Chapter 33

Maranga had other things on her mind.

“So, John, tell me more about this warrior attack on the invaders. Is it real?” John had not recognised that she had been listening so closely, and blushed.

“Sorry, dear. I had neglected to mention it as I did not want to concern yourself over a matter of military strategy.”

“John, you scoundrel, this seems to me like more than a matter of military strategy. Is it an actual attack that you are planning?” John sighed as he admitted, “Yes, dear. I have been trying to get the invader leaders to get together in a forward base to discuss their next move, once they get the idea that there is another army coming to push them out. We will attack their meeting place once I know its location.”

“But is there an opposing army on the way? Listening to our visitors, I very much doubt if there is more than a token resistance planned by their tribes.”

“Maranga, what matters is not the reality, but what the invaders see as reality. I have had my friend Corvo spreading rumours about the approaching army of resistance, so that the story gets back to the invader leaders and planners. These rumours, passed on as facts, should stimulate the invaders to get together to formulate their response to the expected attacks. They have a group leadership, so to make a decision, they have to get together in one place. That place is the target of our attack.” Maranga was still confused.

“But how can you attack their camp? If the leaders are together, they will be well protected. You can’t expect to walk in and kill them! And poisoning them would not be possible either.”

“My warriors are in training for that attack. You recall Brando making bows and arrows for us? That is what my warriors will use for the attack; but the arrows will be fire arrows. We will fire our arrows onto the tent or tents that they are using to shelter their leaders while they talk. If we can set the tent on fire, at a minimum we instil fear in them; better still, we might injure or kill some or many of them. Once we have made our attack, we sneak off again, and be away before anyone can work out where we were firing from. Whatever happens, we will have demonstrated that they are not safe in their own headquarters. That makes them believe their entire army is exposed to attacks, rather than being the attackers. It is all working with the mind, Maranga. The mind of the enemy has to be manipulated, so that they feel very unsure of themselves, unsure of their abilities, and unsure of their future.”

“So, apart from your one attack, it is all mind games?”

“Yes. It is a sensible application of resources: assess the capabilities of your enemy, plan to exploit their weaknesses, and use the minimum of effort to get your meaning across to them. A fearful enemy is not an efficient enemy. They will always be looking around them, in case someone is about to stab them in the back. They have already had a number of desertions, of individuals and of groups, so the leaders are aware of their deficiencies. I, on the other hand, have become aware of the poor standard of training their soldiers have had. They are not much different from the bunch that were just here. Picture the invader soldiers as much the same quality, stiffened up by a few bullies among their numbers.” Maranga remarked, “You do not seem to hold a good opinion of any warriors around here, my darling.” John’s mouth twisted and he replied, “I tend to compare the training I went through, to what they get here, which is very little. I was serious when I said that any of the warriors I have trained could defeat any normal male warrior around this area.”

“Well, that is encouraging at least. I have the warriors of this tribe down for training by you or your appointed trainer at the first opportunity. Only a few have had training so far, and they were astonished at what they learned.” Maranga volunteered, “I am also astonished at what I see in dreams. Last night, for instance, I dreamt that our camp was afflicted by a bad thing, but you were there to assist us. While we have not had anything bad happen to us, you DID appear today, unexpectedly; so part of my dream came true. Any time I get such dreams, I put it down to the Earth Mother sending me some help in my life. Would your concept of the Earth Mother agreed with mine?” John was ambivalent. “I am not certain what I think about in matters of religion, Maranga. Some people get these visions, a few of which come to pass – at least to some extent – but other visions remain purely visions, with no apparent impact on reality. Is one vision coming true enough to overcome all those that don’t happen?”

“The way I look at it, John, it depends on who is having the vision. If one is a true follower of the Earth Mother, then what you experience is more likely to be a valid vision of the future. Others are simply having an aberration in their dreams. I have met a few samples of these in my time.”

“But there is no guarantee for even a believer?”

“None. We can’t turn the Earth Mother on and off, like a stream of water blocked or released. She is not under our control, just as she does not control our actions in life. Getting a vision from her is a bonus, for which we should be grateful.” John could see no logical complaint to that attitude, for it made sense in its own terms. At that moment, he felt himself shiver, as if the temperature had dropped slightly. He went to the door to look outside, then returned to say, “It looks like it is getting late, or there is a storm coming. It is getting darker out there. I think I should stay the night, if I may, Chief.”

“Need you ask? My bed is always open to you, as you know, my husband and High Chief.”

John smiled at her inviting face, which matched her words. She added to it by stroking the front of his pants, which made her invitation crystal clear.

“Thank you, Maranga. I will take up your gracious offer.” They were in the midst of a passionate embrace while still on their feet, when the storm struck with a flash of lightning and a following crash of thunder almost overhead. Maranga gasped in fright at the violence, for severe storms were uncommon here, but John was supportive.

“Just ignore it, darling. It is simply weather, albeit unusual. I haven’t seen a bad storm in all the time I have been here, just the occasional shower, mostly in the hills.” For the next while, the storm raged outside, and even ignoring it, the sound of rain battering the hide-covered roof was unmistakeable. Soon, there were even a few drips of water coming through the joints in the roof covering, and Maranga checked to be sure that nothing important was getting dripped on. By this time, darkness had fallen, so Maranga got John to light two small oil lamps to give them all the light they needed. John noticed the small central cooking fire also needed fuel, and he attended to that as well. He refrained from asking for food, as making love to his wife was more important at this time. However, she eventually sighed her satisfaction and when she heard his stomach rumble, asked John, “When did you last have something to eat?”

He bashfully admitted, “I had a snack to eat on the way here. I am fine.”

“What? You intended to go back to the cave without a meal here? What would your other wives have thought of me? My reputation would be ruined! I am a Chief, after all. I must act as a good wife to you.” She got up and made a bean and vegetable stew in a stew-pot, using beans and peas that had been steeping in water-filled bowls, and a vegetable stock that was already in the stew-pot by the cooking fire. She added some dried herbs from small bags that she had hanging from a rafter and finalised it with some salt from a pottery crock in the corner. John adjusted the fire to provide more heat, and they waited for the potful to come to the boil and cook for a while. They spent the time fondling each other, almost like teenagers exploring new partners. John enjoyed the familiarity of it. They were sitting comfortably with their bowls of vegetable stew and their horn spoons, enjoying the tastes, when there came another knock by the door. Maranga called out, “Yes? What is it?”

“Sorry, Chief. There is some flooding in the camp with all this rain. Are you free to come and inspect the situation?” She called back, “Come in out of the rain, man, and wait while we finish our meal. The camp won’t wash away while we eat, will it?” The man stepped inside, and stood there, dripping. He spoke.

“I shouldn’t think so, Chief. Evening, High Chief,” he acknowledged John’s presence.

“Evening,” John responded noncomittally, not knowing the man’s name, though the man seemed to know who John was. Maranga filled in.

“This is Balgo, our camp manager, John. He knows what he is about, but likes to give me my position all the same.” John asked him, “Hello, Balgo. You will have heard about Brando looking for a replacement site for the camp?”

“Yes. I am one of the people who he asked to do the search. We haven’t found the exact match yet.”

“Brando told me that earlier. I suggested that a close match would be an acceptable compromise. You think that one of the options would work?”

“One, and at a push, a second one. Did you want to inspect the options?”

“Good gosh, no! I am no expert on such matters. You and Brando are the ones that know such things. I and Maranga will leave you to decide on the one to choose. Right, Maranga?”

“Certainly, John. Camp drainage and so on are jobs for men, I believe. All that digging and diverting channels is tough work for a woman, even if she wanted to do it.” Balgo agreed. “It can be tough work indeed, Chief. It is one of the reasons that a change of campsite is desirable. The stream that runs through the camp has too steep a slope for when the rains come; the waters rush through the camp and overflow, sometimes into huts and get everything wet. Fortunately those whose huts are susceptible to flooding keep most of their goods up on stilts, tables and shelves. The best option for a new camp still has a stream running through, but the slope is much less, and the stream is a feeder stream, not the main watercourse that this one is.”

“In that case, you shouldn’t have many objections to the idea of moving, Balgo.”

“Not after tonight; that is so.” Maranga asked, “Do I really have to put in an appearance, Balgo?”

“I am afraid so, ma’am. It is expected of the Chief. It has long been the way.”

“Damn tradition! I suppose if I must, I must. John, will you go with me please?” John joined her as she slung a decorated hide cape over her shoulders, as a protection from the rain. She hoped that her moccasins would cope with the water underfoot as she braved the dark outside. Balgo led them, dripping, to where the stream was pouring through the camp. It was as wide as a man is tall, despite the stream bed already scored deeply into the ground. Balgo explained, “Not far down, the stream meets hard rock, so it cannot go down further, so it spreads out instead. That is the main problem, and I will have to check that the proposed new sites do not have that fault with the underlying ground surface. One of the huts is starting to collapse from the rushing water, so we have a team emptying the hut before it falls down. The family are being moved temporarily to live with relatives and friends. Normally we would see about building a new hut for the family, but if we decide to move the camp, we can put that off for now.” Maranga asked to speak with the evicted family, and an old man of about fifty was brought forward. Maranga recognised him from many years of tribal interactions.

“Ah, Jango, my old friend; commiserations on the damage to your home. The tribe will look after you until we get a permanent solution.”

“Thank you, Chief Maranga. I know we can count on you. You have always been admired for your wise and benevolent counsel.”

“I can tell you, Jango, that we are looking into relocating the camp to a new site, where flooding like this will not happen. Do you think you can live with your relatives or friends for a little while until we sort out about the site, and start the process of relocating? It might be best if we built your replacement hut at the new encampment, instead of here.”

“That sounds interesting, Chief. Will it be far from here?”

“I don’t know the answer to that yet, Jango. There are several possibles, and we have to settle for which is the best overall. As soon as that is done, we will get started. There may be trees to be cut down and some earth reshaping to make level foundations for the huts, but if we get enough people working on that, it should not take long.”

“I am prepared to wait, Chief, as long as my relatives are willing to host me for that long.” Maranga laughed shortly. “I am sure they will. If there is any moan, let me know, and I will put them right. Of course, it will be in the form of advice, but pretty strong advice!” She looked over at John, who was looking bedraggled with rain running down his face, and turned back to Balgo.

“Is there anything else which requires my urgent attention, Balgo?”

“No, Ma’am. The main task was to show you what was happening. I have asked for Brando to assist in building diversions for the water flow. He will do that with rough planks on edge, pegged to the ground, as a temporary measure until the stream returns to normal.”

“Then you have done that first task. I now leave it in your hands to do what is required to help the tribe cope and recover. Report to me in the morning please.”

“I will do that, Ma’am,” said Balgo, and gave her a swift bow of respect. “See her safe home, High Chief.” John asked Balgo, “Is there any help I can be here, after I deliver the Chief to her home?” Balgo thought for a moment, then advised, “No, I think the residents should work on this. It will give them more confidence in their ability to cope with disasters in future.” John nodded. “A valid point, Balgo,” and left with Maranga. On the way back, Maranga reminded John of her vision. “This is a bad situation for our camp, John, so that has come true as well. My vision was a true one.”

“I have to give you that, my love. You spoke true about your vision, so your reputation as a Wise Woman was totally deserved. You are now a Wise Chief.” Back at the Chief’s hut, Maranga said to John, “We need to make the huts more sturdy when we move to the new site. As I recall, your tribe had ideas for new building techniques, John.”

“Yes. Using wattle frameworks for the walls should improve things for the tribe.”

“Our tribe tried that before, but it meant square huts, and these are not as strong as round ones.”

“It depends on how you make the wattle structures. We developed an efficient means of bending the thin branches as interleaving between vertical stakes as you construct the panels, so that it is fairly easily to interlace one panel with another. Using vertical stakes imparts extra rigidity and adds to the strength of the structure, especially if the vertical stakes can either go directly into the ground, or into holes in a wooden foundation sunk flat into the ground. It is easy to locate curved trunks or large branches to provide a curved foundation base, then all you need is holes to insert the vertical stakes. The best technique is one where one curved panel of wattle is linked seamlessly into the next panel. If the curve is maintained all the way round, you end up with an almost round house, with the doorway usually facing east to get the most light during the day, but that may be adjusted to cater for the prevailing wind direction.”

“Sounds worthwhile, John. Can you get people to come and demonstrate when we are ready to build our new camp?”

“We can do that. It normally is a trade item, but with your tribe being linked with ours, it will be a free help, just as Brando is happy to provide bows and arrows for us. You will need to get your camp manager to lay out the sites for the new huts, while other people collect the materials for construction, from wooden bases for the foundation to the sticks for the wattle.”

“How large do the wooden foundations need to be?

“As large as manageable, so that they don’t shift once in the ground. You can make quite thick slabs of wood if you use wedges to split a tree trunk lengthways. It just takes time, so the sooner that get started, the better. The foundation planks are also very heavy, but is easier to move split slabs of wood than entire tree trunks. Making the holes can be easy if you use a pump drill or a bow drill (similar to a military bow, but much shorter). The flint drill point can be fitted to the end of a weighted stick, and held in place by hardened resin or glue, supported by twine wound round the join. I have seen more than one of these drills in Brando’s workshop. It is amazing how effective such drills can be in making holes in wood or soft stone like sandstone or limestone.”

“All right; so you know about these things. Do I need to know?”

“Um ... no, I don’t suppose so. Sorry.”

“That’s all right. You just get carried away with explaining details that I don’t need to follow. Is there anything new that I don’t have to have explained in detail?”

“Umm...” John had to think. “Oh, we have started getting fish from the fisher village. It makes a nice change, and is good for your health.”

“Bad fish is good for you? Since when?”

“Oh, no, the fish is still fresh when we get it.”

“How does that come about? Your cave is hours and hours of walking from there, from what you told me before. Time enough for the fish to start to smell.”

“No, they have devised a method to keep the fish fresh. It is a form of refrigeration. Oh, you wouldn’t know about fridges! Well it uses evaporation to cool stuff down. The colder fish is, the slower it goes off. The fishers use an earthenware jar to pack the fish in, with water as well. The slightly porous walls of the jar allow the water to seep through and evaporate. That evaporation cools down the jar and its contents, so the fish remains fresh for much longer, so as long as the fish is packed and sent as soon as it is landed, the process works. This tribe may be within range of that style of delivery. You can probably get the fishers to send a sample for you to test.”

“Now that is more in my line,” agreed Maranga. “When my skin is wet, and there is a breeze, my skin feels much cooler as the water vanishes into the air while it dries. That is the process they are encouraging?”

“Exactly. You have it right, except that the water doesn’t vanish; it turns to gas, just like water becoming steam when it boils. Steam is a gas, so think of it as low temperature steam that you can’t see. The change from liquid to gas requires energy, and that energy is lost to the remaining water, making it colder.”

“But there is no fire involved, so where does the energy come from, and what do you mean by a liquid?

“In your example, the wind has energy, as it moves, just as a rushing stream has energy in the water and pushes against you if you stand in it.”

“Oh, I have never thought of a stream in that way. That is fascinating. So movement is energy?”

“It is. You are not just a pretty woman, Maranga. You think well, besides your other attributes.”

“So, a liquid?”

“Any fluid that flows, that can move, but doesn’t change its volume; that is, its size doesn’t change. The same amount of it is always the same size if you measure it. A gas on the other hand, can move in any direction, but changes it’s volume when it gets hotter or colder, or is compressed: pushed into a smaller container.”

“So air is a gas?”

“Yes, but not one single gas. Air is a mixture of gases – oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and other minor gases, but the one that is most important to us is oxygen; that’s what helps us to live. Don’t concern yourself with this description, though, as it will be a long time before anyone can work out how to separate the various gases that make up our air.”

“But in your time, you knew this?”

“I did, theoretically, but I was not a scientist, so I could not tell you how to go about separating these gases. It is just knowledge for knowledge’s sake, in my head. Occasionally some bit of knowledge will become important, but most will never get to that stage.” John found himself yawning, despite still being damp. Maranga responded at once.

“Come on, John, get these damp things off, get into the furs with me to dry off and warm up. You can show me again how well you fuck. Your girls must give you a lot of practice.” John gave a simulated groan as he disrobed. “You don’t know the half of it!” then giggled at the memory and apologised. “They are all wonderful women, very good to me, and I couldn’t be happier with you all.”

“That is how it should be, husband, whether you have one wife or many.” John slept well, despite the previous evening’s excitement at the stream flood, and enjoyed a cooked breakfast before bidding Maranga a fond farewell, and setting off with his bows and arrows. He noticed that the track was showing signs of wear, not just from human footfall, and animals using the track as an easy route through the forest, but the previous evening’s downpour had caused runnels in the track, sometimes along the line of the track, sometimes crossing it. This made the track more tricky to negotiate in places. He walked for an hour or so, at a slower pace than usual for him when walking alone. He had to pay more attention to where he was walking than normal, and this reduced his awareness level of the surroundings, so he almost missed the child in a tree, cowering with fright and whimpering softly. John halted and looked around for the source of the fear, but saw nothing. He gestured to the child, adding in a calm voice, “You are all right, child; you can come back down. It is safe now, from whatever scared you.” The child did not move, but squealed, “The man! He took my sister!” John immediately changed to soldier mode. “Which way did he go with her? Point!” The child – John reckoned it was a small boy, very scrawny – pointed ahead, the way John was going. John called out to the boy, “Do you want to come with me to find her, or wait where you are? I am a friend.” The terrified child looked petrified with indecision, but made up his mind; climbed lower and put out his hands towards John. John reached up and took the boy into his arms. John was surprised how nice if felt to cradle a youngster. The boy exclaimed, “He took my sister’s spear from her, and flung it into the trees: I don’t know where it is!” John told him abruptly, “Forget about the spear; I don’t need it, but I need to hurry, if we are going to catch them. Now, if I put you on my shoulders, can you hold on to my head, and stay safe?” The boy nodded frantically, so John hoisted him up into position. The boy had to be less than five years old – five summers, he automatically translated to himself. With the boy settled round his head, John swung his crossbow round to his front, and loaded a quarrel to be ready for anything. He set off at a steady but swift-moving lope, watching all the time for signs of anything untoward. This went on for minute after minute, with nothing to see. He was beginning to think that he should have asked the boy how long he had been hiding, but the child in his terror probably had no idea of the elapsed time. John plodded on, hoping that the abductor was moving much slower, having a reluctant victim with him. John had almost given up hope of catching the man before he dragged the girl off the track entirely, when he heard sounds of a scuffle ahead. He changed his jogging movement to a slower stealth mode, cutting the sounds he was making to the absolute minimum, while continuing to move as fast as was possible. Coming round one of the bends in the track, he spotted a girl being dragged along by her hair, trying to keep to her feet as her captor urged her on.

“If you don’t stop slowing me down, I’ll rape you right now, you little bitch, and if you kick me again, I’ll slit your throat and have done with it!”

“My dad will get you, just you wait and see!”

“Your dad? He is far from here, girly. You’ll never see him again.” At that point, a male voice said calmly but clearly, “Are you threatening my daughter, sir?” The man’s head jerked up and around, to see a short bow with a small arrow pointing at him. He jeered, “You are her daddy? That little thing is your weapon? My knife is bigger than that, mister! Your girl will be dead before you can get to me.”

“Let’s see,” said John, and let loose a bolt towards the man’s middle. It sped across and entered his belly, went straight through and exited from his back, just missing his spine. The pain hit him a moment later.

“Owwwww!” He doubled over then collapsed on the track, blood pouring out from the open wound. John paused, checking his surroundings for any other threat, then marched over to stand beside him, watching impassively as the man’s blood pooled on the track. He was bleeding out, but John did not care; the man had chosen his life, and his death. At last the man squealed his last, lapsed into unconsciousness and died. The boy on his shoulders, not interested in what was happening with the man, instead called out, “Sis! Up here!”

“Tomo!” she responded, looking up in delight. “Are you all right?” The boy beamed, announcing, “This man rescued me. He said he would find you, and he did!” The girl, whose age John guessed about eleven or twelve, but painfully thin, stared at John in surprise, then declared, “I am Franda, and my brother is Tomo. What is your name, hero who called himself my father?”

“I am no hero, just a friend in a time of your need. I used your father’s title to make the criminal feel guilty and put him off-balance. It worked. My name is John, and I am on the way home to my own tribe. Do you have a tribe to go to, my young friend? If not, my tribe will take care of you.” She stiffened, then burst into tears. The boy called to her, “It will be all right, sis! This manny seems to be a nice manny.” She called back to him,”But what if we have it as well? He might catch it!” John smiled down at her benignly. “I don’t catch diseases; I only catch bad people. Tell me about this illness that threatens you.” She told him, “Our small tribe was visited by a man with red blotches all over him but took him in to help him. He was in poor condition when he arrived; the shaman could do nothing for him, and he died quite quickly the very next day. Then members of the tribe started to catch this red-spot disease; it was frightening for everybody. Our parents sent us away so that we would not catch the disease, but we are not certain we are free of it. We have been travelling a long way for the past many days, eating as best we could, avoiding predators for we only had my one spear as a weapon against them. John hummed to himself. “Your ailment sounds something like a disease we called measles, or a similar one called German measles; neither was usually very dangerous, but can be fatal for some people for reasons that are not clear. If you don’t die, you recover in about a double hand of days. You need to eat well, to keep up your metabolism – the way your body works to keep you healthy.” The girl gazed at him in wonder.

“Are you a shaman, mister? You seem to know a lot. Our shaman is one of those that caught the red spot stuff, so he wasn’t too clever. I don’t know if he lived or died, but he wasn’t well when we left.”

“Nobody knows everything, Franda, so one Shaman may be an expert on certain things, but not in others. Another Shaman will have different knowledge. I suppose I am the Shaman for our tribe; they treat me as if I was.”

“You really cannot catch the red spot thing, mister John? Do you speak true?”

“I speak true, in that I have not come down with any of the diseases which are rife in this general area. You and your young brother do not have that protection, so you had best follow your parents’ advice and stay way for a while. If you remain by choice within our tribe for a certain amount of time, you may also gain that protection which is common among our people.”

“Mister John?” demanded Tomo, “Can I stay up here on top of you? I like it a lot.” John patted the boy’s leg, as he told him, “You can stay there for now Tomo, but if I get tired, you will have to get back on your own two feet, all right?”

“All right, Mister John.” Noticing that neither pair of feet were shod, John enquired, “Do either of you have any footwear? Things to protect your feet from sharp stones and so on?”

“No. I have never heard of such things, except that some people wrap pieces of hide round their feet if they have to travel over rough ground. No-one has ever used the word ‘footwear’ in my hearing,” admitted Franda.

“When we get to my tribe, we’ll get a pair of foot protectors called ‘moccasins’ made for you, and another pair for Tomo.”

“But my feet are tough, mister John,” she protested.

“I know, but your feet cannot cope with sharp things, so you will find that moccasins provide some protection for the soles of your feet.”

“All right; if you say so. Do you think my mum and dad are still alive?”

“Probably, but you and your brother should stay away until we work out when it should be safe for you to return. Do you know where your tribe is living?”