The Horsemasters (27 page)

After Ronan had trimmed the wick and lit it with a coal stored in the stones around the smoldering fire, Nel said, “What are you going to do about the disputes?”

“The hunting conflict I can deal with,” he answered as he set the lamp on its rock. He turned back to her. “It is this business of the women that is the thorny problem.”

“No one appears to have asked the women for their opinion of the horse-calling,” Nel remarked.

“Bror would not go near the women, Nel. That is the chief difficulty of leaving him in charge of the tribe. The men respect Bror. They are even a little afraid of him, and this is good. Men need to be a little afraid of their leader. But he will not involve himself in anything that has to do with the women.”

“You will have to meet with the women yourself, Ronan,” Nel said. “You cannot make any decisions until you hear what their wishes are.”

He had set the lamp almost directly behind him, and its warm glow was lighting his head and shoulders. He gave her his most beguiling smile. “I have been thinking that now I am a married man, I have someone to help me in this matter of the women.”

She did not return his smile. “I do not know these women, Ronan.”

He dismissed her words with a casual gesture. “That does not matter. You are my wife, and that makes you the chief woman of the tribe. This will hold sway with the women of Sky God.” He leaned a little forward, compelling her with both voice and body. “You were also the Chosen One of the Mother; this will hold sway with Berta and Tora.” His eyes were very large and brilliant in the light of the lamp.

“What do you want me to do?” Nel asked.

“What you just said I should do. Talk to them. Discover their thoughts in this matter. They will speak to you more openly than they would ever speak to me.”

Nel stared at him, speechless.

He reached toward her and took both her hands between his. His hands were warm and strong around her small, cold ringers. “Minnow,” he said coaxingly, “you will not refuse to help me?”

She would never refuse to help him, and he knew it. She sighed. “I am far more skeptical about my effectiveness than you are, Ronan, but I will talk to the women and try to ascertain their feelings about this ceremony.”

His arm came around her and drew her to his side. He bent his head and she lifted her mouth to give to him.

* * * *

In the morning Nel went first to Berta’s hut. There she found both sisters busily pegging out a reindeerskin for scraping. They offered Nel tea, and she accepted.

“I have come,” she said after the initial courtesies of greeting had been exchanged, “on behalf of the chief. He wishes to know the will of the women of the tribe in regard to this horse-calling ceremony.”

Berta and Tora exchanged an enigmatic look. Berta said primly, “We do not speak for the women of the tribe.”

“I understand that,” Nel said. “I have come to you first, however, because you are followers of the Goddess. This rite is a rite of the Goddess, or so Bror has told the chief.”

She paused, and two sleek dark heads nodded agreement. Berta said, “Sa. It is a rite of the People of the Dawn, and of the River People also I think.”

“Is it one of your important rites?” Nel asked.

Berta and Tora looked at each other. They shrugged. “There are many rites in our tribe,” Tora said, “The horse-calling is one of them. It is no more or no less important than any of the others.”

“It is not one of the chief rites, then?”

“Na,” said Berta. “The chief rites are the rites of the Fires.”

Nel nodded in understanding. Then she asked, “Do you know why it is that the stallions must be played by the unmarried men?”

Again the frustrating twin shrugs. “It was that way from the beginning,” Tora said unhelpfully.

Nel persisted. “Would it be considered irreverent if the married men played the stallions as well?”

Again the sisters exchanged a look. “It has never been done before,” Tora said.

Nel sipped her tea. “I understand that it has never been done before,” she said, “but what if it was done now?”

Berta frowned. “There is no power of the unknown if a woman lies with her husband,” she said. Her head lifted in a gesture of enlightenment. “Perhaps that is why the unmarried men play the stallions.” She looked challengingly at Nel. “If you are of the Goddess, then you will understand that.”

“I am of the Goddess,” Nel returned. “I understand the things of the Mother. But at our ceremony of the Fires, which is a very powerful fertility rite, a woman may lie with her husband.”

Berta smiled back, showing very white, very strong teeth. “May lie? Or must lie?”

Nel raised her delicate brows. “May lie,” she said.

Silence fell. Nel sipped her tea. The sisters looked at each other. Finally Tora said, “Ronan wants to let the married men play the stallions?”

“It is a possibility,” Nel said.

There was silence as the sisters thought. “Among the People of the Dawn,” Berta said at last, “a woman can approach any number of men at the horse-calling.”

Dhu, Nel thought in dismay.

“Some of the women of our tribe have gone with two handfuls of men in one night,” Tora said proudly.

“Dhu,” said Nel out loud.

The sisters smiled serenely.

Nel said slowly, “Such a thing is possible in your tribe, Tora. Such a thing is possible in my tribe. But it is not possible in the tribes that follow Sky God.”

“The women of those tribes are fools,” Berta said scornfully.

“Not fools,” Nel said. “It is not their fault if they have been cut off from the Mother.”

“They live their lives under the foot of a man,” Tora said.

Nel looked surprised. “Beki? Does Beki live her life under the foot of Kasar? Or Yoli under the foot of Lemo?”

“They are different,” Berta said with a shrug.

“I am thinking of Yeba and Tabara,” Tora said. Her brown eyes flashed. “Do you know what happened to Tabara because she lay with a man who was not her husband?”

“She was cast out,” Nel said.

“She was cast out, sa, but her husband kept her children!”

“I did not know that,” Nel said softly.

“Can you imagine such a thing? Taking her children away? Did her husband carry those children inside his body? Did he give them his blood? Did he give birth to them in pain and suffering?” Tora looked magnificent in her fury. “Men,” she said. “Men know nothing!”

“Poor Tabara,” Nel said, her voice filled with pity. “Does she still grieve?”

“Grieve?” It was Berta who answered this time. “Of course she grieves. She carried those children under her heart. They grew into her heart. They will never grow out of it. That is what it means to be a mother.” She scowled at Nel. “Does a man know this?”

Nel shook her head.

“All a man knows is one moment. After, his life and his body are the same. It is the woman who carries the fruit of that moment for nine long months in her womb. It is not for a man to make the rules about mating. It is for a woman.”

“Ronan thinks this business of the horse-calling has come up because the unmarried men want a woman,” Nel said.

“Of course that is why it came up,” Berta replied.

“If it is not for the men to make the rules, but for the women,” Nel said, “what do you think the rule should be about the horse-calling?”

Silence.

“You cannot complain about the men making the rules if you allow them to do it,” Nel said reasonably.

Still silence.

“Perhaps we should get the other women and discuss it as a group,” Nel said.

“Sa,” said Berta, She smiled. “That is what we should do.”

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.