The valley of the Vézère was a thick rock-bed, through which the river
had—in remote ages—carved a deep channel with almost vertical sides. In
time, the course of the stream became diverted at intervals throughout
its length. In places the limestone walls fell in or weathered away,
leaving broad rock-floors only a few feet above the normal level of
the stream. During the melting and rainy seasons, these low areas were
subject to intermittent flooding as the Vézère overflowed its banks. This
irrigation, further aided by deposition of silt or river mud, gradually
transformed the bare rock-floors into fertile meadows, covered—even
during the cold season—with fresh, sweet grass.
On the western side of the Vézère River, several miles above its junction
with the Dordogne, one of these low, grass-covered areas extended some
three miles inland, then terminated abruptly in lofty limestone cliffs.
The latter marked the valley border, a step from river lowland to high
plateau. A northwestern tributary of the Vézère formed the meadow’s
northern boundary.
This broad lowland was a region much frequented by Mousterian Cave-men,
particularly that portion of it lying directly beneath the limestone
cliffs. In one place, the massive rock-wall was deeply undercut so that
the cliff-face rose not straight upward, but inclined outward, thereby
forming an overhanging shelf or canopy protecting the ground directly
under it.
Such was the Ferrassie Rock-shelter, summer home and metropolis of the
Vézère Cave-folk. It was a human habitation, an open-air camp where men
gathered each spring to enjoy the bright, warm sunlight after a winter
season of confinement in damp and gloomy caves.
Close to the base of the cliffs and shielded from wind and rain by the
overhanging rock, burned a great fire of dead branches and unhewn logs.
The smoke therefrom curled outward and upward, clinging closely to the
shelving wall. The latter served as a broad chimney enclosed only on one
side. The wall was stained greasy black, changing to grey with increased
height, indicating that the smoke had followed the same course for an
extended period of time.
Arranged in a semi-circle about the fire and with their feet almost in
the hot ashes, squatted ten or more grizzled men and women. All sat
silent and motionless, gazing into the smoke-wreaths which curled up
the overhanging wall. They stared with dull, unseeing eyes, for their
minds had grown callous with sorrow and suffering. For them, the joys
of life had passed. They were beings, prematurely aged who should have
been but in their prime. Their bodies were little more than skin and
bone—skeletons clothed in hairy hide, and their faces were stamped with
the symbol of death—a dark patch in each hollow parchment cheek. Each
drawn face and emaciated body bore the unmistakable signs of famine and
disease—hunger-marks—which made those who wore them, hideous in face and
form.
On the outside of the group squatting about the fire and beyond the cliff
overhang, six or seven younger people, all women, sat, reclined or lay
full length about a limestone block. This block lay deeply embedded in
the soil. Its exposed part formed a table with a level top about one foot
high and a square yard in area. Its surface was scratched and worn. It
was a butcher-block where the Cave-men were wont to dismember venison,
beef or other game for convenience of handling before subjecting the raw
chunks to fire treatment. It served also as an anvil where unusually
tough flesh of aged buck, steer or other antiquary could be hammered
and softened when no better offered. Lastly, the limb bones could be
laid upon the flat stone surface and split open, thereby exposing the
marrow within. Cave-men were ever partial to marrow bones and so the
butcher-block bore the marks of long hard usage.
It was immaculate, smooth and polished as though freshly scrubbed, a
surprising condition considering that cave-men were none too particular
as regards their personal habits. But necessity rather than scruple had
driven these hungry folk to seek out and consume every scrap of fat or
flesh even to the last dried shred. The surface of the butcher-block was
licked, gnawed, bitten until no trace of refuse remained, not even the
grease veneer nor inlay of brown dried blood.
Now that spring has come at last, the Cave-folk had crawled from their
holes to gather hope and strength from the fresh air and the sun’s warm
rays. Through the long dreary winter they had remained underground,
venturing forth at rare intervals to replenish their diminishing
food-supply. Half clad in hide wrappings and with fires continually
burning near the entrance of their dwellings, they had huddled together
awaiting the return of mild weather which many would never see again.
And finally from the rock-holes where they had so long lain, ghostly
relics of once powerful men and women had crawled to gaze again upon
the sun and feel its warmth beneath the Ferrassie cliffs. The warriors
staggered out to the meadows and sought their next meal with ax, dart
and throwing-stone, leaving the old people and women behind to await the
fruits of the first hunting.
A laughing bark sounded from the outskirts of the camp. Wolves and hyenas
prowled where bones and scraps of meat were frequently cast out as refuse
or where bodies of men were conveniently placed to be cared for by these
ghoulish undertakers, after the fashion of Mousterian funerals.
The bark—a mere nothing in itself—signalled the approach of a band of
figures coming across the meadows. The figures were those of men, bearing
darts and flint-axes in their hands. In a moment, they were espied by the
women who leaped to their feet dancing and shouting: “Here they come!
The hunters are returning. What do they bring with them to fill our
stomachs?” Those about the fire left their comfortable positions to join
in welcoming the newcomers and all hobbled forth, a procession of living
skeletons to meet those who stood between them and starvation.
As they glanced wildly from man to man and saw no trace of beef or
venison, they gave vent to their bitter disappointment in loud wails—the
cries of hunger unappeased. The hunters had returned empty-handed. One
of the women, a scrawny old hag, whose eyes protruded with the stare
of madness, pushed her way into the group of men, examining each one
closely to assure herself that none bore food of any kind. From the way
all made room and the rude deference shown her, it was evident that she
was a privileged character—a creature who inspired the Cave-men’s awe.
The burly Mousterian leader sought to avoid her but she stood in his path
and blocked the way.
“No meat?” she whined. “No beef; no venison; not even a rabbit or
squirrel?”
The chieftain only shook his head and growled. The old woman was about to
make a sneering remark when she caught sight of a figure in the center
of the group—a young man of bold mien and powerful build. His hands were
held behind him but he bore no weapons. The hag singled him out, elbowing
her way through the throng until she stood before him.
“Whom have we here?” she demanded. “Where can men live and keep
themselves so well-fed and strong? Does he come to tell us of the good
hunting that has put such meat upon his bones?”
“That meat will soon come off,” the chieftain grunted. “Your eyes grow
dull, mother or you would remember your good friends. Look closer and see
if he does not resemble one of our young men—one who fancies the beasts
more than ourselves. He has changed much in several seasons but we, who
once knew him, were quick to recognize him.”
“The Ape Boy!” cried the old hag. “I did not know him at first! he has
grown so big and strong.” At that moment she perceived the thong which
bound the captive’s wrists. Her features assumed an expression of savage
cunning. She leered in his face, even as she rubbed one hand upon the
other and chuckled to herself:
“And so my young men have not returned empty-handed, after all. I had
hoped for beef or venison, but I see that they have done even better. Now
we can fill our empty stomachs and cheat the hyenas that howl about us.”
“A welcome change from bugs and willow-bark,” said one of the hunters.
“Plump and round he is, like a raccoon stuffed with winter fat.”
“Good; very good,” chuckled the old witch. “A present for your dear old
mother, eh? Too long have I lain in your filthy cave with nothing but
cold air to stir my stomach. But you shall all share alike and I ask
nothing—nothing but the heart all warm and bleeding. Quick, bring him to
the butcher-block so that he may be dressed and served without delay.”
“What, and bring the lions down upon us?” cried a voice.
All turned towards the speaker, a young woman who had suddenly appeared
from behind a bend in the cliff wall. She was gazing curiously at the
prisoner. “You know the rule as well as I,” she said boldly even as the
old hag glowered savagely upon her.
Grunts of approval sounded on all sides. Pic evinced a sudden interest
in the newcomer. He saw before him a mere girl whose wan features and
wasted body nevertheless retained much of youthful feminine grace. Her
face lacked the great hollows and bone-ridges so marked in the visages of
those about her. Pic took in these details at a glance. They pleased him;
he smiled. The girl’s face assumed an astonished expression; and then—she
smiled too. Pic could not repress the exclamation that arose to his lips.
Never before had his peculiarly human and friendly greeting been returned
in its own coin. At the sound he made, all turned upon him in surprise,
then to the cause of his outburst, only to see the eyes of both lowered
meekly to the ground and apparently without interest in the things about
them.
The burly chieftain now ended the matter with a wave of his ax.
“The girl is right,” he growled. “The rule stands even though we starve.
The day grows short. None shall taint the camp with fresh blood and draw
the night-prowling lions and hyenas upon us. Not until the first streak
of dawn, can we bring him to the butcher-block and break our long fast.”
As the sunset afterglow faded out of the western sky, the Cave-men sought
comfortable positions beneath the shelter and made ready for their
night’s rest. The prisoner was forced to lie upon the ground and his
captors then arranged themselves about him so that any move on his part
would be quickly observed. Pic submitted without a protest—not that he
had become resigned to his fate—but he deemed it wise to assume a passive
attitude and thereby dull any suspicions that might be entertained of
what was passing in his mind. His hands were tied behind him—so tightly
that his fingers were numbed and swollen; but his legs remained unbound.
None seemed to think it necessary to deprive him of the use of his legs;
nor did he feel it his duty to remind them. He heaved a deep sigh, closed
his eyes and in a few moments was—to all appearances—sound asleep.
All was now quiet in the camp except for the hard breathing of weary men
and the distant cries of night-roving creatures. One of the sleepers
stirred and raised himself on one elbow. It was Pic. His chance had come.
He gathered his legs under him and crouched low on bent knees. A twig
cracked beneath him. A shoulder moved. Its owner’s head arose and sniffed
the night air. Without a sound, Pic settled down again upon his face and
stomach and lay still. The voice of the old hag now fell like death upon
his ears.
“Up, fools,” she croaked with all the cunning of an unbalanced mind.
“Would you permit your next meal to be lost forever? The Ape Boy may
untie his bonds and escape. Some of you must lie awake and watch:” then
as nobody answered, she shook the man nearest her until the teeth rattled
in his head.
“Ugh! Be quiet mother,” protested the one thus roughly handled. “Tired
and starved bodies must have rest. I will not lie awake even though
to-night be my last sleep.”
“Nor I; and I,” grumbled several others. “Do the work yourself if you
feel that it must be done;” and with that they rolled over again and
breathed loudly.
The old hag foamed with rage.
“May you rot, every one of you, and find your night’s rest in hyena’s
stomachs,” she cried. “This Ape Boy shall not escape. I will kill him
now, even though it bring the lions upon us.”
As she groped about in the darkness for an ax wherewith to carry out her
threat, two of the men leaped to their feet and seized her arms.
“Hold,” said one of them. “Would you call upon the wild beasts to destroy
us? He is secure enough and sleeps soundly. Look and see for yourself.”
Pic’s eyes were closed. His mouth was wide open and he breathed noisily
as the three bent low and peered into his face. But even his wit was
overmatched by the old hag’s malevolent and uncanny craft.
“Fools! dullards!” she croaked. “Cannot you see that with all of our
noise, he should now be wide awake? He but makes a pretense of sleep. An
end to your trickery,” and she cuffed the prisoner’s ears.
Pic made a clumsy effort to appear as one suddenly aroused from his
slumbers. His savage tormentor looked closely into his face.
“You sleep soundly for one who has so short a time to live,” she sneered.
“But now that you are awake, we three will keep you company and watch
over every hair of your body.”
Her two companions became impatient at the thought of losing their
night’s rest but at the same time they hesitated to trust the old woman
alone with the prisoner.
“Much good that will do us,” one of them growled. “Let someone else watch
while you lie down and sleep before the limit of our patience is reached.”
An idea came suddenly to the wretched old creature’s mind.
“Arrah! I have it,” she said, climbing over those about her to one of
the sleepers who lay on the outside of the group. “Here is one who can
and shall do this night’s vigil. Those who stay at home and lie around,
need no rest. Get up and follow me.”
A slim figure rose quickly to its feet and followed along in the darkness
behind its fierce mentor. In a moment, the pair were standing over the
prisoner.
“Keep your eye on this tidbit,” directed the old hag, indicating the
captive with a well-aimed kick. “Watch him closely, for your own life
will depend upon the watching. Do you hear?”
“Yes, I hear.” Until this moment, the slim figure had made no sign. The
voice was that of the girl.
“Take care that you do not fall asleep and permit him to escape us,”
warned the old witch. “If you do and he is not here in the morning, you
must take his place on the butcher-block.”
“Let us hope he will find wings and fly away,” growled a voice. “Of the
two, I can easily make my choice.”
Loud grunts greeted this sally, showing that even these starving men were
not entirely lacking in humor. Gradually their merriment subsided, the
old hag stretched herself full length upon the ground and Pic was left to
the tender mercies of his newly-chosen guard.
He opened his eyes. The light of the rising moon reflected in the sky,
showed him the form of the girl seated by his side. Her features were
obscure. Her face was turned away, watching not him but the encircling
sleepers and in particular the old hag who rolled and tumbled about as
though in a torment of fanciful dreams.
Pic groaned inwardly. Would his jailer never weary of her task? The girl
was wide awake and alert as he could see from her attitude and poise of
head. Time was passing. If he could but free his hands, he might strike
her down, leap clear of the group and escape.
As he strained the muscles of his arms to rid himself of his torturing
bonds, a hand touched his shoulder. He ceased further effort and lay
still. The girl was bending over him. Her face brushed his elbow. He
could feel her warm breath gliding downward towards his wrists. Something
tugged at the rawhide thong—something that sniffed and panted warm, moist
respiration upon his palms. The girl was untying the knot with her teeth.
Little by little, the green leather relaxed and the blood circulated once
more through Pic’s numbed hands. The wrappings were quickly removed.
He was free. Not a word was spoken. He raised himself to a squatting
position. An ax—the blade of Ach Eul—was placed within his grasp, then a
hand patted his back and a voice whispered in his ear, one word: “Go.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he arose to his feet and with body bent
low, stepped among the sleeping men. Accidentally he touched one of them
who stirred and half awoke, whereupon the fugitive sank quickly and
silently to the ground and lay still. The moon was now climbing rapidly
above the heights, flooding the heavens with its brilliant light. Pic
became alarmed. The lifting darkness enabled him to see more clearly but
it permitted others to see as well and thereby lessened his chances of
escape. He allowed himself a brief period of inaction so that the one he
had disturbed might become quiet; then rose again and glided forward with
ax held aloft to brain the first who might awake and give the alarm. Had
a single eye opened, it might easily have seen his dark form outlined
against the sky. But no eye opened, not a sleeper stirred and he passed
among them without let or hindrance.
As he stepped clear of the last prone figure, she whom he had left
behind, remained silent, watching him steal slowly away. As he passed
into the shadow of the cliff wall, she sighed deeply and her head fell
forward upon her breast. Had Pic looked back, he might have seen the
slim figure sitting upright with head bowed like a lamb amid a pack of
blood-thirsty wolves. But he neither looked back nor saw, for already he
had rounded a bend in the wall and was gone.