But at least the elders had had the sense to realize the danger they were in if any Crusade got underway once spring advanced – hence the guards, and Whindrell’s quick arrival to investigate Maple and Weeth.
So impressed were the Rowton moles by Maple’s rapid understanding of their position, and the warnings he gave as to their vulnerability, and his advice to develop defences on the northern flank, that they offered him there and then a place on their Elder council, and the role of commander of their willing, spirited, but so far undisciplined and untested forces.
He declined, explaining that his mission with Weeth was to make a reconnaissance of Cannock itself – but he promised on his return that way to try to stay a little longer. Meanwhile he had every confidence in Whindrell, provided he was willing to listen to a bit of advice.
“You’ll not find stouter-hearted moles hereabout nor ones more willing to learn,” declared Whindrell proudly. “Why, thanks to the leadership of my late brother we’re an island of nonconformity in a sea of Newborn dogma that stretches from Caradoc to Cannock. Moles know it too, for many refugees like Furrow, Myrtle and the others who came up with you, come to us now.” Which was true, for even since they had been there Maple and Weeth had noticed other bedraggled arrivals, and seen how welcome they were made, and how soon they were found quarters and given tasks.
“I’ll think about your system before I get back,” said Maple, “for you could have an important role to play. Moledom is going to need systems that stance firm and uphold their liberty, and the example of one that does so successfully may save ten more from giving in. Aye, you’ll hear from me again, Whindrell! Meanwhile double your guard, train them, build your defences on the lines I’ll show you before I leave, and always remember that against a strong, organized foe flexibility is what winning is about.”
When they finally set off on their way once more the numbers who came to see them off suggested that their secret was out, and Maple’s origin known.
“No matter!” declared Weeth. “For doesn’t it show how a strong mole and the name of Duncton can inspire others?”
“It’ll be victories that inspire moles, Weeth,” said Maple grimly, “and the extent to which moles like these can keep faith with the Stone and each other in times of hardship.”
It was Furrow, already much improved in strength and health since their first meeting, who accompanied them to the last, and said a final farewell: “There’s no escaping the fact, Maple, sir, that you and Weeth here saved our lives. If you ever need my help you ask for it, and Myrtle’s too, and it won’t be wanting.”
There was pride in his voice, and a new light in his eyes, and Weeth knew that Maple meant it when he replied, “For that I’m grateful, mole, and I’ll not forget it. The day is rapidly approaching when it will be upon moles like you that all moledom’s liberty will depend! May the Stone be with you!”
“And you, sir, and with Weeth as well!”
Chapter Fifteen
Maple and Weeth pressed on to Cannock without a break; the rain still fell heavily and the spell of storms continued, and the going was as hard as before. But at least that meant, just as Maple had predicted, that when they crossed the last vale towards the heights of Cannock itself, they were not the only travellers, for many moles were escaping the floods lower down.
In consequence the light and airy tunnels of Cannock were besieged by moles like themselves, and after only a cursory check by a harassed guard they were able to enter; and taking advantage of the temporary chaos in the system, they wandered almost at will and surveyed both the physical defences and the morale of the guards, as well as gathering what evidence they could of the nature and strength of opposition to the Newborns. It greatly helped in all of this that Maple was well kenned regarding the scribings of the several moles who had described events at Cannock during the great War of the Word a century before.
“The defence lines are little different to those established by moles of the Word when they realized that the followers might overrun the system,” explained Maple to Weeth. “But the place is high, and its defences are well constructed and would be hard to take, and only fell originally because by the time followers got here discipline among the disciples of the Word had all but broken down.”
Weeth might know little about military history, but he was good at wheedling information out of moles and soon established that a new commander named Thorne, who was expected daily, had been appointed to the system by Quail, to lead the Crusades out of Cannock into the surrounding systems.
But, interestingly, this process had been partly preempted during the milder winter weather by Newborn zealots led by a young Acting Commander named Squilver who had risen through the ranks and had some hopes, it seemed, of making sufficient mark to be appointed Brother Commander himself.
“Bit of an ambitious, ruthless bastard by all accounts,” said Weeth, “and annoyed not to have got the Brother Commander’s position.”
“Mmm... that’s normal enough, and means little if Thorne’s competent. Indeed, ambitious subordinates only enhance a leader’s abilities if they are properly controlled. Have you learned anything about Thorne?”
“Only that moles say he must be out of favour with Caer Caradoc to be sent here,” replied Weeth. “Cannock is regarded as a dead-end – the systems most prized by the commanders are ones like Rollright, Duncton and Avebury, the last of which was once Quail’s own.”
“The moles I’ve talked to say there’ll be a Brother Adviser with each commander.”
“That’s right, meaning a spiritual adviser. The Brother Commander fights and the Brother Adviser prays!” Weeth’s eyes twinkled at this and they both understood why: divided leadership could mean less effective campaigns.
“But we shouldn’t linger too long here, Maple,” said Weeth, who when they were alone dropped the “sir’, “for the Brother Commander is already on the way.”
“Aye, but we’ve not made contact with any moles in opposition to the Newborns and I’m confident there’ll be some.”
Their chance came two days later when they heard that Squilver had decided that some miscreants should be punished, though for what crimes nomole knew.
“He’s probably just making examples of them to calm things down a bit,” said Weeth.
“And it seems to be working, judging by how quiet the tunnels have suddenly become, and how earnest everymole is trying to look. But I’ll warrant the kind of mole we want to meet will be there, so we’ll go along,” said Maple.
The following day, as they approached the great communal chamber where the arraignment was to take place, to which a general invitation for males in the system to attend had gone out, they felt that same sickening excitement among the Newborns they had experienced during the strettening at Ludlow. On the way they were stopped and questioned more than once and while their claims to be Newborn seemed as accepted as ever, it was becoming obvious that soon they would be assigned a group and a task, and then might find it hard to escape from Cannock.
Weeth was too busy fulminating against the air of excitement that accompanied the coming punishment to notice anything else, but Maple was in watchful and cautious mood, the more so when they were stopped a third time and a senior mole, an Inquisitor by the look of him, nodded them past but told them to follow others ahead down one way and not another which different moles were taking.
“Why that way. Brother?” asked Maple amiably, but watching carefully.
“We have to spread you brothers to different parts of the chamber,” he replied, his stance hard and his response a little too smooth for Maple’s liking.
“Right!” Maple said urgently as they went the way they were told. “You stay close to me, Weeth, and keep your eyes open. There’s trickery apaw here...”
Behind them more moles pushed forward, forcing them into those in front, invoking a feeling of crushing crowds which added to their unease. If Maple said there was likely to be trickery, Weeth was not going to doub
t it, and they went cheek by jowl, and did not separate when the tunnel led them out into a communal chamber only half full of moles. Its lay-out was grimly familiar to both of them, for it had the same raised dais and guarded entrances as the much larger version they had seen in Caer Caradoc.
“Keep close, Weeth, and make for a place near that portal at the back,” said Maple, indicating a particular one. Yet even as they pressed across the chamber towards it, the crowd thickened rapidly, making their progress increasingly difficult, and the problem of keeping together ever greater. Despite the struggle they experienced at the end, when they had to shove their way through a group of moles who took none too kindly to their efforts, the mood in the chamber was still jocular and excited. It was maintained by some cheerful moles up on the dais who were singing rhythmic and jolly songs, though Maple soon pointed out that behind them, peeping out from the shadows, were the pointed snouts and sharp eyes of what looked like more guardmoles.
The crowd about them was now shoulder to shoulder, flank to flank, and Weeth felt the first trickle of sweat at his neck and face as the chamber warmed up, and they struggled to maintain their position by the guarded portal.
“This is dangerous, Weeth, and we must not allow ourselves to be moved out of reach of this portal. Meanwhile, let us remember why we came and talk to some moles and find where their sympathies really lie.”
It was hard, hot work in such a milling, excitable crowd, especially one in the heart of a Newborn system awaiting an event, and Maple, formidable as he looked, made little headway. But Weeth, well used to Newborns and practised in subterfuge, found two moles together who, he whispered to Maple, were probably not the devotees they claimed.
“Sure?”
“Sure-ish,” said Weeth. “They’re not enjoying themselves; their claim to be Newborn was a little too eager.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
“You’ll scare them!” said Weeth, and he meant it.
Maple pushed past him, looked over the two moles, and fixed them with a stare.
“Hello, Brothers,” he said menacingly.
They stole a hurried glance at each other and mumbled a greeting in return. They looked a little frightened, and they were sweating a lot. They seemed jumpy, as moles all around sang and jostled, and complained that it was about time something happened. The noise level in the chamber had risen and when Maple made up his mind to risk confronting them directly he had to lean close and raise his voice to be heard.
“Listen, you two,” he said, “and listen well, for your lives and mine may depend on it...”
“Maple!” hissed Weeth in his ear.
Maple ignored him: “I am a mole of Duncton Wood and a follower of the Stone. There’s going to be trouble here and danger, so stay close by me.”
“We’re followers too,” they said with relief.
“Maple!” whispered Weeth urgently.
“In a moment,” said Maple over his shoulder, “Go on.”
“We only came because...”
The crowd was almost a crush now and the mole’s next words could not be heard.
“Stay close by me, whatever else you do!” ordered Maple, turning round with some difficulty to hear what Weeth had to say.
But Weeth had gone, and not a hair of him was visible in the crowd.
“Weeth?” growled Maple, annoyed, as he stanced up as high as he could to see where his companion had got to, and why he had disobeyed instructions. What was he doing?
Maple’s two new comrades at least were doing as he said and sticking close, but if they wished to say their piece there was no more time. The singing moles on the dais fell silent, the hidden guards came out in force and as a self-confident-looking brother appeared before them, an expectant hush fell.
“That’s Brother Squilver,” a mole nearby told another, and an appreciative chanting of his name went up. Squilver was a tough-looking mole with a humourless expression, and dead eyes that scanned the crowd menacingly.
“Where’s the sinners, sir?” cried out somemole up front.
“Aye, that’s what I’d like to know, Brothers,” roared out Squilver powerfully, glancing round the edge of the chamber and giving what was surely a signal to the guards at the portals, “that is indeed what I’d like to know.” Maple looked behind him at the portal he had tried so hard to stay near and saw issuing forth from it more guards, and then, as his eyes travelled round the chamber, he saw others gathering at each portal.
“This is a massing... aye, that’s what this is,” said Maple to himself grimly. “Where’s Weeth?”
The Newborns’ intention was now increasingly plain, and the crowd began to look about with growing confusion and concern as from the left side of the chamber and that part of the rear furthest from Maple the guards began an ominous, deep-throated chant, quite horrible to hear. It had no words that made sense, but was a guttural noise accompanied by the rhythmic stamp of paws on the ground as very slowly but irresistibly they began to advance upon the crowd of moles.
Suddenly, but only for a few moments, the guards stopped and fell silent, in which time Brother Squilver roared out again, “There’s traitors among you – spies and reprobates – and we will not have it. Let those among you who are untainted, and free of the snake of doubt point the talon of guilt at the culprits and punish them here and now...”
His voice was drowned out by the guards’ resumption of their stamping chant, accompanying it now with an action which Maple had never seen or heard of before: as the guards advanced they reared up alternately, talon-thrusting violently into the space ahead of them; if a mole got in the way, it was just too bad. Some did, and fell injured, which made the others fight all the harder to get away, and the screams of the first combined with the flailing paws of the second tipped the mass of moles into panic. Over the desperate hubbub of cries, shouts and death-screams the deep and ominous chant continued inexorably.
The crowd pushed and swayed and fought this way and that, while the guards advanced on only two fronts, leaving Maple stanced in a quieter part protecting himself from the worst crush by dint of keeping his two recruits close by, paws and shoulders set firmly. And still he looked for Weeth, whilst kenning the disposition of guards and observing that their advance had ceased now that its objective of causing panic had been achieved. Maple could see all too clearly what its effect was: that the crowd – the massing – was simply killing itself as mole crushed into mole, the weak unable to breathe, the strong climbing over them to get air, and all so far as they were able striking out at any nearby. But Weeth...
“Mole!” The voice was a deep guttural roar: “MOLE!”
Maple turned, the crowd parted, and there was Weeth, some way towards the centre of the chamber; looming over him was a huge, dark, rough-furred mole whom Maple recognized, but could not place. Around him, solid and determined, were others maintaining their position in safety as Maple had been with his two new-found friends. Even as Weeth grinned apologetically, and shrugged, the crowd began to close in again.
Maple’s response was instinctive and immediate, as he realized that if three were stronger than one in such a panicking mass and perilous situation, eight or nine would be stronger still than three: he ordered the two with him to follow with all their strength and began to push through towards Weeth. As Weeth disappeared behind a struggling crowd Maple had the satisfaction of seeing that the great mole with him, and his companions, had also begun to press forward to make contact.
Only as Maple pushed, and heaved, and struggled to keep his paws on the ground did it dawn on him who the moles with Weeth were; the name of the big one, his name was... Ystwelyn, the mole they had first seen at Caradoc! That’s who he was! Maple shouted this out to himself, heaving and thrusting moles out of the way for the final short distance until he found himself snout to snout with Ystwelyn who had been doing the same thing; Weeth emerged gasping from the mass of paws beneath.
“Sorry about that,” he panted, digging some poor m
ole adjacent to them in the ribs to be rid of him, “but I spied Ystwelyn here in the crowd and since we were looking for like-minded moles —”
“SILENCE!” roared Maple powerfully, glowering around. Weeth thought at first this command was directed at himself. It had but little effect on others, though a few moles nearby stilled and turned to see whatmole dared cry out so in such a situation.
“Heave me up, lads!” commanded Maple to the two so-far anonymous moles who had valiantly followed him. “Aye, get me aloft so we can get some order in here.”
“Come on!” Ystwelyn said to his followers, putting a huge scarred paw under Maple’s belly. “Do as he says!”
Suddenly Maple was raised above the crowd and precarious though his position felt – for his companions had not only to hold him up but keep themselves steady too – his second cry of “SILENCE!” had more effect.
“Silence and be still! You’re killing yourselves! Order there. Be still...”
A sudden wave of quietness and calm went over the crowd, rippling out from the still centre where Maple was, and spread by Weeth, Ystwelyn and the others, themselves calling for silence calmly, and shushing moles nearby.
Maple knew that he had but moments to act before the Newborn guards gathered their senses and Squilver, whom he could see now was still lurking at the portal beyond the dais, protected by guards, came forward to give orders and regain the initiative. It was a moment in which a lesser mole might have hesitated, or a more foolhardy one wasted the opportunity by saying the wrong things. But for Maple it was a moment of decision and commitment, and if moledom’s movement to resist the Newborns can be said to have found order and direction at a particular time, a movement that might transform secret criticisms and unstated outrage into an organized spirit of open revolt and action, that time was now.
“If you’re looking for a culprit, moles, you see one here! Aye, a mole who resists the Newborn ways, and who scents evil and dark doings in this chamber today! I’m a follower of the Stone!”