Robert L. Bacon
theperfectwrite.com

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"The Bronze Horsemen" Opening Chapter By Dave Mallegol

Chapter 1:  Eastern Europe: 3,000 BC

I am Daven, head of the Horse Clan and lead hunter for all of the Botai. Since you are interested, I am happy to tell you of my people and the adventures that take place during the next year, but first, here is what I remember about early life in my village.

Screams woke me and my father early one morning. It was dawn when the men with the red armbands attacked our village for the third time this year. Our villagers were in panic as they ran from their burning houses. I was afraid I might be killed when I came out and saw the Smolens leader. He was the same man who had killed my mother on the last raid. I recognized the fresh scar that ran from his scalp across his right cheek to the point on his chin. It was my father who cut his face as they fought hand to hand with knives the last time we were attacked.

I was nine years old at the time and armed with a boy's bow. It was far from effective against two dozen hardened raiders. Still, I fired an arrow with a flint tip and struck the one with the scar on his face in his right shoulder. He laughed at the wound I inflicted and raised his hatchet to kill me, when a woman named Ruth pulled me away from the fight. We ran with the rest of the women and children, led by an elder named Emma. My father killed two of those men with red armbands before he himself was killed that day. 

My friend Bruno was ten years old and a big kid for his age. He fought alongside my father and grandfather and killed one raider and wounded two others as the marauders ran between our pit houses, setting more fires. When it was over, several of our homes were ruined and three more Horse Clan members were dead. A year ago the Horse Clan had twenty-two people, but after the latest hit-and-run attack by the Smolens, there were just sixteen of us left, and only six men, including Bruno, who could fight. They did their damage and killing and retreated as fast as they came.

That night, Sandor, who we call the Oldson or chief, called our small band together. His features were rigid as stone and he raised his arms to be sure he had our full attention. “The Smolens are too many and too powerful for us to fight any longer. We have no choice if we are to survive. We must leave our homes and move.” He waited for a response or an argument, but there was none. His people knew they had no choice.

Sandor spoke again. He nodded to his friend and companion, Tedd, and said, “Tedd has located a new land on the other side of the Ural Mountains. The new land has plenty of grain, a good supply of salt, fruits and berries and horses to hunt. It will be hard work and a long trip. I see no other choice. The best thing about the new lands is that the Smolens will never find us. This brought smiles and a voice of approval.

“Tedd and I will attend the summer gathering. With any luck we will be able to convince our relatives in the Bear Clan and the Aurochs Clan to unite with us. They have also been under attack by the Smolens, and their numbers are reduced from last year as ours are.” Sandor glanced around at his audience. “If we continue to live here as an independent clan, we do not have enough hunters to defend ourselves. As leader of the Horse Clan, I will take you to a safer place on the other side of the mountains. That is my decision. We leave tomorrow and we will not return. The trip will be difficult. I caution each of you to bring only what you can carry.”

The announcement was a shock. No one wanted to leave our territory because of the crops we had planted and the plentiful animals to hunt, but everyone realized there was no choice. We left twenty years ago.  The first winter was very hectic, with building pit houses and hunting what we could before the harsh weather set in. We ate what we had been able to gather or kill in a relatively short time, and there was little meat for our stew pots. Luckily, the winter was mild and of short duration for once, and we made it to spring without losing anyone else.

That spring, the Bear Clan joined up with us in our new home, and the Aurochs Clan soon followed. Both had fought the Smolens during the winter and lost those battles to superior numbers.  Like us, each clan had been reduced significantly from the preceding year.  Abandoning their villages was also the only option left to them.

Our settlement is located on a branch of the Ob that runs north to an ocean some call the Arctic. We are south and east of the Ural Mountains, probably two hundred miles or so from the Smolens. South of our village are grasslands that run from east to west for a thousand miles, maybe more. No one really knows.  What we do know is that there are wild horses in those grasslands, and they will provide the meat we need to survive.

Tedd likes this location for several reasons. Of greatest significance, there is fresh water and salt for meat preservation. Because our village is on a sharp bend in the river, the water runs faster here and remains unfrozen all winter. As an added advantage, our village is situated on high ground, so we avoid spring floods. The area has adequate supplies of fruits and vegetables growing naturally in the area. No other people live close to us, thus there is no longer a need to fight to hold our territory. With the dreaded Smolens out of the picture, we have no enemies and few dangers other than an occasional bear or mountain lion that might roam too close. Of course, there are always wolves in the area if someone gets careless.

                                                                  

The weather has already cooled as we approach the late summer. Horse hunts are a group effort involving all three clans. Two hunts will not meet our needs for a typical brutal winter, during which temperatures drop to thirty or forty degrees below zero and stay there for months at a time. We have already been successful with two hunts and this will be our third. A fourth will follow.

Gathering peas, lentils, berries, mushrooms, and wheat has become part of everyday life in the fall for our women, but without horse meat we would not survive the last two months of winter, those we used to call "the starving months." Before we learned to hunt horses effectively, we often saw the oldest and youngest of our people starve to death as winter wore on. I am told by Tedd and Emma, our oldest members that the total number of clan members has generally never increased. Starvation always held our population to a small group. Since the three clans joined together as one people, the hope is that we will develop better gathering and hunting methods and our food supply will improve. 

Our women already have good supplies of most of what we need, except for gooseberries, raspberries and blueberries. Berries are essential to make pemmican, a combination of peas, berries and horsemeat packed into horse intestines and then smoked to preserve them. Pemmican is eaten as a cold meal on long horse hunts like the one I am planning. It is a crucial staple, since campfire smoke would be smelled from a long distance away by horses, alarming them and sending them deeper into the grasses where we would have no chance to hunt them.

In the Botai, as the three clans are called collectively, it is not unusual to have women included as hunters; actually it is quite common. They have to pass the same tests as the men, except for lesser requirements with the spear and Atlatl for which males have more natural shoulder strength. Our hunts this year have included three females along with four males who just came of age and passed the skills tests. Hunters, whether they are men or women, are the most respected clan members. As the lead hunter, I live for this time of year.

As I indicated in the beginning, the chief of a clan is called the Oldson. He usually inherits his title as the oldest son of the past leader and takes over when his father passes away or steps down due to age or injury. Upon inheriting the title from his father, Sandor rarely used his original name again. Since the other clans joined us at our new location, their clan leaders deferred to Sandor, and he is chief over all three clans.

Normally the Oldson attends the hunters' meeting to offer advice and encouragement to the hunters, especially the newer ones, because if new hunters perform well during all four hunts, they become full clan members and can take a wife. Due to Sandor’s advanced age of 40, he is no longer able to take part in the hunts himself.

Mostly he spends his time counseling people who have disputes, regardless of if it is a man and his wife or if it involves members from different clans. Many issues are trivial and could be settled without him. Since he can no longer hunt, he has time on his hands and has gotten involved with minor issues as well as major disagreements. The reason he did not attend the hunters meeting this time has nothing to do with handling disputes, or his age.

He severely cut his foot while going to the scat pit during a moonless night. The injured foot became infected and has not healed. In truth, it has gotten worse, and our clan is worried that he might not survive this injury. Sandor has been our respected and beloved leader for almost twenty years, ever since the Smolens killed his father and both my parents.

He takes his time with decisions, whether they are between individuals or something bigger that might affect two clans or the whole village. When he makes a judgment it is final, and most often the parties are satisfied. I do not envy his getting in the middle of family arguments and clan disputes.

Being a hunter, I have no interest in settling petty arguments. I would only be comfortable deciding those issues that affect the Botai people as a whole. My hope, as with everyone else, is that he recovers by the time we return from this hunt.

Before we departed, I led the discussion regarding travel and the overnight camping rules. Bruno, head of the Bear Clan, and Janos, head of the Aurochs Clan, helped with the planning. Each took part, but it was my plan overall. When we hunt horses, we wear horsehide clothes and look like horses. Since human sweat gives off such a strong smell, we wash before we leave. My thinking is that it is better to smell like a horse if you are hunting one.

We also bring horse manure in sacks that are traditionally carried by the youngest hunters. This rite always draws minor complaints, but the young hunters become the experienced hunters in a year and do not have to carry manure for more than one season. As we travel, the manure ripens and smells worse. By the time we arrive at the hunt site, we all smell like horse droppings. It can get to be pretty bad. Yet, just before the start of the hunt, to be certain all of our natural scents are masked, we rub manure on any exposed skin.

On the morning of the hunt we ate an early meal and set out at daybreak. We have been walking and running for four hours and my mind wanders to memories from the past. I will always remember learning so much of what I know about hunting and fishing from Tedd, who is actually my uncle and two years senior to the Oldson.  At 42, he is considered ancient.

Uncle Tedd is the one person who always made time to teach me how to make bows and arrows and how to attach the feathers so the arrow would rotate while it was in flight. One time I decided to try a shortcut and make an arrow without feathers. But it would not fly for more than a few feet in a straight line or steady arc, so from then on I followed his advice rather than questioned it.

Tedd showed me from which trees I could make the best bows and arrows. He also taught me how to chip flint arrowheads, but I was never the best at flint knapping, as he called it. I learned it was better to trade horsemeat with the older men for better arrowheads. Tedd also showed me how to string a bow correctly and how to properly affix a leather strap on my left arm so the bowstring would not cut my arm as I practiced hour after hour. 

My next learning experience was fishing, which was not all that dangerous compared to hunting…unless you cannot swim. So, naturally, before I was allowed to fish I had to learn to swim. Later he taught me camping skills and the importance of keeping one or more fires going at night. Because of their natural fear of fire, this would keep dangerous animals away. I remember Tedd saying, “It is far smarter to keep bears and mountain lions away than to have to fight them off in the dark.” I never forgot that lesson.

The odd thing about Tedd is that he was never considered a good hunter, yet he is such a great teacher. Maybe it was because he was more interested in coming up with new ideas and showing others how to do things instead of practicing his skills to get better. I do not need new ideas. I need practice so I do it continuously. I think that my son, Mikl, takes after my uncle more than me. The boy always has new ideas. When my father was alive, as strong a hunter and a fighter as he happened to be, he was always too busy to teach me. This seemed strange to me. However, my uncle always had time.

  

My mind came back to the task at hand, this hunt. At midday we stopped for a quick meal, but never left the trail. I quickly ate my pemmican and motioned for everyone to move forward again. Horses and deer can be hunted in two ways. The first way is what we call drive hunting. Several of us walk in a normal manner at a walking pace. We make just enough noise, talking in a normal tone to move the herd forward. We refer to these hunters as, drivers. They push the game forward to what we call the lead line of hunters. Men in the lead line are a half mile or mile in front of the drivers and remain hidden until the animals come to them.

The second way to hunt large game is called position hunting. With this type of hunting, a hunter in disguise stays well hidden from sight, and waits for the animal to come to them, usually on a trail the animal uses regularly. 

Position hunting is done by one or two hunters and offers a kill of a single animal. Driving horses or deer requires a large group of hunters, but offers the chance to kill many animals. My plan for this hunt is to have five drivers and nine lead line hunters. Drivers are not usually in on the kill because the animals are being pushed forward and move away from them. Their work is to move the horses toward the lead line, but not to fully alarm them. They also have to stay alert in case a horse turns back toward them in an effort to escape.

As the drivers move forward, they have to sound natural. When horses hear their voices they move ahead of the sound. Too much noise alarms them and they gallop from sight or reverse direction. To our right is the northern edge of the grasses where wolves prowl. Horses avoid the woods. To the left are open grasslands which offer an escape if they run that way. Behind are the drivers and in front are the lead hunters. Our methods allow us to cover three of the four directions a horse can run.

We carry long bows and flint tipped spears with Atlatls for distance throwing. An Atlatl attaches to the end of the spear like a hand and in effect makes the thrower’s arm longer adding distance and power to the throw. It takes practice and strength, but once the skill is perfected, a hunter can throw a spear almost twice as far as normal. It is rare that a hunter has enough strength before the age of fourteen to master a spear and an Atlatl, so fourteen years of age is the usual cutoff date for a young man to become a full hunter.

Bruno is a year older than I am and throws the Atlatl spear farther and better than anyone who has ever challenged him. At the summer gatherings, he has been the best at it for as long as I can remember. Only one man, a big Hungarian called Kraven, gives him a challenge, yet he has never defeated Bruno in the Atlatl throw or at any of the strength contests.   

Kraven is not happy about losing to Bruno year after year and we know he will be well prepared for next year’s summer gathering contests. Bruno is just too strong. I am not a small man, but he towers over me and weighs a lot more than I weigh. We wrestle and challenge each other on just about everything. He always wins contests where strength is a factor. I win when it comes to expertise with the bow. I practice more and rarely lose to anyone. When it comes to strength, without a doubt, Bruno is the strongest man I have ever known. 

One time several years ago we were hunting a bear and it turned on us. I struck it with my spear from a short distance, but the spear hit a shoulder bone and glanced off. The bear was wild with rage and almost reached me, roaring and snarling. The brown monster slashed at me with its massive claws as I tried to ready my second spear.

It was about to tear me apart when Bruno drove his spear deep into its chest and saved my life. Mortally wounded it turned toward Bruno and I rammed my second spear into its neck. Between the two of us and three other hunters, we finally killed it.  We have many memories like that one and have been friends since we were kids.  I think of him as my older brother and I know he feels the same.   

After a successful hunt, we remove any parts of the horse we cannot use for food. Little is wasted. We remove the head, lower legs and large bones to lighten the load on the trip back. After butchering the meat we always have a feast of the best parts, the tongue, the liver and heart and special cuts of meat. We empty the intestines, but we save them for use in making pemmican for the next hunt.  

If we kill one or two horses we carry the horse meat back to the village packed in horsehide sacks. When we have better luck and kill several we transport whole animals by tying their feet together at the knees and slip a pole between the legs. Now the whole carcass can be lifted off the ground and placed on the shoulders of the carriers. We usually have two people in the front and two people at the back carrying the ends of the pole. Bruno never needs help on his end. He lifts the front of the pole and leads the way. We rotate positions and move the poles from one shoulder to the other as we walk. Due to the weight, the return trip always takes longer than the trip going out. 

My hunters continue to walk all afternoon as the sun moves lower in the western sky. I remember another experience with my uncle. When I was a boy I asked my uncle Ted how he could make a lariat that was fifty feet long when a horse was on only about eight or nine feet long. It seemed impossible. He was just about to start making one and said, “Sit down Daven and watch. I will explain as I work.” This could take all morning and I was wondered if I should have asked.    

Tedd spread a tanned horse hide on a flat plot of ground and took out his sharp flint knife. He poked a hole in the middle of the hide and made a circle cut around the hole. Then he continued the circle around the first circle and kept slicing in a continuously larger and larger circle with the cuts never touching. Finally he reached the edge of the hide and stood up holding one end of the circle. The hide became a long piece of leather instead of a flat hide. It was still tangled in a circular design, but when Tedd stretched it out it was about fifty feet long, just like he said it would be.  He placed it in water and let it soak.  The next day he stretched the leather strap in the sun and held it down with a few rocks. When it dried, it was straight.

Our hunters have tried to capture live horses with their lariats, but we have always failed. We talk about it over fires during the winters. Getting a lariat over a horse’s head has been done many times, but horses are so strong they easily pull a hunter off his feet and drag him. When dragged even a short distance, a hunter’s arms are cut by the grass and they have to let go or be sliced to pieces. A few times there have been broken arms when a man was dragged over a hidden rock. This time we will try again. We always try. 

Our travel so far has been over familiar trails. Main trails coming out of our village run north and south along the river and east and west along the edge of the grasslands. From these smaller trails others split off in many directions. For the first day, we used our fast travel method of walking for a 1000 paces and then running for 1000 paces. This gives us a much higher rate of speed than if we only walk. We have done this for many years and we can maintain this pace for a ten or twelve hour day and for many days.  

As we leave the east to west trail, we enter five foot tall grass and the walk becomes more difficult and much slower. This is where horses live. With plenty of water and grass for fodder, they thrive. Their natural enemies, including hunters like us, have difficulty hunting them due to their sense of smell, their eyesight and their speed through the grasses. With these ideal conditions, the herds continue to grow. Wolves prowl the edges picking off the old and weak just as we did years ago, but not anymore.  

The four young men I mentioned have passed the skills tests and are ready to take a position in the lead line, where the kills are made most often. Skills tests are bow and arrow tests at fifty paces plus spear and Atlatl throws. Lariat throws are included as part of their tests.

The most difficult skill test for a new hunter to pass is what I call the panic test. This test is where a hunter must launch four arrows into the air, before the first arrow hits the ground. I still practice this skill when teaching them. The beginning of the test is easy because the first arrow is already notched and ready just like it would be on a hunt. The second arrow must be pulled from your quiver on your back, notched and fired with a full pull of the bow as are the third and fourth arrow.

A mistake with any of the four arrows will cause the hunter to fail the test. If the hunter does not take a full pull of the bow, the arrow will not launch high enough and the first arrow will hit the ground before the fourth one is released.  The hunter must concentrate on what he or she is doing and fight off the tendency to rush or panic. This test is designed to prepare them for hunting dangerous game.

At times a stallion or a mare with a foal will run at a hunter in an attempt to escape. If a hunter panics and runs away, they can easily be trampled. The hunter must fight off his fear and continue to fire the second, third and fourth arrow at a charging one thousand pound angry horse set on killing instead of being killed. I have felt that same fear many times and have seen experienced hunters drop to the ground in an attempt to hide or turn and run. When this happens, the horse usually becomes the killer unless others in our group can take it down before it reaches the runner. Most of the time it all happens too quickly and the hunter is trampled. If a hunter is badly injured, they often do not survive the return trip, because we have no medicine women on our hunts.

Among the four new hunters are Flint and Jon, twin sons of my good friend Bruno. Flint barely passed the four arrow panic test. He did do well with the spear and Atlatl and scored accurately with the long bow. I am concerned with his preparation, but Bruno assured me he is ready to prove himself.

Another new man is my son Mikl. He easily passed the long bow and panic tests and he does well with the spear and Atlatl due to his size and upper body strength. Mikl was born in the third month of the year so he is well past his fourteenth birthday and is bigger and stronger than I was at the same age. He only lacks practice. He is confident, maybe too confident.

The second twin son of Bruno is Jon, Mikl’s best friend. He also passed the tests without problems.  Although they are identical twins and born the same day, Jon was born before Flint by a few minutes, not that it makes any difference. The fourth new hunter is Joe, a member of the Aurochs Clan headed by Janos. Joe is physically the smallest of the fourteen hunters with me today. I comment on his size only because three of the hunters are women, yet Joe is still smallest.

One person who is taller and maybe stronger than Joe is his sister Agi. She is older than Joe by two years and has proven herself on many previous hunts. I have my doubts with Joe. He struggled during several skill tests. He gives in to panic and probably should have waited another year until he was fifteen. His mother pushed him because Agi already hunts and more likely, because his father died while hunting horses years ago. Tomorrow will tell the story.   

When a hunter proves himself he can take a wife. Wives must always come from another clan, never from your own clan. Many times wives are from other groups of people with whom we trade at the summer gatherings. It is not as important for women to pass hunting tests because only a few of them have any desire to be hunters. Most women want to become wives and mothers and leave hunting to the men.

I am confident in my son Mikl as tomorrow approaches. I have to admit, I would like to see him practice with his weapons more than he does. Maybe he practices less because it comes too easily to him. He is good, but all of us can be better. I constantly work to perfect my hunting skills while he is usually looking at something new. He thrives on anything new.  

As an example, last year he spent a lot of time on a new idea for a bow that does not seem to work. It was made of the same ash wood we make all our bows from so it is not the wood itself. The piece he cut was from a tree that had a natural second curve at one end. His thinking was that if a bow normally has one long curve in the middle, an extra curve at the end should make it more powerful, similar to a bow with an Atlatl at the end. He calls it a two-curve bow.

He finished the bow and practiced with it. When the extra curve of the bow was at the top, it drove the arrow into the ground.  When the second curve was at the bottom, the arrow flew too far over the target. He was still working with it when we left for this hunt. Since the arrow cannot be controlled, the bow seems to be useless. The thing that makes me wonder if it has any value is that when he shoots an arrow at very close range, it drives the arrow farther into the target than any other bow. 

All these thoughts run through my mind as we walk forward pushing tall grass aside. The trail has become less distinct. I notice the manure on the ground has become fresh a sure sign the herds are close. The sun set as we arrived in one of our old camp sites, one that we have used before and we stopped for the evening.

This site is a good one with fresh water and open ground offering us protection from possible predators. With a group this large, it is unlikely any predator would bother us. Just in case, I set two guards on opposite ends of the clearing. Tomorrow morning we will move into position. It is not far now.

 


Robert L. Bacon
theperfectwrite.com

For serious authors, The Perfect Write® is now providing a
FREE Opening-Chapter Critique (material up to 5,000 words).
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