The covenant - James A. Michener [222]
At Old Sarum, in the first decade of the 1800s, an election was held for members of the new Parliament that would soon be convening, and the Proprietor rode out to the site in his carriage from Salisbury Town, while his factor, Josiah Saltwood, forty-nine years old, accompanied him on horseback. They started from the south side of River Avon, crossed the stone bridge five centuries old, passed the marvelous cathedral with its tall, clean tower, and made their way through the cluster of inns from which the stagecoaches departed for London. As they left the North Gate they entered the lovely rolling hills that led to Old Sarum, and after a pleasant rural passage, came to the south side of the rise on which the ancient ruins stood.
They did not climb that hill, but stopped at an elm tree whose spreading branches created a kind of shady amphitheater. Stepping carefully from his carriage, the Proprietor, an old man with white hair and kindly blue eyes, looked about him and said, 'Rarely have we known a finer voting day, eh, Josiah?'
'It was thoughtful of the old Parliament to end when it did,' the factor agreed.
'I can remember storms,' the old man said, recalling voting days when rain dripped from the elm. 'But our work never takes long, be praised.'
The coachman led his horses some distance from the tree, and after another servant placed a collapsible table on cleared ground, steadying the legs with twigs, the Proprietor unfolded a set of legal papers.
'I trust you find everything in readiness,' Saltwood said.
'Seems to be,' the old man said. He wore white side whiskers and showed a military bearing, for he had served his nation in many capacities abroad. It was curious that he had never elected to take one of his Parliament seats for himself; always he had picked other men who showed promise of good judgment, as had his father before him, so that whereas Old Sarum was indeed a rotten borough and an offense to reason, it had sent to London a succession of notable politicians, most of whom had never set foot in Old Sarum or even Salisbury. Indeed, none had ever lived within fifty miles of the dead town, but they had accepted the nomination as their right and had performed well. William Pitt the Elder, one of the outstanding English statesmen of the previous century, had been able to function as independently as he did only because he was sent to Parliament from Old Sarum, whose invisible electors he did not have to appease.
'Who's it to be this time?' Saltwood asked.
'A surprise, and not a surprise,' the Proprietor said, taking from his pocket a private memorandum. 'Dear old Sir Charles is to keep his seat, of course. He never speaks in the House, proposes no bills and might as well stay at home, but he's never done any harm, either, and many of us deem him the best member in recent history.'
The name was properly entered in the report of the election that Salt-wood would forward to London. 'It's with the second name we get our surprise,' the Proprietor said, thrusting the paper at his factor. 'See for yourself.'
And there it was, in second position in the memorandum: 'Josiah Salt-wood.'
'Me, sir?'
'You've a better head than most, Josiah, and I wish to reward it.'
The factor gasped. A seat like this, from one of the rotten boroughs, could cost an aspiring politician as much as a thousand pounds, and it might have to be paid anew periodically, but considering the money a clever man could come by if he held a seat, the cost was minimal. To have such a boon handed to one was only to be dreamed of, and here came a gift he had not even solicited.
'You're the man for the job,' the Proprietor said. 'But I want you to take it seriously. During the first four years it'll be better if you say nothing. Just listen and vote as I instruct, and after four or five years, you might begin to do things.