Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [66]
It was at this time that the mason made a remarkable discovery. In order to make sure that he had fully understood the priests’ designs, he had made for himself a little wooden model of the new henge. It was a fine piece of work, every measurement precisely to scale, and when the priests saw it, they nodded their approval: this was exactly the temple they wanted. But although the priests were satisfied, Nooma was not. Something about the model – he could not at first say what it was – displeased him; and for several days he studied it until he thought he understood the cause.
What he did next made Katesh wonder if he had lost his mind, and delighted the children from the neighbouring farms. Each night now, before retiring to bed, by the light of a taper, he would fashion curious little wooden arches, even tiny henges a few inches high, each one with a subtly different shape; then, at sunrise and sunset he would place these little structures on the turf and lie on the ground, watching them intently as the light caught them.
“Look, Nooma is playing his game again,” the children would cry. And they would fall on him, ruffle his hair and often knock over the tiny henges and arches until the place looked like a battleground.
“They aren’t even straight, your arches,” Katesh remarked.
But the little mason good-naturedly shook the children off, set up his models again, and resumed his intense observation.
When, after nearly a month of this strange behaviour, he was finally satisfied, Nooma gathered up the original model of the henge together with several of his curious arches, and took them to the priests.
“The new henge is badly designed,” he told them bluntly. “It won’t look right.” To their surprise he placed his models on the ground and explained “See how the light catches the uprights where they join the lintels. Although they are straight, they appear to get closer together towards the top. The building looks top-heavy.” Then he showed them the little arches he had made. “You see – I have tapered the uprights towards the top, and the effect is lighter. The columns seem to be straighter; even though they are not.” To strengthen his point, he showed them a drawing. “This is how it should be.”
And when the priests looked, it was undeniably so.
What Nooma had observed was the phenomenon, well known to the Greeks, of entasis – the bending of pillars; and to this day it can be seen that the upright sarsens of Stonehenge are tapered towards the top, a sophistication unknown in any other prehistoric building in northern Europe.
It was in the spring of the next year that Katesh told Nooma that she was pregnant. His face lit up with a grin.
“When will the baby come?” he asked eagerly.
“At the start of winter,” she said. “Around the feast of Winter Day, I think.” She was glad at least to make her little husband happy.
“It will be a boy,” he said. “A fine mason.”
And swelling with pride, the mason gave a sheep to the priests for sacrifice, to ensure the blessing of the gods on his first child.
In the following months, he went about his work with a light heart; in the evenings he would sit for hours contentedly in his hut and look with pride and admiration at the swelling body of his young wife.
As autumn came and winter approached, and Nooma became daily more excited by the obvious approach of his child, his spirit of optimism was in stark contrast to the prevailing mood at Sarum.
For no word had been heard from Omnic.
As the months passed, Krona asked, with growing insistence:
“Where is my bride?”
Though the High Priest constantly assured him: “The gods will provide her. Be patient,” he himself was beginning to be concerned.
“Perhaps Omnic has drowned. We should find another,” Krona suggested gloomily. And Dluc had to admit to himself that the chief might be right. The cloud