The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [281]
The men watched the arriving procession avidly, but none of them moved anything except his eyes, afraid to do anything that might cause Attaroa to change her mind. They feared that it might be another cruel trick, to bring it in and show them and then take it away.
“Zelandonii!” Attaroa said, making the word sound like a command. Jondalar looked at her closely as he approached. She seemed almost masculine … no, he decided, not exactly that. Her features were strong and sharp, but cleanly defined and well shaped. She was actually beautiful, in her way, or could have been, if she had not been so hard. But there was cruelty in the set of her mouth, and the lack in her soul showed in her eyes.
S’Armuna appeared at her side. She must have come in with the other women, he thought, though he hadn’t noticed her before.
“I now speak for Attaroa,” S’Armuna said in Zelandonii.
“You have a lot to answer for, yourself,” Jondalar said. “How could you allow it? Attaroa lacks reason, but you do not. I hold you responsible.” His blue eyes were icy with outrage.
Attaroa spoke angrily to the shaman.
“She does not want you to speak to me. I am here to translate for her. Attaroa wants you to look at her when you speak,” S’Armuna said.
Jondalar looked at the headwoman and waited while she spoke. Then S’Armuna began the translation.
“Attaroa is speaking now: How do you like your new … accommodations?”
“How does she expect me to like them?” Jondalar said to S’Armuna, who avoided his look and spoke to Attaroa.
A malicious smile played across the headwoman’s face. “I’m sure you’ve heard many things about me already, but you should not believe everything you hear.”
“I believe what I see,” Jondalar said.
“Well, you saw me bring food in here.”
“I don’t see anyone eating it, and I know they are hungry.”
Her smile broadened when she heard the translation. “They shall, and you must, too. You will need your strength.” Attaroa laughed out loud.
“I’m sure I will,” Jondalar said.
After S’Armuna translated, Attaroa left abruptly, signaling the woman to follow.
“I hold you responsible,” Jondalar said to S’Armuna’s retreating back
As soon as the gate closed, one of the guard women said, “You’d better come and get it, before she changes her mind.”
The men rushed for the platters of meat on the ground. As S’Amodun passed by, he stopped. “Be very careful, Zelandonii. She has something special in mind for you.”
The next few days passed slowly for Jondalar. Some water, but little additional food was brought in, and no one was allowed out, not even to work, which was very unusual. It made the men uneasy, especially since Ardemun was also kept inside the Holding. His knowledge of several languages had made Ardemun first a translator and then a spokesman between Attaroa and the men. Because of his lame, dislocated leg, she felt he posed no threat and, further, would not be able to run away. He was given more freedom to move around the Camp, and he often brought back bits of information about the life outside the Men’s Camp and occasionally extra food.
Most of the men passed the time playing games and gambling for future promises, using as playing pieces small sticks of wood, pebbles, and even some broken pieces of bone from meat they had been given. The legbone from the shank of horsemeat had been put aside, after it was stripped clean and cracked for the marrow, for just such a possible purpose.
Jondalar spent the first day of his confinement examining in close detail and testing the strength of the entire fence that surrounded them. He found several places that he thought he could have broken through or climbed over, but through the cracks Epadoa and her women could be seen diligently guarding them, and the terrible infection of the man with the wound deterred him from such a direct approach. He also looked over the lean-to, thinking of several things that could