Jondalar was aghast. "Why is this man here?"

"Epadoa's spear-stickers did that," Ebulan said.

"Does S'Armuna know about this? She could do something for him."

"S'Armuna! Hah! What makes you think she would do anything?" said Olamun, who was among those who had followed them. "Who do you think helped Attaroa in the first place?"

"But she cleaned the wound on my head," Jondalar said.

"Then Attaroa must have plans for you," Ebulan said.

"Plans for me? What do you mean?"

"She likes to put the men who are young and strong enough to work, as long as she can control them," Olamun said.

"What if someone doesn't want to do her work?" Jondalar asked. "How can she control them?"

"By withholding food or water. If that doesn't work, by threatening kin," Ebulan said. "If you know that the man of your hearth or your brother will be put in the cage without food or water, you'll usually do what she wants."

"The cage?"

"The place you were kept," Ebulan said. Then he smiled wryly. "Where you got that magnificent cloak." Other men were smiling, too.

Jondalar looked at the ragged hide he had torn from the structure inside the earthlodge and wrapped around him.

"That was a good one!" Olamun said. "Ardemun told us how you almost broke down the cage, too. I don't think she expected that."

"Next time, she make stronger cage," said another man. It was obvious that he was not entirely familiar with the language. Ebulan and Olamun were so fluent that Jondalar had forgotten that Mamutoi was not the native language of these people. But apparently others knew some, and most seemed to understand what was being said.

The man on the ground moaned, and the old man knelt to comfort him. Jondalar noticed a couple of other figures stirring, farther back under the lean-to.

"It won't matter. If she doesn't have a cage, she'll threaten to hurt your kin to make you do what she wants. If you were mated before she became headwoman, and were unlucky enough to have a son born to your hearth, she can make you do anything," Ebulan said.

Jondalar didn't like the implication, and he frowned deeply. "Why should it be unlucky to have a son born to your hearth?"

Ebulan glanced toward the old man. "S'Amodun?"

"I will ask if they want to meet the Zelandonii," he said.

It was the first time S'Amodun had spoken, and Jondalar wondered how a voice so deep and rich could emanate from so spare a man. He went to the back of the lean-to, bending down to talk to the figures huddled in the space where the slanting roof reached the ground. They could hear the deep mellow tones of his voice, but not his words, and then the sound of younger voices. With the old man's help, one of the younger figures got up and hobbled toward them.

"This is Ardoban," the old man announced.

"I am Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, and in the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I greet you, Ardoban," he said with great formality, holding out both his hands to the youngster, somehow feeling that the boy needed to be treated with dignity.

The boy tried to stand straighter and take his hands, but Jondalar saw him wince with pain. He started to reach for him to support him, but caught himself.

"I really prefer to be called Jondalar," he said, with a smile, trying to gloss over the awkward moment.

"I called Doban. Not like Ardoban. Attaroa always say Ardoban. She wants me say S'Attaroa. I not say anymore."

Jondalar looked puzzled.

"It's hard to translate. It's a form of respect," Ebulan said. "It means someone held in the highest regard."

"And Doban does not respect Attaroa anymore."

"Doban hate Attaroa!" the youngster said, his voice rising to the edge of tears as he tried to turn away and hobble back. S'Amodun waved them out as he helped the youngster.

"What happened to him?" Jondalar asked after they were outside and somewhat away from the lean-to.

"His leg was pulled until it became dislocated at the hip," Ebulan said. "Attaroa did it, or rather, she told Epadoa to do it."

"What!" Jondalar said, his eyes open wide in disbelief. "Are you saying she purposely dislocated the leg of that child? What kind of abomination is this woman?"

"She did the same thing to the other boy, and Odevan's younger."

"What possible justification can she even give to herself for doing such a thing?"

"With the younger one, it was to make an example. The boy's mother didn't like the way Attaroa was treating us, and she wanted her mate back at her hearth. Avanoa even managed to get in here sometimes and spend the night with him, and she used to sneak extra food to us. She's not the only woman who does that sometimes, but she was stirring up the other women, and Armodan, her man, was… resisting Attaroa, refusing to work. She took it out on the boy. She said at seven years he was old enough to leave his mother and live with the men, but she dislocated his leg first."

"The other boy is seven years?" Jondalar said, shaking his head and shuddering with horror. "I have never heard of anything so terrible."

"Odevan is in pain, and he misses his mother, but Ardoban's story is worse." It was S'Amodun who spoke. He had left the lean-to and just joined the group.

"It's hard to imagine anything worse," Jondalar said.

"I think he suffers more from the pain of betrayal than from the physical pain," S'Amodun said. "Ardoban thought of Attaroa as his mother. His own mother died when he was young and Attaroa took him in, but she treated him more like a favored plaything than a child. She liked to dress him in girl's clothes and adorn him with silly things, but she fed him well, and she often gave him special tidbits. She even cuddled him, sometimes, and took him to her bed to sleep with her when she was in the mood. But when she got tired of him, she'd push him out and make him sleep on the ground. A few years ago, Attaroa began to think people were trying to poison her."

"They say that's what she did to her mate," Olamun interjected.

"She made Ardoban taste everything before she ate it," the old man continued, "and when he got older, she tied him up, sometimes, convinced he was going to run away. But she was the only mother he knew. He loved her and tried to please her. He treated the other boys the same way she treated the men, and he began telling the men what to do. Of course, she encouraged him."

"He was insufferable," Ebulan added. "You'd think the whole Camp belonged to him, and he made the other boys' lives miserable."

"But what happened?" Jondalar asked.

"He reached the age of manhood," S'Amodun said. Then, seeing Jondalar's puzzled look, he explained. "The Mother came to him in his sleep in the form of a young woman and brought his manhood to life."

"Of course. That happens to all young men," Jondalar said.

"Attaroa found out," S'Amodun explained, "and it was as though he had purposely turned into a man just to displease her. She was livid! She screamed at him, called him terrible names, then banished him to the Men's Camp, but not before she had his leg dislocated."

"With Odevan, it was easier," Ebulan said. "He was younger. I'm not even sure if they originally intended to tear his joint loose. I think they just wanted to make his mother and her mate suffer by listening to his screams, but once it happened, I think Attaroa thought it would be a good way to disable a man, make him easier to control."

"She had Ardemun as an example," Olamun said.

"Did she dislocate his leg, too?" Jondalar asked.

"In a way," S'Amodun said. "It was an accident, but it happened when he was trying to get away. Attaroa would not allow S'Armuna to help him, although I believe she wanted to."

"But it was harder to disable a boy of twelve years. He fought and screamed, but it did no good," Ebulan said. "And I will tell you, after listening to his agony, no one here could be angry with him any more. He more than paid for his childish behavior."