Sarum (34 page)
Authors: Edward Rutherfurd
But powerful they were not. Sarum had suffered many vicissitudes in the intervening centuries and by the time of Tosutigus’s father it was little more than a backwater, a small settlement which the chance of history had left stranded, maintaining a precarious independence between the territories of several powerful tribes.
A century before, things had gone well. The great Belgic tribe of the Atrebates, who even had impressive sounding treaties of friendship and trade with the Roman Empire, had their stronghold to the north-east of Sarum; and the great-grandfather of Tosutigus had wisely married a princess of their royal house and secured their protection. Those had been splendid days at Sarum, when the dune was a small town, and the chief, secure in the patronage of the king of the Atrebates, held court there and hunted magnificently in the forests like his predecessors in ancient times. It was thanks to the princess of the Atrebates, also, that the ruling family at Sarum had learned to speak Latin. Even now, young Tosutigus spoke it haltingly, and was proud of his sophisticated accomplishment. But in later times, events had not turned out so well: the power of the Atrebates had waned; they were driven out of their lands; they could no longer protect Sarum, and in their place came other proud tribes, who knew nothing of the family at Sarum.
The new tribes in the east were of Belgic origin, like the Atrebates, but they were uncomfortable neighbours. As usual, the grandfather of Tosutigus, being pragmatic, had tried to secure the friendship of the nearest important tribe by offering one of their leading chiefs his only daughter in marriage. The Belgic chief had thanked him, forgotten to pay for her, and forgotten, it seemed, that Sarum existed. This at least was something to be thankful for, and for another generation the place where the five rivers met had known peace. But it was the peace of neglect and while other tribal centres grew more powerful, Sarum slowly declined.
Another generation passed, and now Tosutigus and his father were faced with another and still more dangerous problem to solve; this lay on the other side of their little stronghold, to the south west.
For in that direction lay one of the fiercest people that the Romans would ever encounter: the huge and mighty tribe of the Durotriges.
“The Durotriges in the south west will fight. They are proud and used to getting their own way,” his spies warned Claudius. “They have never seen Roman arms,” they explained, “and they think they cannot be defeated.”
It was their hill forts that the proud Durotriges relied on: by comparison with many of these, the dune at Sarum, with its single set of walls, was puny. The great earthworks of Maiden Castle, Badbury Rings, Hod Hill and many others which are all standing to this day, covered dozens of acres; they had five, six or seven huge sets of ramparts and complex defended entrances where attackers could be trapped. The Durotriges held an enormous area in the south-west of the island, including the shallow harbour, where they had fortified the hill.
The family at Sarum solved the problem in their usual way – by calculated submission.
“You must always be a loyal friend to the Durotriges,” his father told him. “They hold the port, and that controls the river. If they choose, they can swallow you up like a bird swallowing a worm.” And his father, following the custom of the Celtic tribes, swore an oath on his sword to fight for the king of the Durotriges whatever his cause. In so doing, he became his client, and gained some measure of protection for his petty dynasty. Sarum was left alone, to be held for the Durotrigan king as the most northerly outpost of his great chain of hill forts, and the family preserved their independence and some semblance of their dignity.
But then, a year ago, his father had died, leaving his untried young son with a proud name, but a precarious inheritance. There had been no choice, but to follow his father’s policy, and only two months ago in Maiden Castle, he had knelt before the huge old man sitting on a deerskin, who was the king of the Durotriges, gazed into his fierce black eyes and sworn:
“When the Romans come, my lord, I will hold the dune at Sarum for you, to the last man.”
Had the king any idea of the youth’s real ambitions, he would either have laughed, or struck him dead on the spot. Instead he had turned to his council after the young man had departed and remarked cynically:
“The main Roman force will come south: they’ll not trouble much with Sarum and if they take it, we can afford the loss. Let the legions come to Maiden Castle and Hod Hill – that’s where we’ll break their backs!”
And taking one of the bright gold coins that he had minted for himself he threw it high into the air.
“If my head is up, Sarum will stand; if down, it will fall,” the huge man laughed. The coin tumbled on the grass and his counsellors gathered round to see which way it had fallen.
As Tosutigus gazed towards the south that spring morning, and considered his own plans, his thoughts were interrupted by the approach of three men whom he turned to greet politely.
The two brothers Numex and Balba were not twins, but they were close in age and so alike that it was laughable. Both were short and bow-legged, with round heads, red faces and pointed noses and though both were still in their thirties, they carried themselves with a quiet gravity that made them seem older. For numberless generations their family had always produced children with short thumbs and thick, stubby fingers who invariably became wonderful workmen. It was Numex who had made the new oak gates and carved the figure of the war goddess which stood at the centre of the dune; and it was Balba, a dyer of cloth, who had, by using a dye derived from the roots of the common buttercup, produced the brilliant blue of the young chief’s cloak. Because of the dyes, which were dissolved in urine, Balba could usually be smelt even before he was seen, but his skill earned him such respect that men forgave him his pungent aroma. Both men wore tunics similar to Tosutigus’s, but made of coarser cloth and they did not wear cloaks or gold ornaments. He had put these two reliable brothers in charge of the day to day running of the little camp and they had come to receive their orders.
The third figure was in stark contrast. Aflek the Druid was tall, impressive when seen at a distance, but ragged and somewhat disreputable when observed from close quarters. His brow was deeply furrowed, the lines seeming more deeply etched because they were full of dirt. Half his teeth were gone; his grey hair and long beard were filthy, as was the long brown robe that reached to his ankles. His feet were protected by open sandals with heavy leather thongs between the toes. Tosutigus had watched the Druid go down from the dune to the river at dawn that day. Taking off his sandals he had walked barefoot to a small wood where he had cut mistletoe, using a bronze knife. He had also collected herbs, moving carefully along the north side of the bushes as he did so – for the ritual of the Druids forbade the collection of herbs from any but the north side. After watching the river intently for some time, Aflek had then thrown gold dust on to the swollen waters and made his devotions to the gods before returning up the hill. The young chief eyed him cautiously.
“Well?”
“The goddess Modron has given me a sign. We shall be victorious,” the old man said. “The gods protect Sarum.”
Tosutigus said nothing. He knew that his ancestral lands were protected by many gods. The five rivers were protected by Sul, the healing goddess of springs; in the woods to the east there was a sacred oak tree beside which was the shrine of Cernunnos, the horned god of the forests who protected the hunting. Sometimes Cernunnos would go about in disguise, taking the form of an old man with a hood over his head: and if any man saw him then, he knew that he would have good luck all year. The fields were protected by the corn maiden, whose sacred rites were held at Samain, the great feast at the beginning of winter. And the chalk ridges were protected by Leucetius the god of lightning, who would strike dead any invader who dared to disturb the ancient tombs on the high ground. The henge, too, was protected by his own ancestors the ten giants, the greatest of whom had three heads which grew again if they were cut off. The dune was protected by Modron the war goddess with her ravens. His own family – were they not under the personal protection of great Nodens the cloudmaker, to whom they had built a shrine?
Sarum and its ruling family might have fallen from their former greatness, but they still had powerful allies amongst the gods.
Tosutigus still possessed, locked in a great oak chest, the huge iron sword of Coolin the Warrior. All Sarum knew that with this sword, centuries ago, the mighty Coolin had slain a chief from the north. Everyone knew the story of how he had then cut off his head and made the skull into a drinking cup; of how, the first time he had raised it to his lips the skull had righted itself and, in front of all his companions, had started to speak and had prophesied that as long as the family of Coolin dwelt there, Sarum would never be taken in battle.
With such protection, the people of Sarum believed, their dune was impregnable.
As Tosutigus contemplated these matters with a grim smile, he realised that the old man was still talking to him.
“You have the protection of the Druids as well,” Aflek reminded him smugly. “There is nothing to fear.”
The power of the Druids varied from tribe to tribe, depending upon the attitude of the ruler. The Belgae often favoured these priests because their secret network helped to stir up trouble for the Romans in Gaul. The Durotriges also honoured the priests because they represented the Celtic gods in defiance of everything Roman. In other parts of the island, while the gods were worshipped, the Druids often had little power. Recently however, Tosutigus knew, Druid priests had travelled far and wide performing a flurry of ceremonies and sacrifices to the war gods to ensure that the Roman invasion would be beaten back. Until five years before, a community of Druids had worshipped at a sanctuary near Stonehenge, and his father had been obliged to support them. It had been costly and the Druids often complained about the meagre provisions they were given. Then they moved north-west to a council of Druids that was held at the island of Anglesey, two hundred miles away, and to his family’s relief they had never returned. Two months before, however, Aflek had arrived at Sarum from Maiden Castle; and the young chief had no doubt that he had been sent by the Durotriges as a spy.
Tosutigus did not reply to the Druid; for even as the old man spoke, his eye was caught by a flash of metal in the woods to the south. All four men had seen it, and all four now stared intently at the place from which it had come. Several minutes passed, and then they saw what they had awaited for so long – a column of Roman soldiers crossing a small patch of open ground two miles away.
At last. The moment had come. His plan was ready.
“Bar the gate,” he said curtly to Numex: “When I give the order, everyone is to man the walls.” The carpenter and his brother hurried away.
The Druid began to shout imprecations. “Modron, goddess of war, smite our enemy; Nodens the cloudmaker, protect your people!”
He seized the young chief by the arm.
“Modron will give you victory,” he reassured him earnestly. “The gods will destroy these invaders.”
But Tosutigus was paying him no attention.
“You Druids said they would never get across the sea,” he muttered.
This was true. The year before, the Druids had sworn that the sea god would swallow up the Roman fleet before it ever reached the island’s shores.
The young chief turned to face the older man.
“You must go now,” he said calmly.
Aflek stared at him in astonishment.
“I will fight at your side, Tosutigus,” he replied; for even if he had been sent as a spy, the elderly Druid was no coward.
But Tosutigus shook his head.
“If the Romans find you here, they will kill you,” he stated. “Besides, I don’t want you.”
Aflek gazed at him uncomprehendingly. And then the young man revealed the plan that he had been secretly forming for so long.
“I am going to surrender the dune,” he said. “I intend to join the Romans.”
It had been so easy. The four Roman legions had landed in Kent in the summer of
A.D
. 43, led by Aulus Plautius. They had marched rapidly through the south-east, routed the brother of the impudent chief Caractacus and a few days later smashed the little army of Caractacus himself. As soon as he heard that all was well, Claudius came over with his elephants and watched the submission of the fiery Catuvellauni a few miles north of the river Thames. Sixteen more of the island’s tribes, including the now weakened Atrebates, immediately sent messages of surrender; some because they thought they could get advantages over their neighbours, others because they knew the Roman legionaries would cut them to pieces. But other tribes did not surrender; and certainly not the proud Durotriges.
A.D
. 43, led by Aulus Plautius. They had marched rapidly through the south-east, routed the brother of the impudent chief Caractacus and a few days later smashed the little army of Caractacus himself. As soon as he heard that all was well, Claudius came over with his elephants and watched the submission of the fiery Catuvellauni a few miles north of the river Thames. Sixteen more of the island’s tribes, including the now weakened Atrebates, immediately sent messages of surrender; some because they thought they could get advantages over their neighbours, others because they knew the Roman legionaries would cut them to pieces. But other tribes did not surrender; and certainly not the proud Durotriges.
Claudius did not care. He had his military triumph, and he only stayed on the island for sixteen days.
“Clean up the rest of this country,” he told Aulus Plautius, who was appointed the first governor of this new island province of Britannia. Then he returned to Rome and, as he had always wanted, the senate voted him a triumph.
“We must strike north and west,” Aulus decided. “The II Legion shall reduce the hillforts in the south-west.” He considered the commanders at his disposal. “Vespasian shall lead the expedition,” he added. “I can trust him to do it well.”
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