Finally Hugh did what always worked: he brought out his bone flute. He played, and Anne danced and sang, and both children were instantly enraptured. Of course they had to respect music, because it was special to the family, but it was more than that; they really did respond to it at a deep level. Soon both were asleep.
“And now what do we do to settle down?” Anne inquired as they let their music die gently away.
“What do you think, woman?” Hugh said, hauling her into him. So they made love, and it was effective; they slept thereafter.
In the morning Hugh was up first. He wrapped his sheepskin cloak about himself, called the dog awake, and went outside to urinate. They had a drained toilet closet inside, but he didn't bother to use it; it was for the convenience of women and children.
The house was joined to the next, and there was a narrow alley between them. There were six houses in all, each with its family of four to twelve people. In summer the interconnections didn't much matter, but in winter, when the fierce storms could last for days, they made community life practical. In fact it was this strong sense of community that enabled them to carry through the bad weather.
The dog led the way, long familiar with the route. They emerged from the tight cluster and walked out onto the shell midden against which the village was made. People had used this area for a long time before the present clan had occupied the site; they didn't know or care who those others had been. Their refuse had long since settled and become land, useful to brace the present houses. There were stories of harder times and stories of better times in the past, but all that mattered was how it was now.
He checked the house from outside, as he always did. The stone wall was secure, of course, but the thatch over the whalebone roof beams could get out of order and had to be watched. The last thing they wanted was a leak discovered only during a storm.
He saw Bil emerge similarly from the alley. Hugh gave the man time to complete his private business, then went over. “Your children settle well?” he inquired.
Bil laughed. “No more than yours!” Because Bil had two who would be going along too. The two men were close, for a reason that was not a fit matter for discussion: Hugh had had an early relationship with Fay, who had left him for Bub, but then left Bub for Bil. It was as if Bil had finished Hugh's unfinished business. Their children Wil and Faye matched Hugh's in ages.
“Start with the sun one fist high?” Hugh inquired, naming the time they had agreed on.
“Yes.” Bil turned to check his own thatch, and Hugh returned to his house with the dog.
Anne was up now, wrapped in her sheepwool gown, breaking bread into chunks for breakfast. She hadn't bothered with a fire; there wasn't time. Her hair was in a loose tangle; she always made sure of the food before tending to herself. “You are beautiful,” he told her.
She made a face, pulling her hair across in a momentary veil, then smiled. “Eat before the children get it,” she said, setting out a chunk and a bowl of sheepcurds.
He sat at the stone bench beside the center hearth, in the wan light from the small window, and clipped the rock-hard bread into the soft curd. This was like the relation of man to woman, he thought, the soft complementing the hard. It was a good way.
Anne retired to the private closet to catch up on herself. He admired her rounded rear as she got down to pass through the low access portal. Any crisis that appeared now would be Hugh's responsibility, until she emerged.
As he gnawed on the softened edge of bread, he gazed around the chamber. He was proud of this house, which he had maintained since taking it over. It was large though his family was small, because it served also as a community center. He and Anne often entertained the others when it was not possible to work, and that diversion could be the difference between unity and fragmentation. The main bed was against the center of one wall, with its cushions and heath to soften the stone, and fleece blanket for warmth. The cupboard was against another wall, with its crocks of food and jugs of water and sacks of grain: their security against drought and freeze.
The children slept to the left of the main bed, in the corner by the closets. He focused on them for a time. Chip's brown hair matched Hugh's own, and indeed he was clearly of their family. But little Mina's glossy black hair was something else, shinier than Anne's tresses. Anne styled the girl's hair to match her own, and the two did have a similarity of appearance. But Mina was not a blood child; they had adopted her as a foundling baby, and never regretted it. She had been a delight throughout.
Yet it was more than that. Mina had an affinity for the spirits. Even bad spirits did not molest the family when Mina was there, and sometimes good spirits gave warning in subtle ways when mischief was brewing. That was an advantage they could never have anticipated when they saved the baby from death by exposure. They had no idea who her natural mother was; they had found her during a stone festival, when the whole island congregated. Perhaps she had simply been a gift of the spirits.
As if conscious of his gaze, the little girl stirred, waking. That jogged Chip awake too. In a moment the two were scrambling competitively to be the first to reach the private closet.
“Hold, people!” Hugh cried warningly. “Your mother's there now.”
So they charged the bench instead, ready to gnaw on bread. “Are we still really going?” Mina asked, her eyes big and wonderful.
“We are still really going,” he agreed.
She clapped her hands and flung her little arms around his neck, kissing him wetly on the cheek. Then she grabbed a chunk of bread and began to gnaw enthusiastically.
Anne emerged, her appearance improved. Chip charged the closet. Mina, on the wrong side of the bench, seeing herself hopelessly behind, elected to ignore it. Her turn would come. Already she was learning to be graciously feminine when covering her losses.
They moved out before the sun was one fist high. Hugh lagged just long enough to be sure the dog didn't come. Other families were doing the same, making a rare crowding in the passage. They filed out to the gathering place.
Chip extended his arm and made a fist at the sun. “Hey—it's more than one fist up!” he exclaimed. “We're late!”
Hugh extended his own fist. “No we aren't. Your fist is smaller than mine.”
“Oh.” But the boy pouted only a moment. There was just too much excitement to allow small errors to remain long in mind.
When the sun was right, by Bil's fist, they set off: Six men, ten striplings, one woman, three maidens, and five children. Half the village, leaving behind most of the women, children, and old folk. Because this was not simply a celebration; it was the important working ceremony of the year. It was the Festival of Stones.
The distance to the ceremonial center was not far; a man traveling at a running jog could have reached it by noon. But though every person traveling was healthy, there were constraints. Two men were hauling a wagon loaded with food, blankets, coiled ropes, and special clothing made for the occasion, and sometimes that wagon needed extra hands, for the trail was narrow in places and steep in others. The children were full of energy, but would slow as the novelty wore off. The woman—Anne—and maidens would be tending to the children, so could not forge swiftly ahead even if they were so inclined. They were not so inclined, because they preferred to appear dainty—and the men preferred to have them appear so, at least for this event. Because their appearance at the festival could enhance their prospects for marriage. So it would be near dusk before this party reached the center.
They proceeded inland, roughly southeast, veering as necessary to avoid difficult terrain. The men shifted off on wagon hauling duty, making three teams; they, at least had no concern about getting sweaty. Hugh took the left side, so that his dominant hand was outside, in case of anything unexpected. Others in the village didn't care about his sinister handedness, but sometimes strangers did, so he masked it as a matter of course. Even so, Chip had been known to get into a fight because of it. Hugh had mixed feelings about that
, but overall he was satisfied that neither child resembled him in that respect.
They stopped for lunch, and the women brought out smoked coalfish and fresh berries while the maidens fetched bags of cold water from a nearby stream. Anne made the children lie down to rest, and by this time they were tired enough to obey. It was a nice day, with just enough wind to make the heat of effort reasonable.
In late afternoon they reached the center. This was an open level region from which the hills all around could be seen. The children were especially impressed with the view of the steep cliffs of the large island to the south, which could be seen beyond a lake.
A great circle was marked on the turf, surrounded by a curving ditch enclosing a region fifty paces across. A single enormous stone poked upright from the ground, three times the height of a man. Tomorrow they would erect a second smaller stone.
The folk of other villages were arriving similarly. Bil directed his group to a suitable campsite, then nodded to Hugh. Hugh went in search of the clan leader, whose tent he thought he saw on the northern edge of the plain, by the lake there. He needed to check in and give the count of working men from Skara Brae, and also the maidens.
“Daddy!”
He turned, startled. There was Mina running after him, her black tresses flying. She was about the cutest little girl he could imagine, and in another decade would surely make a beautiful woman. But what was her concern? He waited for her to reach him.
“What is it?” he asked as she arrived. “Did you lose your mother?”
“No,” she panted. “I think—I think you need me.”
“I always needed you, precious child,” he said, smiling.
“No, I mean really,” she insisted. “For the spirits.”
He looked back to the camp, and saw Anne. He waved to her, to confirm that Mina had reached him safely. “Then come along,” he agreed, taking the little hand. Mina was at times unpredictable, but always agreeable, and she did indeed have a feel for the spirits. She was in her sweet way a haunted child.
They walked on north. As they approached the large camp, he picked Mina up and carried her in a sitting posture. She put her arm around his neck for security, facing forward.
Three youths were lounging before the big hide tent. “I come to see Joe, the clan leader,” Hugh said.
They eyed him with expressions bordering on insolence. “Hey, it's the spooky one,” one said. “With the wrong hand.”
Hugh experienced a familiar surge of anger. Was he to be insulted by these striplings when he came on business?
Then Mina turned her face to look at them: first one, then another, then the third. And they blanched. “In there,” one muttered, moving away.
Hugh concealed his amazement. The child had stared them down! He knew how big and dark her eyes were, at times seeming like infinitely deep pools of water, but this was new. The spirits must have shown through her gaze.
“Thanks, precious,” he said, and carried her on into the tent.
Joe got up as he entered, and came to give him a bear hug that was gentle enough not to squeeze the child. “Welcome, Hugh,” he said. “I'm always glad to see you. Did Bil come too?”
“Yes. And four more. And three maidens.”
“And Anne, of course?
“And my wife,” Hugh agreed.
“And who is this little maiden?”
“My daughter Mina. She came to protect me from spirits, but all we encountered was three youths.” That was as close as Hugh cared to come to reporting their insolence.
Joe looked Mina directly in the face, appreciating her aspect. “You will be a priestess one day,” he said seriously.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Maybe already.”
“Yes.”
Hugh realized that Joe understood what had passed between Mina and the striplings. Joe had never been known for intelligence, but he recognized and appreciated power of any type. That was why he was the clan chief. Those who related to the spirits were respected.
Joe returned to business. “We have a good group and fair weather. We're going to try to erect two stones, flanking the Watch Stone. It's not right to leave it only half attended.”
Hugh nodded. “Our men are ready. And our youths.”
“But I want you on the drum.”
“I understand,” Hugh said, though he was hurt.
“No, it's not for your hand! That's nothing. Sometimes my own left works better. It's that there may be an attempt to hurt you or blame you for trouble. I don't know who, though I suspect. So I want you safe.”
Someone wanted to cause him mischief? “Whom do you suspect?” Hugh asked.
“I must not say. Who kicked whom?”
Answer enough. There had been bad blood between Hugh's family and the brother/sister team of Bub and Serilda. When Bub lost Fay, he seemed to have gotten interested in Anne, perhaps in a notion of revenge, wanting to deprive Hugh of what he most valued. Last summer the man had tried to waylay her, and walked into a dancing maneuver he hadn't appreciated. Bub had never spoken of it, but news had gotten around. Serilda had never married.
Hugh was confident of his ability to handle Bub, should it come to violence. Bub was larger, but Hugh had greater finesse with the hand axe, and Bub knew it. So it wouldn't come to violence. But Bub had devious ways, so was dangerous. “I will drum,” he agreed.
“Unless we have to have you on the rope,” Joe said.
Hugh nodded. He left the tent. The striplings were gone. He set Mina down and they walked back to their own camp. It had been an interesting visit in more than one sense.
In the morning Hugh was first up, as usual. But as he returned from the communal refuse pit, he discovered little Mina stirring. “Daddy, someone was here,” she said.
He laughed. “Half the clan is here, precious. It's the Festival of Stones.”
“In the night,” she said insistently. “Doing something.”
Hugh frowned. “A stranger? In our share of the tent?”
“Yes. I colored his shoe.”
Hugh trusted his daughter's sincerity, but not necessarily her judgment. Someone could have blundered into the wrong section, and departed quietly upon discovering his error. But thievery was known, when so many people got together. “Show me exactly where he was.”
She pointed to their piled family supplies. He checked, but nothing was missing. Their travel clothes, extra food, and his coil of rope were where he had left them. “It's all right, Mina,” he said.
Anne appeared. “Something wrong?”
“Someone blundered by here in the night,” he said. “Mina marked his foot.”
Anne tried to be serious. “Mina, you shouldn't dye folk's feet,” she said. But it was clear that she found it as funny as Hugh did. Someone in the camp might have a red boot. With luck, that person would not realize it soon, and would not know who had perpetuated the indignity.
After that it was rushed. Hugh set up his drum, stretching the leather across a big earthen pot and drawing it tight. It might not be the most melodic instrument, but it was loud and had a certain urgent quality of sound that was what they needed for parts of the work. He hauled it to the working area some distance from the camp, joining Joe and Bil. When Bil nodded, he began to play it, first lightly, then more firmly. This was the signal to get started, and all the working men and striplings converged.
The two great stones were lying on the ground near where they had been quarried earlier in summer. Quarrying was a somewhat tedious business, in which suitable boulders were located and separated into proper fragments by fire and water. Wood soaked in animal fat was laid along the line where the split was to be, and set on fire. When it burned out they cleared away the ashes and poured cold water over it, and the stone cracked along that line. They also pounded it with globular stone mauls, a number of men striking along the line in unison to break it farther apart. All this required special expertise and coordination, and the trained crew was the only group allo
wed to do such work, lest a good stone be ruined.
Now the men and striplings hauled timbers into place. There were not many suitable trees here, so these beams were saved to be used from year to year. They made a large sledge by fitting short cross timbers across long runner beams and lashing them together. This stout sledge was hauled into position beside the stone.
Now came the hard part. Hugh changed the beat of his drum, to get them perfectly coordinated, while Joe shouted the orders. Men with long stout poles levered up one side of the stone while the striplings hauled on a multitude of ropes from the other side. “On three,” Joe cried. “One,” matching the loud drum beat. “Two. Three!” All the levers and ropes went under tension together, and the giant stone heaved up on its side. Others shoved blocks in to hold the elevation when the levers were removed, but the boys on the ropes held steady. Then they shoved the sledge in close under it, and scrambled away before the ropes were slackened.
The stone fell back down, over the blocks, and crashed onto the sledge. It was now half on, but the worst was over. They used their ropes and levers to nudge it by stages fully onto the sledge. They tied it in place so that it wouldn't come loose no matter how it might be tilted.
Now round roller beams were laid beyond the end of the sledge, and the ropes and levers used to haul it onto the series of rollers. When it was fairly on them the work was easier; the ropes alone were enough to heave it forward, beat by beat. As it left rollers behind, men carried them quickly to the front and laid them down again. So it continued, moving grandly along its track toward the erection site. But the hauling was still hard work, leaving men and striplings panting, and glad to have the water the maidens brought to them during their rest shifts.
They brought the stone all the way up to its place of erection. This was a hole that had been well prepared, shored up inside by surrounding stones, with guide stakes driven in along the far side. They levered and hauled it to the brink, lifting the distant end so that the near end slid grudgingly into the hole and thunked into place at the bottom. They had to jam in more blocks at each stage, and lever it up a little more, so that its erection was actually rather slow. Hugh's drum made the beat throughout, keeping it coordinated, for any mistake could send the stone crunching dangerously wrong. A pyramid of cross-stacked planks formed behind the stone, from which the men kept working. Only when that structure was almost as tall as the stone itself were they able to get it all the way vertical, and fill in the rear of the hole with small rocks.