第96章 The Third Century

The third century opened with the sentence so firmly in the body of the four coasts that the keepers' round ran on its own the way a tide runs on its own, and the keepers who made it were the carriers of a sentence that had passed from a charter to a custom to a tide, and a sentence that has become a tide needs no reader, only a shore, and the four coasts were the shore, and the sentence broke on them the way the sentence had always broken on the valley at the gate, in the open air, on the low, with both hands, and the reading of it had become the sound of the coast the way the reading of the count had become the sound of the lamps, and the sound of the coast was the keeping, and the keeping was the tide. The valley grew past the keeping in the third century the way a field grows past its fence, not by pulling the fence down but by being so wide and so plain that the fence disappeared into the hedge, and the gate at the seaward field, which had been the whole of the family's war and the whole of the village's grief and the whole of the first century's legal artillery, became in the third century a post in a hedge, and the post was load-bearing, and the hedge grew through it, and the field grew past it, and the gate was the whole of it still, the way a post is the whole of a hedge, invisible and necessary, the one firm thing the whole soft growth depends on, and the gate depended on the sentence and the sentence depended on the reading and the reading depended on the walkers and the walkers depended on the road and the road depended on the water and the water was free, and the free water was the whole of the law, and the law was the post in the hedge, and the hedge was the third century, grown past the gate without pulling it down. Fenwick's grandson drew the new map in the third century, and the map, unlike his grandfather's, showed not four coasts but the whole sea, and the whole sea was the keepers' round, and the round was the sentence, and the sentence was the free water, and the free water ran through every coast that had ever sent a keeper to the round, and the keepers, whose great-grandparents had walked the first round, walked the last, and the last was the same as the first, the same sentence, the same water, the same gate at the seaward field where Arthur and Eleanor lay under the matched stones, and the matched stones held the fourth coast's commentary, and the commentary was the same sentence, and the sentence was the only sentence, and the whole sea was the keeping of it, and the keeping was the whole of the third century, and the third century was the whole sea, walked and read and kept free, the one sentence, the one gate, the one road, the one water, forever. The third century's other discovery was that the keepers' round, which had been a duty, became a pleasure, and a pleasure that is a duty is the only pleasure that lasts, and the keepers who walked the round in the third century walked it the way a man walks a road he has chosen, not because the road needs walking but because the walking needs the road, and the road, running under the sea from coast to coast, was the whole of the four coasts' own chosen highway, and the highway was the sentence, and the sentence was the walking, and the walking was the pleasure, and the pleasure was the keeping, and the keeping was the free water, and the free water was the whole of the road, walked for pleasure, kept by choice, free by covenant, forever. The valley, which had spent its first century at war and its second at keeping and its third at living, found in the living that the war had been the keeping's rehearsal and the keeping had been the living's rehearsal, and the living was the whole of it, the war and the keeping and the settling all folded into the single ordinary fact of a people standing at a gate that was open and a water that was free, and the standing was the living, and the living was the sentence, and the sentence was the whole of the law, and the law was ordinary, and the ordinary was the third century, and the third century was the living, and the living went on, at the gate, in the open, with both hands, forever. The valleys of the whole sea learned to keep their own gates the way the four coasts had kept theirs, and the learning was the third century's gift to the keeping, and the gift was given by walking, one coast showing the next through the plain mechanics of the free water, that a gate kept open and a sentence kept read and a road kept walked cost nothing but attention and returned everything the water could carry, and the water carried the sentence around the whole sea, and the whole sea learned it, and the whole sea kept it, and the keeping of it was the whole of the third century's work, and the work was the free water, and the free water was the sentence, and the sentence was the four coasts, and the four coasts were the whole sea, and the whole sea was kept, free, open, ordinary, forever. The register of the readings, which had been Fenwick's grandson's book, closed its final page at the gate on the morning the whole sea joined the round, and the final page carried the same sentence the first page had carried, and the book, full at last, was laid on the matched stones at the seaward field beside the first leaf and the fourth coast's commentary and the water's own, and the book and the stones together were the whole of the covenant, read and walked and kept and settled, and the settled was the keeping and the keeping was the whole and the whole was the free and the free was the sentence and the sentence was the stones and the stones were the water and the water was the road and the road was the sea and the sea was the four coasts and the four coasts were the whole sea and the whole sea was free and the free was forever, and the third century, opened with the sentence in the body of the four coasts, closed with the sentence in the whole sea, and the closing was the opening and the opening was the closing, and both were the keeping, and the keeping was the whole of the law, and the law was free.