Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [169]
He opened his mouth to shout, but his brain refused to supply the right word. Then he remembered the harness. With a huge effort, he lunged towards his son, and swung it at him with all his force . . .
There was a loud crack as the leather made contact, followed by a gasp; at the same time he stumbled, almost falling on his knees. His face broke into a foolish grin. That had taught the boy a lesson!
His eyes were clearing. He stared at them in triumph.
Then he frowned.
Something was wrong. The boy was hurling himself towards him – but not from where he should have been – and his eyes were blazing not with hurt but with anger. Numincus’s face was red, his body was shaking, and his stubby hands were clenching and unclenching with fury; and Placidia his grey-haired wife was standing quite still with a huge red mark across her face. There was blood already starting to drip from her mouth.
How had he missed?
Petrus was almost upon him, fists raised to strike. Automatically he raised his arm to shield himself. His face winced, anticipating the falling blows.
“Stop!” Her voice was firm and commanding. Despite the searing pain, she felt a little flush of pride at her self-control.
There was a second’s pause. Constantius was still braced to receive the blows. He heard a cry of anguish from his son. What was happening?
Placidia’s voice again cut through the silence.
“Petrus. Leave us.”
“But look what he has done . . .” the young man protested furiously.
Mother and son faced each other. As Petrus looked at his mother’s face, all the rage and frustration of the last few months seemed to come together in his mind. Was his drunken father going to destroy her too? He felt a wave of compassion for her; he wanted to strike his father down.
Placidia saw it all, and knew that now, more than ever, she must uphold the last shreds of Constantius’s authority.
“Your father and I wish to be alone. Leave, Petrus.” He did not move. “At once.”
At moments of crisis her authority was still complete. Unwillingly, Petrus started to go.
“Numincus, tell my maid I need warm water. Go,” she added sharply, as the steward, too, seemed to hesitate.
They were alone. The shock of seeing his wife’s bleeding face had abruptly sobered Constantius. He felt his body sag with shame. He opened his mouth to speak, trying in his confused state to formulate some apology, but she cut him short.
“Your son is right,” she said quietly. “You must do something. Now leave me.”
He tried to make out the expression in her eyes. Did she feel nothing but contempt for him now? Was she rejecting him? He could not tell. She was staring past him, her face as rigid as a statue.
Humiliated, he moved slowly away through the house.
Yes, he thought, he must do something.
Left by herself, Placidia still did not give in to tears, she longed to weep. But she wondered for how long this situation could go on.
Petrus, meanwhile, was preparing to leave the house.
The situation at Sarum was grave: there had been nothing like it in four centuries: forif the latest reports were right, the threatened invasion of barbarians might come at any time and destroy Sarum, the villa and the family. If the invaders came now there would be no Roman troops to oppose them, not even a local militia; and, worse for his conscience, Constantius had made no preparations to defend the place.
It was twenty years now since the legions had left the island. Each year he had been confident that things would get better, and that they would return. “Have faith,” he told Placidia and his son. He could see them in his mind’s eye – Christian legionaries marching to the aid of the Roman family at Sarum. But they never came.
Constantius Porteus was not only proud of being a Roman gentleman; he was also, like many of the landholding decurion class, a Christian too. For since the conversion of the great Emperor Constantine a hundred years before, the once despised and persecuted Christian sect had become