As the seasons changed and the winter spread its frosty tendrils across the land, the people began to turn to the gods for guidance. He hadn’t stayed long with them before so he didn’t know their rituals, though he was sure that they wouldn’t be very different to the ones he’d known in his youth. The various people he’d seen had their own gods and different ways to worship and adore them, but in essence he’d decided that it was only the names changed. Occasionally though, they sometimes had new aspects which were unique to the area. So it came as no surprise when an older man entered the valley with a large escort and arrived in the settlement to much rejoicing.
Watching from the trees, Cimon guessed correctly that this was the local priest come to bless the village for the winter months. That night there was a great feast with singing and competitions; the whole settlement seemed to be celebrating. But the next morning a different more sombre mood had descended over the village and he was sure it wasn’t only the effect of the drink from the night before. That afternoon the whole community followed the old grey man out of the village and up the narrow path to the waterfall. Not sure what to expect, Cimon and Wolf watched from one of the ridges, then quietly followed the procession, keeping well out of sight.
The procession stopped beside the waterfall and a simple ceremony took place. Flowers were cast into the plunge pool by all the families, whilst the man called out to a goddess to grant them health and sustenance for the coming year ahead. Now Cimon knew why there had been dried flowers scattered around the area when he’d first come to the valley. Then, amid much ceremony and song, three animals were slaughtered and thrown into the river. That seemed a waste to Cimon who’d grown up in a similar rural community and knew that every animal was needed, but he reasoned that it must be an important ceremony if they threw precious meat away and their goddess must be hard to appease.
After the ritual they went back to the settlement and there was another feast with more drinking and festivities. To his astonishment they had salvaged the animals from the river and they were now the main feast for the celebrations. It was typical of the pragmatic Germans and in a way he approved, at least the animals had been put to good use and their goddess obviously didn’t mind. But it made him think, and a plan was now taking shape in his head that Cyrus would not have approved of at all, but Shelpa would’ve loved being part of and wholeheartedly supported.
A few days later when the hunters were returning from the outer valleys, Cimon and Wolf followed them. Once they had determined the hunter’s path, they moved on ahead as if to cut them off. Cimon had an idea in mind that would need careful staging. He timed his and Wolf’s emergence from the trees perfectly so that they were in full view of the hunters for the briefest moment. Then they disappeared and the men were left to wonder who or what they had seen. Cimon and Wolf jogged out of range and waited to hear the men. As expected there were indignant words spoken and many wanted to know who this intruder was, but as it was late and the winter was coming on, the majority prevailed and they instead went back to the settlement full of disquiet and uncertainty.
That was just the beginning of Cimon’s plan. Over the next few weeks he appeared several more times, always in the distance or on the edges of their vision and always for the briefest of moments. At first they went out to find this intruder and hunted for him as well as for food. But the only evidence they found was that another, better hunter had been there before them. Gradually, as Cimon hoped they would, they began to decide that it was a god not a man after all, and one that they needed to appease and quickly. This had been Cimon’s intention all along; he didn’t want to glamour and appear to them as Shelpa did. These were practical Germans, they needed a more subtle approach and had to come to the realisation that this was a superior being by themselves, they weren’t a people to be forced into something.
His plan came to fruition one evening as the sun set. The hunters were due home at any time, so Cimon accessed a precipice which could only be achieved with great difficulty. He waited there until the men were in view, then he stepped out and stood before them, casually holding his bow and a hunting spear. The men noticed soon enough and their startled exclamations of wonder soon reached his ears. Satisfied that he’d achieved the desired effect he turned back and disappeared into the trees, reflecting that he’d finally learnt something useful from Shelpa.
Content with his attempts to win the Germans over, Cimon left Wolf behind and returned over the Rhine, to feed and catch up with the world. It was the right time to go, the Germans needed to think about what they’d seen and digest it before he moved onto his next phase. He wanted to be back before the snow came and made travelling difficult, or impossible, even for a Rabisu. He knew how tough things could be in the Alps, but he had no idea how badly this range of mountains could be affected; only time would tell and he’d like to be well fed, just in case.
The winter had really set in by the time he was back and the first snow was threatening. Wolf met him near the beginning of the valley, she’d obviously been waiting for him, but due to territorial politics had not been able to come any closer. No other wolf would dare enter the valleys where his scent was still strong, but equally, she couldn’t travel out unless with him. Though, this also meant that she’d no other competition for food and was equally well fed for the winter.
This wasn’t the case for the people below. The hunters went out every day, but they hardly caught anything. Cimon watched them with growing frustration and then increasing concern. How they had survived in the past was beyond him and all he could do was hope that they had a store of dried meat from the domesticated animals they’d slaughtered and other foodstuffs to see them through.
When the winter arrived, it came without mercy. Not nearly as bad as the Alps, but when it snowed you knew all about it. To Cimon it was still a time of wonder and beauty. He loved to race with Wolf and jump in the drifts; to have been a child in a white world like this would’ve been magical. Even having someone to share it with would’ve been nice, but there was only Wolf, and she wasn’t much of a snow companion. On days like these he missed human company and tried to avoid thinking of his friends back in warmer climes.
When he watched the children of the valley they too seemed to be having fun, they threw snow at each other and built it into strange shapes and found many other wonderful ways of playing with the frozen water. It seemed as pleasurable a time for them as it was for him, but he could see the worry on their parents’ faces. They clearly didn’t share the joy or wonderment. The cold and wet seemed to permeate their bodies and the anxiety could be seen in the tense lines they wore and the set of their bodies as they moved. They were worried, though tried not to show it, but it was obvious that they had no love for this white world of hunger and starvation.
The hunters continued to go out, but as usual their successes were pathetic. Maybe a rabbit here or a bird there, but nothing substantial, nowhere near enough to feed the whole village. Cimon couldn’t understand it because the place was teeming with life, but the hunters seemed unable to catch anything, and this was the same in all the settlements he observed. Eventually he realised that he’d been a Rabisu so long, he’d forgotten what it was like for others not blessed with his abilities and skills. He shouldn’t judge these men, they were doing the best they could, but they couldn’t move as quietly or as quickly as he could. He had an advantage and if he wanted to be a god to them, then he’d have to start using those advantages to help them and ultimately himself.
That night he caught his first food for them. It was a young buck, full of fresh meat and more than enough for everyone. In the middle of the night with only the moon to light his way, he carried the prize over his shoulders and dropped it onto the ground in front of the closed wooden gates.
The next morning the result was as he expected. Delighted but mystified they took the food in, the local Uma blessed it and then they cooked it there and then. He watched from the safely of an oak as the people laug
hed and celebrated the unexpected food. He tried to see Inga, and he thought he saw her sitting with her family, enjoying the rich meat with everyone else.
He left the people to it and went back to his home with Wolf to eat some food of their own. Later in the afternoon, before it got dark, they heard singing coming from the village and it seemed to be coming closer and getting louder. Cautiously he gathered his bow and crept down the sacred hill to investigate.
They must have followed his tracks because at the bottom of the slope, on the other side of the boundary stones, a group of women and children had gathered and were singing together. Cimon listened carefully to the words. From what little he could understand they were singing about a great man, who provided for his people in their time of need. Then he realised that they were singing about him and as they sang, several little girls stepped forward and placed some offerings down on the flat-topped boundary stones.
Cimon watched, shocked and moved by their reverence and thanks. He was trying for something deeper and more permanent than Shelpa had ever attempted. She’d appeared as an established goddess with rituals and worshipers already in place. Here, he’d created a new deity with no rites or customs, but it seemed as if the people were creating their own. He hadn’t foreseen this and it made him a little uncomfortable. They were being guided by an older woman who led them in the songs and then called up the slope in reverent tones. He recognised her as the Uma for the settlement and from his understanding of the language she was thanking him for taking pity and helping the village and she hoped that these small gifts would please him.
Cimon waited until they were gone then descended to investigate their offerings. He knew that they were honey cakes from the smell and to his delight they were still warm. It had been many years since he’d had simple cakes like these and he bit into them with relish. They must have been made especially for him, so he took them all, ensuring that nothing went to waste, and he enjoyed them that night with his meal.
In the morning the settlement found a collection of rabbits outside their door with another set on the boundary stones. And by the end of the day a deal between god and worshipers and been struck and the means of tribute agreed. As Cimon watched the older woman leave the honey cakes in the dwindling light, he knew that Shelpa would’ve been jealous, for even she hadn’t achieved this level of adoration. He had his own people now.
All the through the winter he fed them. Every other day he left fresh meat outside the settlement and again at the bottom of the slope by the boundary stones. In return a group of women would offer two freshly made honey cakes. The number had decreased over the days, at first they’d been anxious, but he’d made it clear that he didn’t mind and was content to feed them. When he needed to feed himself, he’d leave the valley and visit the other settlements; he didn’t want to draw attention to any irregularities in the village or gather any suspicion to himself. The people had an Uma and he’d no doubt that she was skilled and knowledgeable and maybe even a Wielder as well.
But when the winter finally relented and the air became warmer, he knew that he’d have to travel in order to satisfy the growing hunger he felt inside. His proximity to the people meant that the hunger had never quite died away and the physical strain of providing for the village had meant that the essence he had taken was soon used up. He tried to put it off for as long as possible because he was enjoying the changes in the landscape as winter thawed.
Day by day the landscape transformed and almost overnight a smattering of green covered the land and the trees. The rivers and streams sang with fresh water and the birds called happily in the trees. It was very different from Boeotia and yet not so, the seasons were more extreme here, there was no doubt, but the sense of new life and energy was universal. So he stayed for as long he dared because he didn’t want to miss any part of it.
Chapter Fourteen
Inga woke to the sound of her parents talking. She was snuggled amid the furs with Helda, her youngest sister, and had no wish to get up into the cold yet.
“Did you hear the wolves, Gert?” her mother asked as she broke off some bread to hand to him.
Her father sighed. “Of course, they called all night.”
“Goodman stopped them coming to the valley, do you think he’s gone?” she asked anxiously. Inga listened carefully to her father’s reply. She’d heard the wolves as well and like her mother she too had wondered what it had meant. Since the god Goodman had come, no wolves had dared come to their valley and as a result they hadn’t lost a single animal over the winter. Did the howling last night mean that the god had gone?
Her father paused for a moment, then smiled. “It’s spring, Sabine, why would the wolves howl? Why do we men howl?”
Her mother blushed and looked away. “But we haven’t had anything from him for days.”
Her father went over to Inga’s mother and slipped his arms around her. “That’s because with the snows gone we can hunt again. This Goodman knows when to leave it to the men, he’s giving us back our pride. We can provide for you now.”
Her mother smiled at her husband and lightly touched his cheek. “You always could, but it’s easier when a god decides to help.”
Her parents smiled at each other and began to go about their business, but Inga was still curious; they hadn’t explained why the wolves where howling.
“But why are the wolves back?” she asked kicking the bedding aside and clambering to her feet.
Her parents glanced over, but before they could answer her older sister Katya chimed in. “It’s spring, silly. The wolves are calling for mates.”
“Your sister’s right. So don’t wander out of the valley, they’re hungry,” her father warned her, taking some bread and going to the door.
“Unlike us they haven’t been fed by a god,” Katya reminded her. “Little girls would be very welcome,” she added, grinning.
“Mama!” Helda cried and shot out of the bed surprising everyone, as they’d all believed she’d been asleep.
“You’ll be all right. Your sister was just teasing,” their mother said glaring at Katya. “Besides, you‘ll be too busy to leave the valley for the next few days.”
Inga’s heart sank with the certainty of that; they had too much to do, so much to repair and mend before the summer came and once that arrived they’d be busy with other things. It was endless. She took the hunk of bread offered to her and sat down in the little room with her sisters. Winter was cold, but at least there had been much to do; now her days would be filled with boring women’s work.
Inga followed behind her mother as the women climbed steadily up the gentle slope to the green and flowered pastures that lay beyond. Today was the first time she’d been allowed to accompany the others in foraging for spring herbs. She’d been considered too young before, but during the winter she’d proved that that she had a good eye. So whilst Helda had to stay behind and wash in the freezing stream, she was allowed to leave the security of the valley and hunt for the delicate early herbs that could transform the rabbit or venison stew.
It had been fun at the beginning, but Inga soon found bending down burdensome and tiring. She’d located several clumps of the rare herb, but after a while, her back had begun to ache. At first she’d been the only one, but as the time had gone on more and more of the women had stood up hastily and with relief. After a few moments of rubbing their backs, they had bent down again. Her mother had been one of the last to give in, but eventually even she had stood up and smiled ruefully at her daughter.
“It does get easier,” her mother had assured her and had spent some time massaging her muscles before bending down again. Inga decided there and then that Helda was lucky splashing about in the water.
“Inga!” Her mother looked up and chided her for dallying. With a sigh Inga bent down again and looked for the annoyingly elusive herb.
Quite unexpectedly she saw a clump and picked it carefully so as not to displace the roots then stuffed it into her
half-empty bag She spied another group, a little further away, then she saw several more and soon she was avidly selecting the best heads to pick. But it had taken her further and further away from her mother and the group of women from her village. She could see some more, but they were up the slope. Inga glanced back: no one was looking. If she was quick, she could pick them and be back before anyone had noticed. They’d been told to stay on the flat, but this cluster was only a few strides away. Feeling daring, she climbed up and selected the best heads, but immediately she saw even more, they were only two steps further, so she clambered up to those as well. When Inga glanced back all the women were caught up in their foraging and paying no attention to her. The view was beautiful from here; if she went just a little further then she’d see the top of the slope on the other side. Deciding that was her plan, she turned and began to climb higher up the slope, then she glanced ahead to see how far it was and stopped. Ahead of her in the shadow of the trees stood a man.
He wasn’t from her village, she could tell that. He didn’t have a beard or moustache and his hair was dark and short. She was looking right at him and he was gazing straight back and strangely she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t need the wolf to come and lie down beside him to know who he was. This was Goodman the god and he was staring at her. Only hunters had seen him before and she was a child not a hunter.
She could only imagine that he wanted her to get Mutta, so she began to turn, but he shook his head. She stopped and gaped at him wondering what he wanted. Quietly he lifted his finger to his mouth in the universal gesture for silence and she stared in surprise as he came a little closer so that he was out of the shadows.
He really didn’t look like her people, he was dark haired, but it was short, like they told her the Romans wore it, and he had dark eyes, which were almost black from this distance. He was tall as well, taller than most of the men she knew. He didn’t look like she imagined a god would, but he didn’t look like a man either.