“Don’t you know me, Maundy? After all this time have I been quite forgotten?”
“Well!” she replied, excited and suddenly breathless. “But you’re —” and then she reached out and touched him in the most natural and friendly way as if to see that he was really there.
“I am real,” he said, laughing again.
“And so I should hope, Tryfan of Duncton. You’re late!” she said.
“Late?” echoed Tryfan.
“Late?” said Skint.
“Late?” said the others, amazed.
“That’s what I said, and that’s what I meant! Duncton moles don’t gallivant around the countryside on Longest Night, they pay their respect to the Stone, they eat a bit, they sing a bit, they stay in one place and they tell stories. And...” she added, advancing threateningly on Skint and Smithills, “they don’t go scaring old moles like me! You’re late, Tryfan, and you’d better come along because by the time we get there they’ll all be asleep.”
She turned to lead him back up towards the Wood, but then she suddenly stopped and turned back to him, her seeming anger gone. She touched Tryfan again with that same warmth his friends recognised as being like his own, and she said, “Nomole will be more welcome on this night or any other. Welcome home, Tryfan. Has your journey been long?”
“Longer than a mole’s life,” he said. “Is Comfrey —?”
“Comfrey is well and awaits you. He will greet you with joy.”
“Did he guess I was coming?”
“The Stone told him in November for sure, but I think he knew at Midsummer. We’ve been waiting, Tryfan, and we have need of thee.”
“As I of Comfrey and of you all,” he replied. Then he smiled around at his friends.
“Did I not say Comfrey would know?” he said to them.
“You did!” said Spindle.
“Comfrey knew,” said Maundy. “Now follow me and feel welcome, for there’s food and song awaiting Tryfan, and any who are his friends, in the tunnels of Duncton Wood!”
So it was that old Maundy led Tryfan and the other followers on the final stage of the journey into Duncton, at that most holy of hours, just after midnight on Longest Night, when moledom knows that a new cycle of seasons is beginning.
Some say that even as they reached the edge of the Pastures Comfrey knew Tryfan had returned, for he stopped in mid-song, snouted up at the surface, and said quietly, “I th-think you can waken the youngsters again, and c-come with me, for T-Tryfan my brother is come back.”
Then up to the surface he went, and the moles of Duncton followed him, gathering at the Stone as from over the Pastures they heard the coming of moles, and at their head was Maundy, proud and sure as any mole could be, and tears wetted her fur for the happiness she knew she brought that night to Comfrey by the Stone.
“T-T-Tryfan?” said Comfrey as his brother came out of the dark of his long journey. “It is Tryfan!”
And whatmole was there who did not share their tears as the two brothers, separated for so many moleyears, greeted each other with affectionate pats and friendly snouts and words of love and pleasure.
“You’ve got a few more lines in your face, you have!” said Tryfan.
“And s-so have you!” replied Comfrey.
And they all laughed, and joked, and praised the Stone for the blessing of reunion it had wrought.
Then when the greetings were done, Tryfan introduced his companions.
“This is Spindle of Seven Barrows, who has been a friend and counsellor on all my long journey from Uffington; and this Skint, who —” and one by one they were introduced: all safe, all well, all close and trusting of one another. Except for one, who had made himself scarce.
Then there was another round of introductions as Comfrey made Tryfan’s friends known to those of the system who were there, concluding, “And, last but not least, in f-f-fact most of all, my dear friend Maundy who greeted you and led you home! Yes!” said Comfrey, glad to have Maundy at his side. “Yes!” And if each touched the other, and laughed and seemed like mates why this was Longest Night, and a mole had best enjoy himself, and herself, and all.
“When you’ve quite done,” declared Skint, “and not wishing to be impolite, and with the compliments of the season and all that, is there any food?
Food! There was that! And song! There would be that as well! And stories, many of those to tell! And more food! Much, much, more of that!
“Below, everymole below!” cried Comfrey, “And we’ll have a Longest N-N-Night that nomole will forget!”
But when they got below one mole was already there, crouched in the most comfortable stance, chewing the juiciest worm, surrounded by the most admiring youngsters.
“A pleasure it is, and a pleasure will be, Sir!” said the mole, with a wide and winning smile. “Got tired up there and came down here, thought it best to do so soon, Sir, I did! Yes. And no better burrow, no better youngsters, rarely better worms has this humble mole seen, or (Sir) eaten on Longest Night, not ever before!”
“Who is this?” said Comfrey, amazed at this mole who stopped everymole in his tracks with this long speech of... well... of greeting, he supposed.
“Mayweed is my name and I am most welcome!” said Mayweed, looking guiltily at Tryfan.
And then they laughed, and told Mayweed to stay in the comfortable place he was, adding that since he had eaten the first worm of all of them it would be only fitting if he told the first story, which Mayweed did not want to do at all, but if they insisted, he supposed he might try, if it pleased them, and he would, yes, he would!
So as the moles of Duncton and the followers of Tryfan found a place in that warm, friendly and crowded chamber, it was Mayweed the outcast, Mayweed the survivor, who began the story-telling saying, in the traditional way (well nearly), “From my heart, Sirs and Madams, to yours, I’ll speak and tell of how a humble mole, skinny once but fatter now, diseased once but healthier now, lonely once but befriended now, of how that mole, born in the Slopeside of distant Buckland, came by routes diverse and difficult, secret and strange, Sirs and Madams, all the long way to a system mysterious where now he is and you are, which is here and called Duncton; that’s what I’ll tell in my own simple way, if you’ll listen....”
“Yes! Yes! We will!” laughed the many, some eating, some sighing, some snuggling close to others that they liked, and Comfrey smiling at Tryfan, and Maundy smiling at them both.
“Well then, Sirs (and not forgetting Madams), I’ll begin...” and Mayweed did, beginning a story-telling such as few systems in moledom that night can have witnessed, and none could ever have forgotten.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Yet when the story-telling was done, and Longest Night past, and the excitement of Tryfan’s return with his followers was over, Comfrey soon learned that his instinct had been right: Tryfan’s coming heralded trouble for the system and perhaps the shedding of blood.
“I do not know if this danger would be on you if I had not come back here,” Tryfan said one day, “for I and those with me are outcast by Henbane, and her guardmoles will continue to seek us until they find us, for our very being is an affront to their Word. Defiance is not part of their sterile canon. But, in any case, I am certain they will come here because Henbane not only knows this is my home system, but that it is one of the two remaining seven Ancient Systems outside the orbit of the Word; the other is dread Siabod.
“For this reason, as well as my own need to see Duncton again, I have come to warn you to prepare for a dark future.”
January had come, and with it the winter blizzards, and they were snugly crouched in Comfrey’s burrow surrounded by the sweet summery smell of herbs as the harsh wind rattled and cursed at the entrances. Comfrey listened to Tryfan now as he had listened to the grim tales told on Longest Night of their fugitive journey, yet it all seemed hard to believe, for the kind of evil and change that these “grikes” brought was beyond his experience. It was true that rumours of the Word and the gr
ikes had reached Duncton Wood, but for the most part the Duncton moles had kept themselves isolated and out of touch with the spread of the Word.
Now, to convince him that drastic action might be needed if Duncton’s peaceful way of life, centred on the Stone, was to survive, Tryfan reported in more detail some of the things he had seen, or heard from witnesses.
In Fyfield, to the west, the grikes had come the previous spring and sequestered an entire generation of pups and juveniles on the pretext that the adults in the system – and there were not many after the plagues – would learn thereby the meaning of Atonement. The youngsters were reared to the Word by eldrenes and sideem, and encouraged to report on their parents’ “wrongdoings” and “blasphemies’. Many were the deaths that followed from this and that system now was fanatically devoted to the Word.
In Frilford, a system on sandy heights above the Thames, the grikes judged each mole there for their willingness to learn the Word and be faithful to it. Again, the youngsters were encouraged to adhere to its harsh codes and disciplines, and again the parents and the elders were effectively destroyed. Only a few escaped and these were the witnesses Tryfan was able to speak with.
“We heard that the moles who failed the grike-inspired inquisition were taken out on to the flood plains of the Thames and forced to burrow into waterlogged soil, on pain of snouting. Many were so killed, or snouted. The moles who accepted the Word and Atoned satisfactorily were encouraged to watch this torture, and to mock the victims as being not of the Word. A few poor moles had been granted their Atonement by pushing others on to the flood plains to their doom. Of these most are now maddened and cast down, and are serving out their blighted lives as clearers.”
In Bladon, Tryfan reported, there had been similar campaigns against the older moles by the younger, aided and abetted by grikes, and it seemed reasonable to assume that it was in this way that throughout moledom the followers of the Stone were suppressed, and belief in the Word established.
“Yet in each of the few systems we have seen there have been protesters and rebels, for there will always be moles who are not easily subjugated,” said Tryfan. “In each system we visited, or of which we heard, there were one or two such. Some wanted to join us, but we were not ready. What I did say was that when Henbane and the others march on Duncton, then as such moles hear of it they should take their courage in their paws, and make for Duncton as speedily as they can, to inform us of what is apaw, and join with us. I believe that by this means we will have good warning of the approach on our system of the grikes, and will gather here only those moles who have true courage and fortitude. For those will be the ones we need in the future, and in their brave paws will the future lie. Let Duncton be their sanctuary and their inspiration.”
Comfrey nodded but said nothing. The world he knew was quieter and more peaceable than this, and he could see that the Duncton of the future would need a different mole than he to lead it.
“What of the few followers you have brought with you?” he asked. “They seem a varied lot!”
Tryfan laughed. “The Stone has its ways, and I have been blessed to find moles worthy of the great quest that Boswell sent me on. Over the long moleyears of our journey here I have grown to trust each of these moles, as much as I would you yourself, Comfrey. Each is loyal, and each has different qualities and skills.
“Skint, for example, whose history I have told you, has become an expert at roaring owl ways, and leads us across in safety in places other moles would die; Mayweed is as good an underground route-finder as ever there will be, and he has courage and loyalty. Thyme and Pennywort bring good humour and quiet faith to us all, especially Thyme who has that quality a few moles possess of making a burrow where she is a warm place, a comfortable place, and one that calms the moles about her. Smithills uses his great strength to protect the faithful, while Alder seems to understand how to deploy moles to best advantage, and at Frilford certainly saved all our lives by clever generalship.
He is trained as a guardmole, and understands grike ways of fighting.”
“And Spindle?” asked Comfrey.
Tryfan’s eyes softened. “Nomole, nomole, has been truer to me than he. Boswell gave him the task of seeing that I kept my faith and purpose and he could not have chosen better.”
For a time they were silent and then Tryfan said, “And what of this mole Maundy? She seems fond of you, Comfrey.”
“Wh-what of her?” said Comfrey mildly.
“Well,” said Tryfan. “Have you not mated with her? She seems always near....”
“Never enough time, Tryfan, so much to do. Too old now for that sort of thing! No time.”
Tryfan laughed and then fell serious.
“Time is running out, brother,” he said, “and you had best do as the Stone desires.”
“Perhaps,” said Comfrey with a sigh, nervously pushing a pile of thyme-leaved toadflax one way then another. “M-m-maybe I will!”
Then he looked at Tryfan, and touched him affectionately, and said, “What about you, Tryfan? Have you not found a mole to love?”
Tryfan grew more silent, and just a little distant. But at last he said, “Well, when I was ordained by Boswell I took upon myself a vow of celibacy. Not that Boswell asked it of me, and indeed it is more traditional than mandatory in the Holy Burrows. But, well, there is much to do, many places to go, and I must care for the followers of the Stone, as you have cared for the moles of Duncton Wood. No time, Comfrey! No time!”
Comfrey shook his head doubtfully.
“Doesn’t seem right to me for you to be celibate. I’m different, always have been, but you, Tryfan, well, you’re a mole to love and be loved. Don’t you ever —?”
“Yes, I do! And as January passes and February comes I shall think of it more, but celibate I shall stay. Perhaps one day, if peace should come, and the Stone is worshipped once more, then I can take a mate. But for now I shall not.” He frowned and looked irritable and Comfrey changed the subject hastily. At times Tryfan could be intimidating, even to him.
“Now, Tryfan, there was one thing you did not mention on Longest Night, and have never mentioned since: the Stillstone? Tell me of that.”
Which he was about to do when, with a stamp and a shake and a brrr! Maundy joined them, snow melting on her fur: “‘Tis wet and cold and mucky outside,” she declared, “but here I am!”
Tryfan watched with pleasure as Comfrey welcomed her and made her comfortable in his simple way, bringing her food and talking amiably of this and that for a time.
Then he turned back to Tryfan saying, “Maundy can be trusted, she kn-knows the secrets of the system far better than I do! So tell us of the Stillstone.”
Looking at them both then, crouched flank to flank and as trusting as a loving pair could ever be, was a moment Tryfan ever afterwards remembered, because it was then that he understood that though a mole can only ever hear the Silence of the Stone alone, yet it is unlikely that he will ever hear it if he has not known the true love of another mole. In that, he afterwards would say, he first began to suspect the nature of the quest that Boswell had sent him on. Perhaps, too, it was in that moment, that his yearning for a mole like Maundy at his side deepened and became a longing whose frustration might be the greatest sorrow in his life, and whose satisfaction might be the the greatest joy.
So then, asked about the Stillstone, Tryfan settled down, and told Comfrey and Maundy what had happened at Uffington and how Spindle had led Boswell and himself to the stone field near Seven Barrows, and how he had himself hurled that Stillstone out into the night to fall anonymous among a hundred thousand other stones; and there to wait until a mole came who would take it, and the other Stillstones, seven in all, back to their final resting place.
“And then...?” asked Comfrey.
“And then, I think, the work that so many moles have done, and which old Boswell oversees like the White Mole he is, will be done, and well done. But more than that I cannot say!”
“And what d-do you say t-to that?” Comfrey asked of Maundy.
“’Tis a story and a half, and I say that at the end of it all Tryfan should have a mate!” said Maundy bluntly. “As for the Stillstones, they’ll sort themselves out well enough I should think.”
“Humph!” said Comfrey, and left them, a little tetchily, to peer out on to the surface, and burrow a route up to the snow, where he could crouch and say some prayers.
When he was gone Maundy said, “Tryfan, I have heard those followers of yours talking: Skint and Smithills, Ragwort, Alder and that Mayweed.”
Tryfan nodded absently, his mind on the Stillstones yet.
“They talk of evacuating the system, they talk of finding a safer place than this, they talk....”
Tryfan raised a paw to stop her, but she quietly continued.
“I do not doubt that what you will do is right, but when it comes to leaving Duncton, well, we can’t all go, the system must never be deserted of all Duncton mole, and a mole or two should be left behind. If you’re wondering who, leave me behind, I can cope alone and look after myself down in the secret places in the Marsh End, which was occupied in your father’s day.”
“I could not leave you to the cruelty of the grikes,” said Tryfan, “you don’t know —”
“Take Comfrey, but not me,” she whispered. “If one of us must stay, just one....”
But Tryfan only shook his head.
Later, when Maundy had gone and Comfrey had returned, and they had eaten, Comfrey said, “Er, Tr-Tryfan. Something I just wanted to say, while we’re alone. N-no need to mention it to anymole else....”
Tryfan, his eyes warm, listened to his half-brother affectionately.
“Well,” said Comfrey, “when – and I know you’re going to have to, only sensible thing to do really – so wh-wh-when you lead the moles to somewhere safe you don’t want me slowing you down. I’ll stay behind. Must have one Duncton mole here, you know. Plenty of places to hide I remember as a pup: Marsh End, Westside... I’ll find somewhere. But of course, you’re to take Maundy, can’t have her risking her snout. You’ll see to that w-w-won’t you?”