The precise chronology of the development of modern mankind is obscure. We are “primates,” because we fancy we have a prime position in the animal kingdom, but only recently—within the past million years or so—have we demonstrated much of that. Climate drove our development throughout; millions of years ago we were rain forest creatures, but when the climate changed and the forests shrank, we had to change too, or lose. So as dryness changed our habitat, we adapted to handle it. This adaptation took the usual evolutionary form: anyone who couldn’t handle dryness died.
We became more flexible in gathering food, drawing on a greater variety of edible things, including scavenging meat. To get meat, including nutritious bone marrow, we had to use tools, and that made us use our brains more. Tools enabled us to manipulate our environment, to an extent, rather than being manipulated by it. Tools helped us compete with specialized animals, including predators. But it took time.
Australopithecus started walking on two feet about five million years ago; two and a half million years ago Homo habilis showed an expanded brain and a smaller gut. These were related: it seemed we faced a choice whether to develop a more versatile digestive system, or a more versatile brain. Some primates chose the gut and huge teeth; we chose the brain. Homo erectus moved into Asia well before the moderns evolved, and was a sophisticated hunter. Spears have been found dating to 400,000 years ago, well made and balanced; Erectus knew what he was doing. But he seems to have lacked the fine breathing control needed for modern speech. He could probably talk, just not as readily as we do.
Meanwhile back in Africa an even more sophisticated variant was evolving. Nothing less had any chance to displace Erectus, who had already conquered as much of the world as he cared to. For the purpose of this novel, it is assumed that modern man evolved in the Rift Valley and the region of Lake Victoria, in Africa. When the climate changed, constricting the plant and animal resources there, the growing human population could not be sustained. Some people had to move out, or all would starve. Thus a significant portion of mankind had to leave the Garden of Eden and travel elsewhere, searching for sustenance. They were not entirely pleased, as their subsequent legends suggested.
The setting is the southern merging of the divided Rift Valley, north of Lake Malawi. The time is 100,000 BPE (Before Present Era). It should be remembered that at this time the human species was virtually identical to what it is today, in everything except numbers, technology, and information. The culture may have been primitive, but a man of that day was just about as smart as a man of today, and just about as competent with his hands and language. Subsequent small changes in aspects of the brain were to make a big difference, however. There is some evidence that there were startlingly elegant harpoons and knives in this region at this time, but it is inconclusive; more likely these date from 50,000 years ago, matching the level elsewhere in the world. So “conventional” technology is assumed for this story.
It was the twentieth day of their journey south: both hands spread twice, in the gesture dialect. The end of the world was near, for ahead loomed the huge range of mountains that bordered it. If they did not find suitable land here, they would have to turn back, their mission failed.
Hero shook his head. He had said he was confident, but he wasn’t. People and tribes much like their own occupied all the territory they had traversed, and all were crowded and hungry. The drought had impoverished the entire region. None wanted newcomers hunting or foraging in their lands. They were courteous to the travelers, but made it plain: Not Here.
They were following the trading trail, which was marked by widely spaced piles of rocks and scraped earth and specially twisted trees. Travelers were allowed to hunt, forage, or fish along this route, but could be considered enemies if they strayed from it. Every so often they spied others watching them from a distance, so they knew that the restrictions would be enforced. It was bad luck to kill a traveler, for the spirits of the dead could be vengeful, but there were sharp limits to tolerance when times were tough.
Haven sniffed. “Smoke,” she said. She was his sister, one year younger than he at seventeen years—three hands and two fingers—but a full-bodied woman who knew her mind. Her senses were sharp; she could spot a ripe fruit or hear an odd sound before Hero could. She was the apt forager, and that really helped on this mission.
Now he smelled it too. “A hearth,” he said.
“A cooking hearth,” she agreed. “We may have lodging for the night.”
They moved on toward it, feeling better. They were used to traveling, but this was the end of the day, and they were tired and ready to rest. A native home could be very nice.
In due course they saw it. At the base of a southern mountain was the house, formed of poles and brush, thatched over with woven branches. The hearth was in front, its open fire licking modestly up, roasting a leg of animal.
There was a young woman by it, focusing on her cooking; her gender was made evident by her employment and her bare breasts. She had long hair, worn loose, just as Haven did, as an indication that she was unmated. But there was surely a man in the house, for lone women did not hunt large animals.
Hero cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ho!” he called.
The girl looked up. She spied them, and jumped to grab a spear, holding it defensively before her. The gesture was more to show that strangers were not trusted than to indicate any actual fighting ability. She had surely been aware of them, but preferred to pretend innocence. It was part of the protocol.
Haven opened her hide cloak, spread her arms wide and stepped forward several paces, then stopped. She was showing her gender by her own bared breasts, and offering to come in alone, unarmed. That was the main reason she had come with Hero: to facilitate lodging with families. It had worked well enough so far.
The girl paused, then beckoned with her free hand. Haven walked on in, while Hero stood where he was. He watched her go right up to the hearth and talk with the girl. Then Haven reached into her pack and brought out a small object, and gave it to the girl. That would be one of their brother Craft’s wooden carvings. They were marvelously intricate curiosities, linked circles cut from a larger piece. Anyone could bend a small branch around and tie it to itself to make a ring, and link another such ring to it, but to link always-solid circles was a novelty that intrigued just about anyone. So these artifacts were another key to hospitality, for there was no one who didn’t have some curiosity about oddities. That was part of what made a person human.
The two talked more, and then they embraced. They had decided to be friends. That meant that there would be comfortable company, food, and lodging for this night.
The girl faced Hero and beckoned. Haven had made him seem all right. He waved, then strode forward. He carried his spear and staff across his shoulders, sidewise, making it clear that he did not intend to use them. When he got close, he pushed the staff point into the ground so that the shaft stood up without falling. Then he leaned the spear against it, the stone head up. He was disarming himself, without throwing away the weapons. This was another part of the protocol of introduction. There was very likely a man hiding in the house, his weapon ready; only when it was quite clear that Hero had no hostile intent would that man reveal himself. The girl’s father, or uncle, or brother. Girls of any group were generally not left unprotected.
Now he wished that his younger brother Keeper, named for the way he kept animals, had come along. Because Keeper had tamed a den of wolf cubs, after Hero had killed their mother. It had seemed ridiculous, the way he carried the tiny wolves home and struggled to feed them and protect them. But as the pups survived and grew, Keeper’s craziness turned out to be savvy, because the little wolves did not run away; they remained with him, loyal to him alone. Now they were grown, and he was training them to help hunt. Others were amazed, but had to concede that there was something to it. Also, the wolves were very good at sniffing out strangers; they knew the smell of every member of the family, and tolerated them, but raised a clamor when any stranger approached. One of them would have let Hero know for sure whether there was an ambush in the house.
But it had seemed better for Haven to travel with him, for she could be friendly in a way the wolves would not. They were looking for cooperation, not antagonism. So this was not the place for the wolves. Haven had just demonstrated her usefulness, by successfully approaching this woman. Once they found new land, the wolves would help tame it.
Hero took the last few steps to join the girl. This close she looked young, not far into nubility, slender and pretty. She wore a short skirt of reeds, and simple sandals. Her small breasts did not sag, and the nipples were enhanced with red stain. Her face was rounded and sweet, and her hair was brown rather than black. So were her eyes. But her thighs were solid enough; she would be bearing children as soon as she took a man.
“I am Hero,” he said, naming himself. “I am a hunter, and warrior at need. But now I am traveling, seeking no quarrel.” He made the sign of peace, his head bowed, his hands spread empty.
The girl eyed him appraisingly. “I am Crenelle. I am three hands years and unmarried.” She too augmented her speech with gestures, for her dialect differed from his and she wanted no confusion. She finished with a brief tug at her own hair, calling attention to its looseness.
Fifteen. That was about what she looked. A girl could marry when she got breasts, and usually did not wait long, especially if she was pretty. But the fact that she stated it, and her marital status, meant that she wanted similar information from him. Her lack of concern about the presence of two strangers indicated that she felt safe with them, and that in turn probably meant that protection was close by. He saw another spear leaning against the house entrance, and smelled manodor. There was surely a man listening.
“I am three hands, three fingers years,” he said, spreading his own right hand three times and adding three fingers. “Eighteen. I have no wife, and seek none at this time. I search for land for our family to occupy.”
“There is none here. Only for members of our family/tribe.” She smiled at him, more than passingly. “You lack interest in women?”
Now there was no doubt. She was interested in him as a prospect for marriage. “I have interest, but I must see to my family first. We are going hungry in the Lake area. The water is sinking. The game is disappearing. We must move to better territory.” He gestured as he spoke, touching his crotch, his belly, making waves with his hand, and finally making a broad hand sweep to indicate spread land.
“It is not good here in the Mountain area either,” Crenelle said. “The trees are dying. Game is scarce here too.”
“Maybe we need to look farther,” Haven said with regret.
“No, no need for that,” the girl said quickly, surprising Hero. “We can manage, if we just get more rain.”
Their gestures were gradually diminishing, as the concepts became more detailed and it was clear that their dialects were mutually intelligible. “If we got more rain, the lake would rise,” Haven said. “The game would return. But there is never enough.”
“Never enough,” Crenelle agreed. “Yet the weather changes as it wishes, and maybe will change again.”
Hero shrugged. “We have traveled far, and would like to return home. But I think we must go on until we find a land with enough rain.”
“But you can’t,” the girl protested. “You come from the north. To the south is just mountains, and a big lake, and the lake folk are hostile. To the east and west are fire mountains. There is nowhere to go.”
“This is bad news,” Hero said with deep regret. “Perhaps I should talk with your brother.”
“My brother?” She stepped from foot to foot, in place, making her loose reed skirt shift and reveal flashes of her thighs. She was trying to be seductive, and succeeding reasonably well, because they were good thighs, slender but firmly fleshed.
Hero smiled, masking his interest. “There are the possessions of a man here, and I’m sure you did not make this house yourself. I should meet with him before talking too much with you, lest he misunderstand my intention.”
“My brother is away,” Crenelle said. “He had to go to trade for dry fish.”
“Then we should not be here. You do not wish to sleep with strangers too near.”
“I think you are not strangers any more. Haven gave me a wonderful toy, and you I would like to know better.” She put her hands to her belt thong, and drew up her skirt so as to show a clear flash of her crotch. It was no longer possible to doubt the nature of her interest. She was being somewhat too obvious, but had the right motions. His interest was indeed being aroused.
Hero glanced quickly at Haven, but she turned away. This was his problem to settle. So he addressed it directly. “I have just appeared here, and you offer me your skirt, knowing that I must go on elsewhere tomorrow?”
“I think you would make a good husband. If you married me, you could stay and hunt here.”
“But what of my family? I have two grown brothers and two grown sisters, and younger siblings who may similarly have to find other territory.”
Crenelle shook her head. “My people let only spouses remain. Haven could marry my brother Harbinger, and stay. I’m sure he will like her. She has a full body.”
Haven jumped. “I’m not marrying either!”
Crenelle turned persuasive. “But then you could stay here. Your family would be free of two members, and the others could look elsewhere. That is better than failure.”
She had a point. But Hero refused to desert his remaining siblings. “We are close. They would not desert me; I will not desert them. So I thank you for your interest, but we must be moving on, with regret.”
“You are generous,” Crenelle said.
“Not generous,” Haven corrected her. “Decent.”
“Yes. I like you.” She considered briefly, then shrugged, making her breasts jiggle. “If I were a year older, I could seduce you, and make you marry me.”
“Surely so,” Hero agreed. He was not merely humoring her; she was impressing him enough as it was, and the added flesh a year would bring would make her a beauty. “Now we must move on and find a place to camp for the night.”
“No need; stay here, by the fire. I have food enough, this night, and my brother will return tomorrow with more.”
“But I can’t give you what you want, so should not take favors from you.”
She looked at him with a new sort of appraisal. “You are a hunter—and warrior. You can use those weapons.” Her glance flicked to the standing staff and spear.
“Yes. But never against a friend.”
“Bring them here, and protect me. I get nervous, alone. There is a lame leopard who may attack.”
That was fair enough. Normally leopards stayed clear of human settlements, but lame ones could not hunt well, and so could go after human beings in desperation. Hero walked to his staff, took it in his left hand, pulled the spear from the ground with his right hand, and returned. He set both down within reach. Meanwhile Crenelle was taking down the roast, which was now ready, and was using her stone blade to carve off chunks of meat for each of them. She also had some fermented berry juice to share. That was bound to be a pleasure.
They sat cross-legged around the hearth and ate. “This is a feast,” Hero said appreciatively. “I hope there is some threat in the night, so that I can justify my presence.”
“There may be a way,” Crenelle said.
Aware that she had something other than the leopard in mind, he glanced at her. Her position caused the strands of the skirt to diffuse, showing aspects of her lightly furred crotch, surely by no accident. Haven was sitting similarly, but wore a loinskin that remained in place regardless of her legs. So did Hero. “A way?”
“There could be a storm, damaging the house. You could repair it.”
“A storm would bring water,” Haven said.
“Good luck, a blessing from the spirits,” Crenelle agreed.
He realized that Crenelle had diverted his question, not telling him her true thought. But there seemed to be no harm in her, and he did like the view she was giving him, so he did not pursue it.
“How is it that your brother left you here alone?” Haven inquired.
The girl grimaced. “He didn’t want to. But since our father died, we have had to make do as a family of two, and can’t be together all the time. So he leaves the spear in sight, and I pretend he’s here. So far there has been no trouble. But there really is a leopard, so I keep the fire burning all night.”
“We would not have approached, if we had known you were alone,” Hero said.
“Why not? You would have taken me for easy prey.”
“We are not looking for prey. We want land to settle.”
“You could have killed me and taken this land.”
Hero laughed. “I doubt it, even were we so inclined.”
She glanced sharply at him. “Why do you doubt?”
He answered her seriously. “Because you are young, but not defenseless, even alone. You carry a knife at your waist, you use it with flair, and the house is booby-trapped.”
Her jaw dropped. “How did you know?”
“He is a good hunter, and warrior,” Haven said. “He is observant.”
Crenelle nodded. “The more I learn of you, the better I like you. You would be a good provider.”
“I like you too,” Hero said. “You are competent and clever, and you have nerve. Your body is most appealing. But I will not desert my siblings.”
“And I will not desert mine,” she said, flushing at the compliments. “Harbinger is all I have, and I am all he has.”
Crenelle ate less than they did, and finished sooner. Then she brought out a small piece of bone. She put the end to her mouth and blew. Sound came out, high and sweet.
“You have a flute!” Haven cried, delighted.
“My brother sings and beats a drum. I play the bone. Our family likes music.”
“So does ours,” Hero said. “We listen when we hear it.”
“Then listen.” Crenelle applied her mouth to the bone, and her fingers to the holes in it, and played an appealing tune. Both Hero and Haven were enraptured; the girl was good at it. Her melody stirred something deep and vital.
As she played, she moved, swaying the upper part of her body to keep time. Her motion became more vigorous. Her breasts bounced and rippled, compelling Hero’s attention. Breasts were always interesting, even small ones, but moving breasts were fascinating. Of course Crenelle intended to attract his gaze there, but he had no choice.
The combination of appearance and music and berry drink was having its effect. Hero was now pondering whether it would after all be possible to marry her. Of course he should not, yet it was easy to imagine holding her, loving her, being constantly close to her. She could be very nice to be with.
They completed their meal as dusk closed. Hero’s head was pleasantly dizzy from the fermented juice. He stood, carefully. “I must urinate. Is there a safe region?”
Crenelle stood, putting away her flute. “I’ll show you. Follow my tracks.” She walked around the house, showing some dizziness herself. Possibly it was feigned, as she had drunk sparingly, but it added to her appeal: the suggestion that she would be amenable to anything he might have in mind, because of the juice. Such an effect was common enough.
Hero and Haven followed, staying on the path she showed. They knew that one trap would not be the limit; there would be several. By daylight they could have spied them, but it was chancy by night.
“Here,” the girl said, and squatted, doing it herself.
Hero turned away, embarrassed by her openness. She was still trying to seduce him, and was having more effect than perhaps she knew. He wished he could simply sweep her into his arms and have sex with her.
Crenelle stood, and walked back toward the house. Haven went to the spot and squatted, drawing aside her loinskin. He did not look, out of courtesy, but of course he had seen her do it before. It didn’t matter, with a sister. But it mattered with an unrelated young woman. Then she moved to the house, leaving Hero to manage his half-erect state alone. Haven well understood what was occurring, but had the grace to pretend ignorance. She had seen him similarly embarrassed before, but was discreet.
He managed, in due course, and went to the house. The two girls were entering it, stepping on one side of the threshold. Hero removed his pack, brought out his cloakskin, and lay down beside the dying fire, his staff and spear beside him.
But before he could sleep, a figure emerged from the house. Darkness was closing, but he knew by the sound and smell that it was Crenelle, not Haven. Uncertain of her mission, he lay still, with his eyes closed.
She came to stand almost over him. “I could club you where you lie,” she murmured disdainfully.
His hand moved too swiftly for her to escape. He clasped her ankle. “I doubt it. You don’t have a club.”
She neither moved nor screamed. “So you are alert. I like that.”
He slid his hand up to squeeze her calf, smiling. He opened his eyes, peering up under her skirt. “And I like that.”
“Like what?” she demanded, not trying to free her leg.
“That you do not spook frivolously. It could be dangerous, in the wrong circumstance.”
“Is that all you like?”
“No. But I told you, I am not seeking a wife.” He let go of her calf and averted his gaze. The two actions required more willpower than he cared to admit, especially since he knew she sought neither.
She squatted, one knee projecting over his head. He couldn’t keep his gaze clear. The flickering firelight illuminated her inner thigh. She was showing him, again, while pretending to be unaware of it. That enhanced the effect, for secret glimpses had more power than open ones. “I could be good for you.”
He sighed, with mock dismay. He was enjoying the game, despite its pointlessness. “You will not let me sleep until you argue the case?”
“If I let you sleep, you will depart in the morning, and I will never see you again.”
“Then lie under my blanket and let me feel your body, and I will listen as long as you wish.”
He had thought she might demur, but she did not. She stretched out beside him and tugged the cloak across to cover her. But it was not wide enough; the other side slid off his body.
She paused, lifting her head. “You do understand that if you take me, you marry me. I am not offering myself to you, I am only sharing your blanket.”
“Yes. In our tribe, a man must marry the woman he takes, if she wishes it.”
“Good.” She rolled to her side, came up against him, and reached down to spread the cloak so as to cover them both.
He rolled similarly, so that they were facing each other, and reached over to put his right hand against her back. He clasped her, so that neither of them was at risk of falling away. Her left hand rested on his thigh, and her breasts pressed against him as she breathed. He was of course aroused, and she was aware of that. But he made no further motion. She had said she was not inviting sex; he had to honor that.
“My brother won’t marry until I do, though he is two years older,” she said after a pause. “He wants to be sure I am provided for.”
“But he could still provide for you, if he married.”
“His wife could make me leave. So he wants me married well before he does. He is handsome; he could steal the prettiest girl, and she wouldn’t scream.”
“Why would she scream?”
“Some girls don’t like getting raped.”
“Raped! I thought you were speaking of marriage.”
Her hand slid down inside his loinskin to cup his buttock. “You can do the same, you know.”
“I would never rape anyone!”
She laughed, which struck him as an odd reaction. “I mean your hand. You may touch me where I touch you.”
Oh. He slid his hand down her back until his fingers reached the curvatures of her warm bottom. The reed skirt offered no barrier. The flesh was tight and muscular, but also fuller than his own; she was definitely a woman. His desire for her magnified, but he limited himself to stroking her gently. “What is this about rape?”
“It must be different in your tribe. In ours, a man chooses a girl he likes, catches her alone, steals her, and rapes her. Then her family must give her to him in marriage.”
“I should think they would kill him.”
“No. Then she would be a widow, and unable to marry again for a year. They wouldn’t like that.”
“But don’t they protect her from rape?”
“Yes, if they don’t like the man. But if they like him, they make her go out alone so he can get her. If she likes him, she doesn’t scream much. For my brother, there are several who would not scream at all. So I am a hindrance; if I don’t marry soon he will lose the best of them, because they won’t wait long.”
Hero was appalled, but also intrigued. “Suppose the wrong man steals a girl? One her family doesn’t like?”
She smiled. “Sometimes it is not easy for her to arrange to be where the one she wants can get her, instead of where the one her family wants can do it. But if she manages, then they have to accept him.”
“I mean one nobody likes. A stranger, or bad man, who comes upon her unaware.”
“One from another tribe,” she clarified. “He must get her all the way to his tribe, where his kin can protect him, before her kin catch him. Or he can rape her immediately, and hope that they prefer to have her married than widowed. If they decide to let him have her, but remain angry, they might have one of their men rape his sister and flee without marrying her. If her kin don’t know who the man is, there’s not much they can do. So it’s a good vengeance.”
“Don’t any girls marry for love?”
“Oh, yes, of course, when they get the right man. But when their families choose someone else, and watch her closely, what can she do? I have a friend, and she wouldn’t go out alone when the man her family wanted was near, so he came into her house and raped her there, and none of her family heard her screams, they said. Now she is with child.”
Hero considered. “We do not practice rape. Not for marriage. We punish it by killing the man, or cutting off his penis. But neither do girls always get to choose their own. Their fathers or brothers may decide. Sometimes they will choose a man the girl likes, sometimes not. But there is no violence.”
“Suppose she marries unwillingly, and resists her husband?”
“She wouldn’t. He has the right.”
“But if she hates him, and fights him?”
He saw her point. “Then perhaps you could call it rape.”
“So you are not so different from us. You just phrase it differently.”
“Still, I would not. I would not marry a girl who didn’t want me, and would not force her, ever.”
“Would you beat her, to make her amenable?”
“No!”
She squeezed his buttock. “I like you better yet. But I would never give you cause to beat me.”
He knew he should send her back to the house, before she tempted him beyond endurance. But it was difficult to give up the pleasure of her proximity, and he remained curious about her culture. “Suppose I took you, not raping you, just doing it because you were willing? That would not be rape. Would I not have to marry you?”
“You can’t take me willingly. I am a virgin.”
He ran his fingers into the crevice between her buttocks, feeling the heat and wetness there. “You desire me, as I desire you. If I asked, and you agreed—”
“I will not agree. You must rape me.”
“I will not rape you! And I don’t mean to marry you. But you are doing your best to get me into you. I don’t believe you are unwilling.”
She moved her hand around inside his loinskin, to the front, and found his erect member. She clasped it, clearly having no fear of it. “I want you. I want this hot stick in me. But I will not give you leave. You can overpower me and do it, but I will fight you.”
She was astonishingly candid. He tried to be the same. “You have made me mad with desire for you. But I will never force a woman.”
“You must rape me. There is no other way.”
This had gone more than far enough. “Then return to your house now.”
“No. I love it in your strong embrace.”
“Then I will go elsewhere, leaving you here by the fire.”
“I will go with you.”
“No.” He flung off the cloak and sat up, dragging free of her hand.
“Yes. You can’t keep me away.”
“Yes I can,” he said, getting to his feet.
She got up with him, and put her arms around him. “No you can’t.”
“Yes I can. Now go, before I—” But he couldn’t finish, for she was kissing his neck.
“What are you going to do?” she inquired slyly after a moment. “Beat me?”
“You are trying to drive me to violence,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, this first time. After this there will be no need, for we will be married.”
He realized that there was more to this trap than he had supposed. She was trying to seduce him by temptation or violence, and either would do the job. He needed to proceed carefully, avoiding either extreme.
He took up his staff and spear and began walking away from the house, uncertain where he was going, but needing to go somewhere. The darkness beyond the dying fire offered some comfort. She went with him, staying very close.
“Isn’t this like rape, what you are trying to do?” he demanded. “To trap me into marrying you when I don’t want to?”
“Yes. Sometimes that is the way of it.”
“You mean that girls get men to marry them involuntarily?”
“Yes. When a girl wants a man, and he doesn’t want her, if she can get him alone she can say he raped her, and then he has to marry her.”
The aspects of this culture continued to be intriguing and, to a degree, frightening. “But can’t someone—her mother, perhaps—examine her, and know it isn’t true?”
She held up something. “Feel this.”
He reached across and touched the dark object she held. It was the bone handle of her knife, rounded to fit her hand. “What of it?”
“With this, a girl can quickly stop being a virgin. She can also bruise her face and body.”
And who would believe the man’s innocence? “I see that girls are not defenseless, any more than your house is.”
“It is true we have ways. But we seldom need them.”
“You would do this to me? Knowing that I wish you no harm?”
“I will be good for you, Hero,” she pleaded. “I know how to forage and keep a house. I will play music for you, and kiss you and part my legs for you whenever you want it. You will never be ashamed of me.”
“Except that I am trying to help my family. I can’t settle down until they are secure. Just as your brother can’t settle until he knows you are placed.”
She suddenly stopped walking. He paused, turning back to her. “Are you all right, Crenelle?”
“Go, before I change my mind,” she said tightly. “Go.”
“You are letting me go?” he asked, stupidly amazed.
“Get away from me!” There was a catch in her voice.
He remained nonplussed. “Are you crying?”
“You fish-brain! Tears are a weapon too. Get away from me now, or I will have you forever.”
It was the truth. But he could not do it. “It is not safe for you out here alone. Come back to the house.”
“You are too stupid to save yourself!” she cried. “So I must save you.” She ran to the side, into the darkness.
He pursued her, moved by her flash of decency. He had made an analogy with her brother, and it was clear that she truly loved her brother. “Crenelle, wait!”
“Oh!” He heard her fall. She had tripped over something.
He caught up to her, and knelt beside her, dropping his weapons. “Are you hurt?”
“Don’t try to comfort me. I can’t save you from yourself.”
He ran his hands over her body, feeling for injuries. She seemed to be all right. “We must go back to the house.”
She caught his head in her hands and hauled it in to her face. She kissed him savagely. His head reeled, and his desire for her became overwhelming. They fell back to the ground, tangled together. Then she thrust his face away. “This is your last chance,” she gasped. “Get away from me before you succumb. You know I can make you do it.”
“I know. But maybe it would be worth it.”
She slapped him. “Get away, get away, you utter fool!”
He caught her hands. “Please, Crenelle!”
“I’ll scream.”
Suddenly it came together in another way, and he started laughing, helplessly, still holding her beneath him.
“What is the matter with you?” she demanded. “You’re about to rape me for real, destroying your commitment to your family, and you laugh?”
“That’s what’s so funny. You have goaded me into truly raping you—and you’re trying to stop me, though it’s what you want.”
She relaxed, laughing herself. “You’re right. This is weird. But you know you shouldn’t do it. Now I’ll give you a count of ten fingers to let go of me, before I kiss you again and rip off your loinskin and wrap my legs around you. This is truly my last warning. One. Two. Three. Four.”
But then she paused, and so did he. For they both heard something else. In sudden silence, they listened.
It was the sound of something bounding through the brush toward them. It was an animal, a large one.
There was a snarl. “The leopard!” Crenelle cried, horrified.
Hero let go of her and grabbed for his weapons. “Stay down and quiet,” he said. “I’ll stop it.”
She didn’t argue. She went still and silent. He stood over her, his spear poised in his right hand, his staff in his left. He tracked the leopard by sound alone, and this was good enough, for he was experienced in night hunting as well as day hunting. He braced to meet the onslaught.
The creature sprang—and Hero thrust with his spear, going for the head. He felt the impact, but it wasn’t right; he had caught skin rather than mouth.
The body came up against the staff, which Hero held crosswise before him, defensively. The impact shoved him back, and he fell, the leopard on top. But he shoved forward and up with the staff, pushing the cat back. He had to stop the teeth and claws from scoring.
Then the creature jerked away, dragging the spear. It fled. It had been looking for an easy kill, not this complicated fight.
“It’s gone,” Hero said. “Are you all right?”
Crenelle stirred. “Yes. You saved me.”
“I saved myself! I shoved it off, and it ran on.”
“It would have killed me,” she said, shaking.
He put his arm around her shoulders. “I had to pay for my food and lodging. I agreed to protect you.”
She was silent, and he knew she was crying. He drew her in to his shoulder.
“Don’t comfort me!” she flared. “You know what will happen.”
He nodded in the darkness. “I think I wouldn’t mind marrying you, Crenelle. You have courage and good reflexes.”
“I lay on the ground, terrified, and now I’m crying. That’s not courage or good.”
“It is good. You did what I told you, so I could fight it without you getting in the way. I needed to know exactly where you were, in the darkness, so I wouldn’t hit you. You didn’t panic. Now it’s done, and it’s time to react.”
“If I had been alone, I’d be dead.”
“If you had been alone, you wouldn’t have gone out from your house.”
“You’re a decent man. I do want to marry you. But I have to let you see to your family.”
“And you are a decent woman. You tried to protect me from myself, after you won our contest of wills. I appreciate that. Now I desire you more than before. It’s not just your body; your music reached me first.”
“But that’s part of it. You know that.”
He nodded in the darkness. “You tried to impress me, and you succeeded. I think you are as good a woman as I am likely to find. I think there is a way. Would you leave your home and join my family?”
Her head snapped up. “Yes!”
“Then maybe I will marry you.”
“Will you rape me?”
“No.”
“But you have to, or there is no marriage.”
He hesitated, his desire for her burgeoning again. “Can’t we just. . . just say I did it?”
“No!”
“But you were ready to rape yourself, and accuse me. Why not accuse me without violence?”
“I can’t do that now. I owe you my life.”
“Then repay me by marrying me without violence.”
“I would like to, but it wouldn’t be real.”
He remembered something else she had said. “But you are a virgin. If I have sex with you, it’s rape by your definition, isn’t it?”
She brightened. “Yes.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Yes,” she said gladly.
He stood and removed his loinskin, and she removed her skirt. They lay together on the ground. She kissed him ardently and wrapped her legs around him. Her body was hot and eager.
But when he sought to enter her, she fought him. “No!”
He stopped immediately. “I’m sorry. I thought—”
“Do it!”
He started to enter again, but again she struggled. “I don’t understand.”
“I have to fight you, the first time. I can’t help it. That’s the way it has to be.”
“But then I can’t do it.”
“Please try, Hero. I think I love you already.”
“But it’s just not in my nature to do anything like that to a woman.”
She considered. “Give me your hand.”
He shifted his balance and held up his right hand. She grasped his wrist with her left hand. “Make a fist.”
He made a fist. Then she shoved his hand violently into her face.
“Crenelle!” he cried, drawing his hand back and opening it. “What is this?”
“Do it!” she repeated. “Now you have hit me. Now I will scream. But you anticipate that, and—” She jammed his open hand across her mouth.
At last he caught on. He was stopping her from screaming.
He sought a third time to enter her, but the position had changed and he was not aligned. This time her right hand grasped his member and corrected its course. He started to thrust, and she let go and lunged to meet him, as if struggling to free herself. She twisted, and her right hand came around and up to scratch his back. Then her fingers caught his hair and yanked his face down to meet hers. She kissed him savagely, her interior muscles clenching.
He pulsed inside her, transported. He had done it. She had actually done most of it for him, but perhaps it counted.
They relaxed together. “And never again will I resist you,” she murmured in his ear.
“Never again will I force you,” he said. He suppressed a foolish laugh.
“We are married.”
He hesitated. “Crenelle, this is not the way I—”
She cut him off with another kiss. “It is the way we do it.”
In due course they disengaged, got up, dressed, and made their way back to the house. Haven was standing by the fire, which she had built up to flare more brightly. “What happened?”
“He raped me,” Crenelle said.
Haven stared at her. “He what?”
“He threw me down and hit me and stifled my scream. I couldn’t stop him.”
Haven looked at Hero. He averted his gaze. She knew that he would never force a woman, but she didn’t understand what was going on.
“I tried to fight. See, I scratched his back.” Crenelle pointed to the place she had scraped him.
“So what does this mean?” Haven asked cautiously.
“So now we’re married,” Crenelle concluded.
Haven looked again at Hero. This time he had to speak. “She says she will join our family, and help us look for good land.”
“But what of your brother?” Haven asked.
“Now he can rape his own woman, and bring her here. Before someone else gets her. There is one who wants him. She has held out about as long as she can, hoping he’d come. Now he will. They should be happy.”
“That’s nice,” Haven said noncommittally. “Now we need to get some sleep.”
“Now you can join me inside,” Crenelle said to Hero. “It’s more comfortable there.”
“I can sleep outside,” Haven said.
“No, you can be in with us. If you don’t mind what we do.”
Haven looked once more at her brother. Hero shrugged. She knew about sex, and was figuring out that Crenelle was not an unwilling partner. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“He also saved my life,” the girl said.
Haven’s lips quirked. “That too?”
“Yes. From the leopard. He fought it and drove it off. Just before he raped me.”
She kept insisting on the rape, and that kept restoring his doubt. He was willing to marry her, but not to do it by a lie.
Haven nodded. “He is thoughtful about things like that.”
They went inside, and Hero joined Crenelle on her mat. He had thought to sleep, but she embraced him and kissed him repeatedly, and summoned his desire again. This time she made no mock resistance. She was showing him all that she had to offer, to solidify his resolve to marry her.
It turned out to be a long night, for Crenelle was endlessly ardent. But Hero didn’t mind it at all. At last she tired, and remained asleep, and he was able to sleep too.
In the morning Haven was up first, tending the fire. Hero got up and went out to urinate, leaving Crenelle sleeping. He was somewhat bemused by his new state of companionship, but not regretful. Crenelle had excited more than his passion; he believed that she would be a good wife. But the idea of calling it rape repelled him.
“You didn’t really rape her,” Haven murmured as he joined her by the fire. “You wouldn’t, and anyway, no victim would be that passionate.”
“Her culture requires rape, so we played at it,” he said. “But we must not say that openly.”
“She seems competent. But you know it’s not binding by our culture. What made you decide to have sex with her?”
“She wanted me so much, it made me want her. And she does have a good body.”
“I saw her showing you her cleft. I know that’s pretty exciting for you.” She was alluding to an episode with another girl, who had exposed her genital region and let him penetrate her while others watched, in a kind of game. She was right: even as a game, it was immensely compelling. Women might mock the reactions of men, but the reactions were nevertheless real, and women took free advantage of them to get their way. Women never showed more than they were prepared to have touched, because of the force of male reactions. “Well, go and have at it again, before we have to travel.”
“But I don’t know if I should marry her. How could I let our people think I raped her?”
Haven pursed her lips. “I see the problem. Maybe she’ll agree to shut up about that aspect.”
“I’m not sure. She’s very insistent.”
“Well in any event, you can have her now without rape. You had better do it, lest you lose the chance.”
He smiled, and went inside. Crenelle was stirring. He lay down beside her and stroked her flung hair.
“I was afraid you would run away and desert me,” she said. “I know you have doubts.”
“Not without telling you.”
“You didn’t come back just for more sex?”
He was embarrassed. “Not just for that.”
She laughed. “Take it.”
He did, half afraid she would protest or resist, but she was fully cooperative. She had evidently meant it when she promised never to resist him again.
“West,” she said as she embraced him. “Across the mountains and the lakes. I have heard there is land there that no one occupies. Wide land, so far across that no one knows its end. Much game. I know a route.”
That was not what she had said before. But he could not blame her for not telling everything to strangers. “How can you know it, if you haven’t traveled?”
“My father went there once, and told us all about it. I know I can guide you there.”
His passion was spent, but something new was rising in him. “Thank you, Crenelle,” he said, kissing her again.
“Well, I said I would be good for you.”
She had indeed. “But this business of saying it was rape—”
“You and I know the truth, Hero. Does it matter what others think?”
“Why not let them think there was no rape, then?”
She shook her head. “Please, Hero. My people will not recognize it as marriage otherwise. They will say I wantonly wasted myself, and am unfit for marriage.”
He appreciated her point, but still could not admit to the lie. She had indeed been somewhat wanton, but it was in her effort to persuade him to marry her.
They went outside, where they ate more of the roast. Then Crenelle prepared to go. “I will leave a message for my brother,” she said. “So he will know.”
“A message?”
She went inside, and emerged with two cunningly made doll figures. One was male, with a little stick for a penis; the other was female. She set them together, facing each other, and looped a length of tendon around them so that they would stay that way. She arranged them so that the male doll’s arms were clasping the other close, while the female’s arms were stretched out at wild angles, as if helpless to defend herself. She laid them on her mat. That seemed clear enough.
But it reminded him once again of the lie. “Crenelle, I can’t—”
Crenelle faced him, her face crumpling. She was going to cry, and he couldn’t stand that, as she surely knew. But this, too, was effective even when understood as a ploy. Yet how could he face his brothers Craft and Keeper, or his fiery sister Rebel, if he confessed to raping a woman?
Haven interceded. “Can you tell your people it was rape, and we tell our people it was not? If you come with us now, Crenelle, our people and yours will not meet.”
Crenelle considered. “I suppose so. For a marriage this good. If Hero agrees.”
They turned to Hero, awaiting his decision. He had no idea what to say.
The twin engines driving the migrations of mankind were surely population and climate. When folk found a good location, such as the fertile basin of the Lake Victoria region, they were fruitful and multiplied, filling their ecological niche. Then the climate would change, making their homeland less fertile while promoting other regions. The people had to move or starve, as their homelands could no longer support them. First they spread all over Africa, then across the rest of the world. Their exact routes across Africa are unknown, and probably there were many migrations over the millennia crisscrossing given territories. Most of the species remained in Africa; there is more human genetic diversity there than in all the rest of the world.
Mankind was considered to have been a hunter/gatherer for most of his existence. But this did not necessarily mean that he lacked houses. It would have been more comfortable to sleep in a covered, protected place, and to have supplies there for convenient use. Such structures might have been dismantled and moved to new sites periodically, or simply allowed to deteriorate when deserted, so that only the hearths would remain for archaeologists to find. It is also possible that most tribesmen traveled, while some remained in houses. We just don’t know.
Did any cultures practice rape as a mechanism for marriage? They surely did, because some do today. Yes, we frown on it, as we do on sex with fifteen-year-old girls, but in the past nubility was the signal for sexual availability, regardless of the girl’s preference. We try to impose a veneer of modesty and caution, but teen girls are still getting pregnant.
The place of music in human development is largely unknown, because sound leaves no fossils. But a 60,000-year-old bone flute was found in southeast Europe in 1995, suggesting that music was indeed part of mankind’s heritage. There may have been many other musical instruments that left no traces because they were made of wood or leather. It is conjectured that music and language are closely connected, and the continuing popularity of songs of all kinds endorses this. Music may be one of the ways men can impress women, leading to sexual selection for it, but surely women can also impress men with it, especially when they dance to it. As described in a prior GEODYSSEY novel, the arts, especially music, probably enabled larger groups of people to assemble peacefully, contributing to tribal strength. But it surely started on the individual and couple level, facilitating relationships, as shown here.