Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [57]
As he saw his two sons caught in that terrible storm, even great Krona trembled.
“Save us brother,” he cried urgently to the priest. “Speak with the gods.”
In a loud voice Dluc cried out the ritual prayers to the sea god. He took gold dust from a little pouch on his belt and hurled it towards the water. But the prayers, and the gold dust, were thrown back in his face by the wind.
For some reason, the storm struck only the sea. In front of the hill were roaring waters and blinding rain; yet behind it in the harbour, the surface was ruffled only by tiny waves no bigger than a man’s hand. It was a strange sight.
The canoes never reached the shore. That terrible day, as the stout merchant ship continued on its way towards the west, Krona lost both his sons. Their bodies were found, many days later, far along the shore. Dluc buried them at Sarum.
For the first time in her history, Sarum was without an heir. Krona had no other brothers: of the entire family at present, only the chief and the High Priest were living, and Dluc as a priest had vowed never to know woman.
The peace that Sarum had known for generations came from the fact that the family were strong and known to be favoured by the gods. No other chief on the island, however jealous he might be of Sarum’s wealth, would be likely to attack the guardians of the sacred grounds. But without the family of Krona to rule with a firm hand, it might be a very different story. The territory would dissolve into chaos.
From that day, a cloud of sadness settled over Krona’s spirit and over the place where the five rivers met; all over the island it was said:
“The gods have turned their faces from Sarum the fortunate: even sun himself no longer loves the guardians of Stonehenge.”
And indeed, when the following month there was an eclipse of the sun, Krona turned to the High Priest and said:
“I think we are doomed.”
The physical change in Krona had begun then. His jet black hair began to turn grey, his tall, proud body to stoop; his piercing eyes seemed to be glazed over and he would spend long days alone in his house, occasionally summoning Dluc to ask him:
“Do you believe that the gods have cursed me and our family?”
To this question Dluc had no definite answer.
“It is clear that the gods have punished us,” he said, “but we must discover what it is that they want us to do.”
“Discover quickly,” Krona replied. “If I die and the house of Krona ends . . .”
There was no need to say more. Each day Dluc made sacrifices and prayed to the gods at the temple, so far with no result. But both he and the chief knew only too well the most urgent need: Krona must have new heirs.
It was many years since faithful Ina had given her husband his two fine sons. Dluc had watched the effect upon her of their loss.
Always quiet, always dignified: when her two sons had triumphed in the chase, they had stood tall and proud before their father and she, though she smiled her approval, seldom said a word; but if in some way they had failed, it was to Ina they would come, avoiding Krona if they could, and then, though she suffered with them, she was wise and never showed it. Always she was the same – the quiet centre of the family; and if the chief and she had left behind the early days of their passion, Krona would still turn to her with affection and say: “Come to me now, mother of my sons.”
Now they were gone. What was left? The searing pain she had borne, as washer way, in silence. And strangely, though she knew that his love for her was bound up in their sons, the loss of them had awakened in her a renewed passion – not to restore their family, for that she knew she could never do now, but to heal with her love the stricken, wounded man she saw before her.
She had tried. She had failed.