Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [113]
This was the crucial moment of his plan. He strode down from the rampart and ordered:
“Open the gates.”
His meeting with the Romans did not go quite as he had planned, although he had rehearsed it many times. It began with his walking alone, slowly and sedately, down the path from the dune to where the Romans waited. At the foot of the hill, he found himself facing the Roman officer whom he had seen dismount and who now stared at him with a hard, unsmiling face. He noticed the large, square chin, the jutting nose, and the intelligent brown eyes which at that moment seemed expressionless. For a second, the young Celt hesitated, then, as he had planned, he opened his arms in a friendly gesture and cried in Latin:
“Welcome! I am Tosutigus, lord of Sarum; and the ally of Rome.”
Vespasian, who had led the vexillation himself, looked at him coldly, but said nothing. The dune had not impressed him, but if the young man did not want to fight, it would save time. He intended to rejoin the rest of the legion the next day.
“You speak Latin,” he said at last.
“So did my father and his father before him,” Tosutigus replied eagerly. “My grandmother,” it was his great-grandmother, but this sounded better, “was a princess of the Atrebates, friends of Rome.”
Vespasian nodded. He understood. This young man with his small fort wanted to ingratiate himself. It was of no importance whether he was friendly to Rome or not, but the legate would not discourage him, as long as he did not waste time.
“Tell your men to evacuate the fort,” he said curtly.
Tosutigus had hoped for a more encouraging response than this, but he signalled to those on the wall to descend.
“Are there any Druids here?” the Roman next demanded.
“There was one. I sent him away,” Tosutigus replied truthfully.
Vespasian looked at the landscape around him. He had no interest in Sarum, in Tosutigus or his dune. He had come inland because he had heard reports that there was a temple on the high ground which might be a cult centre of those cursed Druids. Since he intended to wipe the island priests out, he had decided to make a detour to see for himself, before continuing west to deal with the main strongholds of the Durotriges.
“Where is the stone temple?”
“To the north. A short ride,” Tosutigus answered. “It is deserted,” he added.
“Take me there,” Vespasian ordered.
The short journey that the little party made – for Vespasian took with him only Tosutigus and the two outriders – decided the young chief’s fate. By the time they set out from the dune, the Celt had already discovered the hard-faced Roman’s identity, and he was eager to impress him.
Tosutigus rode his finest horse, a chestnut. He was proud of his horses: they were not large, but sturdy animals with broad heads who did well on the wild terrain of the island. To Vespasian, who had seen the fleetest and most elegant horses that Persia or Africa could send to Rome, they seemed clumsy, heavy-boned creatures; but Tosutigus could not know this. Following the old custom of his people he had mixed the leaves of the she-yew tree with the horse’s bait to make his coat shine; and mounted on this fine animal, with bridle and bit decorated in gold, he cut a splendid figure. Beside him the Roman rode on a quiet grey; the animal was stolid, and the commander wore no ornaments, but the hilt of his short sword tapped against his bronze breastplate as they went along.
A damp breeze had blown up and grey clouds were now passing over the landscape. The flocks of small brown sheep, most of which it had not been possible to bring within the dune, were grazing untended on the chalk ridges. On the slopes, the patchworks of little cornfields were empty, and the few farmsteads the riders passed, with their round thatched buildings and wattle enclosures were silent.
But deserted as the scene was, Tosutigus gazed round the rolling landscape with pride.
“It’s good country,” he remarked.
Vespasian nodded thoughtfully. It was, and he had already decided how he could use this rich and empty land.
“This place is yours?