The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [287]
“Ha! See, I’ve caught you in your lies. You admit you were hunting the horses.”
“I did not! I said, ‘Even if I had been hunting the horses.’ I didn’t say that I was.” He looked at the translator. “Tell her, S’Armuna. Jondalar of the Zelandonii, son of Marthona, former leader of the Ninth Cave, does not lie.”
“Now you say you are the son of a woman who was a leader? This Zelandonii is an accomplished liar, covering one lie about a miraculous woman with another about a woman leader.”
“I’ve known many women who were leaders. You are not the only headwoman, Attaroa. Many Mamutoi women are leaders,” Jondalar said.
“Coleaders! They share leadership with a man.”
“My mother was a leader for ten years. She became leader when her mate died, and she shared it with no one. She was respected by both women and men, and gave the leadership over to my brother Joharran willingly The people did not wish it.”
“Respected by women and men? Listen to him! You think I don’t know men, Zelandonii? You think I was never mated? Am I so ugly no man would have me?”
Attaroa was nearly screaming at him, and S’Armuna was translating almost simultaneously, as though she knew the words the headwoman would be saying. Jondalar could almost forget that the shaman was speaking for her, it seemed as though he were hearing and understanding Attaroa herself, but the shaman’s unemotional tone gave the words a strange detachment from the woman who was behaving so belligerently. A bitter, deranged look came into her eyes as she continued to harangue Jondalar.
“My mate was the leader here. He was a strong leader, a strong man.” Attaroa paused.
“Many people are strong. Strength doesn’t make a leader,” Jondalar said.
Attaroa didn’t really hear him. She wasn’t listening. Her pause was only to hear her own thoughts, to gather her own memories. “Brugar was such a strong leader that he had to beat me every day to prove it.” She sneered. “Wasn’t it a shame that the mushrooms he ate were poisonous?” Her smile was malignant. “I beat his sister’s son in a fair fight to become leader. He was a weakling. He died.” She looked at Jondalar. “But you are no weakling, Zelandonii. Wouldn’t you like a chance to fight me for your life?”
“I have no desire to fight you, Attaroa. But I will defend myself, if I must.”
“No, you will not fight me, because you know I would win. I am a woman. I have the power of Muna on my side. The Mother has honored women; they are the ones who bring forth life. They should be the leaders,” Attaroa said.
“No,” Jondalar said. Some of the people watching flinched when the man disagreed so openly with Attaroa. “Leadership doesn’t necessarily belong to one who is blessed by the Mother any more than it does to one who is physically strong. The leader of the berry pickers, for instance, is the one who knows where the berries grow, when they will be ripe, and the best way to pick them.” Jondalar was working up to a harangue of his own. “A leader has to be dependable, trustworthy; leaders have to know what they are doing.”
Attaroa was scowling. His words had no effect on her, she listened only to her own counsel, but she didn’t like the scolding tone of his voice, as though he thought he had the right to speak so freely, or to presume to tell her anything.
“It doesn’t matter what the task is,” Jondalar continued. “The leader of the hunt is the one who knows where the animals will be and when they will be there; he is the one who can track them. He’s the one most skilled at hunting. Marthona always said leaders of people should care about the people they lead. If they don’t, they won’t be leaders for very long.” Jondalar was lecturing, venting his anger, oblivious to Attaroa’s glowering face. “Why should it matter if they are women or men?”
“I will not allow men to be leaders any more,” Attaroa interrupted. “Here, men know that women are leaders, the young ones are raised to understand it. Women are the hunters here. We don