Dusk was fast gathering, and the tongues of flame that rose from the great open space in front of the Old One’s squat, where the kill was roasting, sent tall shadows dancing against the sky. Shadows scarcely less tall, and even more actively fantastic, sketched and parodied the movements of the expectant crowd. Whenever the Koor hunters returned with their spoil there was rejoicing and chattering excitement throughout the squat. It was then that the domestic folk, the craftsmen and the scavengers, the tillers and delvers, the old and the lazy, felt most kindly towards these lordly and agile young men. Nor is it to be supposed that Koor himself, in his greatness, sat aloof and unmoved on such an occasion, waiting royally for his meal to be prepared and brought to him. On the contrary he would be there with the others, as soon as the word went round. He would be there, and conspicuously there, demanding and receiving all the choicest bits for himself. He would be there, with Nigh at his heel and Hasta at his elbow, and with his women flocking round him but careful, since they valued their lives, not to come between him and the food. The awful presence of these three was on the whole a good and salutary thing for the tribe; for, though it sharpened appetite at the expense of geniality, it also put a check on the worst excesses of greed and restricted to the dimensions of riot what might well have become a massacre. As soon as Koor, and after him Hasta and Nigh, had eaten as much as they could hold, and secured for future consumption as much as they could conceivably need until the next kill, they were ready enough to see justice done. After them would come the hunters themselves, the strong ones, who had therefore good reason, as well as proved ability, to protect the privilege and enforce the authority of the great three. Finally all who remained unfed were permitted to crowd round the communal roast and take what they could get, with such interference in the interests of equity as their masters had time or inclination for. These others included all women and children and all merely manual workers. The feasts varied in size and quality. Roast bear was good; red deer was better; boar was better still; and wolf or beaver was better than nothing. Best of all by far, best and biggest, was the great ox. The hunting of the great ox was a tremendous and glorious affair, and the roasting of him an intoxicating spectacle, one that provoked singing, dancing, frantic laughter, playful fighting, and a general wantonness of demeanour. Nor were the eyes alone delighted. The nose, with an even greater rapture, received the good news. The mouth watered. The belly grew wistful, remembering past joys. It was high festival indeed. In the great ox, moreover, there was spiritual as well as bodily nourishment; for he was strong and fierce, a mighty warrior in defence of his cows, as was the cow in defence of her calves; so that in eating him you were eating of this strength and this fierceness and making them your own. By the same token the flesh of a victorious rutting stag was doubly desirable, and that of his vanquished rival fit only for female consumption. Wolves were craven as well as cruel and treacherous, and so were resorted to only in times of famine. Frogs and newts and freshwater fishes gave of their slippery elusiveness; birds of their quick hearing and swift flight. The snake was sacred and taboo.
But tonight there is nothing dubious about the feast, for the great ox is here, plain to see and to smell. Propped up on two forked stakes a few feet above the blazing logs, and dripping, alas, some of the best of his fat substance into the fire, he presents such a joyous spectacle that it is difficult to believe that he himself takes less pleasure in it than we do. The eyes of Koor shine with a rapture of anticipation. He feels wonderfully well and strong, and as young as the youngest of his grandchildren. And soon the feast is ready and he falls to, quite undeterred by the hungry and envious watchfulness of his family. He and his two counsellors stuff their skins tight, and the sign is given that the hunters may now approach. In a flash they are at work, and with them is a woman. Horror of horrors! She is seized and flung back. At the moment we have other things to do than punish women, or it would go hard with her. But what is this? She is back again, that woman. We are shocked. We cannot believe our eyes. Such devastating insolence is without precedent. We howl our execration and rush at her with our knives and axes waving.
‘Wahoooo!’ cried Flint. ‘I am Hawkon’s woman.’
The young men hesitated. The name of Hawkon held them in check. They growled, but they did not strike.