by Tim Severin
Rassa did not hesitate. He picked up the ring, walked across to the nearest hunter and took away his heavy spear. Next he placed the golden ring over the spear tip. Finally he turned to where I stood and, with a formal gesture, placed the spear in my hand.
The drum had decided. The hunters dispersed to their tents to collect their skis and Rassa led me to where his wife and Allba were standing by our tent, watching. Allba knelt down in the snow to tie on my skis and, as she rose to her feet, I made a movement as if to embrace her. To my chagrin, she leaped back as if I had struck her and moved away from me, making it plain that she wanted nothing to do with me. Puzzled and a little hurt, I accompanied her father to where a little procession was forming up. It was led by the man who had first called Rassa from our cabin. I recognised his voice. He was the only one without a heavy spear in his hand. Instead he carried a long hunting bow of willow bound with birch bark. The bow was unstrung and a spruce twig was fastened to the tip. Behind him came Rassa in his bearskin cape, then myself, and finally the remainder of the brightly dressed hunters in single file. In complete silence we left the camp and began to ski through the forest, following the man with the bow. How he picked his way I could not tell, for the snowfall had obliterated all tracks. But he did not falter and I was hard put to it to keep up with the pace. From time to time he slowed so that I could catch my breath, and I marvelled at the patience of the Sabme hunters behind me who must have thought me half-crippled on my skis.
At mid-morning our leader abruptly came to a stop. I looked around, trying to see what had made him halt. There was nothing different. The forest trees stretched away on all sides. The snow lay thick on the ground and clung in little piles to the branches. I could hear no sound. There was utter stillness apart from the sound of my own breathing.
Our leader bent down and unfastened his skis. Still holding his bow, he stepped to one side and began to walk in a wide circle, sinking deep into the snow with each step. The rest of us waited, watching him, not saying a word. I looked across at Rassa, hoping for some guidance, but he was standing with his eyes closed, his lips moving as if in prayer. Slowly the bowman walked on, leaving his footmarks in the snow and finally coming back to his starting point. Again I tried to understand the significance of his actions. Everything was done so quietly and deliberately that I knew it had to be a ritual. I scanned the circle of footprints he had made. I still saw nothing. The circle enclosed a small rise in the ground, not even large enough to be called a knoll. For want of any other explanation, I presumed that it was a sieidde place. We had come to pay homage to the nature spirit.
I waited for Rassa to begin his incantation to the spirit. But the noiade was now removing his own skis and so too were the other Sabme. I did the same. My hands were stiff with cold and it took me several attempts to undo the knots in the thongs holding the skis to the new shoes Allba had made for me. I was pleased to see that, as she had promised, the snow had not stuck to them. I laid down the heavy spear to use both hands to undo the knots, and fearing that the gold ring would slip off and be lost in the snow, I pushed it more firmly in place. I put my skis to one side and straightened up. Glancing round, I saw that the other hunters had spread out to either side of me. Rassa was standing slightly aside. The only person directly ahead of me was the bowman and he was walking to the middle of the circle he had made with his footprints. He still had his bow in his right hand, but it was not yet strung. Coming almost to the centre of the circle, the hunter took three or four steps to one side, then another five or six steps forward, and turned to face me. Some instinct warned me, and made me grasp the heavy spear more firmly. I wondered if he would string the bow and attack me. Instead he raised the bow with both hands, and plunged it into the snow at his feet. Nothing happened. Two or three times more he repeated the same action. Then, shockingly, the snow directly in front of him cracked open, and a massive shape came bursting out. In the next instant I recognised the snow-covered form of an angry bear charging straight towards me.
To this day I do not know whether I was saved by my natural sense of self-preservation or by following Edgar’s hunting instructions given long ago in an English forest. I had no time to turn and flee. The snow would have hampered my flight and the bear would have caught and ripped me in an instant. So I stood my ground, rammed the butt of the crude spear into the snow behind me and felt it strike solid, frozen earth. Scattering snow in all directions, the bear came careering towards me. When it saw the obstacle in its path, its angry warning growl rose to a full threatening roar and it rose on its back legs, its paws ready to strike. If the bear had stayed on all fours, I would not have known where to aim the spear. Now I was confronted with the hairy belly, the small eyes glaring down at me in rage, the open mouth and pink gullet, and I guided the spear point into the open and inviting chest. The bear impaled itself and I did nothing more than hold the shaft firm. It gave a deep coughing grunt as the broad metal spear head entered its chest, and then it began to sink down onto all fours, shaking its head as if in surprise. The end was swift. For a moment the bear looked incredulous. Even as it tried to turn and lumber away and my spear was wrenched from my grasp, the Sabme were closing in from either side. I looked on, shaking with shock, as they ran up and with cool precision speared the bear in its heart.
Rassa approached the carcass where it lay on the blood-smeared snow. The hunters reverentially stepped back several paces to give him space. The noiade leaned down and felt the bear’s body. I saw him reach behind the bear’s left front leg, against the chest. A moment later the noiade stood up and gave a thin wailing shout of jubilation. Holding up his right hand, he showed what he had retrieved. It was the golden ring arpa.
Pandemonium broke out among the hunters. I thought they had lost their senses. Those with sprigs of spruce on their garments snatched them free and ran up to the bear and began to flog the carcass. Others picked up their skis and laid them across the dead animal. All of them were yelling and shouting with joy, and I heard cries of thanks, praise and congratulation. Some of the men kept chanting phrases from the arcane song that Rassa had sung in camp before we began the hunt, but still I could not understand a word. When the hunters had capered and danced themselves to exhaustion, Rassa knelt in the snow, facing the bear and called out solemnly to the dead animal, ‘We thank you for the gift. May your spirit now roam happily in the saivo, and be born again in the spring, refreshed and in full health.’
Very soon it would be dark. Leaving the dead animal where it lay, we began to make our way back towards the camp. This time instead of skiing through the forest in solemn silence, the Sabme called out to one another, laughed and joked, and while still some distance from home they sent out long whooping calls that echoed far ahead of us among the trees to announce our return.
I shall never forget the sight which greeted us when we entered the camp. The women had lit a blazing fire on the flat-topped rock, and were standing where the light from the flames flickered across their faces. Every one of their faces was stained a bloody red. For a moment I thought there had been a terrible atrocity. Then I saw the movements of a dance, the gestures of welcome and recognised a song of praise for our hunting skill. I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was lie down and rest, preferably with Allba beside me. But when I headed towards our tent, Rassa took me by the arm and led me away from the entrance flap and around to the back. There he made me drop on all fours, and crawl under the hem of the tent. As I entered I found Allba standing facing me across the hearth. Her face too was stained red, and she was looking at me through a brass ring held up to one eye. As I crawled into view, she backed away from me and disappeared. Too tired to care, I crawled fully dressed to our sleeping place and fell into a deep sleep.
Rassa prodded me awake at first light. Neither Allba nor his wife were anywhere to be seen. ‘We go to fetch the Old One now,’ he said. ‘I thank you for what you have done for the siida. Now it is the time to celebrate.’
‘Why do you keep o
n calling him the Old One?’ I asked, feeling peevish. ‘You might have warned me we were hunting for bear.’
‘We can call him a bear now that he has given his life for us,’ he replied cheerfully, ‘but if we had spoken directly of him before the hunt, he would have been insulted. It removes respect if we call him by his earth name before the hunt.’
‘But my saivo companion is a bear? Surely it is not right that I killed his kind?’
‘Your saivo companion protected you from the Old One’s charge when he emerged from his long winter sleep. You see, the Old One you killed was killed many times before. Yet he always comes again, for he wishes to give himself to the siida, to strengthen us because he is our own ancestor. That is why we returned the gold ring under his arm, for that is where our great-great-grandfathers first found the golden arpa, and knew that he was the original father of our siida.’
We skiied back to the dead bear, taking a light sledge with us, and hauled its carcass to the encampment. Under Rassa’s watchful gaze the hunters removed the large pelt – the bear was a full-grown male – and then with their curved knives separated the flesh from the bones, taking exquisite care. Not a bone was broken or even nicked with a knife blade, and each part of the skeleton was carefully put on one side. ‘Later,’ said Rassa, ‘we will bury the skeleton intact, every bone of it, so that when the Old One comes again to life he will be as well and strong as he was this year.’
‘Like Thor’s goats,’ I said.
Rassa looked at me questioningly. ‘Thor is a God of my people,’ I said. ‘Each evening he feasts on the two goats which draw his chariot through the sky – the thunder is the sound of his passing – and after the meal he sets aside their bones and skins. In the morning, when he awakes, the goats are whole again. Unfortunately one of Thor’s dinner guests broke open a hind leg to get at the marrowbone, and ever since that goat has walked with a limp.’
The siida made a great fuss of me for the three days of feasting it took to consume every last morsel of the animal I had killed. ‘Scut of boaz, paw of bear,’ was Rassa’s recommendation as he helped me to the delicacy, explaining that to set aside or keep any portion of the dead animal would be an insult to the generosity of its death. ‘The Old One made sure that the blizzard did not destroy us, and that the spring will come and the snow will melt. Already he is roaming the hills ahead of us, calling upon the grass and the tree shoots to appear and for the birds that left to return.’
My only regret was that Allba still kept her distance from me. ‘If she comes to your bed within three days of the hunt,’ her father enlightened me, ‘she will turn barren. Such is the power of our father-ancestor whose presence came so close to you. Even as you set off to hunt the Old One, his power was already reaching out towards you.’ This seemed to explain why Allba had been behaving so strangely, and only when Rassa wore on his face the muzzle we had flayed from the Old One and every hunter – myself included – had danced around the central rock in imitation of Old Honey Paws on the final night of feasting, did she once again snuggle against my shoulder.
She also made me a fine cloak from the pelt, long enough for my height. ‘You are wearing the presence of the Old One, a sign that he himself gave you,’ Rassa said. ‘Even a Sabme from another band would know that and treat you with respect.’ He was anxious to press ahead with my instruction, and as the days grew longer he took me on trips into the forest to show me strange-shaped rocks, trees split by lightning or bent by the wind into human shapes, and ancient wooden statues hidden deep in the forest. They were all places where the spirits resided, he explained, and on one special occasion he brought me to a long, low rock face shielded from the snow by an overhanging cliff. The grey rock was painted with many pictures and I recognised the images that appeared on the siida’s magic drums, as well as some I had not seen before – outlines of whales, boats and sledges. Others were too old and faded to decipher.
‘Who painted these?’ I asked Rassa.
‘I do not know,’ he said. ‘They have always been here for as long as our siida has existed. I believe they were left for our instruction, to remind us who has gone before and to guide us when we are in need of help.’
‘And where are they now, the painters?’ I asked.
‘In the saivo, of course,’ he replied. ‘And they are happy. In the winter nights when the curtains of light hang and twist and mingle in the sky, the spirits of the dead are dancing with joy.’
With each day came more signs of spring. Our footprints in the snow, once clear and distinct, now had softer edges, and I heard the sound of running water from small rivulets hidden beneath the icy crust and the patter of drips falling from the forest branches. A few early flowers emerged through the snow and flocks of birds began to pass overhead in increasing numbers. Their calls heralded their arrival, then faded into the distance as they flew onward to their nesting grounds. Rassa took the chance to teach me how to interpret the meanings hidden in their numbers, the directions which they appeared from or vanished to, even the messages in the manner of their calls. ‘Birds in flight or smoke rising from the fire. It is the same,’ he said. ‘For those who can read them, they are signs and portents.’ Then he added ‘though in your case it requires no such skill.’ He had noted how my gaze lingered towards the south even after the birds had gone. ‘Soon the siida will be heading north for our spring hunting grounds and you will be going in the opposite direction and leaving us,’ he said. I was about to deny it, when his crooked smile stopped me. ‘I have known this since the very first day you arrived among us, and so has every member of our siida, including my wife and Allba. You are a wanderer just as we are, but we retrace the paths laid down by our ancestors, while you are restless in a deeper way. You told me that the spirit God you serve was a seeker after knowledge. I have seen how he sent you among us, just as I know that he now wishes you to continue onward. It is my duty to assist and there is little time left. You must leave before the melting snow makes it impossible to travel easily on skis. Soon the staallu men will be arriving to trade for furs. For fear of them, we will retreat deeper into our forests. But before that happens, three of our best hunters will take our winter furs to the special place for the trading. You must go with them.’
As usual, the Sabme, once they came to a decision, carried it out quickly. The next morning there was every sign that they were breaking camp. Deerskin coverings were being stripped from the tent poles and the three designated hunters were stacking two sledges with tight-packed bundles of furs. Everything was done with such bewildering speed that I had no time to think what I should say to Allba, how best to say goodbye. I need not have worried. She left her mother to attend to the dismantling of our tent and led me a little way from the camp. Stepping behind the shelter of a spruce tree, she took my hand, and pressed something small and hard into my palm. I knew that she was returning to me the fire ruby. It was still warm from where it had lain against her flesh.
‘You must keep it,’ I objected. ‘It is yours, a token of my love for you.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘For me it is much more important that the spirit that flickers within the stone continues to guard and guide you. Then I know you will be safe wherever you are. Besides, you have left with me something just as precious. It stirs inside me.’
I took her meaning. ‘How can you be sure?’
‘Now is the season that all creatures can feel the stirrings of their young. The Sabme are no different. Madder Acce, who lives beneath the hearth, has placed within me a daughter. I knew she would, from that day that we both visited the saivo.’
‘How can you be sure that our child will be a girl?’
‘Do you remember the bear you met on your saivo journey?’ she answered. ‘I was there with you as my companion bird, though you did not see me.’
‘I felt your wings brush my cheek.’
‘And the bear? Don’t you remember the bear you met at that time?’
‘Of course, I do.
It smiled at me.’
‘If it had growled, that would have meant my child would be a boy. But when the bear smiles then a girl child is promised. All Sabme know that.’
‘Don’t you want me to stay, to help you with our child?’
‘Everyone in the siida will know that she is the child of a foreign noiade and the grandchild of a great noiade. So everyone will help me because they will expect the girl will become a great noiade too, and help our siida to survive. If you stayed among us for my sake, it would make me sad. I told you when you first arrived among us that the Sabme believe it is far, far better to travel onward than to remain in one place. By staying you imprison your spirit, just as the fire is held within that magic stone you lent me. Please listen to me, travel onward and know that you have left me happy.’
She turned her face up towards me for one last kiss, and I took the opportunity to close her fingers once more around the fire ruby. ‘Give it to our daughter when she is grown, in memory of her father.’ There was a tiny moment of hesitation and then Allba acquiesced. She turned and walked back towards her family. Rassa was beckoning to me. The men with the fur sledges were anxious to leave. They had already strapped on their skis and were adjusting the leather hauling straps of the sledges more comfortably across their shoulders. I went across to thank Rassa for all he had done for me. But, strangely for him, he looked worried.
‘Don’t trust the staallu men,’ he warned me. ‘Last night I visited the saivo to consult your saivo companion about what will happen. My journey was shadowy and disturbed, and I sensed death and deceit. But I could not see from where it came, though a voice told me that already you knew the danger.’
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I respected him too much to doubt his sincerity. ‘Rassa, I will remember what you have said. I can look after myself, and it is you who have the greater task – to look after the siida. I hope that the spirits guard and protect your people, for they are in my memory always.’