Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [121]
They were his most precious thoughts.
Now however, his dreams were interrupted by a gust of wind from the tent flap and the head of Marcus looking in.
“Writing love letters?” The young aristocrat gave him a friendly grin.
“No. Telling my parents about our victory.”
Marcus nodded.
“Not a pretty business I’m afraid; but necessary I daresay. By the way,” he smiled pleasantly, “you may as well know the governor thinks you handled yourself well at the crossing. Seems to think you might make a soldier yet!”
Porteus could not help blushing with pleasure. This was praise indeed.
“I’m planning to reconnoitre the west of this island tomorrow,” Marcus went on. “Thought you might like to come with me – just in case there’s a little action.”
“Of course.” He did not think he had done anything out of the ordinary during the battle, but there was no mistaking the message that Marcus was giving him: he had been accepted.
Marcus looked down at Porteus. A nice young fellow, he thought: good material. But how in the name of all the gods had he managed to get himself betrothed to the daughter of an important man like Graccus? Perhaps there was something wrong with the girl.
“What’s she like, this paragon of yours, this Lydia?” he enquired.
“I’ll show you,” Porteus replied, glad to have a further chance of impressing his mentor; and proudly he pulled out a miniature that he secreted amongst his papers. Silently he handed the little painting to the aristocrat.
It was no bigger than the palm of a man’s hand, but the work was beautifully done and the likeness excellent. Marcus stared at it in wonder.
“She is beautiful,” he marvelled.
“She is,” Porteus cried enthusiastically. “We’ll be married in two years when I return to Rome and then we shall visit Britannia and if you’re still here, you shall meet her.”
For a moment Marcus felt almost jealous at his young friend’s astonishing good fortune: the girl was exquisite; it would be a brilliant marriage.
“I look forward to it,” he replied thoughtfully. “Until tomorrow then,” he added as he went out.
As soon as he had gone, Porteus began to add a postscript to his letter to let his parents know about the governor’s good opinion of him. Then he sat silently for a period, lost in reflection.
His thoughts were not, this time, of Lydia; nor even of himself. His mind had instead returned to the political matter that had been nagging at him for so long. For young and inexperienced as he still was, Porteus was not a fool, and he had recently been learning important lessons about Roman statecraft – lessons that were affecting him more deeply than he had ever expected. After turning the matter over in his mind for some time, he finally picked up the piece of parchment that he had formerly discarded and wrote the following.
My dear father —
This must of course be between ourselves – do not even speak of it to my mother – but I ask for your wisdom and your advice.
The problems I speak of are many, but they are all caused by the fact that while we expect the islanders to learn our Roman ways, we take no account of their own customs, and they are coming to hate us.
For example: we have built a fine new temple to the imperial cult at Camulodunum in the east and, as usual, a number of native chiefs have been honoured by being made priests. But the temple is so large, its ceremonies so magnificent – and as you know, all these costs are charged to the priests themselves – that the cost of its upkeep is too heavy for them. Instead of inspiring them with love and respect for our emperor, it is only causing them to long for their own, and less expensive Celtic gods!
Another example: we have reversed our policy towards the chiefs. The late divine Claudius, as all the world knows, favoured client kings; but our present emperor hates them and now his procurator here, Decianus Catus who you warned me was a lazy and greedy man, has been