It was a clearing enclosed by forest on every side. A tornado may once have stripped away the trees upon it, for it lay on rising ground, and fire had doubtless swept it afterward. Upon it now was no growth save many clumps of bushes, some of them in heavy bloom, and soft greensward and flowers of a thousand kinds, of every hue which flowers may have. Was it unworthy of me as a hunter and proved warrior that I stood unmoving for a time and allowed my eyes to feed their fill upon such a scene as this? Was it not, in its way, as good as the taste of deer’s meat or as the gurgle of the heartening mead in the throat? And there was more than the eyes alone could comprehend.
Myriads of eager bees were humming above that gay spread of flowers, and the united sound of the commingled droning had such volume that it made seem fainter the singing of the birds in the wood about, though not many were to be heard at this hour of the day. A few generous ones there were, though, their voices of such sweet quality as to commingle softly with the mighty humming and seem almost to form a part of it.
Yet what idle talk is this? It seems but foolish to tell thus of the flowers and bees and of our more peaceful doings, though, mayhap, it will make more clear the colouring of the lives of us—the mighty forest people. Was I like the weak Buoba, of the village, who was not enduring in the chase and who had never been in battle, but who sometimes made soft verses and who told strange tales and was, somehow, not a little beloved? What of it? There was the sound in my ears, and the ears were surely my own as was my fancy. And not alone were my ears and eyes made glad, for there rose from that great field of bloom such volume and drift of perfume as filled my nostrils to their utmost depths and which, wafted through the forest by the wind, might well call from a far distance the hosts of labouring bees. The fragrance, I fancied for a moment, had its effect even on the great stag which came from out the wood across from me and raised his head aloft and sniffed the air, though it is more likely he was but assuring himself against all danger ere he began his feeding. He did not dally at that, and was setting me a good example, for certainly I had not come here to regale my senses, so I strode into the sunny clearing as he, with a great snort of alarm, bounded upward and then into the wood again. In this field must begin my quest for the places of lofty beehives to be plundered, and thus I set about it:
I had brought my weapons with me, for he is foolish who would go unarmed into the forest, but other things I carried as well, since there was much craft to be displayed in this hunting for the bee stores. I had beeswax with me and a portion of honey in the comb, and also a staff sharpened at one end, having at the other a fastened box without a cover. The staff I thrust into the ground and the honeycomb I placed in the box above. Then I found a flattish stone near by and brought it to near the staff, and upon it, using my flint and the back of my hunting-knife, kindled a tiny fire upon which I laid the wax. Very soon the wax melted and there arose from it a little smoke and an odour which was wafted to the myriads of incoming bees and at once attracted them. Swerving from their course, they circled a little and then settled down upon the awaiting honey, a prize of note for them, since it would require no alchemy of theirs in fitting it for storage. Then I had naught to do but to watch. One by one, each rioting bee there gorged to the full and then, rising upon heavy wing, flew toward the forest whence it had come, straight as the downward dropping of a stone. Some flew in one direction and others on a different course, but I followed with my eye the flight only of the company which seemed most numerous. Straight toward the west they went, toward where I knew was a swamp, beyond which was a forest of great oaks. Their home I knew could not be in the swamp; hence somewhere in the oaks, most like of all places. How deeply in the forest it might be I could not tell as yet, but soon would know in a degree. Across the field I carried the staff and stone and did just as I had already done, the bees, as before, coming in numbers to the feast. Again I watched, noting most carefully the direction of the flight of the group I had first chosen, and saw that now they flew not straight toward the west, but a very little to the north of it. Now I had become a menace to them! I knew that their home and place of storage was at the point where the two lines I had determined met, and it seemed, judging as best I might, that it could not be a great way in the far-extending wood. Around the swamp I went with all my gear. As I neared its western side I set my staff again and watched the flight once more, then, faring still farther until I had passed the western end some little distance, I did the same and found, to my delight, that the two flights appeared to come together at some point not more than some four or five hundred yards within the depths of the towering oak wood. There I but circled about, the bees coming to the honey now in hosts, and as soon as they were laden flying almost directly upward. Very keenly I searched upward now and found what I was seeking. Extending straight outward and upward from the trunk of the mightiest of the oaks was a giant blasted limb, and upon its side I could perceive a fissure in and out of which the bees were coming and going in countless numbers. Mine was the bee tree! I drew forth my short axe and cut the mark which all recognized as mine, three crosses, one above another—we had no letters or written language as yet, as had some eastern nations—deeply into the great tree’s hole, and so made sure my prize. Venturesome would be he who should cut down the tree thus marked by me. That toil should be my own when I so decided, a great toil doubtless, but one worth bearing, for the limb was huge and the bees a vast swarm, and within the lofty hollow must be stored honey to sweeten the bread of many a feast and supply the mead for many a score of brimming urus horns. Thus sought I the honey!
Our houses were all of wood, and simply built. We had no glass for our windows, and it was not uncommon that skins were hung before them, to be held aside by thongs or left hanging down for protection against storms or the cold, as the season and the weather might determine. Inside, the furnishing was as rude and simple, but there were home life and comfort there, except sometimes in winter, for with us the winters were often bitter. That we did not suffer greatly at this season was because of our practice in building our habitations. The better houses rested upon logs reaching across above a great cellar which in winter could be made the living-room, affording sure protection from the cold. Somewhat lacking in pure air this underground hall might be, but here was much companionship and merriment. Here mighty bows were fashioned and here the women wove the spun linen which we wore beneath our robes of skin and fur. There was rarely lack of food, and so the winters, long and keen, were not greatly a terror to us. Our cattle and horses and our herds of swine fared not so well, but, somehow, lived, for they were hardened to the climate and to scant feeding upon mown marsh grass and store of garnered mast.
It was not in the winter alone, however, that we were forced to guard our various herds. The big brown bear had a fondness for the hog or colt or calf, and was not inclined to make the attempt upon the family of the huge wild boar when lesser prey was to be found, and the many prowling wolves had tastes as trained. In winter especially were the wolves menacing, for then they gathered in packs and were dangerous to man and beast alike. The fierce lynx was another enemy.
Yet we could not grumble at the forest, which we loved. If it had its perils it was none the less our provider and our protection. It gave us nearly all we had, and, first of all, abundant food. There were the aurochs and urus and wild hogs and the great stag and lesser deer, and grouse and geese and ducks and various other game; and we were shrewd hunters. Sometimes we made pits for the aurochs or the urus, and sometimes hunted and slew them with bow and spear, though such latter chase was always for those possessed of hardihood. The aurochs, the monster bison, most ponderous creature of the forest, was not inclined to attack man if unassailed, though his charge when it came could not be stopped. But with the urus it was different. He would assail the hunter whenever he perceived one, and few there were who dared to meet his onset with the spear. The wild boar was scarcely less evil in his temper. As for the hungry, lumbering brown bear, he often stole upon or pursued man as the opportunity came, seeking only to devour.
We were well armed, though in a somewhat varied manner, for we had little metal and there were few in our scattered villages who could forge the weapons, and so it was that those possessed were cherished. There were axes and spears and swords of copper, and more of bronze, and a few of the new metal—iron, which men had but lately learned to use, and all these were from our fathers or gained in battle, or, more lately, through a trade drifting through many hands from the far people who made fine weapons. So it came that a goodly sword or spear or axe was a prize always to be sought and the gaining of which gave zest and aim to many a raid and risk. My own sword had descended to me, but my battle axe had not so long ago belonged to a chief of the rude Chauci, the tribe to our west who had such a longing for possession of our salt spring, greatest holding of our wide mark. Salt!
For the sake of salt we would submit to any labour, endure all hardship or face any peril which might arise. Without it our life must be a different thing and harder. Without it how could we preserve our meat and fish and have the best provision for our grim winters? Our eating had the greater flavor from it, and with it we were more assured of having that which to eat. Honey was good and the mead from it arousing and exalting, yet what gave they but pleasure?
The use of salt seemed as the line between the good and the bad, between the foul and cleanly. The wolf and all the musky beasts of prey abhorred it, while the wholesome ones, the aurochs and urus and stag and deer, sought for it eagerly where the water seeped from the spring into the long grass of the marshes. It had become to us a first necessity, as it had to those of other tribes. It was like a symbol of life to us, in that it preserved and saved from putrefaction. It had become a part of our existence. What should we do without it? To our direct and simple reasoning, it seemed a substance kindly and aiding, apart from other things, and vaguely sanctified. It was thought that from the salt springs prayers to the gods ascended more quickly than from elsewhere, and, sometimes, when the land allowed, places of shelter for worship were made beside them. So, the possession of a salt spring—though there were many within the length and breadth of the great forest—was something to be guarded and to be fought for to the death. Many a spear had been thrown, many a sword thrust, many an arrow sped, and many an axe had risen and fallen about the salt springs. What wonder that we fought for them as we would fight for home and wives and children—doing stern battle, to whatever end might come!