Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [81]
When Katesh looked back, she could no longer say exactly when her painful love had begun. Was it on that first day when he had paddled the canoe that took her with her husband to her new home in the valley? She remembered that he had quietly hummed as they went along. Had he looked at her?
But no, she was sure it was not then.
Was it one of the times when she had seen his tall, handsome figure hovering over the little mason as they discussed the building of the henge? Or when once she had seen him throw back his powerful head to laugh, and she had noticed the shape of his mouth, turned up to the sun? Was it one of these times?
She did not think so.
Surely then it was the time when he had sung, after the naming of Noo-ma-ti, when his voice had seemed to caress the circle of people round the fire and when, as Nooma’s head had fallen sleepily on her shoulder, she had found herself looking straight into his eyes, so clear and understanding.
Yet she did not think it was even then, nor when he had rescued her baby in the river.
No, it was that night after the harvest when, though they had hardly looked at each other all evening, she had known that he would come to her.
And since then – it seemed to her that once the process of her passion had begun, nothing in the world could be more beautiful than her pain.
Nooma had been suspicious, that first night. But he had found no trace of Tark in the woods, nor of his canoe in the river; and finally he had decided that, after all, he must have been mistaken.
In the months that followed, as Sarum plunged into gloom after the death of Raka, she had done all she could to make the mason happy and she had been careful to avoid Tark. Several times she went with Nooma to the henge and admired the work as the sarsens continued to rise.
And indeed it was a remarkable sight. For already, a quarter of the arches were up, and the mason moved briskly about in the dust, directing everything.
“My husband is a great man,” she said to him on these occasions, and walked obediently behind him to let the labourers know that the mason was respected by his wife.
The winter passed, and the spring. She looked after her husband and child and even believed for a time that she had forgotten Tark.
The following summer, when Krona had already taken the fourth of his victims, Nooma went to the sarsen site and stayed there for two months.
When Tark came up the path, she thought of hiding; but instead she gathered her courage, stepped forward and greeted him politely. He was respectful.
“I bring a message from Nooma. He will be at the site for another month. There is much work.”
She nodded. With Krona’s rages and the anxiousness of the priests, Nooma was especially careful to see that no criticisms could be made of his work on the henge.
“I thank you, Tark,” she replied correctly. And as custom required, she offered him food and drink.
Sensing her thoughts, Tark sat at a distance from her, and spoke generally of the henge, of events at the harbour, and of the rumours about Krona and his wives.
Cleverly he interested her so that gradually she forgot her reserve. She had been left alone for a long time and she began to ply him with questions: What did the merchants say about Sarum? Were the priests satisfied with the work on the henge?
For a long time they spoke, and his answers to her questions fascinated her; the shadows were already lengthening when he rose to go.
Two days later he came again. This time she was less reserved.
Two days after that, just after dusk had fallen, she heard the faint sound of his paddle in the river below, and knew that he would come to her.
Even then, after they had kissed passionately and moved inside, she paused. The reproachful figure of the mason rose up before her eyes. If she did this thing, how she would hurt him; and what terrible punishment would the gods visit upon her?
She trembled, turning her face away from Tark, not daring to look at him. But now, having got so far, she realised that she