[2003] LOSS & PORPHYRY the novels  

9021 - LOSS Chapter 4 - THE HUNT

It was the quiet of a winter afternoon. The cold had set in, and the land was now too hard to be worked. The sheep and cattle had been brought down to safety of the pens within the outer wall of the village. Soon they would be put under the shelter of their winter byres. Apart from a few villagers still involved in essential activities away from the village, Doal harvesting his fish traps and Wilm still felling trees in the oak forest, the whole community was confined to the village itself; working in their huts as they would continue to do through the depths of the winter.

It was not, however, a period of inactivity. It was just that the community's pattern of work changed dramatically. The gatherers exchanged their back-breaking toil amongst the growing crops for sedentary tasks in their huts; though the threshing of the corn crop, which was shared by everyone, could be as arduous as any work in the fields.

For most of the time, however, the members of the community were free dedicate their efforts to their own particular interests. Much as they loved the boisterous pleasures of summer, they also enjoyed the quiet pursuits of winter. It was a time to concentrate on the crafts which were their hobbies, and also added that extra touch of wealth to the community at large. Everybody had his own specialty; a creative pursuit into which he could put his time, effort and enthusiasm.

At times I regretted that I, almost alone, had never found the time to develop the very high levels of skill that the others aspired to; and often achieved. Winter for me was a time of sharing; of talking, of teaching, of learning. It was true that I, again almost alone, had a grasp of most of these crafts; and could, albeit with very limited skill, practice each of them. I could mould and fire pottery; though the potters invariably took over my crude attempts, to work them up to the standard expected by their customers. The same was true of the carvers, who really only tolerated my efforts as an unskilled help; limited to roughing out the blanks for them to contribute the fine details. Thus it was that I was especially glad to discover that the new skill of wax carving, required for the bronzes, better suited my talents; and it was with some satisfaction that, at last, I found my own efforts were resulting in some quite acceptable bronzes.

So that day I sat, patiently carving a block of purified beeswax; with a selection of my favourite carving flints to hand - each shaped to handle a particular aspect of the process of carving. Illuminated by the light from the two sets of doors which on this sunny afternoon had been thrown fully open, the coven was studiously at work around the fire hut. A few of them were carving too. Some of them were weaving at their looms, set up just inside the doors to make the most of the light. Two, who had the duty of being cooks that day, were patiently grinding corn on querns; to provide the flour for the evening's bread. But most were spinning or sewing; their bone needles flashing to and fro, almost automatically, as they chattered with each other. Over all was the continuous hum of gossip and banter, that would provide the background to our working life throughout the winter.

I moved to sit next to Trina, who was using one of the looms. This was partly to obtain the better light near the door, for I had just started to carve the fine detail on the sheep which was to be the subject of my next bronze. But it was mainly because I preferred the stimulating talk of the young girl to the relatively mindless chatter of her contemporaries. She was busy weaving an abstract pattern, based on the browns and golds of autumn. Her nimble fingers threaded the shuttles backwards and forwards at speed. It was an almost mesmerising pursuit; and it certainly offered a very relaxing backdrop for conversation.

I opened, with what was perhaps a rather formal statement of the position I had reached in my own mind, "Jon still firmly believes that his society has more to offer than ours, though I regret that this advantage seems so much to revolve around power, and with it violence. As you know I reject much of what he propounds. Of course it does have a superficial lure of excitement, but it seems to be ultimately destructive. The acid test of any society surely must be what it offers to its members; and at that level his seems to me impoverishing." I paused for Trina to agree; after all she had been a slave, subjected to the worst excesses of that cruel society.

To my surprise, she did not immediately support me: "That society is impoverished. It is debilitating for its members. But it still has elements that are missing from this society; idyllic as this one may seem." She paused, for my approval to continue; seemingly fearing that I might react to her implied rejection of my opening statement. What I had thought was an obvious statement was clearly more tendentious than I had suspected but, at my nod, she continued: "Jon is, I think, right when he says that your society is inherently weak and will not be able to withstand the onslaught of what he considers is the natural order of things; and which you, on the other hand, consider to be lunacy. Regrettably you are both right. You must be right in declaring that it would be lunacy to destroy the idyllic life we enjoy here. He is right in assuming that such will almost inevitably come to pass. The exciting certainties of his society, which views everything in uncompromising black and white, will always be more attractive to the mass of an ill-educated population than the uncertainties posed by the poorly-defined shades of real life. You have carefully educated your whole community to appreciate the subtle colours of the cloth I am weaving, but the savagely uneducated mind would prefer the bold statement of broad contrasts. Ignorance is much easier to create than is knowledge; savagery more fundamental than awareness. And those who lust after power will find ways of making that ignorance, and that savagery, attractive and indeed apparently virtuous. Outside of this oasis of calm you would have a long, hard fight to establish a community that is universally well educated."

I rushed to apologise, "I am sorry. It was a naive generality for me to thrust upon you. I had assumed that your own experience as a slave would have turned you against that society; and, in truth, I was seeking for some assurance to lay my own fears." I felt ashamed of the glib assumptions I had made. I could see that I was as guilty as her 'savage' of trying to view the arguments only in terms of black and white. Once more, I realised that her intellect was even greater than I had assumed. Her hidden depths were proving to be very deep indeed, and I was beginning to appreciate that our roles, as teacher and pupil, were steadily reversing. I was now learning more from her than she was from me. "What do you think of Jon's views about the limitations on our progress?" My question this time was not in any way rhetorical. I genuinely wanted to know her answer.

She was, in turn, grateful and relieved that I appreciated her honesty: "You are right in thinking that I oppose that society. I despise its coarseness and savagery. I do not even believe that it can yet claim to be a society of humans; it is more akin to one of beasts. But it exists, and it does have a certain raw power. And that raw power may overwhelm your own society's gentility. It may also have, as Jon claims, better potential for development. It certainly ought to have; for it starts from a very low ebb in man's development. Your society, our society for I too have made my own choice, is the one that I would wish should last for ever. But progress is inevitable; no matter how much we despair of where history is leading, it will still take us there as unwilling passengers. And the limits imposed by the small size of our village community must, as Jon suggests, surely prove to be a limitation at some stage. As far as I can see, or you can see, there is no obvious solution to this dilemma. However, it goes beyond this. Jon's society may be savage and crude; in many respects far less civilised than our own. But it is better placed to handle change. Here the forceful individual with the new idea, Isac for example, can sometimes impose his views on others. But in the longer term the odds are loaded against such changes. The council is an inherently conservative body. It will always want to opt for the comforting status quo. That is true of the community as a whole. You all share a common consciousness through the spirit. This is very reassuring; and very attractive, where it adds great riches to your relationships. But the price is that it has an enormous inertia. To change anything, in any significant way, you need to simultaneously sway the minds of all, not just of one individual. Jon's king, on the other hand, doesn't have that problem. He doesn't have to wait on the deliberations of any council. He has the power to accelerate progress; just as he can lead the way to barbarism. Many such societies will degenerate, but a few will make massive progress; and it is those that will determine the future, even if it is a future that we would wish might never happen. To that extent Jon is right. His society does contain the seeds of the future; and that is a terrible prospect. But it may not, over the aeons, be all terrible. Much of the time it will hurt all involved, the royal families just as much as the slaves, but it will eventually result in slow progress. That progress may be so slow that it may at times appear to be missing altogether. There may be set-backs; as the initial barbarism will inevitably be. The progress may be random, lurching from one painful solution to another. But I believe that, sometime in the far future, there will eventually be another society as pure as this; but with the strength to last for ever. That may be as far in the future as your sagas are in the past; but it will be worth waiting for. It will, again, justify man's existence."

Once more, I had to revise my views of this strangely talented girl. I had already come to respect her intellect; indeed I suspected that it was greater than any I had known. But I now recognised that I had still underrated her wisdom. It had long been an unspoken tradition, I now realised, that the future of our community was discussed, and determined, only by our menfolk. Of course women were to a degree involved in the decisions. A third of the council were women, and all members of the village shared the spirit without any discrimination. But none of the women had previously indicated that they wanted to be actively involved in formulating the community's plans for the future. Trina's wisdom was, thus, a reproach to my own short-sightedness; and to the conservative traditions by which the village was governed, and which it didn't even see.

This posed a new challenge. I had to explore, albeit tentatively, this new, refreshing, source of wisdom: "Clearly we both despise that alien society, but I feel we must explore it in order to be able to rescue something from a future that might, if your and Jon's pessimism is justified, be bleak. Even it, despite its loathsome savagery, must have some features that improve the lot of its members; features that we do not yet benefit from. We surely can learn something from all others; even if we despise most of what they teach. What, from your own experience, do you think we might best learn?"

Trina concentrated on her weaving while she thought through this challenge. If anything her fingers flew about their tasks even faster. But as she wove, and I resumed my carving, she devoted an intense concentration to my question; trying to separate out the strands of her complex thoughts, much as she separated the threads of her cloth. At length she turned away from her weaving, to face me directly: "There may be many things to learn. For there must surely be things to learn from any experience; good or bad. But I will try to select what I consider to the most important. Indeed, I will concentrate on the one which is, I believe, central to almost all the differences. I am not certain to what extent it is the result of those factors, or is on the other hand the cause of them. But it is central. That difference is the role of the individual. You would think, indeed be certain, that the individual in your anarchic society has more freedom than in Jon's rigid hierarchy. I suspect Jon would agree, though he would consider his ruthless monarchy to be an advantage, not the crippling weakness you would insist it was. But the great paradox is that in a number of very important respects the very reverse is true."

As she said these last words she looked intently into my face, to determine whether she should proceed. Detecting no undue adverse reaction on my part, indeed, I was willing her on, she continued: "Perhaps the best way to approach the problem is to describe the subtle, hidden limits on our own present society. These are not obvious constraints. It would appear that we each freely go our own ways, doing just those things we want. We choose for ourselves, without any of the duress that is so much a feature of Jon's system, exactly what contribution we want to make to the overall community. We live gloriously free, unconstrained, idyllic lives. We are involved in all the decisions that affect us. We run our own lives, in exactly the way that we want. But the reality, which is so omnipresent that we never see it, is that we are each an integral part of a hundred person community that works by consensus. Unconsciously, as well as contributing to that consensus we are also governed by it. The effect is magnified by the existence of the spirit. We are aware at all times, albeit to a greater or lesser extent, of how the other members of our wide family feel and of what they think. As a result, we are all influenced by the consensus, swayed by the felt wishes of the others. To that extent what we think, even what we feel, is determined for us. There is no escape. We are born into this web of influence, and we are unable to break out from it to establish our own individuality; not least because we are unaware of its insidious influence. What freedom is left is marginal. What we view as anarchy, a favourite phrase of both you and Jon, is in reality a collection of trivia on the periphery of our lives. Yes, we can choose what hobbies we want to pursue; always assuming that these are in the best interests of the community, for any other thought would naturally be suppressed. But we are conditioned, by our culture and by the shared spirit, not to question anything fundamental. How often does anyone on the council question the basic beliefs by which we are governed? I have no doubt that the culture, the philosophy, is right. But we have no option, no ability, to choose any other. Our lives are largely pre-ordained; and that is the antithesis of individualism."

The strength of Trina's criticism took her as much by surprise as it did me. But it was clear even to me that it had substance. Trina, overcome by what she now perceived she had done, desperately tried to explain these thoughts away as a momentary aberration; but I stopped her flow of apologies, and insisted she complete her comparison.

Very haltingly, with frequent appeals from her eyes to be allowed to abandon her embarrassing task, she continued: "It might appear that in Jon's society all individualism is suppressed. As a slave I had no rights. In the hierarchy you had to obey. You had no chance to discuss, let alone decide, any matter that might affect you future. You did what you were told; or paid the consequences. But we could still think. Our alienation from society was so complete that we were deprived of its insidious influence. We could, and did, develop our own ideas. There was no spirit to seduce us into the consensus. The spiritual background was all noise, all meaningless babble which you quickly learnt to ignore; so it had no influence. We could choose our own value systems. We could choose for ourselves what was right and wrong. In the main, our choices were poor. The savagery of that society in turn breeds savages, who take savage decisions. But those decisions were their own; not those forced on them by the consensus."

She paused, again accompanied by looks that appealed to be freed from this task, before drawing the two opposing pictures together: "Your, our, way is idyllic. But their way allows the individual to develop. Their way is bestial, but by default it enables the kernel of the person to become what it should be; moulded from within rather than from without. Our society's goodness, which is recognised and valued by all, paradoxically represents the main constraint on individual freedom. Nobody even thinks of disagreeing. Yet such disagreement is the driving force that develops the individual and society. It is the challenge of disagreement that strengthens both individual and ultimately society. A society that can accept, and harness, disagreement is a great society. On the other hand, your idyllic community spirit, which for whatever altruistic motive masks disagreement, may be its greatest weakness."

It was a brilliant dissertation. Once more the certainty of my intellectual beliefs were being challenged; indeed undermined. This time, rather than the arrogance of Jon's triumph, though, I sensed a feeling of great sadness welling out of Trina; and she tenderly put her hand on mine, to comfort me for the hurt she knew she had so unwillingly inflicted. But she was well aware, as now was I, of the essential truth that lay behind much of what she said. I was learning a great deal, much of it very painful, from that outside world.

                                                                        ****

I desperately needed to think through what Jon and Trina had said. But , where I had ultimately been able to resist Jon's arrogant attack, I now realised that - with her gentle sadness - Trina was right. It was impossible to think truly original thoughts in the village. The waves of consciousness, of spirit, from the rest of the community constantly blocked my progress. They were very reassuring; but reassurance was not what I was searching for. I needed clarity of thought, untroubled by intrusive harmony. For once I lusted after disharmony; after the opportunity to experience the clarity of a vacuum, or even of a constant babble of unintelligible noise.

It was, thus, fortunate that the smiths needed new supplies of coating clay for the moulds. So I gratefully volunteered to lead the train of pack horses, and I quite deliberately chose to take Gar as my companion and helper. Gar was one of only three adults who had no ability to communicate with the spirit. Although he could not appreciate the loss directly he knew indirectly, from the actions of the rest of the community, what the function meant to them. He could, and vigorously did, contribute to the intellectual debate. The spirit was a poor, and almost wayward, communicator of complex ideas. It always required interpretation, and his role in that interpretation was just as valid as anyone else's. But many of the other villagers most intimate moments didn't require any words at all. Feelings were much better conveyed by the spirit; indeed they were conveyed exactly - as no words could ever describe. Melani's joy at physical climax burnt itself into my mind, and made my own matching climax so much richer. That level of contact was for ever denied to Gar; and the knowledge of that loss hurt.

Thus, most important for my true task, Gar did not radiate the spirit. In my current turmoil, this was just what I needed. I would be untroubled by any external input from shared spiritual consciousness. I would have true peace and quiet; to concentrate my confused thoughts.

Thus, the two of us led our pack-train of mules out of the village on a crisp winter morning. It would take just over two days to reach the claypit. Even so, it was only as we made camp at the end of the second day that I found I was genuinely able to experience the clear fresh feeling of being alone. Sharing the consciousness of the whole community was a valued gift, but it was addictive; and I now realised just how great was the benefit to be had from an occasional period of abstinence. It was in part an exhilarating experience. My thoughts were at last my own. But it was also frightening; for I had, for the first time, to face the intellectual challenge posed by Jon and Trina totally alone. Normally I had the reassuring assistance of a hundred shared minds.

As we set up camp for the night I knew I was not good company for Gar. Tethering the horses, and building the bivouac, I became increasingly immersed in my own whirling thoughts. Even as we cooked and ate our meal together I was already silent, wrapped in thought. I was grateful to Gar for his sensitivity in respecting that silence. I am certain, though, that Gar was just as grateful to me when I volunteered to take the first watch; where it had been a hard days trek, and the younger man only wanted to sleep and rest his aching bones.

Taking that watch was ideal for my needs. I knew that I really didn't need to be greatly aware of what was happening around me. It was very unlikely that wolves would attack the horses. There was plenty of other, more easily obtainable, food for them; and they were wise enough to avoid unnecessary trouble. In any case, the horses themselves would soon make me aware of any threat.

So at last I could truly begin my task, in the crystal clear atmosphere away from the unwelcome intrusions of the village.

My starting point, unlike Jon, was that I definitely did not want to abandon the great advantages that my own society held. I had now to admit to myself that it was perhaps not as perfect, not quite so idyllic, as I had naively supposed, before Jon and Trina contrived to disillusion me. But it still was to a large extent ideal; far more idyllic than anything else I knew of, or had been told about by Isac, or could conceive of. It was an improvement, a significant improvement, on anything described in the sagas. It was most surely better than the horrors described by Jon and Trina; though I now had to accept that Jon would not bow to that view.

Even in the cold vacuum away from the village, I could still appreciate the real strengths of that society. It would surely be insane to even think of throwing away the advantages it offered. I pondered long to simply try and see if I could imagine a better society; one that I could recommend. There was not one. I realised that this could, of course, be a lack of foresight on my part. I was now all too painfully aware of how blind I had been before Trina's words had removed the scales from my eyes. Even so, I could find no justification for gratuitous abandonment of what we now had.

Taking Jon and Trina's point about development was more problematic. No matter how elaborate the mental gymnastics I performed, no matter how much I twisted and turned, I could not avoid the conclusion that their proposition was largely correct. There was a real, though as yet unimportant, limitation on my own society. This need not be a constricting limit for many years, and maybe for many generations; and perhaps, in that long time, a solution would be found. Perhaps someone much wiser than I would be able to solve the conundrum. But I was forced to conclude that no matter how idyllic our society it could not last for ever. Our descendants would have to find some way of breaking the barrier, of removing the limitation on the size of our community, without losing the essence and the advantages of that society. But I myself couldn't see how this might be achieved.

It was a depressing, belittling experience. I was supposed, as the shaman, to be a source of all wisdom for the community. I was supposed to provide answers, solutions. Yet, at this first real test, I had failed. I had no answer. I could only hope that there would be a later shaman, far wiser than myself, who would solve the riddle. For the first time in my life I experienced the bitter taste of real failure. It was an unknown experience; where the omnipresent  support of the village normally refused to judge anyone a failure. But here, on my own, I knew to the depths of my being that I had failed; and it hurt.

To start with I had faced up to the problem of the individual versus the group with greater equanimity. For one thing, it seemed a largely theoretical question. It was not critical to the enjoyment of our society. Sharing the spirit was, after all, what we wanted to do. So how might the slight impediments, theoretically imposed on individual freedom by the blanket pressure of the surrounding consciousness, really cramp the style of any individual. It seemed almost a negligible problem. But, again, the more I thought about it the more of a problem it became. If I only now, away from the all enveloping consciousness of the village, was for the first time starting to feel such doubts, where I had none previously, perhaps the effect of that comforting blanket was much stronger than I had thought. Perhaps my previous ideas had been like sheep, longing for the wild, but carefully shepherded to remain with the flock. And if that flock was confined in one place, no matter how happy I might be, I could never escape the shared thoughts. I would never be able find if there was a better place. I would never be able to think truly different thoughts. Conformity was surely the rule. In the clear atmosphere of that camp I began to have serious doubts that dull conformity was such an obvious virtue.

This part of the experience was mixed. On the one hand I was personally experiencing some of the joys of freedom that a lamb felt in escaping from the flock. I was thinking freely, probably for the first time ever. It was exhilarating; even though the thoughts were far from reassuring. But again I was, in the process, realising the very real limitations imposed on my community. It was like surfacing from a drunken haze. I could at last see clearly; where I had never previously known that my vision was impaired. But the addictive joys of that spiritual intoxicant were still a powerful attraction. Why should I disdain them? Why should I want to reject them? They surely did nobody any harm, and they demonstrably created great happiness. So why chose to destroy such happiness? But was that drunken stupor a reality, or was it just a dream? Then who cared what it was, if it was such an overwhelmingly happy experience?

I began to realise that it was in many ways an even bigger problem than that imposed by the size of the community. In this case the advantages of the spirit were in clear opposition to those of individualism. Both conferred great benefits; but not the same ones, and not simultaneously. As far as I could see there was no way of reconciling them. They were mutually exclusive. It was a straight choice of one or the other. I could try and reassure myself by, once more, appealing to my mythical descendant to provide a solution. But this time I could not so easily evade the issue. The concepts were so far apart, indeed polarised, that there surely could be no solution that would allow them to coexist. There had to be a deliberate choice made. It was a choice I had not previously realised existed. It was a choice I would before have assumed was trivial; for our idyll must be self-evidently justified. But now I knew it was not so easy, not so clear cut.

I felt even smaller. I was alone in a very dark and very large universe. How could I take such a decision? What right did I have?

But worst of all was the growing awareness that events were in any case moving beyond my control. I now, for the first time, realised that the threats were not safely placed many weeks march away. They were not theoretical problems for my descendants to deal with, many years in the future. The threats were not from those far off societies which had already succumbed. They were in the thoughts that motivated them. And those unsafe thoughts were already with my own community. I, for one, was already thinking them; and feeling their lunatic pain.

Perhaps I could excise the disease before it spread. Could I expel our newest members, Jon and Trina, before they transmitted their dangerous thoughts to anyone else? But it was apparent, to me, that the young had already been recruited, I now realised subverted, by Jon. Even if I managed to expel him physically I could not expel his ideas. By such violence I would only strengthen them. I realised the all-enveloping trap I was in, where such actions would only serve to demonstrate the inherent weakness of my own ideas. It would clearly show that I had no answer but countervailing violence; and such a response would be Jon's final proof. It was an impossible choice. If the youth remained he was a potential source of infection to all, like a boil on the skin waiting to inject its poison into the whole body. But if I removed him his ideas would certainly infect; as a poorly lanced boil would only spread its putrefaction even faster.

In any case, I realised, with an aching heart, that I could no longer cast Trina into the wilderness. I would have no qualms about Jon. The young man could perfectly well look after himself. As far as I was concerned my opponent had not yet earned a place as a true member of the community; certainly not as a valued one. But Trina I loved. Perhaps for the first time I recognised just how I loved her. How could I return her to the depths of misery that I had shared in her past? How could I deny her, deprive her, as so many others had? The pain, for me just as much as her, would be unbearable. I realised I was simply not brave enough to face that choice. I could not relinquish her.

Evasion was futile. Far from the community I had no access to the shared consciousness, which had previously helped my attempts to reach the spirit. But this only sharpened my appreciation of the less welcome messages that I now saw the spirit also conveyed; from the future as well as from the past. Apart from my recent equinoctial vision, it had been inevitable that my insights into the spirit were, even with the help of the mushroom, fragmentary glimpses of murky scenes. But with the clarity of my isolated mind, I now began to sense black shadows gathering in the future. What was the meaning of the raven, and what of the stag, in the midsummer vision? Was it possible that they were linked to Jon. I sometimes felt the youth's presence as a brooding raven, and sometimes as a proud stag. But was that not I myself looking for symbolism where none was really present? Was the body of the girl, from the most recent vision, that of Trina? I desperately strove to remove that last idea from my thoughts. It was far too terrible to contemplate.

Behind my thoughts, hovering as unwelcome guests, now lay the dark shadows. Dimly glimpsed figures, whatever their true form, their growing threat was omnipresent.

Over the next four days I returned time and time again to these arguments. But, try as I may, I could find no reassuring solution. I was inexorably trapped by events. History was flowing like a torrent, and I was tossed on that flood; like the smallest leaf. I had no control. I had no choices. Destiny was beyond me. It was an increasingly depressing and frightening experience. I had never felt so alone. I had no shared spirit to comfort me. I was alone, helpless as a babe, in a terribly hostile world.

Yet I must return and face that black future.

                                                                        ****

As we approached the village, on our return, I could sense the excitement; and as soon as the train of pack horses entered the village itself I too was swept up by the rumbustious preparations for the first big hunt of the winter. This wave of excited anticipation overwhelmed my darker feelings, and I too was again intoxicated with the spirit.

Alwyn had become, once more, the great hunter. During each summer he languished. He became but a pale shadow of his winter self. But now he was restored to his exuberant role as hunter. As I found him, he was briefing his small group of permanent hunters; those who in winter went out several days every week, regardless of weather, to track down game - to add fresh meat to the community's larder. He would soon also be marshalling the much larger groups of enthusiasts who only joined the big hunts; as much for the pleasure of the sport as for their own contribution towards restocking the communal larder. I myself was often one of those enthusiastic amateurs.

It was inevitable, as a result of my very clear vision at the equinox, that the hunt the next morning would take place in the higher oak forest; working towards the strangely shaped tree that they all knew, and which had figured so distinctively in that vision. But, even so, everyone still had to be well prepared. The weapons, spears and knives as well as bows and arrows, had to be readied, and checked out. The flint blades of each had to be tested to make certain that they were still keen and well bonded to their shafts. Alwyn had to group the amateurs into suitable bands, and assign a reluctant professional hunter to each; to ensure that they did themselves no harm. These plans had to be laid, and discussed, and then transmitted to those involved; all inevitably, in view of the importance of the occasion, with great ceremony. In truth there was really no need for so elaborate a ritual. But it was a traditional part of the build-up to the villagers sport. The anticipation was often almost as pleasurable as the sport itself; and as usual everybody, not least Alwyn himself, was determined to make the very most of it.

The biggest group, and inevitably the most boisterous, was that of the youths; and this happy band was to be led by Jon, who was clearly in his element and enjoying every moment of the experience. He was vigorously rehearsing his team in immensely complicated, and very energetic, procedures; so that the village was constantly filled with their enthusiastic cries.

                                                                        ****

The morning of the hunt dawned to reveal a perfect day. Clear blue skies lay over a crisp, frost-clean, earth. Again, there was much revelry as the various groups congregated, and started to make their way out of the village. The hunt had been life-giving for earlier peoples; and was now  a shared celebration of our ancestry as well as great sport for us all.

I could no longer keep pace with the leading groups, as I once had; and I didn't want to lose them any of their prey by my clumsiness. So I chose to make my way with one of the groups of older, and they would claim wiser, men. Once in the woods, however, I departed from my usual practice and left the others to continue on their way without me. Instead I made my way directly to the part of the hill which overlooked the twisted oak. I knew that there was a rocky outcrop just above that tree and, just as I had expected, it offered an excellent view of the tree; which lay just a few strides below. At the same time it totally concealed me from any wildlife in the area.

Once I had reached that chosen vantage point I wrapped myself tightly in the heavy cloak I wore, and lay back to listen to the progress of the hunt. The sounds, even though as yet they could only be heard dimly in the distance, were almost as descriptive of the hunt as if I had been one of the leading participants. There were long periods of silence, as the hunters carefully stalked their prey. Then there was frantic activity as they gave chase; closely, and very noisily, followed by the hordes of watching amateurs. The sound of breaking branches echoed throughout the woods as the contestants charged their way through the undergrowth, and not infrequently fell headlong in their anxiety not to miss a moment of the sport. There was the noise too of some of their more distant prey rapidly making its escape. In the periods of chase there was also the constant exchange of yelled instructions; and, more authoritatively, the coded blasts on the horns of the lead hunters. Just occasionally there was an outburst of cheering as the hunters, and their acolytes, achieved another success.

The sounds of the hunt bounced backwards and forwards in the distance, as the participants energetically ranged from one side of the forest to the other. But slowly, inexorably, they came closer; the periods of frenzied activity sounding ever louder. Eventually, when the sounds of the hunters had finally approached quite close to me, there was a very long period of quiet. In this calm I heard the rustling of movement below me; and with great care I raised the tip of my head above the lip of the outcrop. There below me were five hinds grazing on the rich grass. Above them, next to the tree, was the largest and handsomest stag I had ever seen. The picture was exactly as I had seen it in my vision. I had been expecting it, but even so the degree to which the scene matched that in my vision, with not a single blade of grass seeming to be different, startled me. It was almost unnervingly real; and all my senses came instantaneously alive with a disconcerting tingle.

From my vantage point above the prey I began to see the slow calculated movements of the hunters as they made their painstaking way through the undergrowth, to approach the surrounded hinds. But I still couldn't see Jon. Then, in the smallest part of a moment, the scene exploded into a rerun of the vision.

From behind the twisted oak emerged a howling apparition, which I instantaneously recognised as Jon; flying through the air, dagger outstretched. The briefest of moments later the hunters surrounding the hinds too rose up to hurl their spears. But in that briefest of moments the stag looked straight into my eyes; and I recognised the moment itself. It was that of the latest vision, but it was also that of the midsummer vision. The link was made; and the flying figure, black hair streaming behind him, became the raven.

The raven turned back into Jon, and landed heavily on the back of the stag. Yet the animal barely stirred, but continued to look directly into my eyes; with an awful awareness of impending death beginning to enter into those limpid pools of darkness. Carried forward by the sheer momentum of his mighty jump Jon's body hit the back of the animal's neck and, clinging to it desperately, in one great sweep he brought the shining blade of his knife across the throat of that majestic animal. As it glistened in the sun I realised, with a start, that the knife was one of Isac's new creations.

Its work was instantaneous and lethal. A flood of frothing blood poured out of the great gash in that noble neck. Yet, despite this trauma, for another moment the stag remained frozen; still linked to my own eyes. Then more like a falling tree, another giant of the forest, than a mere animal he slowly subsided; with a screamingly exultant Jon still riding him to his death.

At the same time the hinds were transfixed by a dozen spears; and their death throes complemented that of their proud master.

The forest around echoed time and time again to the exultant cheers of the hunters. As I had predicted, it was indeed the greatest hunt for many a long year. Slowly, almost reluctantly, making my way down to join them I was deafened by the frantic celebrations of the whirling hunters as they danced around the now stilled bodies of their prey.

As I finally approached the lifeless body of that noble stag I shuddered. This was unlike any hunt I had ever attended. There was no pleasure. I had shared that moment of death with the stag. The symbolism of that terrible moment had seemed to be as well understood by the stag as by myself. Thus, as the carnival made its noisy way back to the village all was jollity; except that I could not share it.

At the head of the procession, as we entered the village, was Jon; carried shoulder high by the hunters he now led. It was his triumph. There was no denying his bravery; even though it was a reckless act - but none of his crowing supporters were thinking of that. Jon was, of course, revelling in the attention; and in the adulation. He exulted in the power it gave him. Even amid the uproar of shared consciousness, I could sense the youth's vaunting feelings of power; and as the young man's triumph grew by the moment, so did my own depression deepen.

Despite the waves of excitement and pleasure washing over me, I found himself slipping into a black despair. Paradoxically, the comparison of that depression with the surrounding gaiety only made my own condition worse. Beyond the brilliance of the surrounding spirit, I could once more sense the shadows closing in; as I had seen the hunters closing on the stag. And I remembered those proud eyes staring into mine; staring as I could never forget.

                                                                        ****

Somehow or other I made my way, almost in a trance, through that evening's festivities. I smiled and laughed and cheered with the others, as Jon was feted for his achievement. I dutifully circulated from one party to another; managing, however, to stay uncharacteristically on the fringes where my presence would be suitably noticed, but equally I would not need to become involved.

Eventually I judged it safe to escape from this increasingly tedious performance, and crept back to the fire hut and into my welcoming bed; where I could hide under the bedclothes and shut out the unwelcome world. I hoped, with a manic intensity, that nobody would discover me there. Unhappiness, I felt, can surely never be greater than when it is isolated in a sea of happiness. The joyous waves of excitement continued to wash over me from all around. But they did not, as they had previously, raise my spirits. Instead they only served to intensify my own new found alienation from that happy scene.

I was beginning to almost luxuriate in this misery when I felt the bedclothes being lifted, and a naked body slip in alongside me. At first I thought it was Melani, and my misery deepened; for I could not face even her at this time. But I quickly realised that clasped in my arms was Trina. I started to reject her too, but miraculously I found that she was the one person I could face. The one who might, from her own despairs, understand my own feelings.

Indeed, without a word passing between us, I began to succumb to the veritable torrent of love that she was pouring over me. It swamped out the trivialities that were the villagers' excited thoughts; and these were rapidly pushed back to a far horizon. Thus, did she remove the dark blankets of my despair, and in their place offer a calming tranquillity. One moment I was suffocating in the black folds of despair; the next I found I was breaking free, into the refreshing calm of Trina's loving thoughts. That love had a power which I had never before known. It was almost pure spirit. It cleansed me from head to toe; seeming to penetrate every pore of my body.

Still nothing was said. I just lay in her arms, being comforted as I had once been comforted as a babe by my mother. Our relationship was becoming increasingly complex. I had resigned myself to bearing a fatherly love for her. Now, in my newly discovered desperation, I found myself required to love her as a mother; a role she accepted, in order to rescue me from the depths of my bleak self-destruction. It was utterly confusing for me. But I had no time, no energy, no self-respect, to do anything but cling to this offer of help. I lay, my fears subsiding, in her young, but maternally protective, arms.

                                                                        *****

I was not surprised when, some days later, Isac appeared yet again wearing that smug smile; bearing a mysterious item swathed in cloth. This time, though, he was accompanied by Jon; also wearing that same smug smile. With a shrug of my shoulders, for this was now becoming almost a daily procession of inventions, I motioned them to unwrap their new discovery. Without a word, Isac unwrapped what a first glance looked like a large bronze knife. It lay there gleaming in the lamplight just as its predecessors had not long before. But there was a significant difference. This knife was as long as a man's forearm. Isac and Jon had every right to look smug. Casting a bronze of this size was a stupendous technical achievement.

I picked it up by its wooden handle, and was amazed by how heavy it felt. It was an even larger bronze, and a greater achievement, than I had imagined. Jon took it from me and, walking across to the log pile, swung it with all his might at a branch that was as thick as a man's wrist. The knife went through it just as if the log had been made of butter. It was an impressive demonstration. Indeed the whole thing was a brilliant demonstration of how far the new technology could be pushed.

I hated to pour cold water on such obvious enthusiasm, but reality had to intrude : "It's a magnificent technical achievement, Isac, but what can it be used for?"

For once, Isac was almost nonplussed: "Well I guess it could be used as a very superior axe. I suppose you might even use it to cut meat." To demonstrate the latter aspect, Jon took down one of the hams still hanging in the roof of the hut and, once again, cleaved it in two with one blow of the knife.

I regretted what I had to do, but it was sometimes better to nip an unprofitable idea in the bud; before anyone became to involved with it: "And how much would it cost to produce such an axe or cleaver?"

An unusually quiet Isac had already understood the direction the questioning was taking: "It would be, as you are suggesting, expensive. And I guess that there would not be a large market for it." It was a somewhat dejected Isac that eventually retrieved his long-knife and left. But I sensed that Jon was not as depressed. Although he hid the fact, he was still jubilant; and I could not think why.

                                                                        ****

It was, therefore, a quieter than usual Isac who presented his new development to the council. It was more in deference to his previous work, and in consolation for what was almost a failure, that the council agreed to him producing up to half a dozen such long-knives; more as a trial than as genuine production. Even then he had to justify this work by explaining that the bronze used in them could be easily reused to make smaller knives; it could be seen almost as a way of storing the bronze, instead of the normal way of holding it in the form of ingots.

I was not prepared, though, for Jon's intervention; nor was Isac. But Jon once again took the opportunity to extend his theories about the dangers of invasion: "I have seen armies of maybe five hundred, maybe a thousand, warriors. It is true that they are many days walk away from here. But I have often also seen marauding groups of bandits, renegades from the armies, who are subject to no rule. These bands of ill-disciplined warriors still provide a force that an unprotected community would find impossible to resist. There may be, it is true, less than fifty warriors in a typical group, and they will be a rabble; they have none of the practiced discipline of an army. But, even so, they can easily overpower any agricultural settlement that does not protect itself. And such bands roam widely, ever more widely; far in front of the armies. It is these bandits that we should fear." There was, indeed, no doubting Jon's fear; it was tangible. But the council still listened to him out of politeness rather than any conviction that his fears were justified. Once again he would receive no practical support.

As the failure of this tirade became obvious to him, Jon shifted to new ground; and I realised why he had not been worried by the lack of commercial prospects for the new knife. Once more he demonstrated, with great panache, how the knife could cleave a ham in two. But this time the message was chillingly different: "Imagine that was a man. What chance would he stand in battle. This long-knife is the ultimate weapon. Properly used it could just as easily slice a man in half. There is no defence. Fifty warriors, as many as we could ourselves muster, would surely be a match for any army of five hundred; if our men were well trained, and equipped with this knife. They would be invincible. They would certainly be far more than a match for an ill-disciplined, poorly equipped, rabble of just fifty bandits." It would have been a seductive thought, were not the idea of men being hacked to pieces in this manner so alien to the council's thinking; had it not formed such a hideous image. It was, for me, so reminiscent of the horrors described by Trina. To my immense relief, the council once more politely declined the youth's offer; pointing out that Isac already had approval to make some trial pieces.

This time, however, Jon was not so disconsolate. He was confident, almost cocky, as he strode out of the room. He had known he would be rebuffed, and yet that defeat for once didn't worry him.

                                                                        ****

I found himself unsettled by the youth's unwarranted confidence.

Since Trina had pulled me back from the abyss, into which my black depression had been in danger of casting me, I had once more been buoyed up by the support of the shared spirit. I had successfully pushed back into the dim recesses of my mind those black shadows which seemed to threaten our future. Indeed I had persuaded myself that they were no more than an illusion. As I had looked around me, and seen the pervasive happiness, I had been reassured. It was foolish to believe that all of this was under threat.

But, since the episode with the stag, I was still from time to time unsettled by Jon. The young man was undoubtedly a likeable member of the community. He was always friendly and made a major contribution to the village's daily life; into which he had blended so well. But I still didn't understand him, and still less did I trust him; though I couldn't say why. So, to try and better understand the youth's background and hopefully through it something more of his perplexing personality, I resolved that the time had come when I must investigate the more painful period of Trina's life; her time as a slave, in a society that was based on the same principles as Jon's. I had deliberately avoided confronting these memories, for I knew they must be painful for her. But now, I reasoned, her happy experiences in the bosom of the community should have been sufficiently reassuring that she would be able to cope with the stresses of remembering those days in captivity.

As I approached I saw Trina visibly shudder. She already knew my business. But she immediately squared up her shoulders and resolutely looked me straight in the eye: "I am ready."

At her request, though, we retired to the womb-like security of my bed; once more in that reassuringly intimate contact. It was almost as if we could absorb reassurance from each other through the contact of our naked bodies. It was in this secure environment that I started to explore her life of slavery: "Perhaps the easiest approach would be if you simply described a day's activities. What did you have to do?"

As previously, she quite deliberately delivered her story in precise, unemotional tones. Once more she had carefully rehearsed her responses, to ensure that she could deliver them without breaking down: "It was my job to tend the wise man's fire, so at least I was warm through the night; even if it was at the expense of having to wake up several times to put more logs on it. We did not even have the oven which is standard in each of your huts. The other serfs, accommodated separately, were less fortunate. They had only their thin sackcloth blankets for warmth, as did I, but they did not always have a fire to take away the worst of the cold. Sometimes, in the depths of a very severe winter, slaves and serfs actually died just as a result of that cold."

"Before daybreak I would get up and make the porridge for the family's breakfast. Even they, though they were the most privileged of serfs, did not have anything like the wide choice of food you all enjoy. Indeed the diet of all the serfs was poor, and monotonous. I would serve this breakfast to the wise man and his family. Then I would exchange my role of house-servant for that of hand-servant. I would put away my rough house tunic and very carefully put on my one handservant's tunic. I would make certain not to damage any of its fine cloth or embroidery; for we were whipped for the slightest damage to our precious clothes. Then I would make my way to the sleeping quarters of my mistress. There I would gently waken her. Again I was very careful, for if she awoke in a bad mood there was a chance that she might find an excuse to have me whipped. But usually she chose to wake in good spirits; for she was a generous mistress, and rarely wanted me chastised."

"Then began the long ritual of dressing. I would pull back the furs that covered the bed, to expose her white body. She was proud of her figure and, indeed, she had a good body when you consider she had born five children. Her breasts were still reasonably firm, her waist narrow and her hips seductive. My first task of the day, therefore, was to anoint her body with sweet smelling oil and massage her. It was soothing for her, and for me also; the routine of rubbing that oil onto her limbs, onto her back, onto her belly was a calm relaxation. She particularly appreciated my gentle massaging of her breasts and if, as was often the case, she felt neglected by her lord she would even have me kiss her nipples. Not infrequently, as she started to wriggle on the bed, with the pleasure of these sensations, there would follow the command to take that process of stimulation even further. Thus would I would pour more oil onto my fingers and slowly massage her groin, before slipping my fingers inside to massage her most private parts; and all the time she would roll backwards and forwards and moan with the paroxysms of pleasure. But I was fortunate. She never chose to assault me in the same way; and it became just another part of my job. She very obviously enjoyed it and, in a peculiar way, I found that gratifying. If her lord was not man enough to satisfy her then I could; and I gained a perverse pleasure from that knowledge."

"Save when there were feasts, and I had to bind her body to make her figure look even younger, dressing her was not difficult; for like us she only wore a tunic. It was, of course, a very heavily ornamented garment; encrusted with gold and semi-precious jewels. But I never begrudged her that, for it was heavy and uncomfortable; though she did not appear to notice its discomforts The status it advertised was by far its most important function. To my eyes, and I am certain to yours too, it was in poor taste. The designs were, to be sure, embroidered in the most expensive materials, but they were crude and savage. I would favour the simplest of your clothes, woven with the creative magic of your people, to any of her tunics. And she had only three such tunics, albeit each expensively adorned, where your women may have upwards of half a dozen each; all of these showing infinitely better taste."

"Once dressed, my main skill came into play, for it took much time to perfect her make-up and her hair. Everything had to be just right, and often she would insist that a style, which had taken considerable effort to complete, was in the event unsuitable and we must begin again. I learnt to work in the minutest detail. I painted each eye-lash separately. I plaited her hair a strand at a time. I grew to be able to deliver the perfection she demanded. Then, and only then, would she deign to enter the throne hut; where the other servants waited to serve breakfast. Not infrequently my lord was put in a bad mood by this delay, and he was already involved in the daily business before she appeared. But she ignored his ill-tempered rebukes and calmly continued her chosen lifestyle."

"My duties for the rest of the day were not onerous. I had to sit at the feet of my mistress; ready to gratify her every whim. If she was thirsty I must immediately fetch her a beaker of cool ale. If she was hot I must stand and fan her. If she was cold I must arrange furs around her legs. It was not a demanding job, and it left me much time to philosophise on the ways of the world. There were, of course, frustrations. At mealtimes I had to stand behind her chair, and watch her toy with vast hunks of meat, tearing off pieces to throw to her pet dogs; while I waited ravenously for the poor scraps that just kept us slaves alive. It was little consolation that, though there was food in great quantity heaped in front of her, it was so poorly cooked, at least by your standards, as to be almost indigestible."

"Thus did the days come and go. My master spent them receiving delegations from his subjects; from the officers of his army, concerned about the defence of his kingdom, from his tax gatherers, concerned about the difficulties of forcing the serfs to part with their surpluses, from the serfs concerned that the tax gatherers were not leaving them enough to plant the next year's crops. Occasionally he was also visited by emissaries sent from other kingdoms."

"Beside my mistress I sat, and listened, and learnt; learnt well. I learnt so much, over those years, that I knew I could rule that kingdom better, far better, than did my master. But I also learnt that not only would that not be a choice open to me, but that it was one I would not want. I saw, as he did not, how his visitors fawned on him; how they manipulated him by outrageous flattery, in order to obtain approval for  their requests. By their example I learnt the myriad of political techniques such obsequious fellows use to obtain their will. That king no more ruled than did I. To be sure, he had the status; but that only gave him the authority to bless the work of others. His influence, no matter how he stamped and roared, was minimal. He was the necessary figurehead for the organisation that surrounded, and outnumbered, him."

"Amidst all this political bustle, my mistress got on with the serious business of being entertained. Sometimes she chose to embroider; when I had to discretely tackle the more difficult parts while her attention was diverted, so that she would not be frustrated by her limited skills. Sometimes she indulged in games; where I had the difficult task of judging how capable she was that day. For my chore was to give her good sport, whilst still allowing her to just win. I had learnt my own skills well, from the politicians who danced attendance on my master."

"Best of all, though, was that time in the afternoon when she had her wise man teach her. She was, indeed, an unusual mistress; for she actually cared to learn. Her lord was more typical, taking the view that he needed no such esoteric assistance. He needed no learning. He, and he alone, already knew everything; and his flatterers constantly assured him, if he needed such assurance, that he was wise beyond words. But my mistress genuinely wanted to learn; and the wise man, like you, was truly wise. So it came to pass that, sitting at the feet of my mistress, I too learnt each day. As time passed, and the wise man came to understand my true talents, the education was as much directed at me as at my mistress. But it required the greatest of political skills, by both of us, to ensure that she never realised that. She was, instead, grateful for my avid interest in her education. I regret that I flattered her as unmercifully as did my master's attendants almost swoon over his every word. In that society you achieve your desires by guile. Honesty is an unknown, and valueless, commodity."

"In truth, though I had no rights as a slave, my position was not unbearable. That of many other slaves was, on the other hand, dire. They were constantly ill-treated, and too often their masters seemed to indulge in such ill-treatment just for the enjoyment of seeing the hurt they inflicted. My master, as one example, used his other servants, slaves and serfs alike, as he might his animals. His sexual appetite was as prodigal as it was sadistic; though he rarely indulged it on my mistress, and hence my regular morning task. But he frequently ravished the other servants; taking young girls and young boys almost without discrimination. It was not unknown for him to catch sight of a new, comely servant and break off from whatever political machinations that were currently receiving his attention to brutally ravish that poor newcomer; barely out of sight, and certainly well within hearing, of those who attended him - including my mistress. Behind the scenes, I all too often had to comfort them and mend their bloodied bodies; as in the throne room the source of their debasement revelled as much in the discomfort and pain he had inflicted as in the sexual gratification he had gained. Occasionally, as when one such young virgin was generously shared by my master with a visiting dignitary and his whole retinue of a dozen attendants, I could not mend the body; and death became a merciful release."

"But, in truth, my own life, protected by my mistress, was pleasant. In many respects, apart from eating the same filth as the other slaves, I lived as my masters; though I never learnt to accept their stomach-churning abuse of those around them. And, most important, I was as well taught as my mistress; and, unbeknown to her, learnt far more."

"Shortly after sunset each evening I was dismissed, and returned to the wise man's hut. Though I had to clean the hut, and bring in fresh supplies of wood and water, I was usually able to spend some time with the wise man; covering the more esoteric theories that we could not, for fear of discovery, discuss in front of my mistress. Then, tired as only a slave can be, I would retreat to my uncomfortable bed; to fall asleep immediately."

Rather to my surprise, Trina's story had not been as harrowing as I had expected. Indeed, it showed she had been able to create happiness even in the most discouraging of circumstances. So, despite my earlier intent, I determined to pursue some of the points: "If your life was not so unbearable why do you so despise that society?"

Trina's response was swift, and now unguarded: "I still bleed for all my fellow slaves, and indeed for the serfs, who were broken by those cruel masters. It was bad enough that they were broken in body. They were underfed, and as such easy prey for the slightest disease. They were beaten, until they bled; while those masters laughed at their pain. They were abused and degraded, for sheer sport. In truth the real savages were not those from the lower orders, they were their masters. But, worst of all, these despicable masters broke their subjects' will, they destroyed their minds. They were not happy until their serfs and slaves had degenerated into savages like themselves. That destruction of spirit was the real crime of that society. I myself was never abused in body, though I was whipped, and I do not believe that my mistress ever consciously set out to abuse my mind. Yet I was a slave. I had no rights. Above all, I had no rights to my mind; I had no right, no reason, to think. That I preserved my mind, my will, my spirit was a conscious act of subversion on my part against that mindless society. But I was constantly aware of the danger to my mind, of the constant threat to its very existence. Such torture cannot be forgiven."

As she talked, her anger at her captors blazed out and I found that I held a burning fire in my arms. I would not pursue that subject more that night. But I did still need some answers to the military conundrums posed by Jon: ""You have heard Jon talk of the  military threat, of armies or armed bands attacking the village. What was your experience of these?"

Her anger subsided, and her body relaxed in my comforting arms, as she considered her reply. I could almost feel the intensity of her thought, melting her flesh into me: "You should be aware that the warriors are the true masters of that society, and that they live only for the joys of conquest. They rule the king. He is in reality their vassal. The theory is that they are subject to his command. The truth is that he must command what they will do. The riches of the kingdom, apart from what is thrown to the king to make him feel he is the ruler, are their spoils; and belong to them alone. Yet their one lust in life is that of conquest. They do indulge in other lusts. They pillage and they rape. They rape everything that moves, and even that which has already fallen to their weapons and no longer moves. And they boast eternally about their virility in such rape. But in their hearts they truly lust after blood. They are never happier than when they are soaked in the blood of their victims; as some hunters like to anoint their followers with the blood of the stag."

"Like everything else in that society they are mindless. But in their mindless way they are efficient, practiced, killers; killing very effectively and without mercy. They constantly practice their evil skill. You can see them, in their hundreds, drawing up their mock battle lines, so that in the real battle they may behave as one; driving their foes, who are untutored in such matters, in terror before them. Their onslaught, with perhaps five hundred of them brought together from different villages, is a fearsome sight. They wait in rows, each as straight as a plumbline and each seeming to stretch for ever into the distance; and behind the first row you can see yet more rows, until all there is in sight is a mass of armed warriors. They look, and are, invincible."

"As they face their enemy they yell and drum on their shields; working up their blood-lust to a pitch which would make you want to scream as well, as the waves of that powerful obscenity drive over you. They joyfully become lower than the lowest animal. Animals kill for food, or to protect themselves and their young. But these crazed obscenities kill, and kill again, simply because they enjoy it. They lust to see the blood flow, to feel the terrible pain of their enemies. If you had watched the scene of such a battle as I have sometimes been forced to, albeit alongside my mistress in the safety of the king's tent, it is not the fear of the victims that impresses you, though that is terrifying. It is the roaring blood-lust of the certain victors. It makes you wish, with every fibre of your body, that every man were destroyed, were extinguished from the face of the land. It produced in me a hate that I have rarely felt."

Once more that fire burned in the body I held in my arms. Although Trina had started this part of her story calmly, her anger had grown again; until she was white-hot with the hate, railing against the obscenity of what she had seen. In that anger, I even saw, as I had that one time before, flashes of the battles she had witnessed; of lines of howling troops, lines that stretched into the distance on every side, covering the plain in a blanket of armed hostility. And I saw the horror of the battle itself. I saw limbs hacked from living bodies, of other bodies yielding up fountains of blood; of the living foully spattered with the gore of the dying, and of the terrifying screaming of the wounded all around. Above all, it was the pervasive agony and fear, and indeed smell, of death that I would remember. It was again a desperately harrowing scene, and one that made me want to retch with the stomach-churning sights I had beheld. But this time it was just about bearable, for it was now seen through the eyes of someone who, no matter how much she detested it, had become numbed to such sights. There was, this time, no ten-year old girl going out of her mind at the horror of what she observed. Even so, it was a horrifying experience, and I held Trina ever tighter in my arms as she continued the catalogue of obscenities.

"Against such an army this village can never resist. But you and the council are right in assuming it will be many years before they reach here. An army of that size can only mount one or two campaigns a year, and it may take several years to finally subdue the tribes that have been conquered. So, despite its terror, its progress is actually quite slow. With Isac we travelled perhaps sixty days through villages just like this before we arrived here. The poor souls in those villages will bear the brunt of the armies before we do; or at least before our descendants do. For it will be many years before they are all subjugated, and this village lies exposed to the advance of those warriors."

"It might seem that the marauding bands which Jon describes will offer more of a threat. They do range far and wide; and do at times range ahead of the armies. It was just such a band that sacked my own village and killed my parents. Their blood-lust is no less. Their discipline is lax, however, and they are that much less effective. But, faced with a defenceless village as this is, they are amply effective enough for their purpose. How many arrows does it take to kill a man? If he is pierced by five hundred he becomes no more dead than if he is pierced by ten!"

"Again, though, I do not think we will be troubled by them for many a year. They never range that far ahead of the armies. Indeed they favour those villages already weakened by the steady attrition of war. The bandits will always choose the soft target. So I believe their appearance will predate that of the armies by a matter of only a few months; and that will be some long time in the future. The council is surely right not to react to such a nebulous threat."

"Jon, regrettably, is probably right when he says fifty of our own warriors could defend us against such a marauding band; for such bandits make an ill-disciplined rabble, which will flee in the face of any organised opposition. With his marvellous new weapon he is also right that those fifty warriors would be more than a match for a much larger number of less well-equipped opponents. But how many? Could they really defeat the five hundred that normally form an army? Would his troops live to fight the next battle, and would they be a match for the thousand warriors, and then the two thousand warriors, that would be hurled against them? Ultimately our warriors, no matter how brave, must lose such an escalation."

"But that is not the main danger that faces us. I deliberately said that Jon's view was regrettable, for it is what his ideas might do to us that represents the most potent evil. To produce the warriors he demands, we would necessarily have to embrace the techniques of warfare. More important, we must needs be adopt the cult of the warrior. The most potent weapon of the warrior is his blood-lust. In his hands he may hold the sharpest of bronze knives; but it is in his heart, where the blood-lust wells up, that the true power resides. And in making those warriors we would just as surely destroy our society as if had been put to the torch by those invading armies. What would we preserve? A motley collection of huts that make up the physical presence of the village. Yet we would lose the minds of the people who make up our community. Blood-lust, even when apparently justified by the seductive arguments of self-defence, is a virulent disease that destroys all trace of civilisation. Succumb to it and you are doomed as a human being; you are destined to become lower than the lowest of the animals. For myself, I would die first."

The body in his arms, its blazing fires suddenly extinguished, crumpled. I held it even tighter; trying to offer some reassurance against the horrors she had experienced. I vowed that, come what may, she would never have to face such obscene sights again.

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