The Salisbury Manuscript

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The man turned aside from the farm-track as the autumn afternoon closed in and storm clouds were scudding from the west. He was glad the light was fading. Even though he’d been careful to dress in his roughest clothes so that he might be taken for an itinerant labourer, he preferred to be moving in the gloom. Nevertheless it was going to be dark sooner than he expected. He would have to move briskly.

The man had a bag slung over his shoulder and, despite weighing little, it felt awkward on his back. He set off to his right on a path which was scarcely more than a flattened line of grass on the uphill slope. When he reached a copse of beech trees, he paused to adjust the bag so it sat more comfortably. Pulling his cap down and shrugging himself more deeply inside his coat, he left the shelter of the beeches and set off at a smart pace.

Ahead of him was the bare ridge of the slope with forlorn clumps of sheep were grazing on either side. Because he was keeping his head low, the man wasn’t aware of the presence of another individual making his way in the opposite direction until he saw a pair of leather leggings and great boots almost under his nose.

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