Chapter 6 - Orphan
Camp of Banat, Wilds of Lynx. SE Britain
The petite, golden skinned maiden with red ochre hair tucked up in a bun, presses down on a branch supporting leaves of similar shades. She’s perched high up the mossy oak rooted onto a high ridge. This overlooks a small, afforested river valley below. The leaves of auburn, red, yellow and brown, all dangle and rustle as the branch creaks. Through the gap, Lanella as she is named, views the outline of an encampment set on a riverine islet in the valley bottom. Visibly smoke rises as a plume from a hearth within the camp. Lanella sees the tops of awnings freshly layered with reeds. She knows this to indicate an ishi of savages means to winter there.
Lanella is neither of Goshawk, nor of the Lynx folk who camp on the islet she spies upon. She hails from further south. Lanella is an orphan of the Basket Weaver. She spies from this tree onto the Lynx camp of Banat, detecting no sign of any camp watch. No guard, nor any defences other than the shallow stream.
She deduces, these savages here are naive.
Lanella uses her ears to gather more evidence. She hears the tap-tap-tap of someone in the camp as they knap flintstone. Lanella adds to her mental image of Banat, this person sitting with a patch of hide on their thigh, as they hammer a sharp flint. Next, she hears the playful snarl of a dog, followed by giggles of children. A mother of the Lynx can be heard calling out,
‘Children, don’t spoil dog-kind with rough play!’
These individuals, Lanella adds to her mind’s eye. Banat appears to her senses to be an idyllic paradise. This thought makes her feel cross with envy. Her own childhood in an orphan camp had been far from perfect. Broken spirits haunted, having sought refuge from the progress of barbarians. Lanella had been born south of a wide estuary on the margins of lands taken by the farmers. She knows those barbarians well, and fluently speaks their language. The Leva tolerate the orphans as a barrier between themselves and the still wild savages of the woods. It's not unknown for Leva men to take a female orphan to their hovels as a concubine or wet nurse. Or, as was the case with Lanella’s own mother, as temporary entertainment to be returned with their seed sown in her womb.
Although Lanella bears the mark of her mother’s totem on her left arm, she’s never known the hearth of the Basket Weaver. Only small numbers of survivors who beg from genocidal masters. Born on a crossroads between two cultures, with the physical resemblance of an unknown barbarian father, in her own heart Lanella prefers the wilds, over the soils of the Leva. Yet she finds other savages reject her light skin, fine hair, and her rounded face. They fear that along with these features, she’s inherited the Sun-magic. I do feel for this maiden, caught in a crossfire between two different cultures. As a twig still green and pliable, her spirit has been severely twisted and now it has set. Lanella trusts, and helps few beyond her own small orphan band.
New sounds and colours of pink and green plumage reach her senses, rescuing her mind from cruel comparisons. A noisy flock of crossbill finches aloft on the needles of a nearby, solitary pine. The spy begins to descend from the clandestine heights of the tree top. Branch by branch the maiden with red ochre hair lowers herself to the forest floor.
Big, strong, masculine hands reach up to help her land from the lowest limb of the tree. Saabiaske stands before her. Her dark handsome wildman of the woods. Even the scarring running across his face and down one shoulder doesn’t deter the attraction. He is the love of Lanella’s life and she’d gladly kill in order to keep him.
You might recognise Saabiaske, although his features and name have changed. His scars were made by crones, to disfigure the marks he once bore of descent from the Lynx. His old name, buried by a witch beneath a yew tree. He has travelled far since his banishment. Yes from the same Ishi who now camp in the nearby river valley. He remains an admirer of the barbarian ways, and has visited their lands. It was on the edge of one Leva camp where he met Lanella and other orphans. Lanella translated, and better introduced to him the new economy. It was the Leva who gave him a new name.
Lanella explained to him Sah-abiaske has the meaning of, ‘One who exchanges gifts’. Now, Saabiaske covets everything Leva, from his trusty axe he still carries, through to his calf skin waistcoat and cone-shaped leather hat.
Desperate to hear Lanella’s tree-top report, Saabiaske gazes down into her eyes, and hushes, ‘Well, is it down there? Can you see Banat’s camp?’
His small band are conditioned as nameless poachers to move across the wilds of others with stealth. Nonetheless they’re not here to steal game, but are here to fulfil a special commission on behalf of Leva clients. They come to Banat to take another maiden like Aniko from her wilds, and have been promised a generous exchange.
Lanella is happy to give a positive report to her man, ‘Yes they’re down there as you'd hoped, camped on the river island. They seem intent on camping there for the winter’.
Saabiaske’s blue-green eyes light up with joy at this news, which encourages Lanella to gleefully expand her report,
‘I saw smoke from an active hearth. The dens freshly layered with river reed, I detected no obvious camp watch, and no defence other than shallow waters. I heard children, a dog, and a mother’.
In exaggeration of disbelief at the locals' naivety, Saabiake drops his jaw. Yet their vulnerability shouldn't be such a surprise. Vengeance motivates him to target this particular clan, but common sense dictates the locals wouldn't be on their guard. Since the Terrible Sickness swept our world, peace has been established between the wild nations. He knows from folklore that warfare was once rife. Too many bellies of children led to disputes and to overhunting. Our songs of the hearth feature legendary creatures no longer of this world. Creatures such as the elk, the tarpan, and the bearded bull.
Saabiaske as a child, experienced seasonal hunger. Our wildernesses are generous in calories only during autumn. He witnessed the bread baskets of the new people, and tasted their fat dairy from tamed beasts. Saabiaske welcomes a new relationship with Nature. That of its master. Saabiaske stares through the understory either side of the high oak. He isn’t surprised to see his big muscle man standing guard on one flank. Eino is too much of a giant to successfully hide. Often, Saabiaske taunts him,
‘Eino, you consume too much Leva cheese and beer! You sport their belly’. I have to agree, for this giant is bigger than my cousin Mikko the Wrestler.
Eino has survived as a refugee from barbarian progress, by his brawn and his tendency towards violence. That big, rosy cheeked, and cheerful exterior is deceptive. The Giant wears the scraggy, coarse, dark beard of the wild men. Behind it his glad face hides an inner love of doing harm to others. The man is a cruel bully and his only loyalty is to Saabiaske’s band of orphans.
Saabiaske turns opposite to search for the fourth orphan. He isn't surprised when he sees only the fading wilds of autumn. While Eino has survived by his brawn, this last orphan has survived by his cunning. This older male was also born to the Basket Weaver. Farkas is his name, and he has the gift of invisibility, for he knows how to blend into Nature. His skills as the Fox, have enabled him to steal from barbarians and savages alike.
From the green oak, Saabiaske silently signals for both of his men to join them in a discreet conference. He smirks when he sees Farkas reappear as if by magic. The old fox steps out of the cover of a thicket, strokes his tidy but grey-flecked beard, and makes his way over without leaving a single track in his wake. Farkas is a decade older than the others, whilst Lanella is several years the junior of both Saabiaske and Eino.
Four orphans gather under an oak. Saabiaske repeats Lanella’s treetop report to his brethren and concludes with a few options,
‘We could wait in subterfuge for a foraging band to leave their camp, and hope for a maiden to wander until we can snatch her’. He pauses to permit his followers to consider this option, then forwards an alternative, ‘Or we take the opportunity of surprise by raiding the camp tonight. We could steal away our prize as their men snore in their lodge’.
Lanella raises a question, ‘Should we dare to raid, how would we avoid not disturbing an alert warrior of the Lynx, rather than steal away the girl?’
With confidence, her man responds, ‘I was born to those vile people. I know their habits well. Most men will be in the lodge where they quake in fear of their sharp tongued mothers. I know where their young women like to position their dens’.
Saabiaske knows Eino would prefer to raid the camp. He always supports the most violent option. To goad his support, Saabiaske adds,
‘If we find a suitable quarry in a den, all will be well but if instead we encounter unfriendlies, then we'll bash in their heads’.
This has its desired effect. The big Basket Weaver male has to suppress loud laughter at the mere suggestion of a fight. Eino enthuses,
‘Yes, yes. I like that plan. The bravado of marching into a camp full of sleepy fools. We could be away with a captive before daylight. Then back on our own Serpentine waterways, with coracles laden by Leva rewards’.
Farkas the old fox, has been listening in thoughtful silence. He leans forward to whisper his own deliberations,
‘I say it would be wiser to stalk a foraging band. The hazel is in fruit and the Mothers of Banat will soon gather. Rather we be sneaky, than risk alerting a hostile camp with a night raid. It makes more sense to patiently stalk our prey’.
With obvious dismay, his large Basket Weaver comrade retorts,
‘Farkas my dear brother. I love you but fear you're always too cautious by habit. I’ll take my war club and should the morons awake, then I’ll gladly add more notches to its length’.
Saabiaske stalls any further discussion by announcing his resolve,
‘I favour raiding tonight. With Farkas’s caution in mind, I suggest stealth. I’ll bait the camp dogs in advance. I know the river isle well, and was fond of swimming there as a boy. Only I and Eino will enter. Lanella and Farkas, I ask you to provide cover from the margins’.
He encourages his followers, ‘We’ve the poacher eyes of the nighthawk, and the element of surprise. Soon we'll be feasting with the Leva’.