by Jean M. Auel
“Well done,” the gesture eloquently said. Brun was glad to add another strong hunter to his ranks, a strong hunter who was his pride and joy, the son of his mate, the son of his heart.
The cave was theirs. The ritual ceremony would cement it, but Broud’s kill had assured it. The totems were pleased. Broud held up the bloody point of his spear as the rest of the hunters ran toward them, joy in their steps at the sight of the downed beast. Brun’s knife was out, ready to slit open the belly and gut the bison before they carried it back to the cave. He removed the liver, cut it into slices, and gave a piece to each hunter. It was the choicest part, reserved for men alone, imparting strength to muscle and eye needed for hunting. Brun cut out the heart of the great shaggy creature, too, and buried it in the ground near the animal, a gift he had promised his totem.
Broud chewed the warm raw liver, his first taste of manhood, and thought his heart would burst with happiness. He would become a man at the ceremony to sanctify the new cave, he would lead the hunt dance, he would join the men in the secret rituals to be held in the small cave, and he would gladly have given his life just to see that look of pride on Brun’s face. This was Broud’s supreme moment. He anticipated the attention that would be his after his manhood rites at the cave ceremony. He would have all the clan’s admiration, all their respect. All their talk would be of him and his great hunting prowess. It would be his night, and Oga’s eyes would shine with unspoken devotion and worshipful homage.
The men tied the legs of the bison together well above the knee joints. Grod and Droog bound their spears together, Crug and Goov did the same, making two reinforced poles of the four spears. One was passed between the forelegs, the other between the hind legs, horizontally across the great beast. Brim and Broud stepped to either side of the shaggy head and gripped a horn, leaving one hand free to hold their spears. Grod and Droog each grabbed one end of the pole on each side of the forelegs, while Crag went to the left and Goov to the right of the hind legs. At a signal from their leader, all six men heaved forward, half dragging and half lifting the huge animal along the grassy plains. The journey back to the cave took much longer than the trip out. The men, for all their strength, strained under the load as they skidded the bison across the steppes and up the foothills.
Oga was watching for them and saw the returning hunters far down on the plains below. When they neared the ridge, the clan was waiting for them and trouped out to accompany the hunters the last part of the way back to the cave, walking beside them in silent acclaim. Broud’s position in front of the victorious men announced his kill. Even Ayla, who couldn’t understand what was going on, was caught up in the excitement that hung palpably in the air.
6
“The son of your mate did well, Brun. It was a good clean kill,” Zoug said as the hunters eased the great beast down in front of the cave. “You have a new hunter to be proud of.”
“He showed courage and a strong arm,” Brun gestured. He laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder, his eyes glowing with pride. Broud basked in the warm praise.
Zoug and Dorv examined the mighty young bull with admiration, tinged with nostalgia for the excitement of the chase and the thrill of success, forgetting the dangers and disappointments that were part of the arduous adventure of hunting big game. No longer able to hunt with the younger men, but not wanting to be left out, the two old men had spent the morning scouting the wooded hillsides for smaller prey.
“I see you and Dorv put your slings to good use. I could smell the meat cooking halfway up the hill,” Brun continued. “When we get settled in the new cave, we’ll have to find a place to practice. The clan would benefit if all the hunters had your skill with the sling, Zoug. And it won’t be long before Vorn will need to be trained.”
The leader was aware of the contribution the older men still made to the sustenance of the clan and wanted them to know it. The hunters were not always successful. More than once meat was supplied by the efforts of the older men, and during the heavy snows of winter, occasional fresh meat was often more easily brought down with a sling. It provided a welcome change from their winter diet of dried preserved meat, especially later in the season when the frozen supplies from late fall hunts ran out.
“Nothing like the young bison there, but we got a few rabbits and a fat beaver. The food is ready, we’ve just been waiting for you,” Zoug motioned. “I did notice a level clearing not far away that might make a good practice field.”
Zoug, who had lived with Grod since the death of his mate, had worked to improve his skill with the sling after he retired from the ranks of Brun’s hunters. It, and the bola, were the most difficult weapons for the men of the clan to master. Though their muscular, heavy-boned, and slightly bowed arms were tremendously powerful, they could perform functions as delicate and precise as knapping flint. The development of their arm joints, particularly the way muscles and tendons were attached to bones, gave them precise manual dexterity coupled with unbelievable strength. But there was a penalty. That same joint development restricted arm movement. They could not make a full, free-swinging arc, which limited their ability to hurl objects. Not fine control but leverage was the price they paid for strength.
Their spear was not a javelin, thrown across a distance, but rather a lance thrust at close range with great force. Training with spear or club was little more than developing powerful muscles, but learning to use a sling or a bola took years of practice and concentration. The sling, a strip of flexible leather held together at both ends and whirled around the head to gain momentum before flinging the round pebble held in the bulging cup at the middle, took great effort, and Zoug was proud of his ability to sling a stone accurately. He was equally proud that Brun called upon him to train young hunters in the use of that weapon.
While Zoug and Dorv ranged the hillsides hunting with slings, the women had foraged over the same terrain, and the tantalizing aroma of cooking food whetted the appetites of the hunters. It made them realize that hunting was hungry work. They did not have long to wait.
The men relaxed after the meal, replete with satisfaction, retelling the incidents of the exciting hunt for their own pleasure and the benefit of Zoug and Dorv. Broud, glowing with his new status and the hearty congratulations of his new peers, noticed Vorn looking at him with unabashed admiration. Until that morning, Broud and Vorn had been equals, and Vorn had been his only male companion among the children of the clan since Goov had become a man.
Broud remembered hanging around hunters just returned from the hunt as Vorn was doing. No more would he have to stand on the fringes ignored by the men as he eagerly watched them tell their stories; no more would he be subject to the commands of his mother and the other women calling him away to help with the chores. He was a hunter now, a man. His manhood status lacked only the final ceremony, and that would be part of the cave ceremony, which would make it especially memorable and lucky.
When that happened, he would be the lowest-ranked male, but it mattered little to him. It would change, his place was foreordained. He was the son of the mate of the leader; someday the mantle of leadership would fall to him. Vorn had been a pest sometimes, but now Broud could afford to be magnanimous. He walked over to the fouryear-old boy, not unaware that Vorn’s eyes lit up with eager anticipation when he saw the new hunter approaching.
“Vorn, I think you’re old enough,” Broud motioned a little pompously, trying to seem more manly. “I will make a spear for you. It’s time you began training to be a hunter.”
Vorn squirmed with delight, pure adulation shining out of his eyes as he looked up at the young man who had so recently gained the coveted status of hunter.
“Yes,” he nodded in vigorous agreement. “I’m old enough, Broud,” the youngster motioned shyly. He gestured toward the stout shaft with the dark bloodstained point. “Could I touch it?”
Broud laid the point of his spear on the ground in front of the boy. Vorn reached out a tentative finger and touched the dried blo
od of the huge bison that now lay on the ground in front of the cave. “Were you scared, Broud?” he asked.
“Brun says all hunters are nervous on their first hunt,” Broud replied, not wanting to admit his fears.
“Vorn! There you are! I should have guessed. You’re supposed to be helping Oga collect wood,” Aga said, seeing her son who had slipped away from the women and children. Vorn straggled after his mother, glancing back over his shoulder at his new idol. Brun had been watching the son of his mate with approval. It is the sign of a good leader, he thought, not to forget the boy just because he is still a child. Someday Vorn will be a hunter, and when Broud is leader, Vorn will remember a kindness shown to him as a child.
Broud watched Vorn trail behind his mother dragging his feet. Just the day before, Ebra had come for him to help with the chores, he remembered. He glanced at the women digging a pit and had an urge to sneak away so his mother wouldn’t see him, but then he noticed Oga looking in his direction. My mother can’t tell me what to do anymore. I’m not a child, I’m a man. She has to obey me now, Broud thought, puffing up his chest a little. She does, doesn’t she and Oga is watching.
“Ebra! Bring me a drink of water!” he commanded imperiously, swaggering toward the women. He half expected his mother to tell him to get wood. Technically he wouldn’t be a man until after his manhood ceremony.
Ebra looked up at him, and her eyes filled with pride. That was her baby boy who had discharged his mission so effectively, her son who had reached the exalted status of manhood. She jumped up, went to the pool near the cave, and returned quickly with water, glancing haughtily at the other women as if to say, “Look at my son! Isn’t he a fine man? Isn’t he a brave hunter?”
His mother’s alacrity and her look of pride eased his defensiveness and disposed him to favor her with a grunt of acknowledgment. Ebra’s response pleased him almost as much as the demurely bowed head of Oga and the look of adoration he noticed as her eyes followed him when he turned to leave.
Oga had been grief-stricken over the death of her mother, following so soon after the death of her mother’s mate. As the only child of the pair, even though she was a girl she had been dearly loved by both. Brun’s mate was kind to her when she went to live with the leader’s family, sitting with them when she ate and walking behind Ebra while they were searching for a cave. But Brun frightened her. He was more stern than her mother’s mate had been; his responsibility lay heavily on his shoulders. Ebra’s main concern was for Brun and no one had much time for the orphaned girl while they were traveling. But Broud had seen her sitting alone staring dejectedly into the fire one evening. Oga was overwhelmed with gratitude when the proud boy, almost a man, who had seldom paid attention to her before, sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder as she softly keened her grief. From that moment on, Oga lived with one desire: when she became a woman, she wanted to be given to Broud as his mate.
The late afternoon sun was warm in the motionless air. Not the hint of a breeze stirred the least leaf. The expectant hush was disturbed only by the drone of flies taking their turn at the remains of the repast and the sounds of the women digging a roasting pit. Ayla was sitting beside Iza as the medicine woman searched in her otter-skin pouch for the red bag. The child had been tagging behind her all day, but now there were certain rituals Iza had to perform with Mog-ur in preparation for the important role she had to play in the cave ceremony the next day, now that they were certain there would be one. She led the towheaded girl toward the group of women excavating a deep hole not far from the cave mouth. It would be lined with rocks, with a large fire built inside that would burn all night. In the morning, the skinned and quartered bison, wrapped in leaves, would be lowered into the pit, covered with more leaves and a layer of soil, and left to cook in the stone oven until late afternoon.
The excavation was a slow and tedious process. Pointed digging sticks were used to break up the soil that was scooped out by throwing handfuls on a leather cloak, which was hauled up out of the pit and dumped. But once the pit was dug, it could be used many times, only requiring an occasional cleaning out of ashes. While the women dug, Oga and Vorn, under the watchful eye of Uka’s unmated daughter, Ovra, were collecting wood and bringing stones up from the stream.
As Iza approached holding the child’s hand, the women stopped. “I must see Mogur,” Iza said with a gesture. Then she gave Ayla a little shove toward the group. Ayla started to follow Iza as she turned to go, but the woman shook her head and pushed her back toward the women, then hurriedly left.
It was Ayla’s first contact with anyone in the clan besides Iza and Creb, and she felt lost and shy without Iza’s comforting presence. She stood rooted to the spot, nervously staring at her feet, glancing up apprehensively now and then. Against all propriety, everyone stared at the thin, long-legged girl with the peculiar flat face and bulging forehead. They had all been curious about the child, but this was their first opportunity to get a close look at her.
Ebra finally broke the spell. “She can gather wood,” the leader’s mate indicated with an unspoken motion to Ovra, then started digging again. The young woman walked toward a patch of trees and fallen logs. Oga and Vorn could hardly tear themselves away. Ovra beckoned to the two children impatiently, then beckoned to Ayla as well. The girl thought she understood the gesture, but she wasn’t sure what was expected of her. Ovra motioned again, then turned and headed for the trees. The two clan members who were closest to Ayla’s age reluctantly trailed after Ovra. The girl watched them go, then took a few hesitant steps after them.
When she reached the trees, Ayla stood around for a while watching Oga and Vorn pick up dried branches while Ovra hacked away at a good-sized fallen log with her stone hand-axe. Oga, returning from depositing a load of wood near the pit, started dragging toward the woodpile a section of the log Ovra had detached. Ayla saw her struggling and walked over to help. She bent over to pick up the opposite end of the log, and as they both stood up, she looked into Oga’s dark eyes. They stopped and stared at each other for a moment.
The two girls were so different, yet so provocatively similar. Sprung from the same ancient seed, the progeny of their common ancestor took alternate routes, both leading to a richly developed, if dissimilar, intelligence. Both sapient, for a time both dominant, the gulf that separated them was not great. But the subtle differences created a vastly different destiny.
With each holding an end of the log, Ayla and Oga carried it to the pile of wood. As they walked back, side by side, the women stopped their work again and watched them go. The two girls were near the same height, though the taller was nearly twice the age of the other. One was slender, straight-limbed, fair-haired; the other stocky, bowlegged, darker. The women compared them, but the young girls, as with children everywhere, soon forgot their differences. Sharing made the task easier, and before the day was through they found ways to communicate and to add an element of play into the chore.
That evening they sought each other out and sat together while they ate, enjoying the pleasure of company closer to their own size. Iza was happy to see that Oga was accepting Ayla and waited until dark before she went to get the child for bed. They stared after each other as they parted, then Oga turned away and walked to her fur beside Ebra. The women and men still slept separately. Mog-ur’s prohibition would not be lifted until they moved into the cave.
Iza’s eyes were open with the first glimmer of early light. She lay still, listening to the melodious cacophony of birds chirping, warbling, twittering, and trilling in greeting to the new day. Soon, she was thinking, she would open her eyes to stone walls. She didn’t mind sleeping outside as long as the weather was pleasant, but she looked forward to the security of walls. Her thoughts made her remember everything she had to do that day, and thinking about the cave ceremony with growing excitement, she quietly got up.
Creb was already awake. She wondered if he had slept at all; he was still sitting in the same place she left him the ni
ght before, staring in contemplative silence at the fire. She started heating water, and by the time she brought him his morning tea of mint, alfalfa, and nettle leaves, Ayla was up and sitting beside the crippled man. Iza brought the child a breakfast of leftovers from the previous evening’s meal. The men and women would not eat that day until the ritual feast.
By late afternoon, delicious smells were drifting away from the several fires where food was cooking, and pervading the area near the cave. Utensils and other cooking paraphernalia that had been salvaged from their former cave and carried in the bundles by the women had been unpacked. Finely made, tightly woven waterproof baskets of subtle texture and design, created by slight alterations in weaving, were used to dip water from the pool and as cooking pots and containers. Wooden bowls were used in similar ways. Rib bones were stirrers, large flat pelvic bones were plates and platters along with thin sections of logs. Jaw and head bones were ladles, cups, and bowls. Birchbark glued together with balsam gum, some reinforced with a well-placed knot of sinew, were folded into shapes for many uses.
In an animal hide, hung from a thong-lashed frame set over a fire, a savory broth bubbled. Careful watch was kept to make sure the liquid didn’t boil down too far. As long as the level of boiling broth was above the level reached by the flames, it kept the temperature of the skin pot too low to burn. Ayla watched Uka stir up chunks of the meat and bone from the neck of the bison that were cooking with wild onion, salty coltsfoot, and other herbs. Uka tasted it, then added peeled thistle stalks, mushrooms, lily buds and roots, watercress, milkweed buds, small immature yams, cranberries carried from the other cave, arid wilted flowers from the previous day’s growth of day lilies for thickening.
The hard fibrous old roots of cattails had been crushed and the fibers separated and removed. Dried blueberries they had carried with them and parched ground grains were added to the resulting starch that settled in the bottom of the baskets of cold water. Lumps of the flat, dark, unleavened bread were cooking on hot stones near the fire. Pigweed greens, lamb’s-quarter, young clover, and dandelion leaves seasoned with coltsfoot were cooking in another pot, and a sauce of dried, tart apples mixed with wild rose petals and a lucky find of honey steamed near another fire.