Some saw the bracken that grew, and the great beeches that rose, and some the bluebells that spread across the lower slopes: others paused and touched and talked, and took the scent of the worm-rich ways of their system; a few danced while others sang, and all made a memory that would see them through the troubles that lay ahead.
“No Starling, we’re not allowed to! Starling!”
“He said we could go anywhere! Anyway, Lorren, you’re always so pathetic and we want to go down there and see.”
The voices were those of youngsters, both females. That of Lorren was uncertain and fearful; that of Starling utterly bold. She spoke with the authority of the pup who rules the others and will have no truck with questioning or doubt. There was no fear in her voice, only impatience and curiosity, mixed with delighted excitement.
The place was Barrow Vale, and the mole listening to their argument about whether or not to go into the tunnels was Spindle. He had come down after Tryfan’s address to the assembled moles, making his way through the lovely trees of the slopes, to return one last time to the place that he and Thyme had so gently and sweetly taken hold of their love and made it. He had come as Tryfan had suggested to make a memory, but also to say farewell, for he knew his task was ever with Tryfan now, to follow and advise him, and be close when he was most needed. Yet he had come, too, for something more than that, as if answering that need Thyme had made in him, that at times of trouble and doubt they and theirs might go to Barrow Vale, and there find help and comfort.
So he had ventured down once more into the tunnels where first they had loved, and then brought his pup, and now he was there a third and last time, to find peace with his memory, and strength for what was to come.
But just as he thought he should venture out once more and go up to the Stone as Tryfan had wisely suggested they might all finally do, there had been a patter and a scurry of mole above, first one, and then two more. Then the voices and the argument, and Spindle stayed in the shadows and listened.
“Well, what do you think? Do you agree with Lorren or with me? It was your idea?”
It was Starling’s voice again, seeming to ask a question but really giving a command. Spindle smiled in sympathy with the third mole and waited for the reply.
When it came it was too soft for Spindle to hear but its content was clear enough, for immediately Starling shouted in triumph, “There you are, Lorren, you’ll have to come with us now or be left all alone, and we won’t care.”
“It’s not fair!” said Lorren plaintively.
But her protest was in vain, for the other two scrabbled at the surface, found an entrance near where Spindle had come down, and poked their snouts in and peered about.
“Spooky!” said a voice.
“Dusty,” said Starling’s. “Come on!” And with that, and Lorren following, they helter-skeltered down into the hallowed chamber of Barrow Vale.
For a moment Spindle watched them in silence as their eyes adjusted to the dark and they snouted this way and that. Two female youngsters and a male. It was obvious which was Starling, for she was bigger than the others, and had that appealing eagerness of a mole in love with life, and impatient to get on with it. While Lorren was smaller and uncertain, though like Starling a good-looking mole of glossy coat and clean paws. The third, the male, was of solid build and well contained, and took a serious stance and looked about him appraisingly but with considerable concern.
“Hello!” said Spindle in as friendly a way as he could.
The three youngsters were as startled and surprised as squirrels. Starling immediately said, “Come on!” and half laughing, half shrieking sought to lead the others away. Lorren followed willingly, shrieking too. But the male stayed still, staring, and unafraid.
“What’s your name?” he asked, as a mole asks who trusts the world, for he has never been hurt and never expects to be.
“Spindle,” said Spindle.
“I’ve heard of you!” Behind him, peering round a tunnel entrance, the two females whispered and watched, and then Lorren giggled and Starling shushed her to listen.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” said Spindle.
“If you did Starling would come and protect me,” said the youngster with complete assurance.
“And your name?” asked Spindle. Then he frowned and said, “Though I think I do know what it is.” For he did, or felt he did, as well as he knew his own.
“What is it?” asked the mole.
“You’re Bailey,” said Spindle softly.
“Yes,” said Bailey, quite unsurprised.
The two came a little closer together and the females stayed in the background, as if sensing that this was something not to interrupt.
“Why did you come here?” asked Spindle.
“Don’t know,” said Bailey. “I wanted to see Barrow Vale and Starling said today I could see what I wanted. She wanted to see the Marsh End. But she said she’d come with me, and Lorren had to come too. We go everywhere together. They’re like sisters to me and Starling is my best friend.”
“You’re lucky then. A mole needs friends.”
“Why did you come here?” asked Bailey.
“To meet you, I think,” said Spindle, tears in his eyes.
“Why?” asked Bailey.
“So you’d remember Spindle, all your life. And hear him tell you that you, like those other two giggling over there, are much loved.”
Bailey looked very serious.
“Are you going to take us back to the Stone now we’ve seen Barrow Vale?” he said. “Is that why you came?”
“I think so, Bailey, yes. That’s probably why I came.”
Then Bailey turned and sought out Starling and Lorren and said, “He’s going to take us to the Stone. He’s a very important mole. His name’s Spindle.”
“Hello!” each of them said, rather shyly.
“Will you tell us some things on the way?” asked Starling.
“What about?” asked Spindle, leading them back to the surface.
“Anything interesting,” said Lorren.
“Something utterly fascinating nomole else would tell us,” said Starling.
Spindle turned to Bailey, who had taken a position just short of his right flank.
“What would you like me to tell you?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t know really,” said Bailey. “Anything, I s’pose, but don’t go too fast!” And Spindle slowed, and let his son come close to him, very close.
“Then I’ll tell you about a mole called Thyme,” said Spindle.
“Is it a story?” said Lorren.
“I bet it’s about love!” said Starling.
“Will it make me nervous?” asked Bailey.
“Yes and yes and no,” said Spindle, and no happier mole than he made trek to the Stone that afternoon, with his own at his side, close as a mole could be. And of all the moles that made memories that day, as Tryfan had commanded they should, none made happier nor more durable memories than Starling, and Lorren, and Spindle, and his pup by Thyme called Bailey.
Nor were there any four more comforted by each other’s presence as, later, by the Stone, Tryfan and Comfrey said a prayer and blessing for all the moles there, and wished them well, and told them to return to Duncton Wood one day safeguarded, never afraid of the grikes, ever faithful to their home system and the Stone.
Nor did any other four take such pleasure in having so briefly met, as that evening, as dusk fell, they went their ways back to their burrows, to prepare for the morrow, and the coming of the grikes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was two days later, at that grey time before true dawn when a watching mole may not be fully alert, and the light makes the simplest thing ambiguous and doubtful, that the grikes came to Duncton Wood.
Suddenly, powerfully, and bloodily.
Over the top of the roaring owl way they came, which was the least likely route they might have taken, down a sluice and then silently across to the flank of on
e of Alder’s defence outposts, avoiding the moles guarding the cow cross-under.
“Hey! Mole! Which way from here?” Some guardmole or other called, his voice pretending weariness.
“Where do you come from, mate? A new arrival? The watchers send you...?” and whatever mole that was spoke no more, for the full thrust of guardmole talons was in his screaming mouth and throat, and as pain took his body into death another crashed on by, huge and menacing, and took the second watcher there, and then the third, and blood was in that tunnel, and it was Duncton’s.
So, turning the defences over by surprise and resolution, the guardmoles came, and for a time it seemed that it was all the Duncton moles could do to contain the first onslaught, let alone get a message up to the main system that the grikes had come.
But then Alder arrived, took command of the attacked section, and killed two of the three first entrants with his own talons, urging others to take the now empty places in the defensive burrow, and running down the hidden tunnels the watchers had prepared to the cross-under itself, where the main attack would soon begin.
Despite the initial losses, Alder was too experienced a fighter to be disheartened or even surprised by what had happened. The damage would have been much greater if Duncton Wood had not been surrounded on three sides by the Thames, and so protected against attack. As it was, the fourth, the south-eastern side, was well defined by the roaring owl way which rose above the slopes blocking off that side too, and very effectively. Only in a few places – like the main cross-under, the route which the bulk of the grikes would have ultimately to take, and some drainage pipes – was the way breached, and these places were well defended. But no defence could protect against attackers coming over the way at any point along its length, except that they would have to cross the drainage dyke that ran along the bottom of the way. This was crossed by tiny bridges, pipes and sluices of one kind and another, and were less easily defended. Alder’s belief was that because to get into the Duncton system via them attackers would have to cross the way, these were unlikely to be major threats. The more so because such attacks were only possible during the night and early morning when the roaring owls were not travelling in numbers.
So an attack at dawn, by one of the sluices, was no real surprise, though it was hard to trace precisely where the point of entry was. Pausing only to send a messenger warning Tryfan that the grikes had come, Alder himself went to see what was apaw.
“There! That’s where they’re coming from!” He cried out after investigating the area south of the cross-under. He stationed moles at the foot of the sluice and for a time grikes and watchers fought to keep control of the sluice way. It was hard, and it was fatal for some, but Alder’s watchers contained the attack and drove the remaining grikes back up the sluice with shouts of rage from both sides, and the first awareness of how violent such fighting might be.
So, with bloodied talons and pain, with swift death to either side, the attack on Duncton began as a dawn sun rose across the vales below Duncton Hill, and on its highest part the great Stone was flushed with a light as red as blood.
The attack settled into a prolonged battle, and the plans that Tryfan and Skint had prepared began to go into smooth action.
Sleepy youngsters were woken, mothers alerted, males who were to be travellers rather than fighters took their places in the tunnels they had been directed to, and the first stage of the evacuation of Duncton began. No time left to say farewell to the places or friends who were loved, those times were past. Now all were silent in the tunnels, and obedient, trusting the elders and Maundy’s helpers, and following their orders as they cared for the young who were frightened by the sudden change, and for the oldest ones who were confused.
Their places and positions had long been established, but a few still had to travel the tunnels to take them up, mainly adults who had had tasks away from their families. These now went urgently through the tunnels which echoed with the solid patter of purposeful paws.
Others went more leisurely, among them Maundy, checking that the groups were in their appointed places and settling them for the wait to come – for nomole would travel until the order was given and none, indeed, knew where they would be bound, for that secret was well kept.
Once or twice a mole got lost, and had to be guided. A youngster from a large family who always got lost found himself suddenly among a group of watchers, grimly talking, their flanks seeming huge and threatening, and he began to cry, eyes wide in sudden insecurity, until a calming paw of one of the adults settled on his shoulder and a deep voice said, “Here now, it’ll be no good if you cry! You won’t be able to help us fight off the grikes if you do that! Now why don’t you tell me your name and tunnel?” And the youngster’s sobs ceased, and he allowed himself to be led away, rejoining his family with an important watcher at his side, the sobs all gone, and the cheerful expression on his face of one who was lost, is back safely, and has an adventure to report once the scolding is over.
While elsewhere, on the upper slopes, Maundy found an old male wandering, very confused, and saying he was off to find some food because he always did at this time of day.
“Come on, old thing, come with me. You know me, I’m Maundy.”
“Aye, Comfrey’s lass....”
And Maundy smiled to be so called, and took the elderly male back down to the safety of the tunnels, and into the care of the watcher in charge of his group.
Meanwhile, in the elders’ chamber by the Stone, Skint, Comfrey, Smithills and the others were listening, at a meeting presided over by Tryfan, to the reports of the fighting and evacuation as they came in.
They had known this time would come, and had prepared several routes up from the Eastside through which messengers would have a clear run. Neither Tryfan nor Skint had had any illusions that the grikes would be kept back forever. It was more a question of an orderly retreat from one defensive position to the next, and it seemed now that after the initial surprise of the attack, which had been ably dealt with by Alder himself, the fighting had stabilised at the cross-under.
“Alder’s watchers are covering the flanks, are they?” Smithills was asking.
“Yes, yes, the other potential routes in are well covered, and reserves are ready to go to them when attacks come there as surely they will,” replied Tryfan. “If their spies have not already told them of those ways in, they will find them soon enough.”
“I’m not of a mind to stay up here talking for much longer,” said Smithills restlessly, flexing his talons and pacing around the burrow. “I mean, ’tis a fine thing to plan but I want to get my talons at the bastards.”
“There isn’t one of us who doesn’t want to be down there,” said Tryfan, “and your time will come, Smithills, but it’s better to have waited here and hear the reports as they come in and make sure that the evacuation is under way. Anyway, Alder must be given full command down there to gain his own confidence and that of his watchers, but I shall be going down there shortly myself and you, Smithills, will come with me. You’ll have your chance.” Smithills nodded, satisfied, and crouched down again silently.
Tryfan turned to Skint, who had taken a stance close to Comfrey and was tense and serious.
“Skint will stay here as we arranged,” Tryfan told them, “for he knows the defensive planning and the details of the evacuation.”
“Have you d-d-decided which routes you’re taking, or will we have to wait until we see which way the f-fighting goes?” asked Comfrey. In recent weeks he had given up the running of the system to Tryfan, and had approved the decision that the only moles with full knowledge of the plans were Tryfan and Skint.
“Yes, we have decided on a route out,” confided Tryfan, “but even now we will keep silent about it... It is essential that the grikes never know what route we use.” He paused, for there was a commotion down the tunnel as Maundy arrived.
She was calm, but breathless, and with a warm glance at all of them said, “I’m not as young as I was,
but that’s not going to stop me! Now I can tell you that the groups are all in place, there is great calm, and they wait only our instructions. Rushe is continuing to check and double-check, and will send reports.” Maundy took her usual place next to Comfrey, who reached over and touched her gently, as he always did.
“Good, you have done well!” said Tryfan. “Now, one or other of us must always be here to decide when the evacuation will start. But we need to draw as many of Henbane’s forces to the centre of the fighting to be sure that the ways from the system itself are as clear as they can be.
“Remember all of you, if for any reason both Skint and I are lost then listen to Mayweed: he knows, and he will guide you.” The others looked at each other: “lost” meant killed. They all faced unknown risks now, and whatmole knew what Tryfan might find when he went down to the front near the cross-under? One reason why Smithills was going with him was to be protection for him.
Tryfan looked round at them all confidently, and they felt his calm purpose.
“Now,” he said, “where’s Spindle?”
“Yes, where the Stone is Spindle?” said Skint.
“I saw him a short time ago,” said Maundy immediately, “near the Chamber of Roots, carrying some records and saying he wouldn’t be long and you’re not to worry.”
Tryfan smiled. “He’s hiding the records for future generations, just as he hid certain things in Seven Barrows, and at Harrowdown.”
“Well, there’s better things to be doing,” grumbled Smithills.
Tryfan raised a paw to stop him.
“Each to his own. Don’t you want future generations in Duncton to know what part you played in these historic days?”
“Me? Knackered old Smithills scribed about? “T’would be a fine thing that!” said Smithills chuckling.
“Whatmole knows what records Spindle’s keeping?” said Tryfan. “I certainly don’t! Now I think we had better go down to the Eastside, Smithills.”