Chapter 20
Avebury, November 9, 7 AM
They drove far into the
night, picking their way south and west along back lanes. They passed
Jon finished breaking the
code before they went to bed. Of each
group of three, the first letter was in the clear, the second letter was the
typewriter code, and the third letter was the other simple substitution cipher
that had been used in a previous message.
Hapgood said, "Well you would think Wayson
might have signed it. It sounds almost
as if it were from Terra Lane."
"Obviously somebody
knows the same codes Terra has been using.
And somebody is being very coy. I
mean why didn't Wayson just tell us what in the world
is going on?"
Hapgood said, "In the morning let's have a look at a
peerage."
In the morning
From the top of one of the
rings, she looked south and east along a long colonnade of the stones that led
directly to a crisp hill. The soft light
made things seem farther than they were.
But even so, it must have been three miles. It was a mystery shrouded by its own very
size.
She strolled back toward the
largest circle and met a bearded man dressed as a hiker. He seemed to be wandering contentedly.
"Good morning," she
said, "Can you tell me about this place?"
"Enough
to entertain, not to satisfy."
"What is this?"
"This is the Avebury stone circle.
More than one circle. It's bigger than Stonehenge and as old. The stones at Stonehenge are finished, of
course. These look more natural, but if
you dug them up, each has a post on the bottom to keep it standing. So these are shaped, too."
"And that long double
line of stones?”
"There used to be
more. They alternated, short and thick
with tall and thin. Some people say that
they stand for male and female elements, and it is some kind of fertility thing,
but nobody really knows. There were
probably astronomical sightings done here.
The ones at Stonehenge are more famous and the one at Newgrange is hardest to argue with. Actually the biggest circle known is in
Germany. It's even older and bigger than
this, but of course that's if you don't count the lines of stones."
"So they lined miles of
stones up with that hill?"
He found a niche in one of
the stones where he could sit as if it were a lounge chair. "That's Silbury
Hill. They built it, so it's really more
like a pyramid. The top is level, and if
you stand in the center of the circle here the top of Silbury
hill is just even with an ancient tomb on the horizon."
"That has to be the
biggest thing anybody ever built before the Great Wall of China."
"It's even bigger than
it looks. If you were to go in an exact
straight line from here past Silbury hill it would
take you to Old Sarum and to Salisbury Cathedral and
to an old Neolithic monument beyond that.
It's over forty miles."
"All one enormous
plan," said Tracy.
"The longest line of all
comes right through here. We call them ley lines, but having a name doesn't help much. Lots of us like to walk them. The word just means a straight line with many
ancient monuments on it.
"The long line comes
from that direction." He got up and
pointed south and west. It starts at
"You do know a lot about
it."
"I'm hiking it. I should be done in two more weeks."
"Wow."
"If
you don't have that kind of time, at least walk up to Windmill Hill. It's the
oldest of the ring monuments. It may be
where it all started. They didn’t put up
stones in those early days."
While
For a long time Jon poured
over the history at random, watching titles change hands, watching families
grow and vanish. It was very
complex. People were born, married, had
children or not and died. People
remarried. Lands and titles changed
hands. Names changed form. Titles changed form, were created and
lost. The peerage was a monumental
accomplishment, the work of the Royal College of Heralds, dedicated men working
over centuries.
Every signer of the Magna
Charta was listed with ancestors and progeny.
All the lines had died out, but there were other lines that were very
old indeed. The Magna Charta itself was
the work of hundreds of barons and other landed gentry who gathered at
Runnymede in 1215, and forced the king to sign the huge document specifying
rights for them as well as for himself.
It was not the first time a king had issued a proclamation of rights,
but it was the first time the proclamation had been drafted by people other
than the king. It was very specific, and
it had teeth.
In a manner of speaking it
made
Jon's real purpose in looking
at the peerage was to find the Montgomery's.
It was a populous and powerful family with many capable people and many
surviving lines. Fortunately the titles
in the peerage were arranged by rank, so it was easy to start at the top and
work from royalty down. The first
Montgomery named would be the one in question.
And sure enough
Presently Ivan and Hapgood entered.
They had gone for a walk in the early morning. Hapgood placed a
red book down in front of Jon.
"How was your
walk?" asked Jon.
"Good. We saw Tracy.
We found a museum. And beyond the
museum there was another museum. And in that there was a gift shop where we found the book."
Jon picked it up. It was a copy of the Doomsday Book that had
been printed and was being sold by the British Automobile Association. Evidently it was meant to be a resource for
motorists with a hobby of driving to pleasant old villages.
About nine hundred years ago William
the Conqueror ordered this most complete inventory and census any nation has
ever had. Every person was counted, the
land was described with the number of families that each unit could support,
every domestic animal, even the kind of roof every cottage had was duly
recorded and ready for review in the modern version as it had been nine hundred
years before.
"Great," said
Jon. "That means the names haven't
changed too much. We can find out how
long the villages lasted and how many survive now. It's just a matter of going through the list
in order and looking every name up with the atlas on the web."
"I don't think there is
any need for that," said Hapgood. "Somebody already did it." He flipped open the introduction to the
modern edition and pointed to a line.
"They're all there,”
said
"Apparently not
villages," said Hapgood. "There were thousands of them. And they are all there today. We can visit any one of them you like."
If no more than a few had
vanished in nine hundred years, the conclusion was inescapable. Villages were immortal. At that loss rate they would still be going
strong in a million years. But nothing
in life had ever lasted a million years.
General forms did, but no species.
The pyramids, even Avebury
around them was only a blink of the eye by comparison. A million years was significant in geological
time. Rock strata were laid down. The earth changed. As one descended the Grand Canyon, the
passing strata of rocks marked the slow march of time, so slow it was hard to
comprehend. But even there a million
years would be estimated by a descent of a full five hundred feet. And that was a lower estimate for the
durability of places like Avebury and Woolsthorpe. Meanwhile
the families of the hundreds of barons who had owned it all had all died out
within three hundred years.
"People are tough,"
said Ivan. "We ought to be doing
better with our civilizations."
Tracy came in from
exploring. "They say we ought to go
up and see Windmill Hill."
"Where is it?"
asked Jon.
"That way," she
said pointing at a corner of the room.
"North northwest,"
said Ivan. "It's right on our
circle."
They checked out and left the
car in the inn yard. After a few blocks
they reached a paved walk where
The Hill is older than the pyramids,
older than the Avebury stones, older than
The usual theories had
circulated around it, from fortress to animal stockade, to human sacrifice
rituals, to flying saucer landmark, to political center, to astronomical
observatory, to focusing point for geodetic energy, to market fair, to playful
impulse. And of course it had been tied
in with some sort of fertility practice.
The grass, now even in autumn, was knee deep, sweet and green. It was so lush they could have eaten it as
salad with vinegar and oil.
Fertility might mean good
crops, it might mean bouncing babies and it might mean both. But there was no question of the fertility of
the soil here. Although English grass is the stuff of legend they had never
seen anything so rich. And that itself
was a modest mystery. Was the rich grass
the place grew the reason it had early been selected as a fertility cult
site? Or was the richness of the grass
simply an indication of what the soil here would do by itself if it were left
unexploited by agriculture? Or had some
park official decided that a fertility cult site needed to look fertile and had
consulted scientists at Oxford on how to make it look bright? Or had it always been a loved site so that
the people who worked it always took a little extra care?
It was pleasant and
reassuring to stand there with only the outline of the ring and mound pressing
through the grass like a woman's form through fabric. There was no sign. There was no attempt to educate, to admonish
or to exploit the visitor. It felt
good. Undemanding,
unpromising, just there.
There have been 5,705
visitors counted so far.