by Joan Wolf
Chapter Nineteen
The women met. One hour later Nel returned to Ronan to tell him what had been said. After he had finished laughing, he agreed to allow the women to present their decision to the men of the tribe.
It was late morning by the time the tribal members assembled to listen to their chief. They sat outdoors in a great circle, cross-legged, solemn, in the order of their temporary alliances: the married men beside the married men; the unwed men beside the unwed; and the women.
Berta and Tora had their babes in cradleboards upon their backs. Fara held one twin in her lap, and next to her, holding the other twin, sat a pale-faced Eken, returned that morning from her week’s stay in the moon hut. Tabara’s toddler, the only child her first husband had allowed her to keep, sat between his mother and Beki, his thumb in his mouth.
No one spoke. Even the children were quiet. The only movement came from the birds overhead and the dogs as they wandered between the lake and the tribal circle, occasionally coming to sniff at the clothes of a particular friend. All the heads turned as one when Ronan and Nel and Nigak came out of their hut, approached the circle and took their places at its head. The tribe regarded its chief with varying degrees of expectancy and waited for him to speak.
“There are two things we must discuss in this council today,” Ronan began pleasantly. His voice was quiet yet perfectly audible, his face quite unreadable. He sat with one hand resting on his knee and the other on Nigak’s head. The soft summer breeze blew his black hair back from his face and ruffled Nigak’s fur. Ronan’s eyes held Thorn’s briefly as he glanced around the circle.
I want to draw this, Thorn thought, Of late he had been drawing scenes of tribal life in a cave he had found in the cliff near the waterfalls at the other end of the valley. He had kept scrupulously to his promise to Ronan, however, and only drew the faces of those who had given him permission. The other figures he left deliberately unclear.
“…discuss first this business of the offense to the reindeer,” Ronan was saying, Thorn wrenched his mind away from thoughts of the cave and focused his attention on his chief.
“We are from different tribes, and we worship our gods in different ways,” Ronan continued, “but if you think about it, all of our ways are based on one single belief: that everything in the world has its own spirit.” He paused to give them a moment to take in what he had said, then went on: “The trees and the grass, the plants and the berries, the red deer and the reindeer, the people of the Goddess and the people of Sky God—all have their own spirit. And to live our lives rightly, it is required of us that we give reverence to that spirit.”
It was very quiet on the floor of the valley that morning. The animals were all grazing on the far side of the lake. Not even a bee buzzed as Ronan went on. “Some things we all understand. All hunters, no matter what their tribe, know enough to give thanks to the animal who has given his life for our food. All of us treat a beast’s body with reverence, speak of it respectfully, handle its remains with care, use it thoroughly and avoid waste. All of us understand the necessity of showing appreciation for what is given. All of us understand that a display of arrogance, power, or pride will offend the animal’s spirit and anger the gods.”
Thorn thought of how his father had told him it was important to honor the animal who had given his life that men might live, and he nodded in agreement. All around him he saw others nodding in the same way.
Ronan was going on, “The hunters of each tribe have their own way of expressing this appreciation for the spirit.” He looked at Heno. “The hunters of the Tribe of the Fox do not sleep with their wives for three days before a big hunt, and this is their way of showing their reverence, of asking the animals to grant them the grace of a good kill.”
Heno nodded emphatically, and Ronan’s gaze moved on to Cree, who looked back sourly. Ronan said, “The hunters of the River People kill only the male animals. This is their way of showing reverence to the Mother, their way of contributing toward the continuation of the herds.” He paused. “Is this not so, Cree?”
After a moment, Cree’s nasal voice answered shortly, “It is so.”
Still watching Cree, Ronan continued, “As you all know, other tribes have other customs than these, and other taboos.”
Ronan paused and, reluctantly, Cree nodded. Then Ronan looked slowly around the fire, gathering each man under his power. He said, “Men of Sky God. Have any of you lost your hunting luck because you have killed a female animal?”
“Na.”
“Na.”
“Never.”
“That is what we were saying…”
Ronan held up the hand that had been stroking Nigak. Silence fell. He asked next, “Have any of the tribes of the Goddess lost their hunting luck because a man slept with his wife before the hunt?”
The same chorus of negatives rang out.
Crim demanded, “What are you saying, Ronan? Are you saying that none of our tribes follow the right way?”
Ronan smiled faintly. “Na, Crim. What I am saying is that all of our tribes follow the right way.”
In the silence, Nigak opened his yellow eyes and peered at the men assembled before him. Finally, Mait said, “I don’t understand.” A few sympathetic grunts indicated that he was not alone in his bewilderment.
“What I am saying, Mait,” Ronan answered, “is that what is important to the gods is not the actual custom, but what is in a man’s heart. Some customs we all follow. None of us will let a dog lick the blood of our kill. That would be disrespectful. All of us give thanks to the animal when it falls, asking that we be worthy to share in its life. Is this not so?”
“Sa.”
“Sa.”
“That is so.”
“Then there are different customs. Some of us bury the heart. For us, that is respectful. Some of us burn the heart. For us, that is respectful. What we do does not matter, what matters is what is here,” and Ronan knocked his fist against his chest. “It is the spirit of the man that is important to the spirit of the animal.” He looked at Mait. “Are you understanding me?” he asked.
“Sa,” Mait said. His big brown eyes, so like his sisters’, were shining. “I am.”
Ronan looked from Mait to Thorn and then around the circle of male faces before him. “We are from different peoples and different tribes,” he said. “If we wish to live together, we must understand that there are other ways of doing things, other ways of showing reverence. What is right for Heno to do, because to him it is a way of showing reverence, is not right for Cree. Cree’s way is different. All ways are right, if the heart is right.
“The Mother knows this. Sky God knows this. They can see into the heart, and that is what is important to them.”
Thorn’s puppy came up behind him, pushed his muzzle under Thorn’s armpit, and whimpered for attention. Thorn hushed him softly.
Cree was saying, “But the reindeer will not come to us. They are offended.”
“This may well be,” Ronan said. “Someone in the tribe has perhaps failed to show reverence. Perhaps someone spoke boastfully about his kill. Perhaps someone talked and laughed too loudly while butchering his meat. These things can happen, and the spirit of the reindeer is offended. We must all take great care to be reverent, and they will come back again. They always do.”
“Sa,” said Dai and Okal and Lemo and Kasar.
“That is so,” said Asok and Sim and Mitlik.
“Cree?” Ronan asked. “Heno? Are you understanding me?”
Cree nodded grudgingly. Heno grunted.
“Then let there be no more of these accusations,” Ronan said. For the first time a hint of coldness crept into his voice.
“It is important that we think of the things that draw us together, not of the things that pull us apart. If there is a man here who cannot bring himself to look with tolerance on the ways of another tribe, then I say now that that man does not belong in the Tribe of the Wolf.”
Absolute silence. Heno an
d Cree were staring intently at their knees. Thorn looked wide-eyed at Ronan. Just as the silence was about to become uncomfortable, Ronan said in a different voice, “We have another matter to discuss today.”
All around him Thorn could feel men snapping to attention. Tension thrilled in the air. They had all known in their hearts that Ronan would settle the problem of the hunting luck. It was always like this. The men would quarrel and one tribe would blame another and tempers would flare and they would come to Ronan and he would settle it.
That was how it was for most problems. This matter of the horse-calling, however, was something else, and all knew it. This was the first time that an alliance had been made that did not fall along the lines of which tribe a man came from or which god a man worshipped. Some of the men of the tribe had a woman and others did not: that was the crux of this particular problem. It would not be settled easily.
Ronan said, “Hunting is the business of men, and so it is proper for the chief to settle hunting quarrels. The ceremony that has been proposed is not just for the men, however. It is for the women also, and I understand that the women have something to say to the men of the tribe on this matter.” He inclined his head toward his wife. “Nel?”
Nel hesitated, then turned to Berta. “I am a newcomer to this tribe,” she said with charming diffidence. “It is not yet for me to speak for the women’s side.”
Berta shook her sleek dark head. “You are the wife of the chief. You have told us you were to be the Chosen One of the Mother. The women of the Wolf feel it is proper that you speak for us.”
The other women all nodded, and Beki gave Nel an encouraging smile.
“Very well,” Nel said. She folded her hands, rested them upon her crossed ankles, regarded the men before her, and for a moment looked uncannily like Ronan.
How can that be? Thorn thought. But his artist’s eye saw the answer almost immediately. The resemblance lay in the tilt of the head, the lift of the chin, in the thin-bridged arrogance of the narrow nose. In that moment, Nel looked like a woman who could rule a tribe.
Nel was speaking. “The women of the tribe have this to say to the men in regard to the ceremony of the horse-calling.” Her face was grave, almost stern, and she was directing her comments to the unmarried men. “The women say it is a fine ceremony when it is done by the tribes of the plains. It honors the horse; it ensures the fertility of the herds; it gains their cooperation and permission so that hunters can take those that are needed for food and for clothing. It is a fine ceremony.”
As Nel was speaking, Thorn could see the single men beginning to perk up. Mitlik, who was from the River People and who had introduced the idea of the horse-calling to the Tribe of the Wolf, was grinning.
“However,” Nel said, “it seems to the women’s side that the men who proposed this ceremony have not taken into consideration the fact that there are no women of the Wolf eligible to participate.”
The single men all turned to look at Mitlik. “Why is that?” he demanded indignantly of Nel. “Among my tribe the married women always participate in this ceremony. In fact,” he added loudly, “it should please a husband to have his wife join in this rite.” Here Mitlik threw a defiant look at the married men, who were glaring at him furiously. “A woman who ‘calls the horse’ proves to her husband that she seeks his success in hunting,” Mitlik stated. “And good hunting leads to a good mome, good health, and plenty of food and clothing!” He sat back, and the single men all nodded their vigorous agreement.
Kasar said heatedly, “I have never heard anything so ridiculous…”
“Go find your own women and leave ours alone!” said Lemo.
“I have not finished,” Nel said, her soft voice somehow managing to make itself heard above the deeper voices of the angry men. Ronan shifted his position slightly, and the men quieted and turned again to Nel.
“Is it not true, Mitlik,” Nel asked, “that the women who are with child do not ‘call the horse’?”
Once again heads swiveled toward Mitlik. “Is that true?” Okal demanded.
“Well…” Mitlik looked uncomfortable, “Sa. I suppose that is true.”
“And is it not true also that the women who are yet nursing their babes do not participate?” Nel asked next.
“Dhu,” said Dai disgustedly.
Crim was heard to chuckle.
Mitlik was looking distinctly crestfallen. He mumbled, “I never heard of that.”
“It is certainly true among the People of the Dawn,” Berta snapped. “It is most probably true among the River People as well. You just never noticed.”
Mitlik ducked his head.
“There aren’t any women left!” Kort said indignantly.
“You are a fool, Mitlik,” said Okal.
The married men were grinning at the obvious discomfiture of their rivals.
Nel said, “Yoli and Beki and Yeba are with child. Fara and Berta and Tora and Tabara are nursing children. Eken, in accordance with the traditions of her people, is a maiden, and such a ceremony is not for maidens. This leaves,” Nel said gently, “only me.”
The men all looked at Ronan.
“I am thinking it is not possible to have a ceremony with only one woman,” Nel said.
“That is true,” Dai said, hastily averting his eyes from Ronan’s face. The rest of the unmarried men signaled their enthusiastic agreement with Dai.
Nel looked at the faces of the single men and bit her lip.
“Why didn’t you tell us this before, Berta?” Heno called to his wife. “You let us get into a sweat when all the time you knew you would not participate.”
Berta answered sweetly, “I do not recall being asked.”
Heno glared. The sweetness of Berta’s smile matched her voice.
“Why can’t a pregnant woman participate in this ceremony?” Dai asked suddenly. “If she can mate with her husband without fear, then why cannot she mate with another man?”
Tora gave him a pitying look. “She would not be mating with another man, but with a stallion. Her baby would be born with hoofs!”
“Sa,” Berta agreed. “And nursing mothers cannot take a chance of losing their milk.”
The rest of the women nodded their agreement.
Crim’s deep, reasonable voice was heard. “This particular issue may have been resolved, but there is yet a problem within the tribe.” He was addressing Ronan. “I was not in agreement with the ceremony proposed by the unmarried men,” he said. “It is not our way in the tribes of Sky God to share our wives with other men. However, I can understand the thinking of men such as Mitlik and Dai and Okal. They are young, and they have been too long without a woman.”
“I understand this too, Crim,” Ronan answered. “There is little I can do about it, however. We are not likely to have much success if we try to trade for wives at a Gathering; no father will agree to send his daughter into the outcast Tribe of the Wolf, no matter how high the bride price we offer.”
Glum silence greeted this unwelcome, if patently true, observation.
Nel was the one to speak next. “I am not certain of this, because it is not the way of my tribe, but it seems to me from what I see that the girls of Sky God are often given in marriage to men they do not like.” A single line creased the smooth skin of her brow, and she turned to Yoli. “Is this not so?”
“Sa.” Yoli’s voice was bitter. “It is so.”
Yoli’s story was well known to the tribe, and it was certainly illustrative of Nel’s point. Both Yoli and Lemo were from the Tribe of the Fox, where Lemo’s father was the chief. Lemo’s mother was frail, however, and unable to fulfill the many duties expected of the chief’s wife. So the chief had taken Yoli for his second wife in order to keep up his position. Unfortunately, Lemo and Yoli were already in love, but her father, proud of the honor being offered to his daughter, would not listen. Much against her desire, he had married Yoli to Lemo’s father.
As the months went by, the two young people had becom
e more and more attached to each other. Yoli was in despair. She hated the embraces of the old chief, but she could not bring herself to wrong him by secretly lying with his son. At last, in utter desperation, Yoli had tried to hang herself. Luckily she had been found while she was yet alive, and then she had been made to confess the cause of her violent action. In response to her confession, Lemo’s father had expelled both his son and his wife from the tribe.
“There are many girls who are forced to marry men who are not to their liking,” Yoli said now to Nel. “Their fathers don’t care. All they are interested in is a good bride price.”
“And the older the man, the more likely he is to come up with a good bride price,” Beki answered, knowing from bitter experience how important this issue was.
Heno moved restlessly. “There are more important things to do than to sit here and listen to women whimpering,” he growled.
“It is you no one wants to listen to,” his wife informed him.
“Hold your tongue, woman!” Heno roared.
Berta opened her mouth to reply, but Ronan cut in acidly, “If you have more important things to do, Heno, then you may go and do them.” He turned his head. “What are you thinking, Nel? Do you think we could persuade some of these unhappy girls to join the Tribe of the Wolf?”
Nel answered, “Why not?”
“I can name you three girls who would much prefer to marry Dai than the husbands their fathers have picked for them,” Beki said promptly.
Dai looked pleased. Kasar scowled. “I did not know you had a fancy for Dai,” he said to his wife.
Beki was amused. “I was using Dai as an example, Kasar. Any of our men—Okal or Mitlik or Kort or Altair—are better than the choices of these fathers I speak of.”
“This is all very well,” Okal said impatiently, “but how, do we go about meeting these girls?”
It was Ronan who answered. “At the Spring Gathering. I will take the unmarried men and those of our women who feel able to make the trip.”
Beki grinned. “I will talk to the girls from the Tribe of the Leopard.”