On Thursday January 23, 1822, Reverend William Buckland, Professor of Geology at Oxford University, and Theresa Talbot of Penrice Castle made an astounding discovery in the Paviland Caves between Port Eynon and Rhossili.
He wrote that he had found the skeleton of a woman still wear- ing the shells and carved ivory she had worn as a prostitute to the Roman soldiers occupying the region. It was also possible that she was a witch, because her bones were deep red, surely a sign of magical intervention, and the reason he called the skeleton the Red Lady.
This is the story of the last day in the life of the Red Lady of Paviland.
The Last Day
Chief Tecumseh returned to his village with a fur rolled up under his arm and an expression of triumph on his face. Today was a good day. The Great Spirit would smile on him and his people when he saw the tribute laid out beneath the talking stone. The women and young men of the village crowded round him and touched the coarse black fur, knowing to do so would bring them luck.
Tecumseh strode through them to the largest animal-skin hut that was home to him and his wives. His first wife stood with her hands on her hips and looked down at the pelt he spread out before her. A black wolf, the most prized of all furs, and this one was magnificent. Her man had done well. Food would have been better, but perhaps that would come when the Great Spirit saw this gift.
Standing on a rocky outcrop at the edge of the small village, Ashkii watched the girls dancing around the clearing, giggling and pointing and seemingly unable to keep still. Except Chimalu, she stood tall and beautiful a little apart from the children. Her hair was long and blacker than a raven’s wing, and her body round and strong, ready to bear many fine sons.
She looked across at him slowly, then looked away as if he was of no interest. His heart jumped and he turned quickly and walked back among the rocks and out of sight of the jubilant camp. He had no need for celebration; every time he saw the chief ’s daughter his heart sang. Yet her eyes were not for him.
He climbed the long slope to the cliff overlooking the plain that stretched away to the distant sea. He had to do something for her to see him for the fierce and noble warrior he knew he was. But what? What could he do? The chief had brought back a mighty gift for the gods, but all he had done was hunt deer, and any child could do that. He had to do something, or he would fail to win her and his life would have no meaning.
From the shadow of fallen rocks no more than a hundred feet away, a jet-black she-wolf watched, her gold eyes narrowed and her throat rumbling with hate for the two-legs who had killed her mate. She moved forward very slowly, her belly almost touching the grass, and the growl deepened. She stayed close to the outcrop until she was almost directly below him. At the moment her instinct told her to pounce, the two-leg turned and walked away over the ridge. She could chase him down, but beyond the ridge were other two-legs, many more. She would wait. Her time would come. Without her mate, there was only this hunt.
Ashkii knew what he must do. The days were becoming short, and soon the white wind would come. The tribe needed food to keep their bellies warm until the sun returned from the mountains. The food most prized by his people was fish. Meat was easy—the plain below moved with herds of bison, mammoth and deer—but fish was food for the children, and the children were the future. He would journey to the great water and return with enough fish to keep the women and children laughing. Then he could ask the chief for his daughter, and the fiercest of the warriors would smile on him. He returned to his hut and collected his spear and a hide bag and slipped quietly out of the village.
Chimalu stepped out of the trees and looked into his eyes, and his wits left him. Without a word, she hung a neckless of shells and ivory around his neck, smiled and put her hand on his face for the briefest moment. He watched her move back to the safety of the village, and his breath returned. He would hurry. The journey to the great water would take a day if he didn’t stop to eat or rest. He would be a day at the sea, and the Great Spirit would send his best fish to his spear so he would return a hero.
In three days. It seemed a lifetime as he looked back to the trail where his love had gone. He stopped at the top of the long slope that led down to the plain stretching towards the sun for as far as he could see. He must be wary now. This was the place of the sabretooth, the most feared of all the hunters that prowled the land. He set off along the great ridge with his heart pounding and his head full of visions of the future that awaited his triumphant return.
The she-wolf let him go ahead; the two-legs were slow and would never outrun her, even injured as she was now. A younger male had challenged her for leadership of the pack, but his only desire was the females, and that was no match for her blazing fury. Now they followed her, four males and three females, all completely loyal to her. Until she showed the slightest weakness. All she knew was that she was alive and her mate was not because of these two-legs. She would hunt them all down, every one of them.
Ashkii knew something was wrong. The birds were silent, and animals whose curiosity should have brought them close were nowhere to be seen. This meant that something was near, and that something had struck terror into them. He stopped and turned around very slowly, his sharp eyes searching the rocks and the trees bowed by the wind, but he saw nothing. Yet he knew it was there watching him, but there was no going back.
In the hour he’d been walking, he had covered almost four miles. He could run, but that would just bring the creature. He felt the weight of his spear and breathed a little easier. He was deadly with the weapon, perhaps the best in the tribe. Whatever was out there would die on its point. Nothing could move fast enough to reach him before he sent the shaft into its body. He took the spear-thrower from the cord around his waist and hooked it onto the base of the spear. Let it come.
The she-wolf came up onto the ridge a hundred yards above him, but even at that distance he could see the way she moved, sleek and deadly. He raised the spear to let her know that only death awaited her. Then the rest of the pack moved up on either side of her. Ashkii had courage almost beyond measure, but the sight of the huge wolves lining the ridge behind their leader almost buckled his legs.
There was nowhere to run, no help, and no hope. He moved sideways along the slope, his eyes never leaving the pack, because to look away would bring them racing down on him. He could barely breathe, and water trickled down his face even though his mouth was dry as stone. To his left was a painting on the rock face, a bear. He knew it and he knew the girl who had painted it, the daughter of the shaman. It was a sign to the gods that here lay the bravest of men, braver than the mighty bear. The burial cave. It was too far away, but there was another nearer. He glanced left and saw it, long and black against the cliff, twenty paces at most. If he could reach it, he would have a chance. Only one or two wolves would be able to come to the entrance, and he could drive them away. He could do it if his legs would obey him. He ran.
The she-wolf raised her head and howled at the sky, then hurled herself down the slope. At her maximum speed, she could run at forty-five miles an hour; injured, she could manage only half that. But it would be enough.
Two young males passed her and she pushed herself on, ignoring the pain in her leg. She would be the one to take down the two-leg. Ashkii could hear them coming and desperately wanted to look back, but knew to do so would be certain death, he had seen it. So he ran. The ridge sloped down towards the cave and gave him a chance. If it had been up the slope even a little, he would’ve failed. He still might. The cave came closer, but so slowly. The sound of the pursuit was right on his heels. Five paces to go, three, two— The first young wolf leapt at him without even breaking step, hit him in the back, and landed lightly to circle left, ready to attack again. Ashkii staggered into the cave and bounced off the wall but caught his balance, turned and brought his spear around as the second wolf pounced.
The spear rammed into its chest and kept going, driven on by the animal’s weight, but Ashkii was acting on instinct, training and experience, and he let the spear slide through his hands as he stepped to his right and turned. The wolf ’s body slid from the shaft and rolled across the rock to crash into the wall. He didn’t even glance at it, there were seven others, and they were already at the entrance. The wolf that had reached him first was standing on top of the rocky outcrop that all but blocked the opening. Standing with saliva dripping from yellow fangs and hatred in its eyes. It tensed to pounce. Ashkii jumped forward and thrust the spear up and forward, but the animal was gone.
He stood in the sunlight that slanted into the cave and sucked air into his bursting lungs. He’d made it, but what now? The wolves howled at the cave, and every few seconds one would jump up onto the outcrop and snarl, looking for a chance to kill, but jump back when Ashkii screamed and jabbed his spear at its eyes.
The black she-wolf could smell this two-leg that had killed her mate, and her fury boiled up through her until it erupted in her mind in a roaring crimson blaze. She leapt up onto the rocks and threw herself forward. The two-leg was slow, slower than any animal she had ever hunted, so it was easy to evade the thing thrust at her and jump at its throat. Ashkii let the spear fall, grabbed his knife from his belt, and rammed it up into the wolf ’s chest as its powerful jaws snapped shut on his raised arm and sent him sprawling backwards. The she-wolf was still snarling as he stabbed it again and again until finally its body slumped onto his chest. He wanted to lie there, to rest, to bring life back into his screaming body, but the other wolves were already fighting each other to be first at their prey. He stood up shakily and picked up his spear and barely noticed the blood from his shredded arm running down the shaft.
Two wolves jumped up onto the outcrop, but the smell of their leader’s blood crashed onto their senses and held them. They snarled and shuddered, but would not go forward. A moment later they turned and jumped out of sight. The hunt was over. For now.
Ashkii fell against a boulder and leaned on his spear as an old man would a stick. He desperately needed to sleep, just for a moment, but they would be waiting beyond the rocks for him to fall. He would remain alert and be ready for their return. The blood trickled from his fingers and formed a thick puddle in the sand, and he watched it without thought. There was no sound now from outside, no howling or growling. The wolves were gone, done with the pursuit of the two-leg, the small creature that would not fill their bellies and had killed two of their pack. There was easier prey on the plain.
Ashkii slid down the boulder and sat for a moment, thinking of Chimalu with her black hair billowing in the summer breeze. He would abandon this foolish quest and make her his mate. But first he would sleep. He lay on his side and brought up his knees for warmth, and his last thoughts were that she would wait for him, perhaps even for a whole season.
Reverend Buckland thought he’d found the Red Lady, a Roman witch who had been lying in Goat’s Hole cave for 2,000 years, but what he had discovered was much, much more. He had discovered the oldest Homo sapiens skeleton ever discovered in the whole of Europe. He just didn’t know it.
Chimalu had waited two seasons for Ashkii to return before accepting that he never would and moving on with her life, but always stopping to look out towards the great water. Ashkii lay undisturbed in his shallow grave while the Atlantic Ocean crept the seventy miles across the plain until it pounded against his resting place. Fine soil covered his body and buried the ivory and seashell jewellery his love had given him on his last day on Earth. Thirty-four thousand years ago.
Author: Leigh Barker