When Chief Cave Lion and his party reached the top of the ridge above the Mountain Valley after their first ascent, they could now look across a wide vista of valleys and hills peppered with bushes and thickets. There were patches of snow that had fallen earlier in the season but hadn't properly settled. Horse and antelope galloped over the coarse-leafed savannah. It was a glorious sight for hunters who'd seen so little game for so long, but as Glade reminded Ivory as they huddled beneath the furs, the expedition hadn't set off merely to admire the view.
There were ample traces of men and women who'd previously trod along the animal paths that crisscrossed the uplands. To a huntsman like the Chief who so often pursued animals as light of foot as antelope and deer, it wasn't at all difficult to find evidence of where they'd been, where they were going and what they'd been doing. However, as the hunters followed the trails they soon discovered some unsettling signs. The people they were trailing were nimble travellers who gathered in groups that never numbered less than ten and, judging from the incisions made on branches, rocks and tree trunks, possessed a set of stone tools of undeniably superior quality. This was a tribe of professional huntsmen that might even outclass the Mammoth Hunters. Glade was soon able to identify evidence that these hunters most likely belonged to the tribe of Cave Painters she'd known so well many years before.
Chief Cave Lion had determined that the purpose of the expedition was to find land where he and his people could winter while thick snow made it impossible to hunt in the north. Glade reminded Ivory that this was the expected duty of the chief of any village. Chief Cave Lion had been elected to provide for the village's needs and he, more than anyone else, was mindful of the expectations invested in him. The very moment he failed to execute his duty would be when his prestige would be irretrievably lost. However, the mission had now become much more complicated. He had found good hunting grounds but they were already claimed by another tribe of great skill and expertise. What should he do? Could they just settle on the land where they now were?
"That would be the wisest policy, my lord," advised Wolverine speaking for the huntsmen. "It is our duty to provide for our tribe. The tribe must eat. There is an abundance of horse and aurochs, deer and goat, boar and hare. We should take possession of the first good cave or sheltered grove near a source of fresh water that we find. And then we should return to fetch the other villagers. It is what we came up here to do. It is what we should do."
The other warriors agreed, but the Chief and the shaman were more cautious.
"I'd already conferred with the Chief," Glade told Ivory as they huddled together. "I told him that I was anxious that the signs indicated that we were in the territory of the Cave Painters and I told him what I knew about the tribe."
"And what did you tell him?" asked Ivory. "What did you know that made you wary?"
Glade sighed and then shivered as a blast of cold air whistled through the threaded seams of the shelter. It was obvious that Ivory had neglected to properly maintain the shelter's fabric now that her every night was spent in Ptarmigan's company.
"When I first arrived in the northern lands, I discovered that many tribes are exceptionally sophisticated. Perhaps those tribes that thrive in the harsh climate are the ones that are the most ingenious. Of all the tribes, the cleverest and most sophisticated are the Cave Painters who live in these mountains. Their language and culture spreads for many days' walk in all directions. Like the Mammoth Hunters, their tribe is not presided over by one ruler. The tribe is spread far and wide in many villages and communities. I first met the Cave Painters south of the mountains towards the Great Sea. I didn't know then that the Cave Painters also lived so far to the north. On my previous Winter migrations with your tribe, we'd encountered very few other tribes and most were more like the poor wretches you permitted to shelter in the Mountain Valley while we were away. The Cave Painters' tribe is another matter."
"Are they evil demons?" wondered Ivory.
"They aren't demons," said Glade. "They are people just like you and me. And they aren't evil. But they possess a culture, a religion and a set of technical skills far in advance of your tribe. They mostly live near and about caves, because the spirits they worship live there. The same caves are also where they exhibit statues and paintings that venerate the spirits and record their history. Homes made of mud and clay, fur and stones, ivory and tree-branches: none of these last forever. The Cave Painters live in and around caves because they are eternal and where they can preserve their culture forever."
"And how do they do this?"
"The most important artefacts of their tribe are hidden in the caves' innermost chambers," said Glade. "At the cave entrances the tribe display statues they've fashioned from earth and mud, figurines made from sticks and fur, and paintings on the rock face of horse, mammoth and rhinoceros pursued by hunters. None of these artworks last for very long. They decay to nothing within a human lifetime. Inside the caves where only shamans and the most notable Cave Painters may enter apart from especially auspicious days, there are paintings and statues of grandeur and true craft that will endure until the caves collapse and the mountains tumble."
"Have you seen any of these paintings?"
"As a shaman and one of foreign aspect with skin so dark and features so alien, I was so privileged," said Glade. "They are deep, deep inside the caves, through passages so narrow that it is difficult to crawl and far beyond where the sunlight has ever fallen, sometimes in caverns where icicles of rock fall from the roof and rise from the ground, past subterranean ponds where swim pallid fish without eyes and ashen spiders the size of a man's palm: far from where a person might wander by chance. There are chambers that are as warm in Winter as they are in Summer in which are beautiful life-like paintings of animals and hunters and statues of the Mother Goddess of the Cave Painters..."
"Mother Goddess?"
"They have a name for the goddess, but she isn't a spirit as you understand it," said Glade. "She is a spirit of birth and rebirth. She permeates the seasons. She is what ensures that the sun rises each day; that Winter gives way to Summer; that crops grow; and that babies are born. If she is a spirit of anything she is the spirit of fecundity..."
"This is just pagan superstition," said Ivory dismissively.
"Whatever," Glade conceded. "The Mother Goddess is worshipped by the Cave Painters of the mountains and is revered with a passion truly difficult to express. The Cave Painters identify themselves not as cave dwellers as we would but as worshippers of the Mother Goddess. It is as if your tribe thought of itself not as the Mammoth Hunters of the steppes but as worshippers of the permafrost."
"That is just blasphemy," Ivory argued. "The spirits exist to serve our tribe and keep us safe from harm."
Glade didn't offer any alternative view, but Ivory already knew that her older lover no more respected the spirits of her tribe than she any longer did the spirits of her ancestral forest. Perhaps she had more faith in this Mother Goddess?
"The Cave Painters are a tribe whose needs you disregard at peril," said Glade. "I told the Chief this and impressed upon him what we were up against. The Cave Painters' mastery of the spear is such that they can kill birds in flight. Their skill at stone-knapping is such that they have stone needles with small holes through which a thread can be inserted. These are people with mastery of medicine, who are skilled at digging wells, who have tamed wild animals and plants, and who could easily bring evil on our tribe."
"In which case, they should be treated as foes not friends."
"And thereby cause the death of us all. The spirits of your tribe won't protect you against a well-shot arrow tipped with poison or a spear with a flint tip so sharp that it can pierce even a rhinoceros hide."
"What did you counsel the chief?"
"I advised him to parley with the Cave Painters. And he persuaded the rest of our sceptical party that this was the most prudent course to take. It mightn't be the most pleasing, but it was the one most likely to succeed. As I reminded the chief, if we antagonised the Cave Painters there was a Mountain Valley full of defenceless women and children they could massacre."
Ivory gasped. "They would do that?"
"Probably not," said Glade. "Why waste time and energy on migrants who're going to leave in the Spring anyway and who don't impinge on their hunting grounds? But I needed to impress on the company the scale of the risk incurred by getting on the wrong side of the Cave Painters. Of course, the people most at risk were us."
Chief Cave Lion wasn't the expedition's most physically fit or capable hunter, but he insisted on taking the lead as the trail wound tirelessly up and over steep hillsides and across plains. It was apparent that the Cave Painters were adept hill climbers. There was evidence that some of them vaulted up the hills with the agility of a goat. The higher the trail ascended the hills the colder it got. On occasion, the Chief and his hunters had to trudge through thick snow. As the day drew to a close, the company settled down beneath a cedar tree's dark forbidding shadows and pulled their furs tightly up to their chins while the snow fell gently over them.
The Chief again led the way the following day. He trudged onwards with a heavy step and was getting visibly fatigued. It was only respect for their Chief that persuaded the other hunters to persist on the trail however much they would rather take advantage of the abundant game around them. Glade feared that Wolverine and Lynx were disregarding etiquette when she saw them separate from the rest of the company to scout ahead at a pace the Chief couldn't match. When the two hunters still hadn't returned by nightfall and the company hadn't caught up with them, Glade was justifiably anxious.
Chief Cave Lion and his hunters nestled down under the shadow of an overhang that sheltered them from the huge flakes of snow that was now threatening to settle around them. Some hunters expressed concern that the trail they were following would soon be obscured by snow and that they might never catch up with Wolverine and Lynx.
When morning came, Glade was awoken from heavy dreamless sleep by a cacophony of angry curses from those hunters who were already awake. She roughly shook awake Chief Cave Lion with whom she'd been sharing her furs and body during the night. His bleary eyes opened and before he could lash out at Glade for disturbing him so impudently she announced: "Something bad has happened!"
And indeed it had. Just beyond the shelter were two recently decapitated heads from which still dripped blood that gathered in a rich red patch on the snowy ground. These heads had, of course, only recently been held aloft on the shoulders of the two impetuous hunters.
"What does this mean?" asked the Chief as he brushed tears of sorrow and rage from below his eyes with the back of his hand.
"It's a warning," said Glade.
"A warning?"
"A warning not to go onward."
"What the fuck else are we supposed to do?"
"Stay where we are," suggested Glade.
"And get killed?"
"We may be safe as long as we don't do anything that antagonises the Cave Painters."
"Like what?"
"Like hunting game such as horse or deer."
"You think that's what Wolverine and Lynx did?"
"They are hunters. That's what hunters do."
"And why must we stay here?"
"We've been following this trail to meet and parley with the Cave Painters. Instead they have found us first. We must wait here and plead our case when the Cave Painters deign to speak to us."
"That is not fucking right! The bastards have killed our best warriors. That is a declaration of war. We should fight."
"We fight, we die. If we talk, we may survive."
The Chief was not so easily persuaded. He knelt by his hunters' scalps and wept while around him the other hunters did much the same. Glade did what was expected of her, which was to sing songs that praised the hunters' valour and prowess while burning roots whose scent was especially odorous and then scattering the ashes over the dead men's remains.
Then, as was the custom in Ivory's tribe, the hunters stood vigil over what little remained of Wolverine and Lynx while they reminisced on the many good times they'd shared together. In this way the memory of the dead men was preserved and it was hoped that the spirits would recognise their value and accept them as their own.
"What do we do now?" Chief Cave Lion asked Glade as he crouched by her in the shelter of the rock while she comforted him by stroking his penis.
"We must be seen to take heed of the Cave Painters' warning," she said. "They haven't killed us all, but if they believe we are a threat to them then that may be what they'll decide to do."
"Your advice reveals cowardice rather than prudence," snorted the Chief. "When a proud people are threatened they should stand firm whatever the cost. Otherwise the disgrace is too great."
"Recall why we are here," said Glade, jerking the Chief's penis more vigorously. "We are here to find hunting grounds for our tribe. We may die anyway if we don't succeed. If we must show obeisance to the Cave Painters for just one winter then that is surely a price worth paying."
It wasn't much time later that the Cave Painters at last appeared. And when they did they were all attired much like Ochre. Their furs were well tailored and they carried equally impressive weapons. There were nearly three Cave Painters for each man in the Mammoth Hunters' expedition.
Nothing was said at first. Glade, the Chief and the six remaining hunters stood or sat where they were and scanned the Cave Painters who encircled them. It was tense and no one knew what to say.
Glade squeezed the Chief's hand. "We should bow to them and throw down our spears," she said softly. "Then they will know that we come in peace."
Glade sighed as she recounted this episode to Ivory. "If only he had," she said. "But Elk had different ideas. He was Wolverine's brother, as you know, and the two were always very close."
Elk took his spear and threw it towards the Cave Painter nearest him. "You cunts!" he bellowed. "You bastards!"
The Cave Painter easily dodged the spear, but Elk was not so lucky. After a sudden frenzy of activity, Elk was slumped on the ground. He'd been stabbed in the chest by a spear, his neck was broken and his face flattened by a heavy rock.
"You can't do that!" shouted the Chief as he dashed forward, but he didn't get very far before he was also pushed to the ground, a flint knife was sliced across his face, and his now broken arm bent under the foot of one of the Cave Painters, while two others pinned him to the ground and dismissively tossed his weapons aside.
The other Cave Painters surrounded Glade and the remaining Mammoth Hunters. They were brandishing their spears and their faces were illuminated with expressions of excitement rather than hatred and certainly not of fear. They knew they had the upper hand. All they needed was the excuse to despatch the rest of the company.
"What did you do?" Ivory asked excitedly. "Did you and the other hunters grab your weapons and slaughter the pagan savages who had killed such brave men?"
"Not at all," said Glade. "I could see all was lost. We would all be killed in no time at all. So, I pleaded with them for our lives."
Glade calmly stood forward and lowered her hood so that the Cave Painters could see her brown skin and foreign features. This had the affect of stopping the Cave Painters in their tracks. This was the first time any of them had seen anyone, male or female, with skin so naturally dark. She then pulled the furs off her shoulders, so that her skin was bared to the falling snow flakes, and spoke to them in the Cave Painters' tongue.
"It's a language I can speak quite well," Glade told Ivory. "I learnt it when I lived south of the High Mountains. It is the most widely spoken of all languages; although these Cave Painters have a very thick dialect."
Glade slowly disrobed to the waist so that her full bosom was displayed and also the duskiness of her skin. When she was sure she had the attention of all the Cave Painters she spoke in the loud commanding voice she employed for the village when she prayed, sang songs, or recounted myths and legends.
"You misunderstand my husband's intentions," she said, indicating the Chief who was groaning from the pain of his injuries and in no mood to disagree with her. "We have come here as supplicants to plead mercy from the Mother Goddess whose wisdom and kindness we have heard so much about. All we wish is to be allowed a small patch of land on which to hunt and gather vegetables that does not impinge on yours. My husband is a wise and gentle man, but is easily angered when his tribesmen are harmed. But this anger isn't directed towards the Cave Painters or the Mother Goddess. It is set against the fates that have allowed such misunderstanding and caused such harm to our people. Please spare his life."
"Spare him?" replied one of the Cave Painters in a rough dialect. "He was about to attack us, just as the two hunters whose heads we removed had attacked us. No man can assault a tribesman of the Mother Goddess and live another day."
"As I say, you misunderstand his intentions," said Glade. "We have come with our few possessions to plead help from you. So desirous of your pleasure is my husband that he offers my body, the body of the wife he loves so much, to all and any of your village. Please accept my flesh for your pleasuring and spare my husband. And then please take us to your shaman and chief so we can parley."
"Is your body all that your tribe can offer?" remarked the same Cave Painter with a sneer. "You are old and we have our own wives and lovers."
"It is all we have," said Glade. "And even this little we are willing to give to you. It is our way."
"It most certainly isn't!" snorted Ivory, who was affronted by the very suggestion. "We are a proud tribe. We don't marry and then allow our wives to be traded as a commodity. Why did you allow them to dishonour you?"
"Dishonour me?" laughed Glade. "You forget where I come from and the extent of my sexual desire. In any case, if I hadn't offered my body voluntarily it would have been used and abused anyway."
The other hunters had no idea of what Glade was saying but they could see that her words had held back the Cave Painters from slaughtering them as they had already so easily killed three of the tribe's finest warriors. Glade addressed them after giving a reassuring nod towards the Cave Painter who'd spoken to her.
"Lay down your spears and flints," she commanded. "I have spoken to the tribe upon whose territory we have strayed and they will spare our lives if we demonstrate that we will do them no harm. They will then find us land on which we can hunt and gather. But if we show the least aggression, they will slay us."
"How can we hunt without our spears?" asked Red Fox, one of the older hunters.
"How can you hunt without your heads?" countered Glade. "Place your weapons down slowly and in full sight of the Cave Painters."
When the hunters had done so, Glade addressed the Cave Painters who surrounded them. "It is my husband's wish that as many of you should fuck me now as should so wish. It is a sign of our tribe's willingness to cooperate with you."
The Cave Painters were visibly excited by the offer and had forgotten that they could so easily just have killed the trespassers and raped Glade anyway. The Cave Painter who'd spoken to her nodded his head and addressed the others. Although Glade was the only one who could understand what he was saying, the tone of it was clearly conciliatory. She smiled reassuringly at the hunters and attended the Chief's wounds as a wife would. She told him about what she had parleyed with the Cave Painters.
"Is it a good thing to do?" asked Chief Cave Lion whose interests in the rightness of her actions were rather secondary to the pain he was suffering.
"If it saves our lives and the lives of those in the Mountain Valley waiting for us to return," Glade said, "then it is a good thing."
The serial fucking Glade endured was almost a formal ritual. Indeed, no more than ten of the Cave Painters actually participated. Glade knew, as none of the hunters did, that amongst the Cave Painters the serial taking of one or more women was a common rite in the seasonal festivals. Consequently, they were well-disciplined and not especially excitable. She disrobed in an open space where her only protection from the icy weather and the sprinkle of snowflakes were the warmth of the Cave Painters' sweaty bodies and the furs they continued to wear. Glade lay down on her furs and her legs were splayed open and welcoming. The men fucked her one by one. They were not all able to ejaculate but they were eager to pretend they had done so. Glade good-naturedly complied with the pretence by faking her cries of orgasm.
The first to fuck her was the Cave Painter who'd been their spokesman and was well respected by the others. He was efficient and mechanical in his love-making. This was clearly intended as an example to the others who followed suit. The Cave Painters watched the proceedings with solemn faces as they might a ritual fucking while Chief Cave Lion and his hunters looked on with disgust and weary resignation.
After the fucking, Glade was allowed to put back on her furs and robes which had been ripped by the rocks and stones that covered the ground. The Cave Painters then gathered together the spears, flints and other weapons that the Mammoth Hunters had lain down.
"We will march ahead of the Cave Painters," Glade told the hunters after a brief discussion with their spokesman. "It is less than a day's walk and we should arrive before dark if we do not dawdle. When we arrive, we shall parley with the Cave Painters' chief and he shall decide our fate."
"The fate of our bravest hunters was left to the whim of monsters that had already killed three of them and wounded our chief?" commented Ivory who was aghast at the indignity when Glade recounted this. "That is not right. A warrior should never surrender."
"There was no choice."
"And you let all those men fuck you one after the other!" Ivory gasped in dismay. "How could you?"
"It was all I could do," said Glade. "Believe me, my sweet young apprentice, this wasn't the first time in my life I've been fucked by many men one after the other. And this time was by no means the worst."
"What did the Chief think?"
"Why should he think anything?" wondered Glade. "He would quite happily have been one of the men who fucked me. Just as would have any of the hunters in our company if they'd had the opportunity."
"It's disgusting!"
"Why?" wondered Glade. "As you know so well, I'm a good woman to fuck. Why shouldn't a man want to fuck me?"
There were ample traces of men and women who'd previously trod along the animal paths that crisscrossed the uplands. To a huntsman like the Chief who so often pursued animals as light of foot as antelope and deer, it wasn't at all difficult to find evidence of where they'd been, where they were going and what they'd been doing. However, as the hunters followed the trails they soon discovered some unsettling signs. The people they were trailing were nimble travellers who gathered in groups that never numbered less than ten and, judging from the incisions made on branches, rocks and tree trunks, possessed a set of stone tools of undeniably superior quality. This was a tribe of professional huntsmen that might even outclass the Mammoth Hunters. Glade was soon able to identify evidence that these hunters most likely belonged to the tribe of Cave Painters she'd known so well many years before.
Chief Cave Lion had determined that the purpose of the expedition was to find land where he and his people could winter while thick snow made it impossible to hunt in the north. Glade reminded Ivory that this was the expected duty of the chief of any village. Chief Cave Lion had been elected to provide for the village's needs and he, more than anyone else, was mindful of the expectations invested in him. The very moment he failed to execute his duty would be when his prestige would be irretrievably lost. However, the mission had now become much more complicated. He had found good hunting grounds but they were already claimed by another tribe of great skill and expertise. What should he do? Could they just settle on the land where they now were?
"That would be the wisest policy, my lord," advised Wolverine speaking for the huntsmen. "It is our duty to provide for our tribe. The tribe must eat. There is an abundance of horse and aurochs, deer and goat, boar and hare. We should take possession of the first good cave or sheltered grove near a source of fresh water that we find. And then we should return to fetch the other villagers. It is what we came up here to do. It is what we should do."
The other warriors agreed, but the Chief and the shaman were more cautious.
"I'd already conferred with the Chief," Glade told Ivory as they huddled together. "I told him that I was anxious that the signs indicated that we were in the territory of the Cave Painters and I told him what I knew about the tribe."
"And what did you tell him?" asked Ivory. "What did you know that made you wary?"
Glade sighed and then shivered as a blast of cold air whistled through the threaded seams of the shelter. It was obvious that Ivory had neglected to properly maintain the shelter's fabric now that her every night was spent in Ptarmigan's company.
"When I first arrived in the northern lands, I discovered that many tribes are exceptionally sophisticated. Perhaps those tribes that thrive in the harsh climate are the ones that are the most ingenious. Of all the tribes, the cleverest and most sophisticated are the Cave Painters who live in these mountains. Their language and culture spreads for many days' walk in all directions. Like the Mammoth Hunters, their tribe is not presided over by one ruler. The tribe is spread far and wide in many villages and communities. I first met the Cave Painters south of the mountains towards the Great Sea. I didn't know then that the Cave Painters also lived so far to the north. On my previous Winter migrations with your tribe, we'd encountered very few other tribes and most were more like the poor wretches you permitted to shelter in the Mountain Valley while we were away. The Cave Painters' tribe is another matter."
"Are they evil demons?" wondered Ivory.
"They aren't demons," said Glade. "They are people just like you and me. And they aren't evil. But they possess a culture, a religion and a set of technical skills far in advance of your tribe. They mostly live near and about caves, because the spirits they worship live there. The same caves are also where they exhibit statues and paintings that venerate the spirits and record their history. Homes made of mud and clay, fur and stones, ivory and tree-branches: none of these last forever. The Cave Painters live in and around caves because they are eternal and where they can preserve their culture forever."
"And how do they do this?"
"The most important artefacts of their tribe are hidden in the caves' innermost chambers," said Glade. "At the cave entrances the tribe display statues they've fashioned from earth and mud, figurines made from sticks and fur, and paintings on the rock face of horse, mammoth and rhinoceros pursued by hunters. None of these artworks last for very long. They decay to nothing within a human lifetime. Inside the caves where only shamans and the most notable Cave Painters may enter apart from especially auspicious days, there are paintings and statues of grandeur and true craft that will endure until the caves collapse and the mountains tumble."
"Have you seen any of these paintings?"
"As a shaman and one of foreign aspect with skin so dark and features so alien, I was so privileged," said Glade. "They are deep, deep inside the caves, through passages so narrow that it is difficult to crawl and far beyond where the sunlight has ever fallen, sometimes in caverns where icicles of rock fall from the roof and rise from the ground, past subterranean ponds where swim pallid fish without eyes and ashen spiders the size of a man's palm: far from where a person might wander by chance. There are chambers that are as warm in Winter as they are in Summer in which are beautiful life-like paintings of animals and hunters and statues of the Mother Goddess of the Cave Painters..."
"Mother Goddess?"
"They have a name for the goddess, but she isn't a spirit as you understand it," said Glade. "She is a spirit of birth and rebirth. She permeates the seasons. She is what ensures that the sun rises each day; that Winter gives way to Summer; that crops grow; and that babies are born. If she is a spirit of anything she is the spirit of fecundity..."
"This is just pagan superstition," said Ivory dismissively.
"Whatever," Glade conceded. "The Mother Goddess is worshipped by the Cave Painters of the mountains and is revered with a passion truly difficult to express. The Cave Painters identify themselves not as cave dwellers as we would but as worshippers of the Mother Goddess. It is as if your tribe thought of itself not as the Mammoth Hunters of the steppes but as worshippers of the permafrost."
"That is just blasphemy," Ivory argued. "The spirits exist to serve our tribe and keep us safe from harm."
Glade didn't offer any alternative view, but Ivory already knew that her older lover no more respected the spirits of her tribe than she any longer did the spirits of her ancestral forest. Perhaps she had more faith in this Mother Goddess?
"The Cave Painters are a tribe whose needs you disregard at peril," said Glade. "I told the Chief this and impressed upon him what we were up against. The Cave Painters' mastery of the spear is such that they can kill birds in flight. Their skill at stone-knapping is such that they have stone needles with small holes through which a thread can be inserted. These are people with mastery of medicine, who are skilled at digging wells, who have tamed wild animals and plants, and who could easily bring evil on our tribe."
"In which case, they should be treated as foes not friends."
"And thereby cause the death of us all. The spirits of your tribe won't protect you against a well-shot arrow tipped with poison or a spear with a flint tip so sharp that it can pierce even a rhinoceros hide."
"What did you counsel the chief?"
"I advised him to parley with the Cave Painters. And he persuaded the rest of our sceptical party that this was the most prudent course to take. It mightn't be the most pleasing, but it was the one most likely to succeed. As I reminded the chief, if we antagonised the Cave Painters there was a Mountain Valley full of defenceless women and children they could massacre."
Ivory gasped. "They would do that?"
"Probably not," said Glade. "Why waste time and energy on migrants who're going to leave in the Spring anyway and who don't impinge on their hunting grounds? But I needed to impress on the company the scale of the risk incurred by getting on the wrong side of the Cave Painters. Of course, the people most at risk were us."
Chief Cave Lion wasn't the expedition's most physically fit or capable hunter, but he insisted on taking the lead as the trail wound tirelessly up and over steep hillsides and across plains. It was apparent that the Cave Painters were adept hill climbers. There was evidence that some of them vaulted up the hills with the agility of a goat. The higher the trail ascended the hills the colder it got. On occasion, the Chief and his hunters had to trudge through thick snow. As the day drew to a close, the company settled down beneath a cedar tree's dark forbidding shadows and pulled their furs tightly up to their chins while the snow fell gently over them.
The Chief again led the way the following day. He trudged onwards with a heavy step and was getting visibly fatigued. It was only respect for their Chief that persuaded the other hunters to persist on the trail however much they would rather take advantage of the abundant game around them. Glade feared that Wolverine and Lynx were disregarding etiquette when she saw them separate from the rest of the company to scout ahead at a pace the Chief couldn't match. When the two hunters still hadn't returned by nightfall and the company hadn't caught up with them, Glade was justifiably anxious.
Chief Cave Lion and his hunters nestled down under the shadow of an overhang that sheltered them from the huge flakes of snow that was now threatening to settle around them. Some hunters expressed concern that the trail they were following would soon be obscured by snow and that they might never catch up with Wolverine and Lynx.
When morning came, Glade was awoken from heavy dreamless sleep by a cacophony of angry curses from those hunters who were already awake. She roughly shook awake Chief Cave Lion with whom she'd been sharing her furs and body during the night. His bleary eyes opened and before he could lash out at Glade for disturbing him so impudently she announced: "Something bad has happened!"
And indeed it had. Just beyond the shelter were two recently decapitated heads from which still dripped blood that gathered in a rich red patch on the snowy ground. These heads had, of course, only recently been held aloft on the shoulders of the two impetuous hunters.
"What does this mean?" asked the Chief as he brushed tears of sorrow and rage from below his eyes with the back of his hand.
"It's a warning," said Glade.
"A warning?"
"A warning not to go onward."
"What the fuck else are we supposed to do?"
"Stay where we are," suggested Glade.
"And get killed?"
"We may be safe as long as we don't do anything that antagonises the Cave Painters."
"Like what?"
"Like hunting game such as horse or deer."
"You think that's what Wolverine and Lynx did?"
"They are hunters. That's what hunters do."
"And why must we stay here?"
"We've been following this trail to meet and parley with the Cave Painters. Instead they have found us first. We must wait here and plead our case when the Cave Painters deign to speak to us."
"That is not fucking right! The bastards have killed our best warriors. That is a declaration of war. We should fight."
"We fight, we die. If we talk, we may survive."
The Chief was not so easily persuaded. He knelt by his hunters' scalps and wept while around him the other hunters did much the same. Glade did what was expected of her, which was to sing songs that praised the hunters' valour and prowess while burning roots whose scent was especially odorous and then scattering the ashes over the dead men's remains.
Then, as was the custom in Ivory's tribe, the hunters stood vigil over what little remained of Wolverine and Lynx while they reminisced on the many good times they'd shared together. In this way the memory of the dead men was preserved and it was hoped that the spirits would recognise their value and accept them as their own.
"What do we do now?" Chief Cave Lion asked Glade as he crouched by her in the shelter of the rock while she comforted him by stroking his penis.
"We must be seen to take heed of the Cave Painters' warning," she said. "They haven't killed us all, but if they believe we are a threat to them then that may be what they'll decide to do."
"Your advice reveals cowardice rather than prudence," snorted the Chief. "When a proud people are threatened they should stand firm whatever the cost. Otherwise the disgrace is too great."
"Recall why we are here," said Glade, jerking the Chief's penis more vigorously. "We are here to find hunting grounds for our tribe. We may die anyway if we don't succeed. If we must show obeisance to the Cave Painters for just one winter then that is surely a price worth paying."
It wasn't much time later that the Cave Painters at last appeared. And when they did they were all attired much like Ochre. Their furs were well tailored and they carried equally impressive weapons. There were nearly three Cave Painters for each man in the Mammoth Hunters' expedition.
Nothing was said at first. Glade, the Chief and the six remaining hunters stood or sat where they were and scanned the Cave Painters who encircled them. It was tense and no one knew what to say.
Glade squeezed the Chief's hand. "We should bow to them and throw down our spears," she said softly. "Then they will know that we come in peace."
Glade sighed as she recounted this episode to Ivory. "If only he had," she said. "But Elk had different ideas. He was Wolverine's brother, as you know, and the two were always very close."
Elk took his spear and threw it towards the Cave Painter nearest him. "You cunts!" he bellowed. "You bastards!"
The Cave Painter easily dodged the spear, but Elk was not so lucky. After a sudden frenzy of activity, Elk was slumped on the ground. He'd been stabbed in the chest by a spear, his neck was broken and his face flattened by a heavy rock.
"You can't do that!" shouted the Chief as he dashed forward, but he didn't get very far before he was also pushed to the ground, a flint knife was sliced across his face, and his now broken arm bent under the foot of one of the Cave Painters, while two others pinned him to the ground and dismissively tossed his weapons aside.
The other Cave Painters surrounded Glade and the remaining Mammoth Hunters. They were brandishing their spears and their faces were illuminated with expressions of excitement rather than hatred and certainly not of fear. They knew they had the upper hand. All they needed was the excuse to despatch the rest of the company.
"What did you do?" Ivory asked excitedly. "Did you and the other hunters grab your weapons and slaughter the pagan savages who had killed such brave men?"
"Not at all," said Glade. "I could see all was lost. We would all be killed in no time at all. So, I pleaded with them for our lives."
Glade calmly stood forward and lowered her hood so that the Cave Painters could see her brown skin and foreign features. This had the affect of stopping the Cave Painters in their tracks. This was the first time any of them had seen anyone, male or female, with skin so naturally dark. She then pulled the furs off her shoulders, so that her skin was bared to the falling snow flakes, and spoke to them in the Cave Painters' tongue.
"It's a language I can speak quite well," Glade told Ivory. "I learnt it when I lived south of the High Mountains. It is the most widely spoken of all languages; although these Cave Painters have a very thick dialect."
Glade slowly disrobed to the waist so that her full bosom was displayed and also the duskiness of her skin. When she was sure she had the attention of all the Cave Painters she spoke in the loud commanding voice she employed for the village when she prayed, sang songs, or recounted myths and legends.
"You misunderstand my husband's intentions," she said, indicating the Chief who was groaning from the pain of his injuries and in no mood to disagree with her. "We have come here as supplicants to plead mercy from the Mother Goddess whose wisdom and kindness we have heard so much about. All we wish is to be allowed a small patch of land on which to hunt and gather vegetables that does not impinge on yours. My husband is a wise and gentle man, but is easily angered when his tribesmen are harmed. But this anger isn't directed towards the Cave Painters or the Mother Goddess. It is set against the fates that have allowed such misunderstanding and caused such harm to our people. Please spare his life."
"Spare him?" replied one of the Cave Painters in a rough dialect. "He was about to attack us, just as the two hunters whose heads we removed had attacked us. No man can assault a tribesman of the Mother Goddess and live another day."
"As I say, you misunderstand his intentions," said Glade. "We have come with our few possessions to plead help from you. So desirous of your pleasure is my husband that he offers my body, the body of the wife he loves so much, to all and any of your village. Please accept my flesh for your pleasuring and spare my husband. And then please take us to your shaman and chief so we can parley."
"Is your body all that your tribe can offer?" remarked the same Cave Painter with a sneer. "You are old and we have our own wives and lovers."
"It is all we have," said Glade. "And even this little we are willing to give to you. It is our way."
"It most certainly isn't!" snorted Ivory, who was affronted by the very suggestion. "We are a proud tribe. We don't marry and then allow our wives to be traded as a commodity. Why did you allow them to dishonour you?"
"Dishonour me?" laughed Glade. "You forget where I come from and the extent of my sexual desire. In any case, if I hadn't offered my body voluntarily it would have been used and abused anyway."
The other hunters had no idea of what Glade was saying but they could see that her words had held back the Cave Painters from slaughtering them as they had already so easily killed three of the tribe's finest warriors. Glade addressed them after giving a reassuring nod towards the Cave Painter who'd spoken to her.
"Lay down your spears and flints," she commanded. "I have spoken to the tribe upon whose territory we have strayed and they will spare our lives if we demonstrate that we will do them no harm. They will then find us land on which we can hunt and gather. But if we show the least aggression, they will slay us."
"How can we hunt without our spears?" asked Red Fox, one of the older hunters.
"How can you hunt without your heads?" countered Glade. "Place your weapons down slowly and in full sight of the Cave Painters."
When the hunters had done so, Glade addressed the Cave Painters who surrounded them. "It is my husband's wish that as many of you should fuck me now as should so wish. It is a sign of our tribe's willingness to cooperate with you."
The Cave Painters were visibly excited by the offer and had forgotten that they could so easily just have killed the trespassers and raped Glade anyway. The Cave Painter who'd spoken to her nodded his head and addressed the others. Although Glade was the only one who could understand what he was saying, the tone of it was clearly conciliatory. She smiled reassuringly at the hunters and attended the Chief's wounds as a wife would. She told him about what she had parleyed with the Cave Painters.
"Is it a good thing to do?" asked Chief Cave Lion whose interests in the rightness of her actions were rather secondary to the pain he was suffering.
"If it saves our lives and the lives of those in the Mountain Valley waiting for us to return," Glade said, "then it is a good thing."
The serial fucking Glade endured was almost a formal ritual. Indeed, no more than ten of the Cave Painters actually participated. Glade knew, as none of the hunters did, that amongst the Cave Painters the serial taking of one or more women was a common rite in the seasonal festivals. Consequently, they were well-disciplined and not especially excitable. She disrobed in an open space where her only protection from the icy weather and the sprinkle of snowflakes were the warmth of the Cave Painters' sweaty bodies and the furs they continued to wear. Glade lay down on her furs and her legs were splayed open and welcoming. The men fucked her one by one. They were not all able to ejaculate but they were eager to pretend they had done so. Glade good-naturedly complied with the pretence by faking her cries of orgasm.
The first to fuck her was the Cave Painter who'd been their spokesman and was well respected by the others. He was efficient and mechanical in his love-making. This was clearly intended as an example to the others who followed suit. The Cave Painters watched the proceedings with solemn faces as they might a ritual fucking while Chief Cave Lion and his hunters looked on with disgust and weary resignation.
After the fucking, Glade was allowed to put back on her furs and robes which had been ripped by the rocks and stones that covered the ground. The Cave Painters then gathered together the spears, flints and other weapons that the Mammoth Hunters had lain down.
"We will march ahead of the Cave Painters," Glade told the hunters after a brief discussion with their spokesman. "It is less than a day's walk and we should arrive before dark if we do not dawdle. When we arrive, we shall parley with the Cave Painters' chief and he shall decide our fate."
"The fate of our bravest hunters was left to the whim of monsters that had already killed three of them and wounded our chief?" commented Ivory who was aghast at the indignity when Glade recounted this. "That is not right. A warrior should never surrender."
"There was no choice."
"And you let all those men fuck you one after the other!" Ivory gasped in dismay. "How could you?"
"It was all I could do," said Glade. "Believe me, my sweet young apprentice, this wasn't the first time in my life I've been fucked by many men one after the other. And this time was by no means the worst."
"What did the Chief think?"
"Why should he think anything?" wondered Glade. "He would quite happily have been one of the men who fucked me. Just as would have any of the hunters in our company if they'd had the opportunity."
"It's disgusting!"
"Why?" wondered Glade. "As you know so well, I'm a good woman to fuck. Why shouldn't a man want to fuck me?"