Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [47]
From the time that he set up his new farm opposite the valley entrance, Krona took care to watch Gwilloc closely and to give him every chance to prove himself as a worthy leader.
Whenever there was a council or discussion of importance, he called him to his side; and frequently he sent him with instructions to act for him in smaller matters. Gwilloc was quick to respond, and since he well understood both communities, his words carried weight. He was a good farmer and the land he had chosen was well-sited. He and his family prospered.
The marks of Krona’s favour were immediately understood by the farmers and since Gwilloc’s reputation was high, no words were raised against him as he quietly but steadily established himself as the old man’s successor.
Each year the old warrior moved about less and he was aware of a stiffening in all his limbs. The great bull neck began to sag, and his powerful form grew thinner: but even near the end, he was still an imposing figure. Whenever the sun was warm, he could still be seen in front of his farm, attended now by several of the younger women to help Liam, and, as ever, watching the swans make their nests on the banks of the river below.
It was in his usual place, on a sunny afternoon in late spring, that Krona quietly and suddenly died. He had reached the considerable age of fifty-four.
The next day a council was held and Gwilloc was immediately chosen as the new chief.
Gwilloc’s first act as chief began a process which was to continue for nearly four thousand years, a process which would alter the landscape of Sarum for all time to come.
“We must honour Krona, who founded this settlement and who kept peace in the place where the five rivers meet,” he announced. “We must not let his greatness be forgotten.”
There was general agreement, but some uncertainty about what to do.
“We should build a pile of stones over his grave,” said one farmer. But several of those present felt this was not enough.
Finally Gwilloc supplied the answer.
“We shall build him a house,” he said, “where his soul may live at peace for ever.”
And so he selected a place on the high ground a few miles north of the valley entrance; it was a deserted spot at the top of a ridge, with a magnificent view over the high ground and the valley below. There, on his orders, the hunters and settlers came, each day, clearing the whole area of trees before they began to build. First they made a small house of wood and placed Krona’s body inside it. Beside him they put his club, the sack of wool on which he used to sit, and they killed one of the swans he liked to watch and placed it there as well.
But next, they did something that had never been done before. First they sealed the wooden tomb; then, using deers’ antlers as picks, on either side of it they dug two enormous parallel ditches in the chalk, a hundred feet long and ten apart, piling the earth in the centre to create a mound. Day after day they continued. The mound grew. Soon it completely covered Krona’s wooden tomb, which lay at its south east end. But still the work went on until the hundred foot mound rose over six feet high along its entire length.
This work took two months of hard labour to complete; when it was done, Gwilloc made them pack the chalk sides and the top of the mound hard. The final result was a long, impressive monument that rose out of the ground like a huge, upturned boat. By day, it struck the eyes with its harsh, white glare; and under the moonlight, it gave off a pale, ghostly glow.
“Now Krona has his house,” Gwilloc said. “Here he lives for ever.”
Both settlers and hunters looked with wonder and delight at the huge earthwork that