Duncton Found (122 page)

“But...” began Woodruff, not understanding, “I’ve nowhere to go.”

The guardmole sighed and put a rough paw on Woodruffs flank, steered him back up the bank and down the other side past Terce, and out on to the grass beyond.

“Well, mole,” said the guardmole, “I’m going to report this but, for myself, I’ve had enough and as soon as I can I’m going home where I belong, and a lot of other guardmoles will do the same. As for you, go and do what she said, and live.
I’ll
not say I saw you. Go on!”

Then, not knowing where he went, Woodruff set out alone from Arbor Low.

PART V

Duncton Found

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Now, moles,
now
is the time to heed the Stone Mole’s words. Now when we have lost friends we loved – good Squeezebelly, bold Harrow, loving Harebell, caring Sleekit – and when moledom seems bleak indeed,
now
is the time to point our snouts forward as warriors and trust in him.

He taught us that the warriors’ way is not to
not
despair, but to see moledom for what it is and ourselves for what we are and, being strong and having faith, to dry our tears, to put our best paw forward, to seek beyond the darkness that besets us and our friends.

Therefore, though we have come by different routes, let us journey on as friends together, flank to flank, along the way this last part of our Chronicle describes. Together then, let us turn to moles we know have shown the strength we need: Caradoc, for one – no more faithful mole than he! – Mistle for another – few more faithful moles than she! Are they not much beset as well? They are, and yet they still press on!

Let us hurry to their flanks, and see what new hopes, and new courage, we may discover there....

Since moles of the Stone under the leadership of Troedfach and Gareg secured Caer Caradoc on Longest Night, the Marches had entered a seemingly endless phase of attack and counter-attack between Word and Stone as each sought to out-think and out-manoeuvre the other.

“They’re not sure what to do!” became Troedfach’s refrain, and Gareg, and old Alder too, were inclined to agree.

A period of uncertainty seemed to have settled on the front. There had been a brief and exciting time in the winter when a captured mole of the Word had revealed in passing that a mole called the Stone Mole had been heard of to the east, but he knew nothing more than rumours and despite all their best efforts to find hard news nothing had come through.

Yet one thing the news of the Stone Mole, vague though it was, achieved was to make them realise how truly cut off they were from moledom. There had always been moles willing to cross the front – as Gowre of Siabod had done successfully before the Siabod conclave the previous September – but it was Troedfach’s view that it was not worth the risk. Such expeditions lost moles, and rarely brought back information which was actionable. Better in his view to interrogate captive moles of the Word – that got results.

Sometimes Gareg, under pressure from younger moles who wanted to do something more adventurous than defend a front, argued that sending a few patrols across the line would not hurt too much, and might get new and more useful information.

But Troedfach was concerned with other things. It had been his view that the longer the stasis went on the better the prospects might be for the Welsh moles, for as the winter had passed by and spring had come he had sensed a weakening on Ginnell’s part – a weakening which had started, he saw later, with that surprising retreat on Caer Caradoc on Longest Night.

It would have been nice to attribute this to the supposed Stone Mole – which Caradoc had tried to do – but the more realistic Troedfach put it down to a harsh winter and poor leadership.

Yet every time they themselves tried to break the line, whether to north or south, Ginnell or Haulke, his number two, seemed to have read their minds well.

“Maybe they’re saying, ‘They’re not sure what to do’ as well,” said Caradoc ironically, for as spring and then summer came he grew increasingly impatient with the fighting. He wanted to be up on his beloved hill and among his Stones without the impediment of patrols and garrisons. He wanted the war finished.

“You’re probably right, Caradoc,” said Alder, “but it’s one thing for defenders to be reactive and another for the aggressor. No, I’m sure Troedfach is right and they’re uncertain. Leadership from the top, that’s what’s wrong. If Wrekin and Henbane were still in charge then I doubt we’d be stancing here today, but then I doubt if Gowre would be stancing pretty in Siabod. We may count ourselves lucky that Wrekin was old by the time he got to the western front, and tired. Ginnell does not have Wrekin’s brilliance.”

“If you’re right and they’re uncertain of themselves,” Gareg said, “then we should take the initiative and attack boldly.”

Troedfach thought for a while. “Gareg is right,” he said. “As Midsummer approaches there’ll be more moles about, and some going spare, and it’s a good time to build up our strength still more. But let’s do rather more than that. Let’s have faith that my hunch is right and the Word’s leadership is faltering... Let’s send a call out across all of Wales and ask for volunteers to come. Let every system, however small, send us some moles. They won’t be fighting all along the front for years to come, but they could be part of one mighty surge forward across the line in an attempt to break the deadlock. Gareg, you’ve talked of this before, and Alder too. Let us bring all our strength to bear in one place at one time!”

Troedfach was rarely so passionate as this and the others caught his enthusiasm. He turned to Alder and Caradoc and said, “And you two could be of special use! Aye, the retired commander and the pacifist. Caradoc, if you’re with us, and I know you are, you’ll help us now. Alder’s only old when he’s stancing still.

“Therefore, Caradoc, take him off into the Marches and start getting some of the younger moles in the mood for fighting. The way to change things now is for us to come on strong, very strong. To be bold we need moles. Get them for us and we’ll show them what to do.”

“Well, you know I’m not one for fighting, but I suppose if there’s a possibility of ending this once and for all it’s worth a try. But use the moles we send well, and make your campaign short.”

“We’ll use them very well,” said Gareg. “But it’ll make sense to keep them behind our lines here so that neither the moles of the Word nor even our own moles get wind of them.” He held up his paw as they expressed surprise and went on, “That’ll be best, believe me. After all, a lot of our best information comes through moles we capture and you can be sure that if moles of ours are taken then Ginnell’s lot would find out we’re massing moles and where they are and he’ll wonder what we’re planning. No, we’ll do it secretly, and we’ll train them well too. There’s some advantages in using moles who’ve not been fighting on the line before. Easier to train!”

The others nodded their agreement and then Troedfach said, “If we get good moles, and we do our job, then I’ll tell you this: things are changing, our chance will come, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the moles you send will be back in their home systems by next Longest Night with brave tales to tell, and ready to breed pups when next spring comes around.”

“You speak well, mole, and convincingly,” said Caradoc. “But I hope it’ll all be done
before
next Longest Night because I’m too old to wait much longer, and Alder here’s on his last paws! But just one thing: I’ll be telling them it’s the Stone they’re fighting for, and for peace, not for power or glory or revenge. If that’s their way there’ll be no peace. Don’t forget it, Troedfach, nor you, Gareg. If the Stone is with us, and our strategy works, there’ll come a time to turn back and leave well alone, and if the Stone Mole was here that’s what he’d say.”

“I’ll not forget it,” said Troedfach.

“Nor I,” said Gareg, but the light of war was in his younger eyes, and the cruel glint that the hope of victory brings.

Caradoc and Alder were as good as their word, and through May and June moles came drifting in. Many had never fought before, some did not even speak mole, and a few were too old or too young to fight.

But there they were, full of the spirit and purpose that Alder, whose name all knew, and Caradoc, whose passionate belief all respected, had put into them. They settled willingly down to wait in those secret places which Gareg arranged behind the lines near Caer Caradoc.

“What’s good about these moles,” said Troedfach one day to Gareg, after the two had been reviewing some more recruits, “is that they’ve come believing that they’re going to be part of a great push forward, and not feeling that this is the last stand.”

“That’ll be important when the time comes,” said Gareg, “for we’ll be leading them eastward, into flat unfamiliar vales, among moles they’ll hardly understand and they’ll need to believe in themselves and the Stone. They must be disciplined as well, though, and ready to follow orders, and have the ability to act fast.”

“You’ve time yet to instil that into them,” said Troedfach. “But one thing’s certain: come Midsummer, when the grikes have seen their pups to maturity, they’ll be pushing forward once again as well. That’s when the trouble will start and our chance come, and it’ll be sudden and unexpected.”

“And we’ll be ready!” said Gareg.

So summer came with the moles of the Marches building their strength, and by Midsummer they were ready. But for quite what they did not know.

As the moles at Caer Caradoc prepare to make war against the Word, and Caradoc struggles to help them find a way towards a non-violent peace, Mistle in Duncton Wood has a struggle of a different kind – to find the way beyond the sense of loss she feels.

For already, long before news of the barbing of Beechen at Beechenhill, Mistle had seemed to know that something final had happened that would change all their lives.

In the wake of those terrible nights by the Stone during the March equinox when she had suffered so much, she had stayed subdued and wan. The promising spring had turned into a delightful summer about them, but she had seemed to see it not.