Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [177]
Then she sighed. The question was, how could she break it to Constantius without destroying his dignity?
As usual, Numincus had read her thoughts.
“Someone must take action.” He said it softly, but firmly. “It’s better to act than to argue.”
She nodded. She was glad of his support and it was comforting.
She smiled at him. Within the limits prescribed between mistress and servant, she tried to return to the strange little fellow some of the affection he so richly deserved.
Then they both turned, as they heard Petrus coming.
Constantius Porteus was at prayer.
Since the incident the day before, too ashamed to approach his wife and son, he had spent his time alone. He had drunk nothing, so for once his mind was clear.
And he had been busy: busy making the plans that he should have made long ago for defending the villa. That Petrus had gone to Venta he had no idea. He would begin, he had decided, by arming Numincus and some of the men.
The room in which he was kneeling was remarkable. It stood at the north eastern corner of the villa and was almost bare of furniture; but it did not appear empty because it seemed to be completely filled by a huge and remarkable mosaic on the floor. It was unlike any other mosaic in the house. On a background of solid green, and presented frontally, stood a single figure in a white robe; his arms were outstretched in the attitude of prayer the Romans called orante; his large, pale face was round and clean shaven; under black brows, as regular and heavy as the arches of a bridge, two huge eyes stared straight ahead, apparently fixed on some landscape beyond this world. In the figure’s raised hand was the Chi-Rho symbol: (??? check m/s symbol p.371)P; which signified that this staring man represented Christ. Where the Orpheus mosaic had been wistful and decorative, every line of this one was bold, striking and insistent.
Constantius prayed.
“Paternoster, qui es in coeli: Our Father, which art in heaven,” he murmured. “The emperor has turned his face from us, but surely you will not desert your servants.”
Besides the mosaic, there was another strange feature of the room. On the wall immediately opposite him, painted on the plaster in red, was a curious arrangement of five Latin words:
ROTAS
OPERA
TENET
AREPO
SATOR
By themselves the words had no particular significance, except that an observant reader might notice that they formed a palindrome, for they could be read the same way back to front. But to every Christian at that date they had a well known significance, dating back to the time before the Emperor Constantine in the last century when Christians had been persecuted for their faith. For the secret of the five words was that they could be arranged to read:
When this arrangement was completed, two letters remained unused: a and o, which stood for Alpha and Omega, the Greek biblical description of God. It was this ancient rubric that had for several generations served as a kind of altar before which the Christian family of Porteus had prayed.
He had been at prayer some time when he was suddenly aware that he was not alone. In the doorway stood his wife, Numincus and the boy. There was a red mark across Placidia’s face that made him blush. It was Petrus who spoke.
“The Germans are here. They’ve camped at the dune and I’ve hired them for a year.”
Constantius felt his face grow cold and pale. He stared at them, bemused. And then he found that he was trembling.
Petrus was gazing at him steadily.
His anger rose. It was an outrage: the blinding fury of the day before was mild compared to what he now felt. But today he was sober.
He got up slowly. The disrespect, the contempt of the action cut him to the quick. He saw that they were all watching him: the boy’s eyes were cold; Placidia looked concerned. With a huge effort of self-control, he stood before them and spoke evenly.
“You disobeyed my wishes.” His voice shook a little, but it was very quiet.
“It was necessary, Constantius.” It was Placidia who replied – gently, almost pleading.