Nigh kneeled before him, seized his shoulders, and peered into his eyes. ‘Listen, brother! The gods have chosen a woman for the sowing. She is young and holy. No man has touched her. She is a daughter of a daughter of Koor our master, and she is called Wooma.’
A shudder passed through the squatting body of Ogo. A deep sigh escaped him, and it was as if he woke out of sleep. Light came back into his eyes. He looked round in wonder. ‘Wooma? Where is Wooma?’
The chattering that had begun with his movement ceased at his words. The silence of awestruck conjecture fell upon the company. Triumph and malice shone in the eyes of Nigh. A vague satisfied smile visited Hasta’s lips.
‘Wooma,’ repeated Nigh, still peering at the patient. ‘Young and holy, and no man has touched her.’
‘Who is this Wooma?’ asked Ogo, on the defensive. ‘And what of her?’
With much particularity Nigh and Hasta told once more of the fate designed for Wooma: the Wise One with unction, the Tale-Bearer with relish. For to Nigh, of all his duties, this slaying of a virgin was the most congenial.
Ogo heard them in silence, and when they had ended he sat thinking and staring at distance. Nigh, for reasons of his own, watched him narrowly. The others watched because Nigh watched, and because already they scented a monstrous meaning in these events.
‘She is untouched?’ asked Ogo presently. ‘No man has taken her?’
‘It is so,’ said Nigh and Hasta.
‘Therefore,’ affirmed Ogo tentatively, ‘she is pleasing to the earth-god.’
‘It is so,’ they answered.
‘If she had been taken by a man, this Wooma, the earth-god would see scorn in our sacrifice and be angry. Is it not?’
‘It is so,’ they murmured again.
Ogo leaped to his feet. ‘I, Ogo, have taken this woman. Lead me to my father Koor.’
So he came, driven at the spear’s point, into the presence of Koor. Both Stare, who had brothered him, and Hawkon, who had once been his constant friend, were conspicuous among the warders, and their anger against him burned fiercely: Hawkon’s because he was himself the proprietor of a woman, and Stare’s because in his heart he had once cherished an unlawful desire. And all were at one in fearing that the curse of the gods might fall on the tribe before formal judgement had been pronounced and executed against the sinner. They entered Koor’s court with ceremony, Hasta leading, Nigh following, and Hawkon commanding the prisoner’s escort. The rumour of their doings filled the camp, and from the four points of the compass men came hurrying. Koor himself was almost the last to be roused, for nowadays sleep was his dearest indulgence: he loved nothing so much, once he had eaten his fill, as to lie dozing at his hearthside, with one or more of his women near, and a weapon gripped in his hand. Those who disturbed him on such occasions could count, all too confidently, on a rough welcome. Today he dreamed of love and hunting: he was filled with the pride of youth, and well matched with the bright world. He held a writhing girl under one arm, and laughed at her struggles as he strolled jauntily through the forest in search of battle. A huge bull came thundering towards him. He dropped the girl, and she clung to his knees in terror. So with his naked hands he met the bull’s assault, seized its horns and glared into its eyes. They stood rigid, man and bull; the bull was strong, but the man was arrogant. The breath of the beast scorched Koor’s face, but he laughed and glared the more fiercely; felt the bull’s strength entering his own body; and at last knew himself victorious. The horns crumpled; the great bulk sank in exhaustion under his pressure; and the forest became full of shouting men, crying: Great is Koor; mighty is Koor; Koor is the great bull and the king of bulls, and we are his people. The old woman, ill-favoured and evil-smelling, who watched the sleeping chief, she who indeed had always watched him with unwearying devotion, and asked no thanks for it, she too remembered the young Koor, and it may be that she recognized him still in this snoring and wizened old body that slept with twitching limbs and gaping mouth. She was for ever telling him how great and wonderful he was, and in some fashion she believed it, though she believed, too, that his end was drawing near, and was tormented with fear for him. And now she must risk his displeasure and wake him; for the noise of men was terrible and could bode no good. She shook him; he woke, snarling and frightened. ‘Koor is the great bull,’ he muttered. ‘Yes, yes,’ said the old woman soothingly. ‘There’s a noise of people coming. Get up, my brave lord, and face them.’
Hasta and Nigh bent their heads in reverence as the Old One rose; but Hawkon stared boldly.
Koor uttered a bark of greeting.
‘Greeting, O Koor our Father!’ cried Hasta, in his shrill voice. ‘Sin has been done in our midst. Woe and pestilence on them that suffer it!’