Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [52]
They carried him at a smooth, rapid run and the seven miles over the high ground to the place where the five rivers met was soon covered. For this was the heart of Sarum and the residence of the great chief Krona.
Since time out of mind, the family of the chief had ruled at Sarum. Claiming direct descent from the legendary Krona the Warrior whose long barrow on the high ground was still venerated, a list of no less than eighty generations of the family had been ceremoniously recited by the priests when the last chief’s reign had been inaugurated. To emphasise the continuity of their rule, each chief took the same name – Krona – on his succession, and the office of High Priest was usually also occupied by some other member of the family. This was the case now, for Dluc was the chief’s half brother.
When Dluc arrived, the moon was still high, bathing the place in light. It was a fine sight, calculated to impress. The tops of the horseshoe of ridges overlooking the bowl of land had been scraped bare and along them stretched a line of palisades, manned by Krona’s guards. As the visitor approaching along the river looked upward, this was the skyline that greeted him, a bleak reminder that at Sarum the power of the chief was absolute. In the centre of the horseshoe, on the summit of the hill that guarded the valley entrance, stood his house: a large wooden structure daubed white and surrounded by an outer wall which was coloured red. It stared out impassively over the tops of the trees below. Inside the wall was a series of courtyards and store houses, as well as the quarters of Krona himself.
In the valley below the hill was a small trading post through which all the goods that passed along the five rivers or down to the harbour in the south must pass: for trade, like every other activity at Sarum, was regulated by the chief.
As he looked out at this scene, Dluc’s gaunt face softened into a half smile. “Sarum the fortunate,” he murmured to himself, remembering better times.
The five rivers had always been the centre of Sarum’s power; but now the powerful Krona’s rule extended over large tracts of land in all directions. To the south, he controlled the river all the way to the harbour; to the north, all the sacred grounds and beyond; to east and west his rule extended for nearly twenty miles. No territory on the island was richer or better placed. The traders from the north brought marvellous axes of polished stone; from the east fine pottery; gold, intricately worked, came from the magician artisans of Ireland; amber, jet, pearls and all manner of wonders came through the harbour from distant lands. The people were rich: the brown sheep grazed for a day’s journey along the ridges. Fields of wheat, flax and barley covered the slopes; the valleys were full of cattle and pigs. In the woods, trappers found pelts to sell downriver and Krona hunted his deer and his wild boar.
There were nearly three thousand souls in this territory, which had never been conquered. And for generations, all over the island it had been said:
“No chief is greater than Krona; no family more noble than his, which rules over Sarum the fortunate.”
Sarum the fortunate. Was it still blessed? Would the gods still smile upon it? These were the questions that now occupied Dluc’s mind as he was carried into the house on the hill.
Three torches on wooden tripods were burning in the little enclosure in front of the chiefs quarters. On the wall, on the thatched roof, over the door, hung scores of antlers, horns and boars’ heads, the trophies of Krona’s many hunting expeditions – for the magnificent hunts and lavish entertainments of the chief had been renowned far across the islands, until recently.
Without hesitation, the tall priest swept in through the doorway.
Inside, the wax tapers were lit. A servant stood trembling by the entrance, and fell to the ground as soon as he saw Dluc appear.
“Where is Krona?” the priest demanded.
“In the inner room.”
He