Duncton Stone (8 page)

“He does not love me,” wailed Madoc.

Thorne seemed convinced, and switched his attention to Rooster, whom he contemplated for a time. Madoc moved closer to Privet, while Whillan was allowed to stance down and attend to his wounds. They had won some kind of victory in protecting Maple and Weeth, but it was obvious that their position was serious, and possibly fatal, with Rooster’s surely the worst of all. Perhaps in those moments of silence all of them were wondering what other untruths they might get away with, and if there was any point in trying. But the same thought seemed to have occurred to the Brother Commander.

“Now we have established that you are all our prisoners, and that we wish you to tell us the truth, I had better say that I do not want to waste further time trying to tease information out of you. The moles Lakin and Cripps may be so named, and may have parted from you two days ago – or they may not. I am inclined to believe you. But it is not of great consequence in the light of the capture of Rooster – a mole who has led the Caradocian Order a pretty dance and whom Elder Senior Brother Quail will be well pleased to have secure again.”

Thorne said this with respect in his voice – and the manner in which he looked at Rooster was serious but not unpleasant. Indeed, in other circumstances he might almost have seemed a reasonable mole, an impression strengthened by the way he turned to Whillan and said, “I personally have no wish to harm you, or punish you – I leave that to the brethren of the Stone whose task it is.”

He looked at Fagg and the three moles nearest him with some distaste, and Privet and the others concluded from the smooth and glossy appearance of these three, and the familiar cold look in their eyes, that these were guardmoles on the religious side, while the others were military moles under the leadership of Thorne.

“However, the fact that we find you in company with one so notorious as Rooster bodes ill for all of you, I fear – but again that is not my concern. Indeed my only interest until yesterday was getting to Cannock and assuming command of the defences there – but acting on information received we heard of your passage up to the Edge and diverted our own journey in pursuit. Enough of explanations... my name is Brother Commander Thorne. Whatmoles are
you,
and whither are you bound?”

It was Privet who answered. “You won’t have any need to detain the two youngsters,” she said.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Thorne, again not unpleasantly. It seemed that he expected them to try to protect each other.

“Well, anyway... my name is Privet and I was delegate to the Convocation and claim its protection for myself and those with me.”

“And whither were you bound?”

“Are we bound,” said Privet sharply. “To Duncton Wood.”

“Ah! Privet of Duncton Wood, and in the company of Rooster!” declared Fagg with evident satisfaction. “Sister Privet’s reputation precedes her. A Whernish scholar, corrupted by her ancestry and studies. A mole reared to sin and lusts, and concubine to Rooster. Yes, a most useful catch, Brother Commander, and one that will enhance all our reputations. This is a matter for the Elder Senior Brother himself

“And you other two?” said Thorne quietly, looking as if he doubted Privet had been – or was ever likely to be – anymole’s concubine.

“Whillan of Duncton!” growled Whillan.

“Madoc of Gwynanst,” said Madoc.

“Brother Adviser Fagg, we had better talk of this privately,” said Thorne.

The two Newborns drew to one side and had an animated and not entirely amicable discussion about what to do with their captives. At first the Duncton moles could not understand why such an authoritative mole as Thorne should even listen to one like Fagg, let alone be swayed by him – and for a time it seemed he would not be: as the argument grew more serious Thorne’s voice became deeper and more resolute, and Fagg’s became thinner and more annoyed. But finally, when he began to refer to “the Elder Council shall hear of it if you do not...” and “Elder Brother Quail
expressly
asked allmole to watch out for the mole Rooster and would not be pleased if...’, Thorne fell silent and attentive. At last the discussion ended, and Thorne approached them.

“I am persuaded that it will be in all our interests for us to make quite sure that we deliver you into the paws of the Elder Council alive, in one piece, and complete. The Brother Adviser here, who is the spiritual mentor deputed to travel with my command, has clear authority in this matter and he is naturally concerned that since the mole Rooster escaped so dramatically from the Convocation he might try to do so again. He feels in need of support if he is to get you moles back into custody. So be it. My guardmoles will do their duty, and so will I. But I am reluctant to take you all the way to Caer Caradoc and have therefore agreed to see you safely to Wildenhope where you may be easily held until instructions are received as to what to do with you.” As he spoke the name “Wildenhope” a curious unease showed on the faces of his subordinates, which was in contrast to the pleasure on Fagg’s; judging from the horrified expression on Madoc’s face, all this reflected something of the reputation of the place.

Thorne ignored the reaction and continued: “It will make all our lives easier if you do
not
try to escape or anything of that kind – and I hope I make myself quite clear when I say that if you do then my guards will take extreme measures to stop you. In this I will be acting within my powers as Brother Commander – even though my good friend and Brother Adviser would prefer it if you all reached Wildenhope alive.”

Here he smiled wickedly and some of his guards grinned at the discomfiture of Fagg and his two colleagues. Clearly there was no love lost between the military and religious wings of Newborn authority.

“To discourage you from thoughts of escape I shall instruct my guards to split into four groups, each of which will be assigned to one of you. You will travel apart from each other and be given no opportunity for conferring. If one of you even tries to escape the other three will suffer punishment. I hope I make myself quite clear – I have no wish at all for any unpleasantness, and nor do I want any delay. While you are in my paws you will be well cared for and treated with respect. I have no doubt that if when I pass you over at Wildenhope, I can report you have behaved well, it will be taken into favourable consideration.”

He smiled briefly, every part of him the image of a confident and fair-minded mole, and turned to organize the guardmoles. In the few moments they had left together Privet whispered to Rooster, “My dear, we must believe that the Stone’s will is in all this, though how or why I cannot say or begin to guess. But we must try to tell Whillan what we know or suspect of his birth. That at least he must learn.”

“‘No conferring,’ the Brother Commander said, and he meant it!” barked one of the guards.

“Am here, always!” cried out Rooster as Privet was led away from him. Then to Whillan and Madoc he cried out, “Always! There is light beyond the void; Rooster knows!”

Was it true?
Could
it be true? Or was it the forlorn hope of a mole who had once been given a great task, perhaps the greatest, but had failed to live up to it? With final despairing looks and words of encouragement the four moles were taken off separately by their guards – the smallest groups of two apiece for Privet and Madoc, while Whillan had four guards and Rooster was accorded the dubious honour of no fewer than seven moles to watch over him. But then, whatmole could even think of trying to escape if it meant punishment for all the others?

Now the clear spring sky of late afternoon, and the fine view across the vale to the east where they should have been travelling, seemed to taunt them all, and leave them to dwell upon, or avoid, as their temperament dictated, what might have been.

What Rooster’s thoughts were beyond the bleak offer of hope implicit in “there is light beyond the void” was anymole’s guess. As they were led off southwards he travelled with head low, his great paws thumping the ground and crackling the husks of winter-dead plants beneath them, ignoring his guards altogether.

Some way behind him went Madoc, to whom the spring had brought health and comely beauty, which might have been why Thorne had assigned two older, grizzled-looking guards to her, lest younger ones be tempted by the attractions of their charge. Her eyes were brave but bleak, and if she looked behind her occasionally and saw Whillan, they betrayed no recognition. Perhaps her pretence of loving another – the fictional Cripps – now meant that she could not acknowledge the mole who might have given most comfort, and whom she wished to console.

Of them all, Whillan was having the most obvious difficulty. The battering he had received earlier to make him reveal if other moles were about meant that he now limped, and since one of his eyes was badly swollen he was forced to tilt his head awkwardly to see the path ahead more clearly.

A long way behind them came Privet, the only one able to see all the others, and with an aching heart she discerned Whillan’s difficulties, guessed the turmoil in Madoc’s thoughts, and imagined the dark confusions that must now have returned to Rooster’s mind. And yet...

And yet those last words of his, “Rooster knows!”

“Oh my love,” Privet whispered to herself as they went along, “you have journeyed further than any of us into the darkness which most moles avoid, which lies beyond the shadows of their mind. Where fear and confusions meet, there you have been; and where each step a mole takes heads him further from the safety of his own self And now... Whillan, your son, caught as you have been. Perhaps because of you.”

How hard Privet had tried to make Rooster talk; but he understood things best in the inarticulate deeps of his great heart, and expressed himself not through words but through the delving arts he had so long eschewed.

Until now, that is, down there in that scrape of a chamber where he had made a thing of beauty and compassion beyond words – a delving which he had not intended anymole ever to see. A delving which miraculously created life, out of what he had learned of Whillan’s past through the winter years in Hobsley Coppice. It is one thing. Privet mused, to scribe down facts that have been gathered and ideas learned, and a history surmised, but quite another to make a delving that could sound out another’s life, and predict the darkness that lay ahead.

She remembered again what she knew of Whillan’s terrible beginnings in the cross-under beneath the roaring owl way to the south-east of Duncton Wood.
Had
she ever talked of that to Rooster? She did not think so. Could Whillan have done? The two moles got on so badly that she doubted it, even if Whillan knew much himself Why, the Master Stour, who was the only mole present around the time of Whillan’s birth, never said anything more about it, as far as
she
knew. Yet there in the delving was all of it... the desperate last flight to Duncton of Whillan’s mother, Lime, the fatal attack by rooks, and the birth into death of all the litter but for Whillan himself: all had been there, all somehow felt and resurrected into a tragic beauty by Rooster.

“Oh Stone, protect him, guide him, let him live, for in his talons, and by his suffering for others, he strives to do your work!” she prayed, passionate and vehement in her faith that the Stone would not allow Rooster’s life to be taken. If her prayer was answered, all this they were going through might have meaning and purpose.

Night came upon them swiftly and by the time Thorne had brought the different groups to a halt, and settled them into places where they could rest securely, dark clouds were looming in the sky and the air was growing oppressive with an approaching storm.

Privet’s two guards treated her with firm courtesy, finding her food, and settling her into a tussock of grassy undergrowth with the words “It is going to rain – you’ll keep dry here, miss!” One or other of them watched her at all times and from their discipline and the respectful way they spoke of Thorne it was obvious that they were well trained – and well led.

“It would be nice just to talk to my companions,” said Privet, trying to look as peaceable as possible.

“No way, I’m afraid,” said one of the guards, “it would be more than our lives are worth!”

“You seem a little afraid of Brother Commander Thorne.”

“You could say that,” said one of the guards, “but there’s not another I’d want to serve under. He’s —”

“What is he. Brother?” said a thin voice from out of the still darkness. It was Fagg, eyes sharp.

“Strict, sir, he’s very strict.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Fagg without warmth. “Discipline does nomole harm! But I would not advise you to fraternize with this mole. She is not as harmless as she seems.”

“Only a female, sir.”

Fagg’s face curled into a chilling sneer. “And past her best if you know what I mean!” He laughed in the way moles do when they fee! it necessary to put others down. “Watch over her well!” he ordered as he left.

When he had gone one of the guardmoles said, “Yes, well. Sorry about that, miss.” He sounded embarrassed.

“These religious Brothers,” said Privet quietly, “all seem a little afraid of females.”

“They would be, wouldn’t they?” the guardmole observed judiciously. “They’re not used to females. Not brought up with them. Not healthy, if you ask me.”

“And you were?”

“I’m old enough to have been, yes. The Elder Senior Brother never meant for males to be alienated from females for life.”

“You mean Thripp when you say —”

“There’ll only ever be one Elder Senior Brother to me, just him,” he replied with quiet passion.

“And me,” said the other. “It goes for all us who serve under Thorne. Why, Thorne himself owes his position to Thripp of Blagrove Slide!”

“How come?” asked Privet, glad and surprised the guards were so willing to talk.

“Spotted his talents. Saw he was interested in strategy and leadership, not religious matters. Some are born to worship the Stone with deeds, some with words. Thripp said that, and he didn’t mean by it any criticism of those who are into words, like the brothers.”