Sarum

by Edward Rutherfurd

  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:

  “Are there many women like that in Rome?”

  And Porteus, not wanting her to think he considered Lydia too highly replied:

  “Yes, many.”

  Maeve nodded thoughtfully, and from that moment decided that they should never, if she could prevent it, go there. She had also noticed the delicate and careful way in which the Roman girl held herself.

  “Can she ride?”

  Porteus grinned.

  “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  “I ride,” Maeve said firmly, and she tossed her magnificent hair.

  It was as the party came down the lane towards the villa that they hurt him. They did not mean to. He had pulled his horse over to the carriage and was bending down to pull aside the curtain so that he could speak to them, when he heard Lydia, who could not see him, exclaim softly:

  “Look – oh Marcus look. That hovel: it’s where he lives!”

  And he heard Marcus whisper:

  “We shouldn’t have come. Praise everything and keep smiling.”

  Slowly he straightened up in the saddle. They had no idea he had heard them. As he gazed down at the little villa he had built he saw it, for the first time in years, for exactly what it was: a poor, pathetic little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, and for a moment, all his conflicting emotions in seeing these friends from his past seemed to dissolve into embarrassment and shame.

  At the house the children were brought forward to meet them, and the two boys said a few words of greeting in Latin that did them credit.

  “We have two sons back in Rome,” Marcus said. “But I haven’t managed to teach them to speak as prettily as yours, Porteus.”

  Then that afternoon Porteus showed them round the place; and if he did so without enthusiasm, it was more than made up for by the voluble commentary of Tosutigus, who was anxious to show them his son-in-law’s brilliant improvements even to the plaster on the walls. Marcus at once spotted the white sheep and asked him intelligent questions about how he had crossed them, as well as providing up to date information on the most recent innovations in land drainage. His enthusiasm seemed to be genuine, and Porteus was grateful for it. But he could not help noticing that when Marcus grinned, it was for just a little too long, and when he exclaimed: “Why, young Porteus, you’ve landed on your feet after all and got yourself a fine estate!” he could only feel that the Roman was looking for a compliment to pay.

  The meal that night, prepared by Maeve and her women, would have been hard to surpass even in Rome and Porteus felt some of his pride return.

  “Your Maeve . . .” Lydia had some trouble in pronouncing the name, “puts our own poor meals to shame. I can see why you chose her, my Porteus.” Into this last sentence she managed to convey a trace of sadness, as if it were he who had deserted her, rather than the other way round.

  She tried, also, to talk to Maeve; but after she had complimented her on the meal the conversation became strained. She spoke a little of Rome, but Maeve, while smiling politely, showed no interest; and when the talk turned to the affairs of other provinces, it became clear that the native girl had only the vaguest conception of the shape of the empire, let alone its individual parts. But Tosutigus was in his element, plying both his guests with questions about affairs of state, the doings of the Emperor Nero and the politics of Rome late into the night, until finally Porteus, with a laugh, declared to the grateful couple that it was time that his visitors were allowed to get some sleep.

  “You must visit us again,” Tosutigus urged them as they retired, “and we shall visit you when we come to Rome.”

  When Marcus and Lydia left in the morning, the whole party went together to the dune.

  “Farewell, my Porteus,” Lydia said with a sweet smile. “I am glad to see you so happy.”

  And then Marcus took his arm and said cheerfully: “Glad to see you’re getting rich in your province, my dear friend. The gods be with you.” But as he said it and turned away to his carriage, Porteus saw that faint but unmistakable look of embarrassment which the successful man can never perfectly hide from a friend who has fallen into another sphere.

  As the little carriage bowled away down the road. Porteus suddenly realised that he had walked a dozen paces or so after them, leaving Tosutigus and Maeve behind him; and there he stood alone, staring at the little figures receding into the grey horizon. It seemed to him that the road from Sorviodunum was infinitely long. And inside him the small voice spoke and said: you have lost.

  When they had disappeared, he turned slowly back to face the chief, his wife, and the dune.

  In the year 68, great changes were set in motion in the empire, the province of Britannia, and in the household of Porteus at Sorviodunum.

  For in the year 68, the emperor Nero was deposed and died, probably by his own hand. There then followed a period of confusion, known to history as the year of the four emperors, when several claimants, from different parts of the empire, fought for the imperial purple. During this struggle, the province of Britannia under its governor Bolanus remained on the sidelines; the three legions still stationed there all supported one of the candidates, Vitellius, and sent detachments to his army; and though the main body of each legion remained in Britannia, they remained a potential threat which each of the rivals had to take into account. Old Suetonius, now a respected senator in Rome, supported the candidacy of another claimant, Otho; but he was not punished when the Vitellian army defeated him in the battle of Bedriacum in Northern Italy. The victorious Vitellians however made one great mistake. To deter all others from opposing their candidate, they butchered every centurion in Otho’s army. It had exactly the opposite effect. All over the empire, legions heard the news and felt a sense of outrage; and it was not long before other powerful commanders had collected troops and begun to move against them. One of these was the single-minded, hard-faced Vespasian, who was then in command of operations in Palestine where he was suppressing a Jewish revolt. Vitellius summoned more aid from the legions in Britannia. Governor Bolanus hesitated: and before Bolanus made up his mind, Vitellius was defeated and Vespasian took the throne. The remarkable Flavian Dynasty had begun.

  It was an extraordinary series of events. Suddenly it became apparent that Rome was no longer able to impose itself on all its parts: a powerful commander of a relatively unimportant family had placed himself, without great difficulty, upon the imperial throne; and from this day, any provincial governor knew that given the right circumstanc
es, he might do the same.

  The new regime brought several changes to Britannia. On the whole, the legions in the province accepted the new emperor, and the II Augusta were delighted that their former commander had risen unexpectedly to such heights. But the loyalty of the XX Legion was less secure. Vespasian acted quickly. As legate to the XX, he sent the reliable Gnaeus Julius Agricola, who had performed so well on Suetonius’s staff during the Boudiccan revolt. As governor, he replaced Bolanus with Cerialis, who had gallantly if rashly led his troops down from Lindum when Boudicca and her rebels were destroying Camulodunum. These were staunch, loyal soldiers and they were to serve both Vespasian and the province brilliantly.

  They were also known personally to Porteus.

  Tosutigus was delighted with these changes.

  “Cerialis and Agricola – friends with whom you have served. And Vespasian – a man to whom I have spoken myself! This can only be good for us.” And the next day he wrote a fulsome letter to the emperor reminding him of what he called their friendship. Porteus smiled, corrected his grammar, and let him send it. The emperor would be receiving thousands of such letters – it could do no harm.

  But for once, to Porteus’s amazement, the chief’s boundless optimism was not ill-founded.

  The first good news came when a staff officer from the new governor arrived in Sorviodunum and handed Porteus a letter.

  In recognition of your loyal service and the good reports of your work for Procurator Classicianus, you are appointed as the governor’s personal beneficarius to oversee the building of a new baths at the place known as Aquae Sulis.

  “It’s an excellent appointment,” the officer assured him, “and it carries a huge salary. I congratulate you.”

  It was a normal procedure in the Romanisation of a new province like Britannia to encourage the building of theatres, baths and other visible signs of civilisation as soon as possible; and the commencement of the great Roman baths at Aquae Sulis was to prove such a triumphant example of this process that the place which later became known as the city of Bath retained its Roman atmosphere for the rest of its two thousand year history.