Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [97]
“You cannot sacrifice the child.” It was no more than a whisper, but it went straight to the priest’s heart. He was silent. He could not look at the chief.
“The child is all we have,” Krona said softly. It was true. But still Dluc could not answer. Painfully the chief raised himself on his elbow and stared at him intently. “Promise me,” he whispered, “you will not give the child to the gods.”
Dluc almost wept. But he was the High Priest, and he knew what must be done. Had he not sworn to Sun himself, “Never again, never will I doubt”?
“The gods must be obeyed,” he said.
“Save my child, priest!” the chief cried out in agony, before falling back.
Dluc thought of the nineteen girls that he had sacrificed without mercy; now it seemed that the gods had ordained he too should suffer pain. But what did it all mean? He did not know, but he knew what he must say.
“We cannot question the gods,” he replied.
Did he believe that the gods would keep their promise at that moment? Did he, the High Priest, trust them this time?
For a moment he thought Krona would burst out with rage, but then he saw that the chief no longer had the strength. Instead, he did what was harder to bear: he reasoned with him.
Gently, patiently, as a friend, Krona explained to the priest why he must not do this terrible thing. “My firstborn were already given to the gods when my sons were drowned,” he said, “you priests have misunderstood the auguries.” He assailed him with every argument; he told Dluc that he must not destroy Sarum, reminded him of the chaos that would follow if he died without an heir. His reasoning was perfect. But it was useless.
“The gods must be obeyed,” Dluc told him. “We must trust them and they will not desert us.” But Krona only shook his head.
The day wore on and neither the High Priest nor Krona would give way. With an incredible strength of will, he held on to life, sometimes reasoning with the priest, at other times abusing him. Once he even threatened his life. But he knew by then that he was powerless; in this matter no one, not even his servants, would dare to question the will of the High Priest.
It was while they continued this grim argument, that Menona went into labour. She had been shocked by the sight of Krona’s wounds, and that evening, quite suddenly, she began. She was almost a month early. They took her to a small chamber at the back of the house, where two women skilled in childbirth looked after her.
Now Krona became desperate. As the sun set and the tapers were lit, he pleaded with the priest again and again, crying out in agony so great that Dluc feared it would kill him:
“Priest, I am dying. Save my child!”
Dluc wept. He turned his face away because he could not look at Krona. He trembled. But still he held firm. And at last, in the middle of the night, he heard the cry of the newborn child, and strode out of the room.
It was only then, at the end of his last trial, that Dluc came to understand the beauty, the perfect symmetry of the workings of the gods. For the sight that greeted his eyes was so wonderful that it made him cry out for joy.
In their hands the women held not one, but two children that the golden-haired girl had given to Sarum: a boy and a girl. Although premature, both were healthy. Menona was smiling weakly.
“Give me the first born,” the priest severely commanded; and, as he knew they would, they handed him the baby girl. “To the gods, we have promised the first born,” he cried. “And now Sarum has an heir.”
It was the eve of the solstice.
Before the festival of the dedication could be celebrated, there was for the people of Sarum one terrible day that must be gone through.
The family of Nooma the mason rose at dawn, and, looking at each other apprehensively, sat by their hut in the valley.
For on this day, all Sarum knew, the nineteen sacrificial victims were to be chosen; and the people trembled as little parties of priests solemnly went from farm to farm, from the valleys to the harbour, pointing