His latest exploit had brought him a higher prestige, and a deeper personal satisfaction, than he had ever known before. The woman Flint was a good woman: of that there could be no doubt. Hasta the Wise had asked and obtained the gods’ approval of her; Koor the Father had uttered the words of sanction; and the tribe had received her with envious admiration. And so the alliance was sealed with the bond of law. Koor, being in his ripe age woefully short-sighted, could not see the woman clearly enough to desire her for himself; moreover he had learnt the wisdom first of allowing, later of encouraging, such youthful enterprise as this of Hawkon’s. For he was obscurely aware that, law or no law, every young man was his potential rival for the possession of the younger women, and the fact that he himself happened to be too feeble to enjoy his rights made him the more implacably jealous of their possible infringement. The young men themselves, all but Hawkon, secretly thought it very poor fun that Flint should be Hawkon’s alone, when there was such a lamentable dearth of women; but they kept their thoughts to themselves, and Hawkon, in his simplicity, never doubted that they were as pleased as he was. But to this there was one obvious exception. Even Hawkon could see that he had made an enemy of Ogo. And though he had not foreseen this hostility, having in fact never given the problem of Ogo a moment’s thought, it did not surprise him in the event. It was Ogo who had helped him to build this magnificent house, and had shared it with him ever since: a broad shallow trench, eight feet by six, paved with pebbles, carpeted with ferns and rushes, and sheltered by a roof of wattle and daub. A wall of piled slabs of stone surmounted the trench and doubled the height of the house, so that a man could stand upright under his own roof-tree; and there were steps leading into it. That two people alone should have had the sole use of a house that could have sheltered ten is eloquent of the respect with which Hawkon was regarded in the tribe. For many moons he and Ogo and the two dogs had shared this house, and now, remembering Ogo, he missed him; and the odd thought flashed into his mind that there would be no more of that queer agreeable talk with which Ogo had been wont to enliven the dark hours until sleep came. He will never sleep here again, thought Hawkon. And so, he went on, painfully thinking it all out, he will sleep somewhere else. His face cleared. His spasm of thinking was over. Ogo dropped back into oblivion.
With Ogo gone, there was room again in his mind for the woman he was staring at. He called her. She came obediently, and knelt, awaiting his pleasure. The only light in the room came from the small square aperture at the top of four rough-hewn steps leading to the outer world, and the woman’s face was in shadow. Hawkon seized her long black hair and pulled her nearer. He stared intently at her face; and she, proudly, with a half-smile, gave back his stare. He was mightily pleased, and obscurely flattered, that she gave no sign of fearing him. From the first moment of her capture, that had delighted him. She had shewn fight but no fear. She had fought tigerishly, rousing anger in him. But the anger, his and hers, had been innocent of malice or hatred: and she had seemed, in the end, as proud in her defeat as he in his victory. They had now been together three days. His joy in her was fresh. The fire that had won her her name burned fiercely.
‘Listen,’ commanded Hawkon.
The half-smile vanished. The eyes widened. She was all listening.
‘This woman,’ said Hawkon—he touched her head, her feet—‘this woman is Hawkon’s woman.’
‘She is Hawkon’s woman,’ answered Flint solemnly: by which she meant: Hawkon is my man.