Sarum (48 page)

Read Sarum Online

Authors: Edward Rutherfurd

BOOK: Sarum
4.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
 
One of the first things that Porteus had noticed after his arrival on the island was the sheep. Most of the sheep of Britain at that time were of the ancient soay type: small, agile, hardy animals with short tails, well suited to life on even the most uninviting terrain in the far noth. Their fleece was not coarse, though nothing like the silky quality of the finest Roman wool, but it was coloured brown, and to Roman eyes it seemed primitive and unattractive.
“We can do much better than this,” he told Tosutigus. “There are finer fleeces all over the empire.” And he described the magnificent red wool that came from Asia and the region of Beatica, the pure black wool of the province of Iberia. “But the finest of all,” he said, “is the wool from southern Italy: for that is pure white, and so soft it seems to melt in your hand.”
“Do you want to get rid of our flocks?” Tosutigus asked in dismay.
“No. We shall cross them,” Porteus explained.
Although not trained as a sheep farmer, Porteus had read the works of the great writer Varro on the subject, and had some ideas of his own. It was not long before he had made arrangements to import half a dozen of the finest sheep from Italy, and within months he received letters from the merchants to tell him that they were on their way.
The arrival of the six Italian sheep at Sarum caused a stir. They were brought to the dune one afternoon in a covered cart, and a gaggle of twenty men and women, including both Numex and Balba gathered round to watch Porteus and the chief unload them.
“Now,” Porteus promised his father-in-law, “you will see something remarkable.” And he drew back the flap of the cart and led the first sheep out. It came down the ramp unsteadily and stood before them.
When the crowd saw the sheep there was a roar of laughter, and Tosutigus went red from embarrassment. For the sheep was wearing a jacket which completely covered its body.
“It’s bald!” they cried. “The Roman sheep is bald. It has to wear a coat!” And men and women alike hooted at the animal which stood silently blinking at them. By now Tosutigus was crimson; but Porteus was unperturbed.
“They all wear these jackets – they’re called
pellitae
,” he explained patiently. “It protects their wool.” Calmly he undid the leather straps that held the jacket, and removed it. And now the laughter ceased.
For the sheep that was revealed was anything but bald: it had a fleece longer and more magnificent than they had ever seen before – it was so long that it trailed to the ground. It gleamed softly. And it was as white as snow.
The laughs turned to a murmur of surprise.
Some of the women moved forward to touch it, and when they did so they gasped at the delicate texture. One by one, Porteus now led the sheep out, taking off the
pellitae
and revealing the shining white fleece underneath, while the crowd, their respect now restored, watched in wonder.
But Tosutigus was puzzled.
“They’re all ewes,” he complained. “How will you breed without a ram?”
“We don’t need a ram,” the Roman answered. “The only rams we need are already here.”
He was right.
In the coming years Porteus demonstrated the Roman skill in sheep-breeding by his skilful crossing with the soay stock. First he let the native rams breed with the Roman ewes. The results of this cross were mixed in colour, but their wool was coarse, and seeing these indifferent results, Tosutigus shook his head.
“I told you we needed rams,” he said.
But Porteus was patient.
“It’s the second cross that does the trick,” he explained.
And so it proved. For when he selected the white rams from his first crossing, and crossed them again with the Roman ewes, the results were excellent: all the sheep had fine fleeces – a little coarser than the pure Roman but perfectly adapted for the climate at Sarum – and all were pure white. And when the people of Sarum saw what he had done, they treated Porteus with a new respect.
“The Roman is a fine farmer,” they said.
Not only did Porteus improve the stock, but he also changed the way in which the wool was gathered.
“You pluck the sheep when their new wool grows in the spring,” he told Tosutigus. “But then the sheep moult again in the autumn and much of that wool is lost. Plucking is slow and inefficient.” He showed the chief some metal shears. “In future we’ll use these and we can double what we collect.” He also made the men comb the wool with iron combs to separate the long fibres from the short.
Before long, Porteus’s flocks of white sheep were to be seen all over the high ground beside the brown soay stock. They were hardy, agile, and wore no
pellita
. But they were producing huge quantities of high grade white wool which sold well, and Tosutigus was able to say to his daughter:
“Our Roman has not only brought us his customs – he is even making us rich.”
By the time that he had been married five years, Porteus could look around him with some satisfaction and feel that perhaps after all, he had made something of his life. Maeve had given him three children: two boys and a baby girl. The two boys would be given a Roman education: when they were a little older he would engage a tutor for them. The estate was flourishing. Indeed he had been so busy with his improvements that he had not even mentioned the subject of a move from Sorviodunum to the procurator’s office; and though his parents had now lost almost all the estates in South Gaul as a result of the lawsuit, he had been able to send them sufficient money to keep them in modest comfort. Life, all things considered, had treated him well.
One change in his daily routine he had not foreseen. This was the change in Maeve.
She had been surprised herself. When her first pregnancy had begun she had lain beside him at night while waves of nausea swept over her. She longed for the business of childbearing to be completed so that she could return to her free and easy life with her lover. But when the nausea left her and she became conscious of the warm little ball of life growing inside her, she became fascinated by it. This was a new adventure: it was taking place within herself. It was, she thought, even more exciting than the arrival of Porteus had been.
The business became even more absorbing; when the child was born, she could not take her eyes off it. She would sit for hours, staring at it in wonder; and in the months that followed her whole attention became focused on her baby to the exclusion of almost everything else. She never rode now. When she made love to her husband, it was no longer with passionate abandon, but with a warm contentment; and not many months had passed before, to her surprise, she began to look forward to having another child.
At first Porteus was pleased with this change. “My wife is growing into a woman,” he thought with pride. But as two more children followed, he found that Maeve’s attention had turned from him almost completely. There was always a child to attend to when he was in the house; his wife’s smile for him was warm, but her eyes were focused elsewhere.
Indeed, although she never formulated the thought, it sometimes seemed to Maeve that the strange young Roman who had given her her children and who still spoke of going to Rome, was almost an intrusion into her new life. How could he fail to see the absorbing wonder of their children? Why did he sometimes turn away from her impatiently? And yet she loved him: she was sure she did: for was he not building up a fine estate for their family? Of course she loved him. She needed him.
If at times Porteus felt angry that his wife’s passion for him had disappeared, he told himself that it was for the best. He had no time for it, now that he had so much he wished to do.
And when, on those occasions that she remembered to show him her affection, Maeve would come to him in the evening, stand beside him and ask: “Are you still in such a hurry to go to Rome?” it seemed to him that he was not.
 
The visit of Marcus and Lydia to Sorviodunum took place in the summer of 67.
As he waited by the dune with Tosutigus and Maeve, Porteus’s emotions were mixed. Why had he invited them to visit him? Good manners, he told himself. How, after receiving a letter from Marcus to let him know that they were visiting the province, could he have done otherwise?
And now, after so much had happened, he was to see her again. For two days, elaborate preparations had been made for their reception at the villa. Every room was spotless; outside, even the track that curved down to the house had been freshly surfaced with gravel. Several times he had found himself snapping at Maeve or his children, unable to conceal his agitation as the time drew close; and on the morning of their arrival he had stood in front of the polished bronze mirror in his room and wondered: What will they think of me? Have I become a provincial? And more important still: Am I still in love with her? He did not know.
Maeve was apprehensive too. Although Porteus had never spoken to her of Graccus or Lydia, she had long ago learned the whole story from her father. As they waited now by the roadside, she gave a little shiver, which she hoped Porteus did not notice. She was not sure why she was afraid of Lydia. It was not of the Roman girl’s beauty, for she was confident enough of her own. No, she thought, it was because the visitors were Roman, part of that other world that might make Porteus want to leave her. And she did not know what to do about it.
Only Tosutigus was completely happy. Dressed in his finest toga, he chuckled as the time approached. “The senator’s daughter will stay at our villa,” he announced to anyone with whom he came in contact. He was delighted to have such important Romans as his guests and secretly proud that his own son-in-law should once have been considered worthy to be betrothed to Graccus’s daughter.
Although none of the party waiting knew it, their visitors had hesitated some time before writing to Porteus. Marcus had been given an important post in Africa, a political appointment which marked him out clearly as a candidate for the highest offices. Before going there, he was fulfilling a long-standing promise to show Lydia the northern province she had heard so much about. Both of them had wondered what to do about Porteus.
“He’s still stuck there in some backwater, married to a native girl. His family in Gaul lost everything I believe. He might not want to see us,” Marcus had sensibly suggested.
But Lydia pointed out: “He’ll be more hurt if he discovers that we were in the province and never tried to see him.” And so now they were travelling to Sorviodunum; but as they came down the long road, it was Lydia who murmured: “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”
They travelled in a light-wheeled covered carriage with two outriders, that pulled up smartly in front of the little party by the dune; and the wheels had scarcely ceased to turn when Marcus sprang from it with a shout of welcome and seized Porteus firmly by the arm.
“Hail and well met, my dear old friend!” he cried, as though they were two commanders who had never known defeat; and to the chief, and to Maeve, he made respectful bows that would have been appropriate for the family of Graccus himself.
He had not changed. He had grown, perhaps, a little more thickset; his broad, handsome face with its widely spaced eyes had acquired a few more lines: but they gave him a look of success and authority that Porteus had to admit suited him well. His black hair was somewhat thinner in the front and it was now easy to see exactly what he would look like in middle age – not a bad thing for a man who plans to achieve high office early. He exuded the power that belongs to a man with sponsors in high authority, and Tosutigus stared at him in admiration.
But it was to the carriage that Porteus’s eyes had turned, as Lydia stepped out.
She had changed, and yet she was everything he had expected, all that he had ever imagined she would become.
The child’s face and body had lost their last traces of puppy fat, and their softness had been replaced by the firm, full lines of an elegant Roman woman. As she stepped down, he was aware of her cool, strong, rounded form – the almost athletic body that he had caught a glimpse of in her father’s garden by the fountain; and he was also aware that the simple grace of the girl with her classically perfect body had now acquired a subtle poise, a way of holding herself that was both alluring and yet untouchable, and which belonged only to the most elegant circles in the imperial city. Her hair was swept up lightly and piled on her head in the manner then fashionable in Rome. As she came towards him, he smelt the subtle scents with which the Roman women perfumed themselves, and realised that he had even forgotten what those scents were like. Her olive skin was flawless, and seemed to glow: obviously life with Marcus agreed with her. The senator’s childish daughter who had laughed at his adolescent jokes and admired his student epigrams had turned, in the space of a few years, into a sophisticated Roman woman. It was to be expected: but it still left him speechless for a moment.
She stood in front of him, smiled gently to see that she was still attractive to him, and said softly:
“Greetings, my Porteus.”
Maeve watched her with fascination. She saw at once that this girl came from another world: a world she could never enter, never even understand. So this was the Rome her husband hankered after. As they led the carriage towards the little villa, she whispered to Porteus:

Other books

DARKSIDE OF THE MOON by Jodi Vaughn
Among the Barons by Margaret Peterson Haddix
Towering by Flinn, Alex
Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 by A Pride of Princes (v1.0)
Always Mine by Sophia Johnson
I Want My MTV by Craig Marks