Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [146]
Tosutigus greeted him, then motioned him to follow as he led the way to a small thatched house at the side of the enclosure and ushered him in quickly, closing the door behind him.
It was the family shrine. Inside it was dark: the only light coming from a small, high, square open window in the far wall, under the thatch eaves; but as his eyes grew accustomed, Porteus could make out the contents well enough. Opposite him, some twenty feet away, stood a small stone altar, and on it was a wooden figure whom he recognised by its attributes as Nodens the cloudmaker, a Celtic god whom the Romans had easily recognised as being one and the same as their own god Mars. Beside the image of Nodens stood a battered but carefully polished helmet with huge horns. He bowed his head respectfully, to show proper reverence for the family’s gods.
“Nodens protects our family,” Tosutigus stated briefly.
“Each Roman family has its lares and penates,” Porteus answered. “But few families have more revered objects than these,” he indicated the helmet.
“My grandfather’s. He was a great soldier,” the chief replied. “But there is more than this that I wish to show you, Roman.”
To the side of the shrine, Porteus saw that there were two large heavy wooden chests, bound together by thick bands of iron. Tosutigus now moved to the first of these; bending down slowly, he reverently opened the lid and took from it a long, iron sword of the ancient Celtic type, pitted with rust generations ago, but obviously now carefully preserved.
“This is the great sword of my ancestor, Coolin the Warrior,” the Celt said. Porteus nodded gravely. “His bride was Alana, last of the ancient house of Krona, who built the stone temple.” Tosutigus closed the lid of the box heavily. He turned to face Porteus.
“We are not senators in Rome,” he said slowly – and Porteus realised that he must know about Graccus – “but we are as ancient as any family on this island, and not without honour.”
He moved to the other chest. Slowly he opened the lid, and to his amazement Porteus saw that it was full of coins – not bronze sesterces, but the gold aureus and silver denarius. It was full to the brim. With calm deliberation Tosutigus pushed his hand down into the chest until the coins reached his armpit. Then he drew it out again. The chest, Porteus calculated, must contain a considerable fortune – the untaxed income from the estate over twenty years. The chief closed the chest without a word.
“My daughter is a fine-looking girl,” he stated, without looking at the Roman.
“She is beautiful,” Porteus agreed.
“I am looking for a husband who is worthy of her,” Tosutigus said, still staring at the box.
Porteus bowed his head respectfully once again.
Tosutigus said nothing more; it was obvious that the interview was over. Porteus made a few polite expressions about the chief’s family and left.
In the days that followed he thought many times about his situation. He had lost his position; he had lost Lydia; he was being offered a beautiful native bride and a rich estate.
“In my present position, I’d be a fool not to take it,” he acknowledged.
As he lay on his hard mattress and closed his eyes, he conjured up a picture of her, red hair flying, racing over the high ground on her chestnut mare, and he thought: I could do worse.
But then he thought of the warm skies over his family estates in southern Gaul; or of Rome with its noble basilicas, its theatres, its splendour; he compared the magnificent household of Graccus to the farmstead of this local chief, who was in truth little more than a peasant. In the middle of the night, the voice of ambition would remind him: the girl can barely speak Latin. She is beautiful: but there will be other beautiful girls in Gaul, or in Rome. You can still do better than this, Porteus.
“Perhaps,” he mused, “I should return to Gaul – begin my career again.”
While he was in this uncertain state of mind, he avoided