Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [145]
“You Romans say there are four elements,” she said. “Earth, water, air and fire. What are Romans?. Earth?”
“Probably,” he laughed in turn. “And what are you?”
“I am fire, Roman.” She pushed her horse into a rapid canter. “All fire!”
They rode together over the high ground back towards the dune. He was beginning to get the feel of the grey now, to sense the animal’s rhythm. When they reached Sorviodunum again, he dismounted.
“I should like to ride the grey again,” he said.
“You can’t,” she told him gaily.
“Why not?”
“My father bought it to give to my bridegroom. I just let you ride it once.”
For a second he paused.
“And who’s your bridegroom to be?” he asked evenly.
“Who knows?” she replied with a laugh. “Whoever my father chooses.” She turned her horse’s head. “So long as he can ride,” she cried. She caught the grey’s leading rein and cantered away, while Porteus stared after her thoughtfully.
That night was restless. Half awake, half asleep, he lay on his hard mattress and turned over the day’s events in his mind. He thought of Lydia. Which of the four elements was she? She was cool like water, it seemed to him: refreshing, sensuous. And once again he remembered her perfect olive skin. But just before he fell asleep, a vision of flaming red hair rose before him, and the sound of a voice being carried by the breeze: “I am fire, Roman. All fire.”
Two days later a letter arrived from Lydia. It was very short.
My dearest Caius,
I am betrothed to Marcus and by the time this letter reaches you, we shall be married. I think this is for the best, and hope you will agree. I often think of you, and Marcus speaks of you warmly. Perhaps we shall all meet again one day.
Your loving Lydia.
It was the final blow. Yet, as he read the letter with tears in his eyes, he could not blame Lydia, and after a few minutes raging at the treachery of his friend, he had to admit that he had nothing really with which to reproach even Marcus. He had known in his heart that Graccus would never allow him to marry his daughter now, and if he could not have her, it might as well be Marcus, who was a noble fellow, as anyone else. Sadly he sat down and wrote to congratulate them both, adding a separate note to Marcus.
My dear friend,
I know Graccus would never have let me marry Lydia now – so I’m glad that the girl I love has been lucky enough to find one whom I know to be the best of fellows. Speak well of me in Rome.
Caius Porteus.
In the hope that it would drive Lydia out of his thoughts, he worked harder than ever on the estate. And to his own surprise, he began to take pleasure in the work. The land was good; often at the end of a day’s work on the long summer evenings, he would ride slowly over the place, looking at all he had done and at these times it almost seemed to him that the ancient lands of Sarum were his own.
Once or twice on these rides, he had encountered Maeve, and in the evening the two of them had walked their horses quietly over the ridges. He noticed that she had become a little awkward in his presence of late, and there was no repetition of the wild ride they had taken with the grey.
At the edge of Tosutigus’s valley one evening the two of them gazed over the waving fields that seemed almost crimson in the light of the evening sun, and she said softly:
“I think you like this land, Caius Porteus.”
He nodded because at that moment it seemed to be true.
“It’s good land,” she said simply. “Worth having.” And she rode quietly away.
Her message was clear; but if there had been any doubt in his mind, it was resolved shortly before the harvest when Tosutigus asked him to visit his farm one afternoon.
This time the chief was not wearing a toga, but the simple paenulla of the people. He had laid on no special entertainment. When Porteus arrived, the little enclosure at the farmstead was bustling with people: he passed the squat form of Balba, smelling as acrid as ever, sorting bales of newly woven cloth in the door of one of the huts. The men, helped by