Pathetically, they tried to draw close to each other and comfort each other. Interpreting their fruitless attempts correctly, Russell had the chairs placed side by side.
“I-not-run, you-not-run, I-you-see-not-hurt, not-cold-hurt,” growled the man bravely.
“I-not-cold-hurt,” whimpered the woman. “Cold-hurt-come. No-run, no-eat, no-touch-hold-close. Cold-hurt-come.”
He tried to put his arm round her, remembered that he couldn’t, then tried to lick her face. He couldn’t make it. But he did manage to get his forehead on to her breast. The touch seemed to soothe her.
“No-cold-hurt-come,” he mumbled without much conviction. “No-cold-hurt-come. I-you-laugh-eat. No-cold-hurt-come.”
Russell had been listening and watching intently. It was easy enough to get into their way of speaking, because the thought processes were so simple. Cold-hurt obviously meant death.
“No-cold-hurt-come,” he said experimentally. “You-she, no-cold-hurt-come.”
The man jerked up, blinked and snarled, baring his teeth like an animal. The woman whimpered.
“You-she stay still, rest,” went on Russell soothingly. “No-hurt. You-eat, she-eat, no-hurt.”
Again the man growled, but with less conviction. He looked hopelessly at the sea of faces surrounding him, then blinked once more at the electric lights, and shivered.
“The poor bastard is absolutely shattered by it all,” said Russell to no one in particular. “There are far too many of us, and the lights are hurting him. Have we got any candles? At least he will understand what a flame is.”
“I, too, would like a simple flame better than the burning spheres,” said Absu solemnly. “You magicians are enough to discountenance cultivated people, Russell, as well as these wretched brutes.”
Marion Redman produced four candles which were then lighted. At the same time Robert Hyman switched the electric lighting off, and the sudden change caused the two Stone Age people to rock and whimper, straining at their bonds. But after a moment or two, they seemed to calm down.
“Absu, Anna, stay with me,” said Russell. He turned to the others. “But I would be glad if the rest of you would go and have a drink, or something. There will be time enough to inspect our captives, if we can manage not to frighten them to death.”
“Lord Absu,” said Farn zem Marur, “is it your wish that I and Grolig, your liegemen, should wait apart?”
Absu nodded. “Rest within calling distance, my children. I doubt that I shall need your blades.”
“Russell, do you think we should fix some food for them?” asked Simone.
“Perhaps… But it had better be simple stuff. Some kind of cooked meat, and plain water, I would imagine.”
Presently, Absu, Anna and Russell were left alone with the prisoners.
“Not-hurt,” said Russell. “We-you-not-hurt.” He turned to Absu. “Cut the cord round the woman’s hands, and let us see what she does.”
When the man saw Absu take his poniard and approach the woman he thrashed about like one demented. Russell made soothing noises to no avail. As Absu was cutting through the cords that bound the woman, her companion managed a curious jackknife kind of movement and succeeded in sinking his teeth into Absu’s arm.
Absu dropped the poniard and, with his free arm, delivered a mighty flat-hand blow that must have rattled the teeth in the Stone Age captive’s head. Then he picked the poniard up and finished sawing through the bonds.
The woman whimpered, looked at her mate, then began to stroke his head. Seeing that her arms were now free and that she had not been attacked, the man glared at his captors less malevolently.
“Not-hurt,” repeated Russell. “We-you-not-hurt. Make-hands-move. Not-hurt.”
Absu leaned over the Stone Age man and sawed away with his poniard. The man growled again, but remained still until his arms were free. Then he suddenly grabbed the blade of the poniard, roared, let go, and gazed wonderingly at the blood on his hand.
“Christ!” said Russell. “It’s going to be a long, hard night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
IT WAS INDEED a long hard night, but a rewarding one. For by the end of it, they had established at least some simple communication with the captives and had inspired, perhaps, a small amount of confidence. By a laborious process, Russell had managed to effect an exchange of names. The woman called herself Ora and the man called himself Ireg.
Afterwards, Russell realized that it was the exchange of names that brought about the psychological breakthrough. Up to that point, Ora and Ireg had behaved as if every moment might be their last. They had gained a little confidence when freshly cooked meat was offered to them. They ate it greedily. But it had been a bad mistake to offer them water in glasses. Ora held hers wonderingly, not comprehending that it could be used for drinking.
Anna took the glass from her and demonstrated. Whereupon Ireg raised his glass to his mouth, took a great bite out of it and spent the next few moments spitting out blood and slices of glass. Eventually a bowl of water was produced, and the captives scooped up handfuls eagerly, alternately sucking and lapping like cats.
One thing that Russell rapidly discovered was that Ora and Ireg were not unintelligent. They had an amazing capacity to learn. In a sense, thought Russell, they might be likened on the intellectual level to intelligent ten-year-olds who had been deprived of any education at all and allowed to run wild. He was reminded of stories he had heard long ago on Earth of children who had been lost in forests and had managed to survive.
But these were not children: they were mature adults, members of a small tribe in a primitive phase of development. Therefore, if it were possible to teach them, to increase their limited language to the point where it could cope with complicated thoughts, it might even be possible to lift them clean out of their Stone Age culture and perhaps introduce them to the rudiments of science and technology. What a fascinating project that would be!
But first there was the problem of communication. And, as time passed, it became less formidable than Russell had feared. After the exchange of names, Absu cut through the cords that bound Ora’s and Ireg’s legs.
“Not-run,” warned Russell. “You-she-walk, look, see things. Not run. You-eat, laugh, rest. Russell talk, Ora talk, Ireg talk. All talk.”
Ora looked perplexed, but Ireg smiled, “You-good-thing-man,” he said tentatively.
“Russell-good-thing-man. Ireg-good-thing-man. Not-hurt.”
Ireg stood up carefully and slowly, to show that he would neither run nor fight. Then he stretched himself, and the muscles rippled on his sturdy limbs.
Absu said solemnly: “You-big-thing-man. Hard-big. Hard-make-cold-hurt. Good.”
Russell gazed at him in surprise.
“Do not be too surprised,” said Absu drily. “I, too, must learn to speak his strange word patterns, Russell. It may be that in the end Ireg and Absu mes Marur will understand each other well. Since each, in his fashion, is a warrior.” He laughed. “I have thought much about you and your magicians, Russell. You once told me that you came from a world beyond the stars and on the far side of the sun. This I find hard to believe, since I know that the world is flat and that beyond the fire of the sun and the lanterns of the stars there can be nothing that a man may understand without first receiving the gift of madness—or, perhaps, of great wisdom. Yet I know also that you would not willingly deceive me, and that many strange things have happened to bring all of us far from our own lands. It may be that Ireg and his kind have been brought here from a far country. Are we not all, then, brothers in misfortune? There is much that I must seek to understand.”