Page 53 of Circle of Days

Bez walked from Farmplace through the length of what had been West Wood, kicking up the powdery ash, skirting the still-burning logs and the glowing embers, trudging through the sad remains of his home.

The scattered tribe joined him in small groups on his pilgrimage.

They passed the pond but could see no trace of their village.

They saw the burned corpses of the cows Ani had traded them.

That morning, when they had first smelled the smoke of a big fire, the cows had become restive and the woodlanders, fearing they might run away, had tethered them, never imagining that the distant fire would eventually consume their village and the poor tethered cows with it.

Eventually they reached the last remnant of the wood, a small area like a toenail on a foot.

It had been spared from the blaze by the change in the wind.

Although still green it was devoid of animal life: no birds in the trees, no little creatures in the undergrowth, and probably no deer, which would have found it difficult to hide in such a small area.

The tribe were subdued, grieving, but also fearful for the future. Everything that had made them safe was gone, and they had no idea how they would find their next meal.

They sat down in a clearing, and Bez told them about his conversation with Troon. He also repeated what Pia had said about the farmers taking over the burned area so that the woodland would never come back. The tribespeople were indignant but not surprised.

While they were discussing their plight, some other woodlanders appeared.

Bez recognized them as members of the nearest neighboring tribe, from Round Wood.

They had seen the smoke and come out of curiosity, to look at the devastation.

A woman Bez knew, called Ga, asked how it had happened, speaking the pidgin that woodlanders used on their summer trek.

“The herders lit the fire and the farmers are going to plow the burned land,” Bez said. “They don’t deny what they’ve done but they won’t give us food.”

“That’s wrong,” said Ga. “They should replace what they’ve destroyed.”

“They say they simply don’t have the food,” said Bez.

He was waiting for Ga to ask if there was anything her tribe could do to help, but she did not.

In the end he said: “Would you allow some of our women and children to join your tribe?” He knew better than to ask her to accept men.

No woodlander tribe would do so willingly: it led to trouble. Women were less quarrelsome.

Ga said: “If any of your women are close relatives of ours—for example, if the woman’s mother is in our tribe—then we will welcome them, in accordance with the custom. Otherwise, no. We haven’t got enough food for the tribe as it is.”

It was the answer Bez had expected, and he was sure he would get the same response from any tribe on the Great Plain. And as woodlanders did not often couple with those from other tribes, he would not be able to settle many, if any, of his people by appealing to that tradition.

Ga and the Round Wood folk soon left, and Bez resumed speaking to the tribe. “We’re desperate,” he began.

Several people nodded. They had followed the same train of thought. They knew that the tribe might soon be extinct.

He went on: “Here in this little patch, which is all that is left us, there is not enough for more than one family.”

They could all see that.

“Other tribes cannot help us, and why should they? They did not light the fire.”

They all knew that too, and they waited to hear what he would say next.

“So that leaves us with just one possibility.” He paused, looking around, seeing the faint signs of hope in their faces, and he finished: “What they refuse to give us, we must steal.”

“There was a great deal of vegetation to be disposed of,” Scagga told the elders.

“We burned it, as the quickest and most efficient way of dealing with it. And we made a fire break two paces wide to prevent the flames spreading. Unfortunately, there was a strong east wind that morning, and the fire break was not sufficiently wide.”

Ani exploded. “You set fire to West Wood?” she said in furious incredulity.

“It was an accident,” Scagga said, in a tone of injured innocence.

“What did you mean by starting a fire at all?”

“I told you, it was the only way to deal with all that vegetation—a huge pile.”

“Nobody told you to burn it. And you never told anyone that was your plan.”

“What else could we do?”

“Carry the debris to the plain, of course!”

“That would have taken days.”

“Did anyone tell you there was a rush?”

Scagga did not answer.

She said: “How far did the fire spread?”

“Fortunately it did not go the whole length of the wood.”

“Not the whole length? How much was burned? Half of it? Three-quarters?”

Scagga looked down. “More than that. A small area is left at the west end.”

Ani said: “Bez and his tribe will starve! They’ll just die!” Then she burst into tears. “You fool,” she said with bitter grief. “You’ve killed a whole tribe.” She turned and walked away from the elders, head bowed, sobbing. “A whole tribe,” she said quietly. “You fool.”

Bez knew nothing about cattle. He had never had anything to do with tame animals apart from dogs. Cows made him nervous because he never knew what they were going to do. But he had come up with the idea of stealing them, and naturally he had to be the first of the tribe to try and do it.

The herders minding the cattle were the real danger, because they had bows and arrows. Bez was armed with a heavy club and a flint knife.

He thought about this as he and Gida headed for the herd. There were few cloudy nights in the drought, so they had picked the next best thing, a moonless night, for their first attempt at theft. They were not invisible, but they would be hard to see when moving among a herd of cattle.

The nearest herd was usually just north of East Wood, but Zad had taken it farther away when the farmers started talking about getting cows as compensation for the stampede. Bez guessed Zad had moved the beasts northwest, but not too far, because he needed frequently to take them to water.

Bez smelled the herd before he saw it—which was a good sign: it meant that he and Gida were downwind and the herders’ dogs might not pick up their scent.

Bez’s biggest worry was noise. Both he and Gida were barefoot—woodlanders hated shoes—and they had the woodlander skill of moving quietly, but dogs had extraordinarily good hearing and could instantly tell the difference between the footsteps of a human and the hooves of a cow.

They stopped at a lone oak tree and stood on either side of it, positioning themselves half behind its massive trunk, to study what was in front of them.

Bez could not see any herders. Certainly one or more of them would be there, so they must be on the far side of the herd.

Most of the cows were standing, but a few were lying down.

Bez did not know whether they could sleep standing up.

He did not really know whether they slept at all.

He and Gida waited patiently. If the herders were walking around, they would come into view sooner or later. But they did not, so probably they were sitting down somewhere. After a while Gida said: “Let’s move.”

This was a dangerous moment. They had to walk upright across empty grassland, in plain view, with nowhere to hide.

Bez stared hard as he walked, looking for herders, but it was Gida who spotted them first. Without speaking she dropped to the ground and lay flat, and Bez did the same a heartbeat later.

There were two people. At this distance Bez could not tell whether they were male or female. They were walking slowly. Fortunately they were looking at the cattle, and seemed not to have seen Bez and Gida.

There was a long wait while the herders continued their circuit. As soon as they disappeared, Bez and Gida stood up and walked briskly across the remaining ground.

When they reached the herd, they knelt down with their heads on the same level as those of the beasts.

On their knees they mingled with the herd, so that their scent would be masked somewhat by that of the cattle.

The animals were used to humans. A bull grunted at Bez, then decided not to worry.

Cows glanced at the newcomers and looked away, uninterested.

Bez and Gida stopped and listened hard, trying to hear where the herders were now.

People were rarely completely silent. They would talk, cough, sniff, whistle a tune or sing.

If asleep they would mutter or snore. After some moments Gida pointed northwest. Bez nodded.

He had heard nothing, but he knew that she had better ears.

He looked at the cattle around him. None of them was fat or even meaty.

They had all suffered in the drought. Bez wanted a healthy young beast, a heifer or a bullock—young female or castrated male—either of which was likely to be obedient and might be gently led away without noise.

He pointed at a heifer and mimed a query to Gida.

She had a leather bag slung over her shoulder. She took from it a handful of fragrant fresh meadowsweet, found in a little clearing in what was left of West Wood. Neither Bez nor Gida knew whether cows would eat out of your hand, as dogs would.

Gida stood up, risking that the herders would notice her.

The cow sniffed the meadowsweet, then turned away. That was disappointing.

Gida tried another cow. Its long tongue came out, wrapped around the herb, and transferred it rapidly to its mouth, then it chewed with a satisfied look.

As it was eating, Gida slipped a rope over its head.

She stepped away, pulling on the rope, and it followed her.

They had captured a cow.

Gida stopped to give it some more meadowsweet, then walked on, pulling gently. The cow went along, making no noise.