Chapter 41 - Ride a Porpoise
North Side of the Serpentine Estuary. SE Britain
For two days we stumbled alongside the northern shores of the Serpentine’s delta. A short distance, but so slow and arduous to travel now we're devoid of any watercraft. Su’lan’s breathing is sometimes shallow, regardless we both heal well. Qan follows along the thin trails of aurochs and deer winding through dense wildwoods. With our injuries, the company of a small child, and layers of forest rot, our progress is painfully slow.
The blessed spirits make these wilds generous with edibles. Evening approaches and we descend from the woodlands onto more open marshes studded with alder. On these marshes, we spot the ascent of smoke from a campfire ahead. Warily, we cross the wet meadows of a natural flood plain.
We hear them! The bellowing of bovines. Qan excitedly tugs onto our breeches when he senses the presence of a herd. Quietly we sneak around clusters of alder and willow, to spy upon the source of the bellowing. Only to witness not wild aurochs, instead the source of the smoke that we had earlier seen. A large gathering of the barbarians’ smaller, and tamed cattle. With them, their herdsmen and dogs.
I grunt to my man, ‘Look Su’lan, look over there’ as I point a finger. A bovine beast lays down on the ground, surrounded by the cattlemen. Some of these dark men are constructing a roof over the fallen bull, as others air the nearby campfire as if to warm and comfort the sick beast. These herdsmen are not like those of the Sheonni. Although they keep these tamed cattle, in dress and kind they more resemble our own wild nations. This solicits our interest, and we three spies move closer to watch. Too close it transpires, when one of their dogs catches our scent to alert the herdsmen of our presence. They produce spears as they gaze suspiciously in our direction.
Su’lan frets, ‘These folk don't seem friendly, I think we should withdraw from here’. I nod with complete agreement before I search around for our boy. But oh no! Qan has gone. We both turn back to face the herdsmen only to see our little son as with confidence he strides across the wild meadow towards the cattle and strangers.
‘Qan no! Come back here’ I cry out in alarm.
He reacts only by pausing to glance back at us with an innocent smile. He carries on with his march towards the strangers who cluster around the fallen bull. Qan appears so small and vulnerable. A herd of dangerous cattle lie in front of him, guarded by strangers who wave spears as a warning. Incredulity shows on their faces as Qan bravely ignores them.
I gasp with horror and turn to Su’lan, ‘There is no choice, we must rescue him'.
Abandoning our failed spy post, we run in an attempt to arrest Qan. The dark faced herdsmen see our approach and raise their spears at us. Su’lan reacts by throwing himself down onto hands and knees. I follow suit in this surrender, and luggage spills out from my birch bark backpack. Su’lan sits back up with his empty hands held out as he begs of the strangers,
‘Please forgive our intrusion. We mean no harm. I’m a storyteller and my son intends no disrespect to our hosts’.
I dare peek up to see these herdsmen are no longer interested in Su’lan and myself. Rather they part to permit Qan to reach the bull. This isn't just any tamed ox that has fallen ill. It’s some sacred bull of the herd. Handprints of a midwife have been sprayed over its haunches. Dots and zig zags of paint decorate its forehead and nose. Sea Eagle feathers have been attached to its tail, whilst strings of pierced beads fashioned from seashells, are strung the length of its great horns.
This beloved beast is in some sort of mortal distress, and maybe prepares to leave this realm. As Qan totters up to the pampered patient, the cattlemen chatter using words that make some sense to our savage ears. Qan strides to the ailing bull, as my own heart beats like a drum. I cannot help but yell out once more,
‘Qan I said no, please no!’
Yet he doesn’t look back at me, and rather he begins to move his lips and tongue as though speaking a silent charm. He crouches low with the bull, close to its deadly longhorns, placing his little hands upon a bovine crown. I can barely watch. The bull bellows most sorrowfully at our boy. Incredibly, it rises up to its hooves. Clumsily so at first, before new strength enables it to smash away the frail shelter constructed above. The bull steps from this wreckage and stares down reverently at a little savage boy, crouching beneath. I see the bull bow its head at Qan, and I need to put my own hand to my mouth. Finally it steps forward to join its cows and to graze. Seashell beads rattle from its sacred horns.
Qan stands back up and faces the herdsmen. Their astonished chatter increases into a frenzy of joy. They take pecking order turns to pat our boy on his head, and in stroking the limbs of their precious recovered bull. While Qan appears annoyed by their fuss, the beast ignores them, as it feeds greedily on marsh pastures.
Finally, Qan runs back to us and permits me a gentle hug before he is followed by a grinning cattleman, offering me a hand back up to my feet. This tall, slender man has many ribbons of dots tattooed across his kind face. He addresses Su’lan,
‘Welcome Storyteller. Your family are our most honoured guests’. He offers his self introduction to us, ‘I’m known as Vultrallão and my people here are the famous Tiaa’.
The Tiaa
It transpired these Tiaa folk are descended from wild nations, but have adopted the cattle herding economy of the barbarians. They squat along the marshy margins not otherwise claimed by the more powerful Leva.
Qan is being celebrated by these cattle-people as though he is a child-sorcerer! This fazes the poor boy who acts as though he has no recollection of the events of today. We've got a new friend. The tall, grinning, tattoo faced Tiaa man called Vultrallão is admired as a spokesman for his clan. He invited us to a feast within their camp.
Here I marvel at the teepees of cowhide acting as their tents, as we enjoy an exotic meal of blood pudding and of their dairy food. The latter is a strange food but both are quite delicious to our palettes. Our new polka dotted friend informs us,
‘Our midwife has proclaimed it's the most magical spirit of the Bearded Bull who guided you to us. They say your young son is favoured by that spirit’.
I reply, ‘Our son was an orphan of the Bearded Bull, and it's true that a bovine spirit guides us on our quest to rescue a dear friend of mine. We're in pursuit of the rogues who stole her from the Goshawk wilds’.
Vultrallão gives me a curious glare, ‘Do these rogues travel these lands by foot?’
Su’lan answers him, ‘No. Two of them I left dead in our wake, but the remaining two stole away our dugout and went this way. One was severely injured, and it was his woman who had to take the paddle. We know they’ve friends among the Leva with whom they exchange gifts’.
Vultrallão chuckles before he apologises, ‘Please excuse my amusement, but this woman? Was she small, golden-skinned, her hair dyed with the ochre?’
Quickly I reply, ‘Yes, that’s the little Sun-witch who we seek. Her name is Lanella’.
‘In that case’ he brags, ‘your bovine spirit guides you well. I saw Lanella only a few days ago, as she paddled your dugout across the estuary in the direction of Leva lands. She appeared to be alone, but if injured, the other rogue may have been laying low’.
Su’lan presses Vultrallão for further support, ‘Is there someone who could take us to these Leva lands?’
‘I could take you there myself, for we exchange with the same barbarian camp. They will receive you in Tiaa company, only we must wait for calm waters before crossing’.
I venture just one more question, ‘Do the barbarians there keep captives from the wilds?’
The cattleman's smile turns into a grimace as he answers, ‘The Leva take maidens as secondary wives’.
Su’lan leans closer and hugs me.
The weather turned rough, to delay our crossing. The Tiaa provided us with sown hides, and helped us to erect a teepee of our own. I’m impressed how these indigenous folk survive, embracing a part of the new barbarian ways, and blending this with their own. Qan continues to be a victim of his own fame with these hosts. The Tiaa place their hands upon him hoping for blessings. An experience that makes him cringe. Qan is most joyful, when Vultrallão finally delivers favourable news on our departure,
‘The weather improves and tomorrow promises a favourable tide for crossing the estuary’.
It is early morning when we arrive at the tiny wharf of the Tiaa. These folk are incredible boat builders. A wonderful, long canoe constructed of tree bark and pitch, awaits our departure. The boat is launched, then Vultrallão and two fishermen of his clan board. I, Su’lan, and Qan soon join them. The canoe is loaded with antler, horn, and seal skins.
Vultrallão explains, ‘these are gifts for the Leva. It would be rude of us to visit them empty handed, and it wouldn't aid you in your search for your stolen friend’.
Four sturdy paddles are picked up by the four sturdy men. Qan and I relax to enjoy our sea cruise. We leave the northern marshes behind to find the waters still quite choppy. Qan points excitedly at the many waders and sea birds. He’s enthralled to see the white-beaked dolphins swim close to our canoe. I think he imagines our crossing to be some legendary sea odyssey. I entertain him further with the tale of the Great Elkhunter, where men of the Goshawk rode on the back of a great sea monster. It’s as I conclude this story, that such a giant leaps out of the open sea waters to the east. I think in his imaginative head, Qan now dreams of riding the back of a porpoise.
The southern marshes grow in detail as the Tiaa steer us towards the opening of a tributary estuary. The slack tide has exchanged for that of the flood, and we’re soon sucked up by a new waterway. The lands either side of this southern river belong to the Leva invaders. I pray to the spirits of this water that they carry me to Ur’salla.
Su’lan asks our friend Vultrallão, ‘Is it not dangerous for us to pass into this foreign inhabited land of barbarians?’
The tattooed Vultrallão seems thoughtful before answering, ‘The Leva here are accustomed to the sight of Tiaa canoes. We should always take care not to cause offence to these hosts’.
‘On disembarking, should I bring my spear with me?’
‘Storyteller, you shouldn't be seen carrying any weapon. Neither should you stare into the faces of the Leva’.
I join the discussion, ‘Should we find Ur’salla, wouldn't fighting be necessary for us to liberate my friend?’
Vultrallão sighs softly before answering my query, ‘Such action would result in us being dispatched to the spirit forests. As wildborns, our lives have no value here’, he waves a hand over the piles of gifts, ‘these we have brought with us to exchange peacefully for the liberation of your friend’.
I feel touched by the kindness of our Tiaa friends. Qan’s healing of their sacred bull has aided my quest and I think this isn't accidental.