Sarum (55 page)

Read Sarum Online

Authors: Edward Rutherfurd

He glanced at the Germans.
“You brought them.”
Petrus nodded.
“They’ll camp here. Keep an eye on them.”
Tarquinus grinned contemptuously.
“If they give any trouble, I’ll cut their throats when they’re asleep.”
Petrus turned his horse.
“My steward will see you’re fed,” he told the Germans.
Then he moved towards the entrance, the cowherd shuffling beside him. Before leaving however he glanced down and enquired quietly:
“We have an appointment tonight?”
The old man nodded. “Everything is ready.”
“Good, until tonight then.” And pleased with his work Petrus rode out of the dune towards the villa.
On entering the villa, he sought out his mother.
Placidia was sitting quietly with Numincus. She had grown fond of the stout little widower over the years, not only because of his loyalty to her, but because she recognised that in his quiet, modest way he was a man of talent.
It was she who had taught the steward to read. Now, he not only ran the estate from day to day, but he drew up the accounts with her himself, accounts which for years Constantius had done little more than glance at. She would still try, from time to time, to interest her husband in the details of his own estate, but he would usually wave her away with the remark: “I know you and Numincus attend to all that.” Though whether it was pure lack of interest on his part, or whether there was resentment about Numincus’s role, she could never be sure.
It made no difference in practice. And if she enjoyed the quiet company of the little steward, it was, she thought, one of her few pleasures in life.
He sat on a stool opposite her. He had just proposed to barter a -third of the year’s expected grain with another farmer for some cattle. It seemed to both of them a wise move.
“Are we right to hire these Germans?” she suddenly asked him.
He looked at her seriously.
“I think so.”
“My husband does not think so.”
Numincus looked awkward.
“The villa must be defended,” he said slowly. “So should you be,” he added, and then blushed.
She smiled. She knew that he loved her.
Then she sighed. The question was, how could she break it to Constantius without destroying his dignity?
As usual, Numincus had read her thoughts.
“Someone must take action.” He said it softly, but firmly. “It’s better to act than to argue.”
She nodded. She was glad of his support and it was comforting.
She smiled at him. Within the limits prescribed between mistress and servant, she tried to return to the strange little fellow some of the affection he so richly deserved.
Then they both turned, as they heard Petrus coming.
 
Constantius Porteus was at prayer.
Since the incident the day before, too ashamed to approach his wife and son, he had spent his time alone. He had drunk nothing, so for once his mind was clear.
And he had been busy: busy making the plans that he should have made long ago for defending the villa. That Petrus had gone to Venta he had no idea. He would begin, he had decided, by arming Numincus and some of the men.
The room in which he was kneeling was remarkable. It stood at the north eastern corner of the villa and was almost bare of furniture; but it did not appear empty because it seemed to be completely filled by a huge and remarkable mosaic on the floor. It was unlike any other mosaic in the house. On a background of solid green, and presented frontally, stood a single figure in a white robe; his arms were outstretched in the attitude of prayer the Romans called
orante;
his large, pale face was round and clean shaven; under black brows, as regular and heavy as the arches of a bridge, two huge eyes stared straight ahead, apparently fixed on some landscape beyond this world. In the figure’s raised hand was the Chi-Rho symbol: (??? check m/s symbol p.371)P; which signified that this staring man represented Christ. Where the Orpheus mosaic had been wistful and decorative, every line of this one was bold, striking and insistent.
Constantius prayed.
“Paternoster, qui es in coeli: Our Father, which art in heaven,” he murmured. “The emperor has turned his face from us, but surely you will not desert your servants.”
Besides the mosaic, there was another strange feature of the room. On the wall immediately opposite him, painted on the plaster in red, was a curious arrangement of five Latin words:
 
ROTAS
OPERA
TENET
AREPO
SATOR
 
By themselves the words had no particular significance, except that an observant reader might notice that they formed a palindrome, for they could be read the same way back to front. But to every Christian at that date they had a well known significance, dating back to the time before the Emperor Constantine in the last century when Christians had been persecuted for their faith. For the secret of the five words was that they could be arranged to read:
 
 
When this arrangement was completed, two letters remained unused: a and o, which stood for Alpha and Omega, the Greek biblical description of God. It was this ancient rubric that had for several generations served as a kind of altar before which the Christian family of Porteus had prayed.
He had been at prayer some time when he was suddenly aware that he was not alone. In the doorway stood his wife, Numincus and the boy. There was a red mark across Placidia’s face that made him blush. It was Petrus who spoke.
“The Germans are here. They’ve camped at the dune and I’ve hired them for a year.”
Constantius felt his face grow cold and pale. He stared at them, bemused. And then he found that he was trembling.
Petrus was gazing at him steadily.
His anger rose. It was an outrage: the blinding fury of the day before was mild compared to what he now felt. But today he was sober.
He got up slowly. The disrespect, the contempt of the action cut him to the quick. He saw that they were all watching him: the boy’s eyes were cold; Placidia looked concerned. With a huge effort of self-control, he stood before them and spoke evenly.
“You disobeyed my wishes.” His voice shook a little, but it was very quiet.
“It was necessary, Constantius.” It was Placidia who replied – gently, almost pleading. He ignored her and kept his eyes on the boy.
“You disobeyed.”
“No, Constantius.” Placidia began. “I told him to bring them. I urge you to reconsider.”
Had she really, or was she just defending the boy?
“And how will you pay your mercenaries?” he demanded coldly.
“With gold
solidi
,” the boy answered simply. “Numincus will see they are fed. We have plenty of grain.”
Constantius’s eyebrows rose.
“What gold
solidi
?”
“Mine.” Placidia.
He started. Truly, it was like a knife stabbing him. His voice became a little husky, but still he kept his control.
“Since you and your mother wish to pay these mercenaries against my wishes,” he went on, “do you also intend to let them camp on my land?”
There was no answer.
“I can send them away,” he continued.
Now his son shrugged.
“You’ll find them difficult to dislodge. They’re armed.”
The insolence of the boy! Still Constantius held on to his control.
“Numincus,” he said quietly, “you will collect twenty men and bring them here. Then we will go to the dune, pay off the Germans and tell them to leave. Go now.”
He paused, waiting for something to happen. But Numincus only bowed his round, balding head and stared at the floor. He did not move.
The silence continued.
Then Constantius realised that he was going to cry.
The humiliation was complete. There, in the family chapel, they had left him nothing, not even the last shred of his dignity. He looked at his wife: surely she would not do this to him? He found that he could not see properly because his own eyes were clouding over. With a desperate gesture he waved them away, and saw them turn.
Constantius waited as he heard their departing footsteps echoing in the empty rooms; he waited until they had died away into silence. Then, when he was sure he was alone, he finally sank to his knees on the floor and gave in to the sobs that shook his body. He doubled up. His head touched the cool mosaic floor, as the tears fell.
But even as he wept, a thought formed itself in his mind, a warning that he must give the family even though they had decided to despise him. It was a perceptive thought that saw clearly into Sarum’s future. For if the Germans could not be dislodged by him, would Petrus and Placidia be able to control them either?
 
It was midnight and there was a full moon. On the hill, the silent dune was bathed in light.
Petrus had already passed the dune, however, and was walking with determined steps through the woods below. A light frost encrusted the fallen leaves that covered the ground.
He could feel his heart beating with excitement.
The clearing lay in the curve of the river, twenty yards from the water; it was a small space, less than thirty feet across, and at first glance there seemed to be nothing unusual about it.
But as Petrus reached it, a curious activity was taking place. Two men were pulling up long planks from the ground and as he watched the surface of leaves began to disappear, revealing in the centre of the clearing a circular pit. It was about eight feet across and covered with a heavy grid of wooden beams over which the planks had been laid and then concealed with leaves. At one side of the pit a wooden ladder descended into it. The pit was twelve feet deep.
As the last plank was removed, the stooped form of Tarquinus the cowherd emerged from the shadows. By his side walked demurely a young girl of sixteen. She had a pale face, narrow like the cowherd’s, but not without beauty; on her feet she wore only sandals, and she was wrapped in a heavy cape made of furs. She was his niece. All three bowed to each other solemnly. The girl was to go through the important rite of initiation at the same time as Petrus.
At a nod from Tarquinus, both Petrus and the girl took off their sandals and stripped naked, the girl with a single delicate gesture slipping out of the heavy furs that had been her only covering. She did not seem in the least self-conscious; her slim, hard body seemed almost ghostly in the moonlight; but Petrus noticed that, despite herself, she shivered slightly in the cold night air as they stood side by side in front of Tarquinus. Then at a nod from him, they knelt.
Without speaking, Tarquinus now carefully unwrapped a small bundle he had been carrying and held it out towards Petrus. It was the little stone figure from the shrine, the goddess Sulis who was the guardian of the place where the five rivers met. Petrus reverently kissed it.
“Sulis, be my friend,” he whispered.
For in the act which he was about to perform, it was important that the local goddess should act as a messenger and intermediary, pleading his case before the unknowable gods who ruled the heavens and who could not be approached directly by man.
The girl also did the same.
Then, at a further signal from Tarquinus, the two young people went to the ladder and began to descend into the pit, Petrus going first. When they were both down, they knelt again.
“May the gods accept their servant and make me pure.” Petrus prayed aloud.
Meanwhile, Tarquinus and his two assistants had vanished. For long minutes, Petrus and the girl waited silently in the pit. And then they heard heavy footfalls above.

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