Baby Bungo took the Patriarch's paw. "Hurr, then coom an' watch.
You'm never too seasoned to lurn, zurr!"
Martin tossed aside the axe. He had cut as deep into the taproot as the limited space in the hole allowed. Climbing out of the hole, he directed the group rolling the rowan trunk into position.
"Push it over here. That's it! Let the forked end down towards me.
Grumm, build up some earth and stones at the edge of the main hole here. Watch out! Let the rowan slide down. Good!"
The rowan trunk stood at an angle down into the main hole, its twin forks buried in two more holes at the sycamore's roots.
Martin climbed from the hole and inspected it.
Urran Voh nodded. "A lever. Don't you think it's a bit big, Martin?"
The young mouse shook his head. "The bigger the better, sir. Right, come on, everybeast climb up it and perch on the high end. You too, Bungo. Every little
helps."
Amid much merriment and whooping, the crowd climbed up the rowan trunk. They balanced precariously at its tilted top, hanging on to each other.
Urran Voh looked up at them. "There's too few. Not enough room for all up there. Get some ropes."
It was not long before Aryah and the otters who had sung in quartette came hurrying along, carrying coils of stout vine rope. "This is all we could find, dear. Will these do, Martin?"
The young mouse threw a rope up to the creatures balanced on the end of the rowan. "Perfect, marm! Tie those ropes fast up there, the rest of you swing on the ends for all your worth. You on top, when I give the word, jump up and down. Ready!"
Every creature waited on Martin's word.
"Right, jump up and down, now! Swing hard on the ropes. Swing!"
The rowan dipped and bent slightly, then loud crack was heard from beneath the sycamore. Martin and Urran Voh threw themselves on the ropes, yelling aloud to the others crowding above and below.
"Jump! Swing! Jump! Swing!"
There was more rumbling and cracking from beneath the base of the sycamore. It began to tipple as the rowan bent under the strain.
Rose and her mother laughed aloud as they swung on the ropes.
"It's going, see, it's starting to topple!"
The sycamore could take no more. With a groan of creaking and splitting wood it crashed slowly over,
Krrrraaaaakkkkk!
The end of the rowan lever had dipped so low that it almost touched the ground. Loud cheers rang through the valley, Martin and Urran Voh pounded each other's backs. "We did it, hooray!"
The moles were quite carried away, and went into a wild stamping dance. Rose and her mother kicked up their paws happily at its center.
Soon everybeast was dancing, singing and cheering. The great sycamore stood nearly as high as Council Lodge at its upturned base, a forest of roots, soil and rocks.
By evening a sprawling picnic had broken out along the fallen treetrunk, and strawberry cordial and waterfall cooled gourds of cider flowed freely. Singing lustily in chorus, the moles brought out ten of their deeper 'n' ever turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot pies, huge, deep, hot and satisfying, made in traditional mole manner with massive patterned shining piecrusts topping each one.
"Give 'ee, give you, give them'n give oi, Turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot poi,
Gurt platters each morn, an' more at 'ee noight, Fill oi a bowlful, et tasters jus' roight.
An' iffen 'ee infant wakes, starten to croi,
Feed 'im turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot poi.
Et's gudd furr 'ee stummick, et's good furr' ee jaws, Makes' em grow oop wi' big strong diggen claws.
Nought gives us molers more pleasure 'n' joy
Than turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot poi!"
Pallum, Rose, Martin and Grumm lay back exhausted, picking idly at half filled bowls and sipping their drinks, contented after the long hard day's work.
It was then that Boldred dropped out of the sky like a thunderbolt with her news.
36
Three pairs of eyes watched Felldoh set off silently into the rosy dawn that tinged the clifftops. Brome nodded to his two otter companions. "There he goes, laden with enough javelins to stock an army. Come on, let's follow him!"
Felldoh's mood was light and carefree now that he had set out to complete his lone mission. With a bundle of javelins beneath each arm and his thrower strapped across his back, he hummed a cheerful little tune. What need of armies and hordes? He could rid the world of Badrang by himself. Once the Tyrant was dead, Marsh ank would be a snake without a head.
White crested rollers boomed in over the shore, the sun seemed to smile out of a cloudless sky of powder blue, and a cooling breeze drove the thin layer of sun warmed sand aimlessly around the foot of the cliffs.
For the first time in many seasons Felldoh's heart felt light.
Cautiously the gates of Marshank creaked open, and a phalanx of hordebeasts, armed to the fangs, filed outside. Crosstooth looked all around to reassure himself there was no immediate danger of attack.
Badrang appeared on the walltop with scores of archers and slingers. He shielded his eyes against the sun's glare as he issued orders. "Search every rock, hollow, dune and outcrop from here to the sea!" He stood enjoying the morning's warmth, the light wind blowing his cloak playfully about as he watched his soldiers scouring the beach.
Crosstooth was near the tideline. He waved his spear from side to side, calling aloud, "All clear down here, Lord. No sign of anybeast!"
Badrang cupped paws about his mouth, shouting a reply. "Get those beasts dug in where they can't be seen!"
Crosstooth ran back and forth, placing the soldiers in position.
Some were behind rocks, others lay flat on the seaward side of low dunes, the rest dug shallow trenches above the tideline.
Tramun Clogg rested one clogged paw on his spade, cackling as he called up to the Tyrant, "Haharrharr, you got those beauties diggin'
their own graves. That'll save me some work, matey!"
Nipwort and Frogbit, the two rat guards who had been left in charge of the corsair, prodded him with their spears. "They're diggin'
slit trenches to keep themselves alive in case of attack. You get on with buryin' the dead."
Clogg dug with ferocious energy, muttering to himself, "Haharr, wait'll ole Tramun's diggin' yer grave, Bad rang. I'll dig it deep an'
'andsome. Aye, an' put a great rock atop of it so's you won't be a climbin' out again. Ho, that'll be a glorious day in the life of Cap'n Tramun Josiah Cuttlefish Clogg, to give me my full title. Ye won't be able to badmouth me when I'm throwin' spadefuls o' good earth in yer ugly gob, Badrang!"
Boggs stood atop the battlements, peering southward. He leaped down and ran to make his report. "Onebeast comin' along the cliffs in this direction, Lord!" Badrang was slightly taken aback. "Only one?"
"Aye, just a loner, still a fair way off, but I spotted im.@
The Tyrant pulled the closest two archers to him. "Rot nose, Wetpaw, get down there as quick as you can. Tell Crosstooth to hide with the others. You two do the same. When I shout the word Marshank aloud, break cover and capture this one. Hurry now. Tell everybeast to be totally silent. If he sniffs a trap he'll be off!"
Once the two messengers had departed, Badrang turned to his archers. "Down, all of you. Be quiet and keep your heads low.
Remember, the word is Marshank. You, Wulpp, go and shut the front gates."
As Felldoh trotted along from the cliffs to the shore, he hardly noticed the unusual silence that hung over the fortress. Had he been more vigilant he might have noticed the telltale signs that the foe were lying in concealment on the beach. But the squirrel's vengeful eyes were riveted on just one thing, Badrang, standing out bold and alone on the walltop over the gates. Felldoh's paws gripped the javelins like vices and his teeth made a grinding noise as his jaw muscles bulged, the breath hissing fiercely from both his nostrils. Now he broke into a run, his paws pounding rock and dry sand as he sped along, oblivious to all else but the figure of his most hated enemy.