North and south are the woods and the
marshes, so that only on the high dry turf of the chalk land could
a clear track be found. The Pilgrim's Way, it still is called;
but the pilgrims were the last who ever trod it, for it was
already of immemorial age before the death of Thomas a Becket gave
a new reason why folk should journey to the scene of his murder.
From the hill of Weston Wood the travelers could see the long
white band which dipped and curved and rose over the green
downland, its course marked even in the hollows by the line of the
old yew-trees which flanked it. Neither Nigel nor Aylward had
wandered far from their own country, and now they rode with light
hearts and eager eyes taking note of all the varied pictures of
nature and of man which passed before them. To their left was a
hilly country, a land of rolling heaths and woods, broken here and
there into open spaces round the occasional farm-house of a
franklin. Hackhurst Down, Dunley Hill, and Ranmore Common swelled
and sank, each merging into the other. But on the right, after
passing the village of Shere and the old church of Gomshall, the
whole south country lay like a map at their feet. There was the
huge wood of the Weald, one unbroken forest of oak-trees
stretching away to the South Downs, which rose olive-green against
the deep blue sky. Under this great canopy of trees strange folk
lived and evil deeds were done.
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