Chapter 13

“He is a greedy little sucker; likes my nipples to suck on even more than you do. I have plenty of milk at the moment, but it has to be entirely for the boy for now; none for you. And before you mention it, I am too sore down there for any of your lovemaking. The midwives made me a soft pad to sit on, which helps, but it will be some weeks before I am back to wanting your loving attention down there. Noma is much the same I think. She had her son about two fingers of days after me. She is as well as I am, perhaps even less sore. I am going to think hard about having another child: it hurts, you should know.”

“It always does, my lovely; so I am told. Women seem to get over the memory of birth pain very quickly, I seem to recall. You did not bleed much, I hope?”

“Not much at all, surprisingly. Your tiny health machines worked their magic, and I healed up very fast, though it leaves me sore.

What have you been up to at that Chief’s tribe when you got there? Was the herbal remedy effective on his women?”

“It was remarkable good for that task. They all had a bloody flux after a couple of days, clearing out their wombs of the unwanted seed of that terrible man and his henchman. That one died as well, but I got one of the Chief’s lieutenants to take on that man’s group of victims with a promise to love and care for them.

I restricted myself to helping Gobango’s direct victims. I offered them a chance to return to their family homes, but two had been orphaned by Gobango’s murderous activity, and the others were either going to be in a precarious family position or not wanted by parents due to being so-called defiled. All six in the end elected to become wives to the new Chief: me.”

Numa exclaimed, “You now have another six women in your stable? What am I going to do with you? It was exceptional when you added the two concubines recently, but another six wives all at once? I am astonished, but not displeased, for it shows how important my husband is.

Do you intend to populate the world all by yourself, my darling John?”

She went on with a laugh, “You are going to be able to have another tribe all to yourself, my love, if you wanted that, but you won’t: I know you. I would guess that you are planning to appoint a replacement Chief at that new tribe, so that you are able to be here more often for the benefit of your wives and children. What do that tribe call themselves?”

John replied, “The Mountain Tribe; as a title, not all that clever, but it will do for now. Can I bring over and introduce my new wives to their Chief? They are all in their mid-teens, with big breasts. It seems that this was Gobango’s fetish: big breasts. He also liked beating them while raping them. One had a broken arm, now fixed successfully, caused while resisting his attempts at rape. She managed to beat him off eventually.”

“Poor women. Yes, bring them over, that would be sensible. Introduce them and tell them that I am number one wife at all times, but like a mother to them.”

John called them over and performed the introductions. Chief Numa examined them almost like new recruits to a business, while paying no heed to the baby at her breast; he was just there, suckling quietly, and that was that. She was Chief, full stop.

John told them all after the introductions that Chief Numa was first wife of his family, and that every other wife should do her bidding in the absence of John’s advice.

They all stared at this new mother with awe. Having a baby didn’t seem to hamper her at all. She was Chief Numa and acted the part of the tribe’s leader, even while nursing a new baby. Of course, she was much older than them, by at least five years; not a teenager anymore, and vastly more experienced in so many ways.

She now demanded of John, “Where are these new wives going to be housed? In this tribe or back at the Mountain Tribe?”

“I hadn’t thought that far, Chief Numa. I was waiting for you to give your blessing to them, or to say otherwise. They would be safer here, I believe, and would have a chance to experience and learn equality of opportunity. I haven’t asked them if they would prefer being back at the other tribe, but there are so many bad memories there. What would you say, Numa?”

She changed the subject. “I would say it is time you held your son and got to know him, then go do the same with Noma’s boy. These two are going to grow up together, if I have any control over the arrangements, and I have. These two boys will be responsible for looking after the younger children as they grow.”

She handed over the baby, and instructed John on how to hold him in a supporting way and avoid getting regurgitated milk over his clothing. John found that he enjoyed the experience. It was a comforting feeling, holding his own son for the first time. The words ‘my son’ came to him strongly in his mind and made him feel good. He wondered if he would still feel the same closeness with the seventh or eighth baby; he hoped he would. He still hadn’t asked the boy’s name, and did so now. Numa was scathing in her response.

“Naming a baby is a father’s responsibility. You need to have some input into the life of your child, beyond starting it off in my womb. Don’t just repeat your own name; give him something he will be proud to own up to.”

John thought for a while as he rocked his son, then finally offered, “Geraldo”.

Numa was interested. “That sounds fine, but new to me. Does it have a meaning or just sound good?”

“I heard it on some occasion in my past, the name of a fellow soldier I met. Apparently it means ‘ruler with a spear’ or similar meaning. I would call it ‘ruler with power’.”

“Good. It sounds a strong name and has a strong meaning. I like it.”

At last he handed back the baby and asked where to find Noma.

“Ask Raka; she has been tending to Noma since the birth, keeping an eye on her for she had more bleeding that I did.”

“Ah. Boost her meat intake.”

“What?”

“The best and quickest way to restore good blood in the body is to eat meat, cooked of course. I don’t know if we have ferrous sulphate among our medicines.”

“Oh, another of the medicines from your former future time.”

“Exactly. Some of the knowledge from that period can be very useful here, not just the tools in the store.”

“Raka has made considerable use of these tools, John. It is good that we have a Maker who is in a position to work with what we now have for us to use.”

John said, “I nearly asked how she was doing with her own pregnancy, then remembered that the others were just as important. How are all my other wives managing, Chief Numa?”

“Very well, as far as I can tell. My attention has been focused mainly on our son for the last two weeks, but I have been aware of my responsibilities to our family. No-one has any serious problem, not even having the baby in the wrong position according to Vickie and Sheila, who seem knowledgable about such matters. Pregnancy sickness has been remarkably restricted, and has not lasted very long in any of us.

I think your magic invisible machines are doing their job, or else we are all astonishingly healthy women. I have never before heard of eight women in a row being so lucky. With a bit more of this luck, we will have a fine crop of children for you to admire by this time next year. That doesn’t include what your new wives may produce. Are they willing to bear babies for you? With such big breasts, they are certainly ready for feeding babies.”

“I get the impression they are on that path, but they are still recovering from the trauma of what that excuse for a Chief did to them, so I am not pushing it. They have all been with me for sex, but mostly a gentle encounter to allow them to see what joy loving sex is like, in comparison to the rape experience that they got from Gobango. He even encouraged his strong-arm man to use them as well; which shows you how little regard either had for the women. They were just sex objects to him and his pal, not loving wives like I hope they will learn to become with me. That abuse still makes me angry when I think of it.

In many ways, my part of my task is to apologise for the sins of other men.”

He paused before going on.

“Bravura is the only one who wasn’t raped. She remained a virgin, but sustained many bruises and a broken arm defending herself from Gobango. She was lucky, for he was a known killer. Two of the women were forcibly removed from their parents, and when the mum and dad objected, he simply killed them both, or had his sidekick do it! These murders were almost as terrible as the rapes afterwards. Imagine it: your parents died trying to protect you.

I insisted that the girls – I view them as innocent girls in my mind - that the girls should each decide if and when they wanted gentle sex with me. Bravura was first; she willingly gave me her virginity, as I had saved her life; she saw me as her saviour and so deserving of that honour, but I still got her to decide by herself. The others watched us and were amazed at what sex ought to be like; not something to fear. That was the first step.

Getting them to realise that, in my tribes, a woman has the power to decide things for herself, was a revelation to all of them. They were no longer just available women that a man could simply take to his bed for sex. They could refuse, or postpone his attentions, even if he was her husband or master. That was a massive power that they never envisaged happening in their lives.

Then I told them that they could take up a trade if they wanted: cook, hunter, warrior, maker, healer, herbalist, teacher of children; anything. Can you see how their horizons were lifted? They could be a wife, and a mother, and still do whatever trade they had an ability for; no restrictions.”

Numa patted his hand.

“Yes, dear; even a Chief!”

“Sorry, I omitted that elevated trade, didn’t I? My humble apologies, darling Chief Numa.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention: there was a messenger who came looking for the tribe’s shaman. I told him you were away on an important task and offered to take the message, but he said it was for the shaman’s ears alone. He left after that.”

“It can’t have been that important, then,” he remarked.

John walked around until he found Raka heading along carrying a drinking gourd.

“Hi, John. You have returned to us at last? I hope you will be around for me when I have my baby.”

“I hope so too, Raka. None of this was my intention. It was thrust on me; a long story for later. Where can I find Noma and her new son?”

“Follow me. I am taking her a drink of flavoured spring water.”

“Maranga told me about that. You must brief me about it when you have time. I see possibilities of it as a trade item.”

“Perhaps. Wee haven’t made much, but it is mostly deciding on the strength of the flavouring. Here is where Noma and her baby are resting. Noma, John has finally come back to us.”

“John! Welcome home. Have you come to see our son?”

“I have come to see YOU, and also our son, my darling Noma. Are you both well, or are you suffering from the after effects of birthing?”

“I am not too bad, just tired. I lost some blood during the birth. Raka helped sew me up where needed, and the bleeding stopped soon after. I have heard tales of new mothers bleeding to death, so I was grateful. Raka was a great help, very practical; better than the usual actions of midwives that I have heard about.”

John understood what she was talking about. “She has learned that traditional ways are not always the best ways, Noma. I suspect she has been looking at the pictures in one of our medical books in the library.”

Raka intervened, “I did do that, John. The images were very helpful, though the words were beyond me. You will need to teach me these words.” She thrust the gourd of drink forward to Noma. “Have another of my flavoured spring water drinks, Noma. It is quite refreshing.”

Noma took the gourd with pleasure, and took a first sip and swallow.

John got back into the conversation. “What have you been eating since the birth, Noma?”

“Mostly soups, as these are easier to swallow when you are lying down most of the time through tiredness. The birth took a lot out of me, John, apart from your son leaving my body!”

“You need to have some meat in your diet, my darling, as the meat gives you the ingredient called iron, that is needed for your body to make new blood to replace what you have lost. Raka, tell whoever is preparing her food that Noma must have some meat included in her meals, whatever it is they are devising; the more meat the better, for some time.”

“Will do, John. Leave it with me. Now, have you tried this spring water with my extra taste?” She pointed at the gourd Noma was drinking from. John nodded.

“I got a quick taste of it from Maranga. It is delicious, Raka.”

“Sheila and I worked out what was going to be the best taste for a flavoured water. She called it a limonade without the limon.”

“Lemon, I think is the pronunciation, but I see what she meant. It has a sort of tangy taste to it.”

“It is a combination of tastes from two plants; from the flowers and seeds. We must have tried loads and loads of plants to find the best flavours for the drink.”

“Yes, Sheila would be applying field testing to the problem. One taste may be fine for a warm drink, while another is best for a cold drink, I am sure.”

“You could have a warm drink? Why?”

“Raka, ask me that again on a cold day, and I will show you. A warm drink adds warmth to your insides and makes you feel better. We used to have drinks called tea and coffee for that purpose: both had a stimulant in them that made the drink more attractive.”

“Do we have such plants here?” Raka asked.

“No, but somewhere around this part of the world is the cacao tree, whose large pod of seeds can produce a drink we called chocolate. Ask Sheila about the cacao tree and where we might find it. One of the books about plants ought to be able to identify the likely type of locality.”

“John?” a new voice interrupted. It was Vickie.

“Yes, my love? I have returned, as you see.”

“You brought a man and his wife with you, but failed to introduce them to everyone. That was a fault you should rectify quickly, my husband. You are High Chief, after all, and have your duties to the tribes.”

“Damn! You are right, Vickie. Sorry about that. Did you see the Hairy Merchant when he called here some time back?”

“Yes, a peculiar character, with hair all over his face and head; who knows what his body was like! What about him?”

“Our visitor Harro is the same man, without all that hair!”

“Him? The Hairy Merchant? The same man? Unbelievable! He looks quite distinguished now.”

“He was banished from the Mountain Tribe years back, and grew his hair long as a disguise so he would not be recognised by anyone who knew him before. As his new Chief, I cancelled his banishment and allowed him and his wife Helena to get together again. They are now on their way to greet his second wife, whom he married early in his lonely banishment, and thus bring his whole family together. Their teenage daughter Sistera was one of the victims of Gobango, and is consequently my wife, so Harro is my new father-in-law. That grants him special privileges here, if he wants to stay. He has gathered expertise in trading, so may be useful as a guide to our future trading ventures.”

“Is he still going to be a travelling merchant?”

“We didn’t discuss that, so I don’t know. He could be a member of this tribe, or the Mountain tribe, and continue as a trader as well. I was hoping to use him to help us devise the best trading strategy for each of our tribes. We shouldn’t all offer the same items, or we will find ourselves in unnecessary competition.”

Vickie nodded her understanding, and Raka added her approval. “That has a logic to it that I agree with. Each tribe should specialise in one or two commodities, helped by the other tribes in the group. Thus, all would collect and pass on to this tribe their spare oil and wood ash, for our soap-making enterprise, and the Farfarers could concentrate on wood products from Brando, including wheels.”

John asked, “Do you want to make things using the tools and equipment in the store-room? Things for the tribe, or objects for trade, or both?”

“Could I use the tools to make art like we talked about, John?”

“Oh, you mean a sculpture – an image that you can hold and see it from all angles?”

“I think that describes what I am thinking: like what the fisher village man made, but I want to make an image entirely out of wood. What would it be an image of, do you think?”

“If it was of a head, it could be Chief Numa or me or Chief Maranga. If it was very realistic, you could offer to make a head sculpture of any Chief, but he would have to come here for a sitting: a chance for you to view his visage; get an idea of how he looks from any direction. You might do that by drawing pictures of his head from front, back, and either side, then you can carve your sculpture to match these drawings. However it is arranged, it should be expensive in trade terms, due to the amount of time and effort needed to make it.

It might also be a good idea for half the payment to be in advance, in case the commissioning Chief doesn’t like the final product and tries to refuse it. Not everyone likes their true image, for we all like to think we are better-looking than we actually are! If he tries to refuse the end product, you could threaten to sell it to his rivals as an image to laugh at if he looks so bad. He will probably take it to prevent that happening.”

Raka was amused at this depiction of possible customers.

“Do you think I could actually make some images that twist how a person looks, to make them look peculiar in a humourous way?”

John smiled in recollection. “Yes, that is known as cartooning, where you exaggerate part of an image to make it seem funny, like a big nose, or big ears. Usually that is what the cartoon does: expands a feature to larger proportions than normal. It might even be hair. If a man has slightly spiky hair, show him with tall spiky hair as a fun aspect. He might even like such an image!

Conversely, show a woman with a tall hair style as if it was twice as high, and she will be very offended at this insult.”

“John, you are not just a caring husband, you are a funny man as well!”

“I do what I can, Raka, just like you do. We all do what we can for our tribe, I hope.”

Raka was distracted by Noma handing back the empty gourd. “That was lovely, Raka. John, do you want to hold our son for a little while?”

“Yes, please, Noma. Do you have any preference as to what I should name him?”

“As long as you give him a name with power, I will be happy, John.”

“Then how about Enzo? That is a version of a name that used to mean ‘ruler of his home’ in my old world. Does that fit your requirement?”

“Wonderful! My boy will rule his home?”

“His home, or his land, or his tribe; the meaning can adapt to any of those.”

“It is a good choice, my John; even better than I first thought.”

John moved on to find Harro and Helena. They were at the cook-fires, where Helena was discussing meals with the cooks. She looked up when John appeared.

“Chief John! These ladies tell me they have complete control over what they produce for meals; no-one tells them what they have to make.”

John amended her understanding. “None of us actually tells them what to make, but instead, we let them know what meals we like the most and what we are not keen on, and they adjust their recipes accordingly. It remains their choice, but it is amazing how much their choices coincide with the likes of the tribe’s members!”

Helena frowned.

“You are not suggesting that they must accede to your likes?”

“Certainly not. You will note, as they did, that providing meals that are liked gains them friends in the community that is our tribe. At the same time, these friends slowly get tired of the same desirable things and ask for new recipes. This stimulates our cooks to devise new meals, and everyone gets the best of what they can make. You would get bored if the meat was the same type of meat prepared the same way every day, even if it was your favourite dish. These wonderful cooks try out more meats and new ways to prepare the food, and they get better at their trade every day.”

“So who gets to try out something new, in case it is poisonous?” she challenged.

“That’s what we have animals for, apart from their normal uses. The animals get to sample the new recipes first. If they reject the meal in any way, the cooks know to revise it to make it more palatable. The animals seldom die from a human meal, just react badly for a while. For example, I have heard that the cacao bean is poisonous to certain animals, even though it is tasty to us. The cooks listen to what they hear and learn from it. Sometimes they disprove old tales about certain plants, simply by testing to see if the facts agree with the stories. Like all traditions, some are right and some are wrong.

It may be that the cooks are using the right plant, but perhaps the wrong part of the plant. As I told someone recently, the potato plant, that grows at high latitudes in the southern part of this continent, has large round poisonous berries, but the round-shaped roots underground are an excellent food source. You have to know which to use in meals, so that you don’t kill your consumers!

Helena gave in. “I will discuss this further with the cooks, but they appear to be happy with the responsibility they have been given. It is a fact that with power comes responsibility. If only all Chiefs recognised that fact. Gobango failed to take on that responsibility, so it is right that he died.”

There came a tap on John’s shoulder, and he turned to see who wanted his attention. It was Tarka, Raka’s elder brother and trade emissary from the tribe.

“Tarka! What are you doing home? Got fed up travelling for us?”

“No, John. I have met several emissaries from tribes to the south. They were looking for you; or rather, the ‘Great White Shaman’ who had visited their tribes some time ago. They said that after you had visited a tribe, the sick slowly got better, and general health of the tribe improved. They put it down to your shamanic magic, so they want to find you to thank you for what you did; whatever it was!”

John grinned.

“All, I did, Tarka, was lay hands on as many of the ill persons as I could in each tribe, and moved on. I was simply passing some of my healing magic to them. It would slowly spread around the tribe, just as it did in my own tribes. I am no miracle worker. Passing on a gift is mere friendship. It is much better than passing on diseases, which is what the invaders managed to do without realising what they were doing.”

“That may be as you say, but the emissaries were instructed to find you and report back, so that the current Chief could come and thank you for what you achieved. They are grateful. I told them you were based at this tribe, so expect visitors sometime soon, High Chief.”

“As the old saying goes: no good deed goes unpunished. What do they expect from me, once they reach me?”

“The men I spoke with didn’t say; claimed it was not their job; but I got the impression they want you to take charge in some way.”

“Take charge? How? Be their Shaman, their Chief, or as High Chief for them, or as some sort of military adviser? I don’t want to be their overlord: that is not my role in life.”

“I could only make a guess, High Chief, so I won’t offer any possibility. Please wait until you receive a deputation from them and hear what they have to say.”

“All right, Tarka. I can’t expect you to second-guess what they are thinking. Are you going back out on your travels, or are you staying with Belory for a while? You have seen how Raka has blossomed within this tribe as our Maker, as well as blossoming with her pregnancy.”

“I am staying for some time. I am as up to date with trading relations as I can be, and Belory wants me by her side for some considerable time. As for Raka, she has got exactly what she wanted, and more. She decided to marry you, and consequently have your children, but I never expected her to take on the post of Maker to the tribe. She is unique in that way, as I have not found any tribe with a female Maker. Her story – which I will spread as I travel? may encourage more women to take on that job, if they have the talent for it.”

“Your little sister has indeed excelled herself, Tarka. I am very proud of her. She even sewed up Noma’s cuts after the birth of her baby, and thus helped stem the bleeding.”

“So she is even acting the part of a healer?”

“In a small way, but an effective one. Healing is a joint effort by everyone involved, from the hands-on treatment at the time, up to and including how she is fed afterwards, and what care the new mother gets to help her get better. Even the mental encouragement by a few kind words can help with the recovery.”

“That is a pretty wide interpretation of the idea of healing, John my brother.”

“The same applies to most trades and tasks, Tarka. A trader needs knowledge not just of the actual items he or she trades in, but how they are made and how best used, and how they can be linked to another product. For instance, a new bowstring leads to a new bow and a new arrow in the mind of a true trader. Knowledge of these links all help him to sell a succession of products to the customer. A good bowstring may also have applications as the strings of a musical instrument, even if it means a different version of the string; the tribe that makes bowstrings can divert some of their efforts into musical strings and possibly make musical instruments such as the lyre or harp. If they enjoy musical instrument making, they might diversify into pan pipes, flutes, or even drums. We have used the drum as an instrument of war, but it has more versatility as a musical instrument, providing a steady beat for the other musicians to work to.

How did we get on to the subject of musical instruments, Tarka?”

“Your view of healing as a communal effort, John. You know, every time I get into a discussion with you, you come up with ideas that I never thought of; it is most peculiar. How do you know about so many things?”

“Education, Tarka; learning things. Learning about something new should be a task for everyone, not just our children. The more we can learn, the deeper our understanding of the world, the more we can appreciate what we have and value it accordingly. We live in a wonderful world, Tarka. We should enjoy its benefits and not go around trying to steal from others what we could have by ourselves if we worked for it.”

Tarka could find no words to say, and simply patted John’s arm and turned away.

Vickie laid a hand on his shoulder.

“John, my husband, that was quite an insight. The concept of learning all through life may appear new to them, but it might not be. A hunter all the time has to learn new ways of staying alive while killing fierce animals. What I think you are getting at is formal education; the passing on of knowledge to others, not just learning how you can survive in a dangerous environment. We tend to think of this being the province of children, having to learn basic maths or how to read the weather, or how to deal socially with other tribes that you meet so that you don’t clash with them. You and us girls from home have had to learn how to cope with this new society and its environment. I think we are managing fairly well. It is a pity we encounter the occasional rogue who spoils things for everyone, but fortunately you were in a position to help. I have spoken to some of your new wives and heard the stories of their appalling treatment, so I have great sympathy for them. You didn’t have much of a choice over marrying them, did you?”

“Not really, Vickie. It was almost a rescue mission in itself. They would have been pushed from a terrible situation to an almost as bad situation in the tribe, all because of past tradition towards abused women. I heard of such things happening in our own time, where women were killed by their own family for daring to step outside of the social pattern they were born into. Anyone who can think of doing harm to their own daughter, just because she has a mind of her own and wants to expand her horizons, must have a mindset of rigid thinking without any concept of love attached. To me, love is a major ingredient in life, if we are to survive as a species.”

“John, you certainly have had to learn to love so many women here! I expected to be offended by your adoption of a polygamous lifestyle, but when push comes to shove, you adapted and tried to do your best for everyone. As a result, I accept being one of many wives, as long as you remember to love me as much as you love any other wife.”

“Vickie, you should know me well enough by now to see that love for humanity is what drives me, and I simply take polygamy into that consideration. You are my wife in the way that was understood back home, and will always have my loving support, but so will every other woman I am married to here. Love doesn’t always start before marriage, but I aim to make love an integral part of my marriage to all of my women.”