usable arrows scattered around abandoned farmsteads. Some grapes had ripened, in the absence of people to pick them. Those helped a lot. The inhabitants were still sealed inside the walled settlements, and wouldn't come out until the last raiders were gone.
Jes found in the tangle of a wreckage a stout stick of suitable length. "This will do for a club," she said, whacking it solidly against a tree. "Take it."
Wona took it, holding it awkwardly. "If I tried to use this, I would bash myself in the leg," she said ruefully.
"Any weapon takes time and practice to master. Strike it against tree trunks and rocks as we pass. You will get the feel of it."
The woman nodded uncertainly. "I'll try."
"We may be as well off here as in the settlement," Jes remarked as they resumed their westward trek. "At least we have freedom to travel without hindrance."
"And freedom to sleep in peace," Wona said.
"We would have had that in the settlement."
"You would have that, there," Wona retorted. "What did you think would have been the price of our admission?"
The bowmen would have wanted to use her body, Jes realized. "I thought you liked it."
"The way you like slaying men."
A telling thrust! "I do that only when I have to."
"Exactly."
"But you so readily show your body to men," Jes said. "Why, if you don't want them to have it?"
"Why do you keep your bow and knife ready for immediate use, if you don't want to use them?"
Jes nodded. "I do what I hate, because the alternative would be worse."
"Exactly," Wona repeated. "And you make sure you are good at it, for the same reason. My breasts and thighs are instruments of another kind."
Point made. Except for one thing. "But what of Ned?"
"How else was I to get a smart child?"
Jes was taken aback. "You did that only for the child?"
"Which I didn't get. Why would anyone want to go through all that, with a stripling, if she didn't have to?"
"I would," Jes said defensively. "If any decent man were interested."
Wona turned to her in surprise. "Have you done it with any man?"
"No."
"Then how do you know you would like it?"
That set her back again. "Because—because I'm interested. I want—to do it. To enjoy a man. I know I'd like it."
"This is weird. I've got the body, you have the passion. I could live years without sex, but men will never let me be, so I use it to gain favors I need. You, who actually have desire—"
"Am not desired," Jes finished. She was surprised at herself for telling Wona her secret. She normally spoke with candor, but had not expected any such dialogue with this particular woman.
Wona pondered. "Last night I asked you why you hated me, and you answered. But you also said you envied me my body. I thought you meant so that you could befuddle men and gain ready advantage. But now I think that wasn't it."
"That wasn't it," Jes agreed. "I would like to—to have a man enjoy being with me."
"I think we can make a deal. I have after all something you want."
"A deal?"
"You teach me the use of this club. I will teach you how to make men notice you."
Jes laughed. "With my body? My face? Impossible."
"No more so than teaching me to wield this weapon effectively. We both have weapons; they merely differ in nature."
Maybe she had a point. "If you could teach me that, I—I would be amazed and grateful."
"I can teach you. But you must be able to learn."
"Like you with the club?"
"Yes. I think it is a good analogy."
Jes paused. "It occurs to me that we have no rush to reach Athens, because it may still be under siege. We are finding some food out here, while the people are gone. Is this a good time to exchange skills?"
"I think it is. I want to get to Athens, but I don't want to fight any more men. Neither your way nor mine. We should approach it cautiously."
"Then we are of one mind. Let's find a place to instruct and practice."
They searched out a farmstead that was in better shape than most, and settled in for the time being. They made sure that there was no ready access without discovery—so that no raiders could come on them by surprise. Then they foraged for more food, and excavated a chamber in the collapsed house for their temporary residence. This would do, for a few days. Jes felt slightly guilty about taking what was not theirs, but reminded herself that the laws of hospitality decreed that any man open his house to travelers in need. So they were simply discharging their host's duties for him, since his absence prevented him from doing it himself. Certainly they were not doing any harm to the premises.
By the time they had done all that, the day was over. They made a final check of the premises, and almost as an afterthought set a trap by the main path: a small pit covered over with a thin layer of sod, that would cause an intruder to take a fall and give his presence away. Then, satisfied, they retired to their chamber for the night.
"I am sorry about what I did to your brothers," Wona said. "They deserve better."
Jes didn't answer. She did not want to be friendly with this woman, but neither did she want to antagonize her unnecessarily. That would only interfere with her mission. She was not inclined to forgive what Wona had done. So what was there to say?
"That was why I agreed to leave without a fuss," Wona continued. "It was the cleanest way to end it. Your family will be better off without me."
Again, Jes didn't answer. The woman was speaking truth.
"If I should ever have opportunity to make it up, I will do so. But we both know that this is unlikely. So all I can do is leave my apology with you, and hope that both Sam and Ned will have better times hereafter."
"I hope so too," Jes agreed, glad that she finally could speak without offense.
"And tomorrow you will show me how to use the club, and I will show you how to use your body in a new way."
"Tomorrow," Jes agreed. Then they slept.
The next day they traded expertise, starting with the weapon. Jes showed Wona how to swing it so that it put little stress on her wrist and arm, yet developed formidable clout. She showed her how to block with it, by anticipating the opponent's likely attack and countering it before it really got started. How to gain advantage, by being ready at the moment of the countering, then to strike with precision while the other party was still pursuing his wasted move. "Keep your head, and watch his body and his weapon," she said. "You can prevail using a fraction of his energy, if you are cool. One well placed, well timed blow can finish it almost before it starts; you don't need a lot of muscle." Wona was clumsy, but eager to learn, and she soon got the essence, if not the expertise. Then it was Wona's turn to instruct, and Jes was surprised to discover just how much science there was in Wona's feminine art. When she walked, she didn't just walk, she swung her hips. Jes had thought it was natural to Wona, but in due course she herself was walking similarly. When Wona spoke to a man, she didn't just speak, she murmured with a certain lilt. When she stood still, she didn't just stand, she put her weight on one leg and angled the opposite knee in to half cover it, so that the line of her hip and thigh was accentuated. Her breathing was controlled, so as to make her bosom rise and fall noticeably. Every action was studied, for a single purpose: to make an impression on any nearby man.
"Of course you would have to adapt your clothing," Wona said. "You are small-breasted, so you need to have a halter that lifts and compresses. It can be done, if you wish."
"To what purpose? No matter what I do, I'm not going to impress a man."
"Yes you are," Wona insisted. "Many men like plump, but as many like slender. The way you look at a man can make most of the rest irrelevant."
"Look at?"
"Picture yourself as a man for a moment, and look at me."
Jes did that. Wona met her gaze sidelong with half-lidded eyes, and a trace of a smile. And Jes felt the lure of it. That amazed her, for she had no interest in actually being with any woman. How much stronger that look must be with a genuine man.
She practiced that too, and though it seemed highly artificial, Wona said she was getting it.
So they continued, for the day, alternating instructions. Betweentimes, they foraged, and rested. They saw no other raiders, so concluded that the Spartans had vacated this area. Soon the local citizens would emerge from their walled settlement and reclaim their lands.
"They are Delians, as are we," Jes said. "But I think we had better be gone from here."
"Yes. They don't trust us."
So on the following morning they resumed their travel, but did not hurry. They remained alert for people of either side, and continued their exchange of information. It was clear that Wona would not be a very effective warrior, and that Jes would not be a very effective seductress, but both were making progress. Wona was acquiring the extra twitch of the wrist that made the clubhead swing with extra force just as it connected to the target, and Jes was learning how to use her hair to cover enough of her face to make the rest seem dainty. Both of them were discovering the pleasure of mastering new skills.
"I can almost believe that I could knock out a man, if he didn't take me seriously," Wona remarked with wonder.
"And I might almost seduce a man, if he didn't get too clear a look at me," Jes said with similar wonder.
"Should we look for two men to practice on?"
"No!" Jes replied with sudden alarm. Then they both laughed. Jes realized that it was the first time they had laughed together, at the same thing.
They continued cross-country, crossing over the mountain range rather than following the more convenient road. The trek was considerably rougher, but the foraging was equivalently better. They found a spring, and camped near it another night, then followed its trickle down into the valley, where it became the River Ilissos, leading right to Athens. They knew the city by its massive wall, looming ever higher as they approached.
And there the people were emerging in force. Streams of them were moving outward along several great roads that converged at the city. That meant that the last of the raiders was gone. They had timed it well. Not only that, they were better rested and fed than they would otherwise have been, and had learned things from each other that might or might not benefit them in the future.
But for now they were brother and sister. Brother Jes was here to find a suitable husband for his lovely sister Wona. Great Athens was the place to look.
They rehearsed their roles, and stepped onto a road leading to one of the mighty open gates. The fact that they were going the opposite way from the overwhelming majority might attract attention, but more likely they would be taken for two who had turned back for something forgotten in the city. Attention was something they did not want, at present.
Athens was huge. It dwarfed the walled settlement they had approached before. The great outer wall was three times the height of a man, and the gate was guarded by several armed men. But this time there was no challenge; they were admitted without fuss, when there was a break in the stream of people leaving the city.
Inside, it was reasonably chaotic. It looked as though the majority of the refugees from the raiders had camped just inside the wall. The region stank. The two of them hurried on toward the center of the city.
They passed the Acropolis, which was a rocky citadel on which stood the great monuments of the city. If rose well above the surrounding plain, overlooking everything else. They saw the Temple of Athene, and the Parthenon, built of shining marble, including even the roof. Jes was amazed by its grandeur, and would have liked to walk through it, but Wona was more practical: they had to find a place to stay. She hardly cared about monumental architecture; she preferred creature comfort.
They circled the Acropolis and walked on to the Agora, where there was a structure that did impress Wona: the immense two-storied colonnaded market called the Stoa of Attalus. "I could shop there forever!" she breathed.
"Not without gold," Jes muttered. She was aware of how little of that they had. They would have to find work to sustain them, while searching for a suitable man for Wona to marry. They couldn't forage, here in the city.
Now they made their way to the nearest residential suburb. There were no towering marble buildings here, just close set dwellings that jammed in together so tightly that there was little or no space between them. Some were larger, containing a number of little chambers. These were the rental units for visitors.
For one of their few silver owls they rented a house for half a month. It was a modest brick structure with a courtyard but no windows and no furniture. But it was a base of operations, not far from the market, and that was good. It was dirty, because it had just been vacated that morning, but they knew how to clean it.
Now they went to the market and bought bread and wine. There were many fancy things on sale, and Wona would have liked to buy them all, but Jes knew better. "We have to earn more money before we can eat well. Otherwise we will soon starve. Remember, we can't forage here." Wona reluctantly agreed, and they bought a bag of dry beans. They would swell when soaked in water, and would last for some time.
They returned to their house. Jes used her knife to carve off slices of bread, and Wona poured wine into clay cups. They dipped the bread into the wine, to soften it and flavor it, and chewed. It was a good, if ordinary, meal.
"Now we must consider," Jes said. "We shall need to become familiar with this city, in order to ascertain where the best prospects are. You don't want a man of the streets, you want a citizen. You don't want single nights, you want marriage. That means not only locating the good men, but getting to know them. This may take time."
Wona nodded. "There should be some at the Acropolis."
"Yes. But to impress them, you will heed better clothing. That means more silver. So our first priority is to earn it. How can we do that?"
"You might join their military force."
"Then I'd be shipped away to wherever they were fighting a battle, leaving you here alone."
"No."
Jes nodded. "I suspect we should get a job together. Maybe weaving; we both know how to do that."
"But that's woman's work."
Jes grimaced. "I may just have to be a woman, here in the city, until I can go home."
"But two women alone—would it be any safer in the city than in the countryside?"
She had a point. "Maybe not." Jes considered further. "We could carry weapons."
"Not a bow. No woman carries a bow."
"The knives. The clubs. There won't be any distant hostilities here anyway, only close ones."
Wona touched her knife. She had it in a sheath on her thigh, so it was concealed. "But the club—"
"I noticed that some men here have been injured. They wear braces on their limbs, to strengthen them while they heal. Some of those braces are crude. Suppose we wore such braces on our legs?"
"But we aren't injured."
"How would anyone know?"
Wona shook her head. "Why should we want to—"
"Like this." Jes took her club and laid it along the outside of her right leg. Then she tied it there with a band of cloth. "See—a splint." She stood and walked around the chamber. "It chafes a bit, but some padding should ease that."
Wona's face brightened. "And if some man attacks—"
Jes reached down and quickly untied the club. "Then I am armed."
"I like it." Wona tied her own club similarly. "But this wouldn't do at the Acropolis."
"At such time as we have finer clothing, we'll seek some other way."
"But maybe, for such work, I should not be beautiful," Wona said thoughtfully.
"As plain as you can be," Jes agreed. "That won't be a problem for me."
They settled down for the night, satisfied. The house was bare and chill, but no worse than camping outside. They would get by well enough, for now.
In the morning they ate more wine-soaked bread, used the refuse potty and dumped it in the trench behind the house, and strapped on their braces. Then they went out to seek employment at the nearest weaving establishment. Jes was garbed as a woman.
The proprietor hardly glanced at them. "If you work well, you get paid. I will be the judge of your merit."
Jes shrugged. "If you are not fair, we will seek work elsewhere."
"I am fair. My name is Crockson."
"I am Jes. This is my sister Wona."
He led them to the working area, where several women labored at small looms. "You are familiar with such equipment?"
"We have a similar loom at home," Jes said with satisfaction. "Give us your pattern."
Thus directly, they were working. The work was long and tedious but familiar, and they were competent. These were standard weighted warp looms, with the vertical strands suspended from a cloth beam and held taut by decoratively molded baked clay weights tied at their bottoms. The alternating warp threads were divided into two sections, which hung on either side of a wooden bar: the shed. The weft, or horizontal threads, was woven in between the descending warp at intervals, according to the pattern. The patterns were simple, requiring no particular attention. Jes got no special thrill from weaving, because it was traditional woman's work, but she could have handled a much fancier design than this.
At times they shifted off to help prepare the threads, which were of two types. Wool was the common fiber, and it came in several natural colors: black, gray, brown, tawny, beige, and white. It was easy to dye, and was warm. Flax was rarer, because it required rich soil to grow and much water for its initial processing, but it was softer next to the skin, and much stronger. So the finer weaving was done with flax. But most of the work in the shop was on the wool, which had to be untangled, cleared of burrs and debris, and combed out into long, fluffy sausage-shaped bundles for spinning. They used drop spindles for spinning, patiently forming the thread. There were always women on the looms, and others "working the allotment," as the cleaning, combing, and spinning of the wool was called. This was the most tedious chore, and there were normally two women spinning thread for each one working the loom. Most of their production was for export, because Athenian women were expected to fulfill the modest needs of their own households.
Days passed, becoming routine. Crockson was as good as his word, paying them fairly for their production. Soon they had enough money to improve their life-style somewhat, with better food and better blankets. Loom work was no quick path to riches, and they still had to live frugally, but they were no longer at risk of starvation.
Jes was interested in the things of the big city, and really appreciated its beauties. Wona was indifferent to those, but was alert for the places where wealthy men might be found.
One day they visited the Agora again. This time they toured the Painted Stoa, a handsome colonnaded stone building in which many paintings were hung. These showed scenes of Athenian military exploits, done on removable wooden panels. Jes's eye was caught by those depicting sea battles. How she wished she could step into one of those scenes, and be there on a trieres, a ship with three levels of oars, the ruler of the seas. But alas, it was just a foolish fancy.
There were no rich citizens in attendance on that day, and Wona was soon eager to visit elsewhere. So they went to the Monument of the Eponymous Heroes, one of the newest structures. Ten new tribes had been formed, and the names of a hundred early Athenian heroes were sent to the oracle at Delphi. The oracle picked ten, and it was after these ten that the tribes were named. Now there were ten statues honoring these heroes. The monument served a practical as well as an esthetic function, because public notices were posted here, concerning upcoming business of the tribes. But no really likely prospects were reading the notices at the moment, so Wona soon lost interest. Thus their visit was a failure, in one sense, but Jes was glad to have done it. She would have liked to see all the monuments of Athens.
Crockson had seemed indifferent to their presence; they were just two weavers among a number. Then he surprised them. After a few days he spoke privately to Jes. "I lost several good employees recently, because of the disruption of the war. I see that you are competent in all the aspects of weaving, and do not shirk. I will promote you to manager of this section, at higher pay, if you will commit to remaining here for at least a year."
Jes didn't question why he knew that her commitment would be good; he was clearly a competent judge of character. He had made the offer to her because he saw that her work was better, and that she had discipline and integrity. Unfortunately, she couldn't oblige him. "I am here only until my sister finds a suitable man to marry. Then I must go home to my family."
"Your sister is a beautiful but inattentive woman." He squinted at her. "Sister-in-law?"
He was observant indeed! "Yes."
"If I help you find a man for her—"
"I will go home that much sooner," Jes said firmly. "I have prior commitments."
"And you honor them. You are a good woman. I will help you anyway. I will tell you the best and most honest merchandiser of clothing, and where to encounter citizens."
"We would appreciate that. But why should you bother?"
"Because if ever your situation changes, and you need to return to Athens for a prolonged stay, you will take the job I have offered you."
She considered, and nodded. "I do not expect to return, but if I do—it is a good offer."
He told her what he knew, and in due course she and Wona went shopping with their new obols and drachma coins where Crockson had recommended, and were treated fairly. They were ready for the next stage.
But excellent prospects turned out not to be as common as they had hoped, and one section of the city after another failed to yield Wona's prize. Jes chafed as months passed, taking through the winter, without resolution. Meanwhile she worked in the position Crockson had offered, running his shop. She had to admit it was a comfortable interim situation. If only it didn't seem so permanent!
Finally, they went to the Acropolis as brother and sister, because unaccompanied women were frowned on here. Wona was well dressed, a splendor to behold, catching male eyes in exactly the manner intended. The market place was one thing, but the seat of government was another; women needed to know their place. Jes carried a short staff, which she used as a cane, as if somewhat uncertain of her footing. They ascended by way of the Propylaea, an enormous sloping ramp, and went to make an offering at the Temple of Athene.
There were indeed men there, for Athene was the goddess for whom the city was named, and many wished for her favor as the goddess of war, fertility, handicrafts, and wisdom. Wona flirted shamelessly, apparently on the theory that more prospects were better than fewer. Jes tried to caution her, but could not speak openly in public, lest their purpose become too obvious.
No man, however, made a direct approach; this was after all a pious place. But when they passed a dark alcove, a hand reached out and caught Wona by the elbow, hauling her in. It took Jes a moment to realize that she was gone, for Jes's attention had been on the grandeur of the temple. Then she whirled, and spied the action in the alcove. The man wore the robes of a citizen. These were of the ordinary style, simple in cut and material, but fine in workmanship. Ostentation was frowned on, but quality in clothing did show. However, in this case, no quality of manner was showing.
The man was groping Wona hungrily, sliding one hand into her décolletage while the other drew her in closer. Wona was trying to extricate herself without screaming or being unladylike, but it was clear that more was needed, and quickly. What the man had in mind was something other than courtship and marriage.
Jes stepped in. "My sister is not interested in this relationship," she said politely but firmly. "Please desist and release her."
"Get out of here, stripling," the man grunted, getting hold of Wona's breast.
So much for politeness. Jes lifted her staff and rapped the man smartly across the back of the head. He grunted and his grip slackened, allowing Wona to wrench free.
"We had better flee this region," Jes muttered. "Hurry."
They hurried, but it was already too late. "That man attacked me!" the citizen cried. "Kill him!"
This was no time to argue the niceties of provocation and reaction. They broke into a run.
The temple guards quickly took up the chase. Jes knew there would be no mercy, for the guards would take the word of the citizen over that of noncitizens. They had to hide immediately—but where?
"The priestesses' quarters!" Wona said, pointing to an offshoot archway.
They dodged into it, and then around another corner. There was a great loom with a partly done tapestry.
They paused. "Can we masquerade as two women?" Wona asked with half a smile.
"We had better," Jes agreed wryly.
Hastily Wona simplified her robe, removed her limited jewelry, and adjusted her composure to fit the style of a temple woman. Jes hid her staff in an alcove and quickly removed and reversed her robe so that its yellow side was out, then donned it and adjusted her style to be feminine as they scrambled for the stools before the tapestry.
The thing was huge, and very finely wrought. A pattern was being made according to a picture, and a scene was being woven in. They only glanced at it as they completed their adjustments, quickly loosening and binding back their hair in the temple mode. Wona had to rub off makeup, while Jes tried to make herself look more submissive.
Only now did they have the chance to really examine the loom. "Look at this!" Wona breathed. "Brass thread weights—with owls."
Jes peered at one. Indeed, it was metal, imprinted with a design showing an owl with human hands spinning wool from a basket in front of it. "Athene's bird," she agreed. "The same as on the silver coin."
The picture was about half-complete, showing a series of horizontally oriented scenes covering the entire cloth. The design was exceedingly intricate, in two colors, each requiring its own special threads: saffron-yellow and purple. Such a tapestry would require months to complete.
"This isn't just an incidental project," Wona said, awed.
"This is the peplos," Jes agreed. "The Peplos of Athene."
They gazed at it, overwhelmed by the significance of their discovery. Every summer the Panathenian festival was held in Hekatombaion, the first month of the Athenian calendar, and it was the biggest event of the year. The culmination was the presentation of the richly woven robe that was the peplos to the statue of Athene, and the sacrifice of a hundred cows on Athene's altar, which was then set afire by the prize-winning torchbearer.
The weaving of the peplos was reserved for specially chosen women, a great honor. The colors were expensive and significant. Saffron associated with women and femininity; indeed, a poorer grade of that color was what Jes and Wona wore. The purple was "sea purple," the color of kings, its rich dye derived from the murex shell. Unlike most natural dyes, both of these were colorfast in both water and sunlight. Athene rated only the very best.
The scenes on the tapestry had as yet only their top halves, but this was enough to show that they portrayed Athene and Zeus leading the gods to victory in their epic struggle with the Titans. The design differed somewhat each year, but the essence was the same. The peplos would dress the life-sized statue of Athene Polias—"Goddess of the City"—on the Acropolis.
"It would be almost sacrilegious to weave even one thread of this sacred work," Wona said. "We are not ergastinai, the approved matrons."
"So let's do it," Jes said wickedly.
But before they could properly orient on the pattern and find the correct thread, the pursuit burst in. The delay had not been at all long; their amazement at their discovery had made it seem more. Two guards stopped to stare suspiciously at them. Probably other chambers were being checked at the same time, so the guards had no way of knowing which one held the fugitives. That didn't mean that Jes and Wona were safe, just that they had a chance. If they could bluff well enough.
They both paused with their hands lifted, as if interrupted amidst their joint labor on the tapestry. Both stared at the intruders with startled innocence. Jes had just recently learned the expression, and hoped she had it right.
One guard studied Wona, who still looked ambitiously female despite hunching down to seem less so. "That one could be the woman." He turned to stare at Jes. "But that's not the youth."
"He's beardless," the other said. "Might be him."
Jes took the initiative. "Why are you staring at me?" she asked. "Don't you louts have better things to do than intrude on the work of temple matrons?"
The first guard hesitated, but then decided. "You could be him. We'll take you to the head priestess."
That would be disaster. Jes knew she had to act quickly and decisively to avert such a step. That meant either grabbing a weapon and trying to disable them silently, which was surely a hopeless effort, or satisfying them that she really was a woman.
They stepped toward her. She set one foot on her own hem and stood up suddenly, in alarm that was genuine, though not for the reason she wished to convey. The foot anchored the robe, preventing it from rising with her, and it pulled down off her right shoulder, exposing her breasts.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, in only half-feigned mortification. She quickly hauled her robe back up as she inhaled and arched her back, making her modest bosom stand out just before it was covered.
The men stopped. "That's no stripling," one muttered. Then, embarrassed, they turned and exited the chamber.
Jes sat back on the stool, weak with relief. Her heart was pounding, and she felt her face flushing. In that moment she remembered an episode with Ned, when they had taken wares for trading to a distant city and she had distracted bad men by wearing a string skirt. That, too, might have been fun, had there not been peril.
"Well played!" Wona said. "You showed them just enough, in a brief flash, so that their male eyes exaggerated the effect, and you also forced a maidenly blush."
"Half of it was accident," Jes said.
"Then make sure it's not an accident next time. Show men only flashes, not the full display, until such time as they are committed. You could also have remained sitting."
"But then the robe wouldn't have come off."
"Like so." Wona swung her legs around toward Jes, and her robe failed to follow perfectly, so that one thigh and the dark crevice between thighs lay open to view. It was very clear that Wona was no man.
"Oh." That might indeed have been easier.
"But your way was good too," Wona said. "With that maidenly exclamation. In that instant you seemed as female as it is possible to be."
"Thank you." But Jes knew that they weren't safe yet. "How do we escape before the real priestesses return?"
Wona reflected. "We may just have to walk out as we are. But it's too soon to make the attempt; the guards are still searching. So let's weave our thread."
Jes nodded. They addressed the tapestry, studying the pattern, and solemnly wove in one thread. No one would notice, but they would know that they were part of the most famous garment in Greece.
By then, enough time had passed. They went to the corner and recovered their hidden things, and also strapped their daggers back on to their inner thighs, just in case.
Then they heard someone coming. They dived back to the stools and addressed the tapestry again. Jes's staff made a clatter as she hurled it back into the corner.
A single, mature woman entered. She wore a tiara bearing an owl, and a necklace of beads carved in the likeness of olives, another symbol of Athene. Her quality saffron robe identified her clearly: she was the head priestess!
The woman's glance was imperious. "Come with me," she said. "Bring your things."
Jes exchanged a wary look with Wona. Did the priestess know? Or were there so many novice priestesses that she simply didn't recognize them all? But then why was she ordering them to go with her? Was she going to turn them in to the male authorities?
There didn't seem to be much choice. They stood, and Jes fetched her staff. They followed the priestess out of the chamber.
She led them through convoluted passages to an opulent chamber in another part of the temple. "The goddess saw fit to shield you from the guards' eyes, and we will not presume to go against her will. But you must leave. We can not afford scandal in the Temple of Athene. There has been no episode. The guards were confused. Depart by this rear exit." She opened a door that led directly outside. "Never speak of this. Agreed?"
Jes and Wona exchanged another glance. Then both nodded. The head priestess was letting them go!
The woman left by the internal door. Alone, they quickly changed back to their original aspects, Jes becoming male. Then they walked out the back way as man and woman.
"She knew," Jes murmured as they got clear of the temple.
"She knew," Wona agreed. "She saw that we were harmless, and she did not want blood on her floors. So she got rid of us much the way we got rid of the guards, with minimum fuss. She is not our friend."
"But neither is she our enemy. To that we owe our lives."
"We owe our lives," Wona agreed soberly. "I think I will not look for men any more there, lest she change her mind."
They walked back to their apartment. The day was a failure, in the main sense, but perhaps not entirely.
Another day they visited the port city of Piraeus, which was connected to Athens by a set of long walls that enclosed the road to north and south. The walls were fortified throughout, and there were cross-walls so that even if an enemy force got between the main walls, there would be no easy access to the cities of Athens or Piraeus. The bowmen on the walls were relaxed, now that the enemy was gone, but it was clear that they could devastate a hostile force if the need came.
Piraeus was much smaller than Athens, but interesting because of its harbors and the ships in them. The stately trieres were there, moving out on their two sails, their oarsmen resting. Jes was fascinated. She was familiar with the type of ship, but had never actually been on one. "To think they have to pay oarsmen to serve on those," she said. "I would do it for food."
"How much do they pay the captain?"
"The trierarch? Nothing, usually. It's a public duty for citizens of high standing, lasting a year. He has to outfit the ship and pay the crew. The city is supposed to pay for it all, but that can take time, and meanwhile he has to cover it all himself. That's why so few ever volunteer for this duty."
"No wonder, if it costs them a fortune instead of making them a fortune!" Then Wona's mind fixed on another aspect. "That means the captains have to be rich to start with."
"Yes. That's why it is limited to citizens of high standing. Others would not be able to afford it."
"So such a citizen would be a good one to marry."
Now Jes got her drift. "Yes, if he needed a wife."
"Suddenly I am interested in trieres."
Jes shook her head. "It's the wealthy or prominent citizens you are interested in. During the year they serve on ship, they aren't available at home. You need to catch one before or after his public service."
"But by the same token, he will be in need of female companionship during that year, and perhaps less choosy about it. It is surely a good time to make the acquaintance."
"There are hetaerae in plenty for such needs." Those were the women of easy virtue. It was an honorable profession, but not what Wona was looking for.
"When the ship is abroad?"
Jes considered. "I suppose not when it is between ports. But you don't like roughing it in the country, any better than any other woman does."
Wona sighed. "True. So Athens remains the best hunting ground."
Jes agreed. She hoped Wona would find a suitable man soon, because she was getting homesick for her family. Sam should have returned by now, with his trading goods, and would be adjusting to the loss of Wona. Ned would be free of her. New things would be happening. Even if life was lean, it was her life, and she wanted it back.
Sam viewed his home farm with evident joy. "This is where I live," he told Snow. "Now you can marry my brother Ned."
Snow smiled, though she was oddly sad. "I haven't met him yet. He may not like me."
"Any man will like you, once he knows you. You are beautiful."
How she wished such words were sincere! "You are kind to say so, Sam."
Soon the approaching pair was spied. A young girl sounded the alarm and charged across the landscape to meet them. Then she halted, realizing that one of them was a stranger.
"My little sister Lin," Sam said, beckoning to the girl.
"She is lovely."
"Like you," he said.
"No, I mean she really is. She is about to be an outstanding woman."
Sam did not reply, but his jaw tightened. That was odd. He clearly loved his sister, but there was something he wasn't saying. The girl certainly was beautiful in face and body, unlike Snow, who had only body. What was his reservation?
Shy, now, Lin approached. "Who—"
"This is Snow," Sam said. "She has come to marry Ned."
"To meet Ned," Snow said quickly. Sam was a wonderful man, but somewhat short on social finesse.
Lin turned an abruptly appraising gaze on Snow. "Maybe so," she said after a moment. "Flo will decide."
"Flo will decide," Snow agreed, relieved that there was someone else to make such decisions. What would be, would be.
"Snow is really nice," Sam said, defensively. "Ned will like her."
Lin considered a moment more. Then she smiled brilliantly, as if something wonderful had just happened. "I'll tell Flo!" She spun about and ran back toward the farm, exuberantly leaping across rocks and plants.
"Lin's a great kid," Sam said as they followed more sedately.
"Any moment now she will be a lovely young woman," Snow said firmly. What was the mystery about her?
Sam stared hard at the ground. "I think I must tell you. Did you see her hand?"
"Yes. Her fingers are delicate and well formed." Then she realized that she had seen only the girl's right hand. The left had been kept out of sight. "Something is wrong with the left hand?"
"She has six fingers."
Suddenly it came together. "You say Lin is lovely, like me. You mean that one feature spoils all the rest."
Sam looked everywhere but at her. "I didn't mean—"
"She has a deformed hand. I have a homely face."
"I don't care about either!" Sam exclaimed. "I love—" He balked, flustered. "I love my sister."
He was socially clumsy, yet of good motive. Snow wished that he weren't already married. She would marry his brother, who was surely a fine young man, but she knew already that he could never be the same as Sam.
Now two figures appeared: Lin and a massive older woman. That would be Flo, the true leader of the family. Snow felt suddenly nervous. Where would she go, if Flo rejected her?
The four of them came together. Flo took the initiative. "Hello, Sam. Hello, Snow. We must talk."
"I brought her home for—" Sam started.
"Of course. Sam, you go catch up with the others. This way, Snow."
Sam hesitated, then shrugged and followed Lin away.
Bemused, Snow followed the woman to the station where she had been scraping a sheep hide. It was a messy, tedious job. "I can do that," Snow said quickly. "I am a sheep-herder's daughter."
"We'll both do it," Flo said, handing her a bronze scraper.
They got to work on the hide. Snow expected the fat woman to ask about her background and reason for coming here, and she would answer directly, without dwelling on her grief. But Flo surprised her.
"Sam isn't married anymore."
Snow stared at her. "But he told me—"
"He doesn't know it yet. Lin's telling him now. His faithless wife has gone to Athens to find a richer man. We will not see her again."
Snow fumbled for words. "She left him? Without word? What kind of woman would—?"
"We arranged it. She wasn't pulling her weight, and she seduced Ned. We had to be rid of her. While Sam was away. You understand."
Snow nodded. Sam would never have agreed to such a thing, yet if his wife were faithless, and with Sam's brother, it had to be done. So this was no simple family situation. "You want me to go elsewhere? I never intended to complicate things."
"Do you love Sam?"
Shaken, Snow could only confess the truth. "Yes. But I never told him—we never—I thought he was—"
"Married. And Sam is an honorable man. We want him untouched by scandal. Never speak of what his wife did with his brother."
"I will never speak of it," Snow agreed. "It would hurt him to know. He spoke very well of Ned, recommending him to me. He said Ned wouldn't mind that I had been raped."
Flo's mouth tightened, and Snow remembered belatedly that Flo herself had been raped. "True. We understand about such things."
"And that Ned judged by other things than—than faces. I'm sure he is a fine—"
"Ned is. He is a brilliant man, and a kind one. Sam meant well. But you will marry Sam. You are obviously the woman for him."
A dam within her burst. Flo had put things together so quickly, so well. Snow's tears flowed.
"Sam is not brilliant," Flo continued. "But he has fair judgment. We know he would not have brought you home for Ned, were you not a fine woman, and I can see that you are. You would have been very good for Ned. But it would not be fair for Sam to lose a second woman to his brother. Lin says Sam loves you. Lin is very sharp about such things."
"I think he does," Snow agreed.
"This solves our problem. We feared that Sam would be upset. Now he will not be. You will share his room tonight, and marry him when convenient. It will be clear to all that you had no guilt in his loss of Wona, because she left before you came." She stood and laid one heavy arm across Snow's shoulders. "Welcome to the family. These are lean times, but I think you will like us well enough."
Snow nodded, trying to wipe away her tears. It was so sudden, so unexpected. She had been so careful not to compromise Sam, and now she could love him openly. She had indeed been aware of his growing feeling for her, and his guilt about that feeling, and she had felt guilt for returning it. But she had never said anything, respecting his determination to do the right thing. She knew that Sam would gladly marry her, and would not much question the disappearance of his former wife. The sisters had efficiently put it together, wasting no time.