Duncton Stone by William Horwood
“The mole Privet, Elder Senior Brother.”
“What of her?” said Quail, his voice as sharp as the points of the dead holly tree that leaned nearby.
“My subordinates,” said Fetter, relishing the word, even loving it, “my subordinates have... apprehended her. But a short while ago. She is in our custody.”
Silence deep and blissful, everywhere.
“Where?” wondered Quail dreamily, coming back towards Fetter just a shade.
“Here, now, in Duncton, Elder Senior Brother. Back at the cross-under. This mole —”
“Yes, yes, I do believe she must be. The Worm has found a face; the Snake a name; and the Stone has delivered it to us. Brother Inquisitor Fetter...?”
“Master?” said Fetter, coming close and even braving the stench of Quail’s breath for the glory of this most glorious of moments.
“Bring her to me,” whispered Quail, his voice seeming to echo about the trees as if in a holy chamber. “Bring her to me personally.”
“Yes, Elder Senior Brother.”
“You know where you shall find me. I shall be with Thripp and we shall await her together, by the Stone. Snyde, whose home this once was, will guide me there, won’t you, Snyde?”
Snyde nodded. “Privet!” he said, surprised for once.
Quail laughed. Squelch giggled almost silently.
“Bring her to me by the Stone then,” said Quail, as if she was a worm to eat. Then he went on his slow and painful way, full of joy, until he was lost among the ancient trees of the High Wood.
“And you let her, by herself, without escort, unaccompanied, give herself up to Quail’s guardmoles at the cross-under into Duncton Wood?”
If ever a mole sounded incredulous and angry and nearly impotent with rage it was Arvon, interrogating Hodder, Rees and Arliss. He hopped about from paw to paw, stabbing at the air with his talons, shaking his head with disbelief, his eyes wild.
“You don’t understand...” Hodder tried to explain once more.
“Don’t understand?” roared Arvon, the walls of the chamber where they stanced shaking with the sound. “I understand all right. I understand too bloody well. Oh, I understand! What I can’t begin to believe is that you did it!”
“It is what she wanted,” Arliss said.
“What she wanted! Hear that, Cluniac? It’s what she wanted!”
“It was what she wanted, I’m convinced of it,” said Cluniac quietly. “Privet is after all not an ordinary mole.”
“Not ordinary! Of course she’s not ordinary! Can’t even you speak sense to me?”
He stared at them belligerently, his mouth a little open, breathless with rage and frustration. Privet, the mole for whom all moledom had been searching, the mole who... the mole who... on whom... about whom... everything whom! These three hapless, useless moles, who claimed to have been her protectors, had allowed her to... aided and abetted by Cluniac, a mole he thought he had got to know well, who had seemed in all respects sensible and competent. And that other mole, who started it all...
“It was what she wanted, you see, what was right for her!”
It was Rees who spoke now, and he did so quietly but firmly, thrusting his snout towards Arvon, and so far as his weakened eyes allowed it, out-staring him.
“What she wanted...?” repeated Arvon faintly, stilled a little by Rees’ calmness, and perhaps realizing that outrage was getting him nowhere, and certainly not nearer a solution to the problem posed by Privet’s disappearance into Duncton Wood, if there ever could be a solution to such a thing. He was calmed too by the continuing stillness of the others in the chamber, who stared, not with alarm, as he might have expected and perhaps even hoped, but with a kind of sympathy, which he could not abide.
Rees continued: “She did not speak, but simply looked at us and nodded, as if to say ‘You’ve brought me back safely, now it is for me to go on alone once more.’”
“Hmmph!” said Arvon, frowning but now prepared to listen, if only because he could think of no further protest to make.
“Three days we were here at the cross-under, along with the other pilgrims. None asked who we were, none guessed then who Privet was, though it was to find her that all had come,” explained Rees. “At first we could not believe it, for we knew who she was and thought the others would. But they were looking for somemole more striking perhaps, somemole more grand; somemole who was holy on the outside, as well as inside. Why, I don’t think they knew what they were looking for, and so they did not see her. They dismissed Privet as just another pilgrim like themselves.”
“Except him,” said Arvon, nodding towards an elderly mole who stanced down in one corner of the chamber looking a little apologetic. He had grey grizzled fur and a pleasantly lined face, and like the others, he had a certain peace about him. He was the one Arvon had thought of as starting it all.
“Yes, him,” said Hodder. “He came near to us just after the guardmoles pushed and shoved us upslope out of the way, when that great party of moles arrived and were allowed into the cross-under.”
“Aye,” growled Arvon: “Quail and his gang – Squelch, Snyde, Squilver. The whole lot of them.”
“We wouldn’t know,” said Arliss quietly, taking up the story, “we’ve been out of touch with such things lately. You see, although she was always silent, yet somehow you knew what she wanted... or rather, her silence made you realize what you wanted, or needed to do.”
“Go on,” said Arvon.
“Well, he came over to us, did that mole, just as the parties you’ve named were arriving and going into Duncton and he said to her, ‘I know you, I saw you at Leamington, you healed me. My name’s Hibbott.’ That’s what he said.”
Hibbott nodded, acknowledging that that was exactly what he had said.
“It was her,” he explained, “the female who made me well after the Leamington Massing.”
“You survived that?” said Arvon, in some awe.
Hibbott nodded, and such was the openness of his gaze, and his simplicity, that none could doubt it was true. Everymole there knew of the shame and tragedy of the Leamington Massing, when so many moles had died in such appalling conditions that a survivor was taken seriously, and Hibbott gained a certain credibility.
“So what happened?”
Hibbott sighed and said, “I really don’t know what came over me because I looked at her and I knew... I knew suddenly whatmole she was. Before I could stop myself I said, ‘You’re Privet of Duncton, you are...’”
“And others nearby heard,” said Rees, reliving the alarm he had felt, “others knew. And then moles began to say ‘She’s here, she’s that one. Privet’s come among us.’ And they pressed forward...”
“They did,” said Hibbott very quietly, “and I knew I should not have said it. I should have stayed quiet. It was not what she wanted, or needed.”
“They began to press and shout,” went on Hodder, reliving the nightmare too, “and we had to crowd round her to protect her, to try to get her away. Well, we couldn’t go up, the slope was too steep, and anyway, moles were pressing down. We couldn’t go sideways: they were pressing in from right and left. You wouldn’t believe how quickly information like that spreads. We could only go down, and down, down towards the guardmoles by the cross-under...”
“... and I went with them, trying to help, trying to keep moles back, but their shouts were like rage or anger,” whispered Hibbott, upset.
“So we linked paws and pushed and shoved a way downslope to the guardmoles themselves and then he – this mole here – came to our help.”
Cluniac nodded sombrely. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. There I was following your orders, Arvon, to spy out the land, when who should come helter-skelter down towards me almost chased by the crowd but Privet herself, right into my paws. I had only seen her once or twice in Duncton Wood, but I knew it was her. And she said —”
“She didn’t say anything,” said Arliss.
“No, no, she did not speak,”
“What, mole?” Arvon said gruffly, though gently, for he had grown to love Cluniac like a son in the molemonths of campaigning past.
“She looked at me and I was still,” said Cluniac in some bewilderment. “Then she turned and faced the rabble of pilgrims pursuing her and stared up towards them and they faltered to a stop, speechless. I cannot explain by what power she did it, but she did. Then she turned to us all – these three moles who have travelled with her as we have learnt, and the pilgrim Hibbott here, and myself, and it was as if whilst none of us knew what to do individually, together we did. We turned with her, six in all counting her, and she led us to a guardmole, which made seven.”
“A Seven Stancing,” breathed Hodder, taking up the tale again, “a safe haven of moles. Seven of us. And the thick ranks of the guardmoles opened up before us and we led her into the shadows of the cross-under and she turned to us again and we knew we must go no further. It was just a grubby, shadowy corner, with puddles on the concrete floor, and a rectangle of light beyond where pasture grass rises up towards the Wood itself”
“The High Wood,” said Cluniac.
“‘You must leave me here, and let me go on alone again. Another mole was here alone once, a long, long time ago, he was here and called out for help, and help came. It will come to me, for the Stone will send it.’ That’s what she seemed to say, and our limbs wouldn’t move to go with her, and she left us and went on into Duncton by herself.”
These last were the words of Arliss, but all of them might have uttered them, though none of them had known quite where they came from, or whatmole it was whose memory arose about them, and gave her faith to go on alone.
“The guardmoles let us out as peaceably as they let us in, and that solitary guardmole who made up our seven stayed with us, and saw us to safety,” said Hodder. “I don’t know what his name was, I didn’t ask it, but I will remember his face for ever as if he were my brother.”
He looked around at the others, and they nodded in agreement. Silence reigned, but for the drumming of one of Arvon’s talons.
Hibbott, in his account of his pilgrimage, tells us what happened next: “Those moments following our explanation of how Privet had come to enter once more into the tender care and protection of Elder Senior Brother Quail and his guardmoles remain, in memory, some of the longest in my life. Arvon was a big mole and a most powerful personality, and not somemole the average harmless pilgrim like myself either wishes, or expects, to come into close touch with.
“But there we were, faced by a dilemma which, I felt strongly, might not have been so bad if I had kept quiet! However, I consoled myself in those slow passing moments with the thought that thus far when I had given myself up to the Stone, all had turned out well.
“I ventured to share this thought with Commander Arvon, but he told me in no uncertain terms that I had said enough and that I should be silent as he was thinking, or words to that effect.
“His thinking continued, and the silence grew ever more oppressive, and I swear that not only I, but all the company, could hear my heart thumping in my chest, which it does not normally do so loudly. Finally Commander Arvon said, ‘We’re going to have to try to rescue her, though Stone knows how. I would have preferred to remain where we are, for we may be needed here when Maple comes north from Avebury and Buckland as he undoubtedly will. What is more, there is the matter of Noakes.’
“Commander Arvon appeared to be in a discursive mood, perhaps because we were all moles who had, one way or another, spent time in Leamington, a dubious but powerful experience to have shared. So when Hodder asked who Noakes was Arvon told him, explaining that that great and enterprising mole had been sent south by him to make what contact he could with Maple, and with the rebels from Seven Barrows.
“I cannot say,” Hibbott continues in his engaging narrative of those events, “that such matters should concern a pilgrim, whose eyes ought surely to be solely upon the Stone and the Silence, and the object of his quest, which had until then been the mole Privet. I confess that my discovery that I had unknowingly met her already, and indeed that she had helped heal me in Leamington, came as something of a surprise, for it meant I had been no more able than any other of the many moles seeking her to recognize who she was. Having met her once and not known her, to meet her again and know her, and to have misguidedly shared that knowledge with others, thus causing her having to flee into the paws of Quail, the mole most dangerous to her, did not raise my self-esteem.
“However, I have tried in this account to be honest, and I would be less than honest if I did not say that as Arvon and the others discussed military matters, which were of little concern to me, I offered up a quiet and humble prayer to the Stone asking that I might be granted a third and final meeting with Privet, and a chance of redressing the balance of mistakes, if opportunity arose.
“I mentioned just now that the military matters under discussion were ‘of little concern to me’, but this is ambiguous. How hard and treacherous the way of the pilgrim! To be frank, I was fascinated by them, though I knew I should not be. How heady to be in the company of a commander such as Arvon, how exciting to breathe the air of decision and coming action. How...
“Alas, I got carried away with myself, for I ventured the remark that I did not think the notion of trying to rescue Privet was a good idea – moles might get killed, I suggested, and anyway, did Privet wish to be rescued? I am proud to say that the moles Arliss and Rees agreed with me, though Cluniac and Hodder did not.
“Before my well-intentioned suggestion Commander Arvon had been silent for some time, and though clearly not in a cheerful mood he had at least allowed the debate to continue. On hearing my voice he rudely told me that he would throw me down the nearest slopes if I was not silent ‘like pilgrims ought to be’.
“He calmed down a little and then continued, ‘This is not a matter for discussion. Until Maple himself arrives here from the south I am in command. Unfortunately you civilian moles seem unaware that Brother Commander Thorne is but a short time from arriving at the cross-under from the north, and he will have a formidable army of moles with him. Until this happened my own small force had intended simply to infiltrate with the wanderers and vagrants hereabout who grandly call themselves pilgrims, and see if we could find a way into the Duncton system itself. Not an easy thing when the only point of access is so heavily guarded, but we have been in and out of the system before and there are ways of doing it, if a mole is willing to take a risk with roaring owls, and perhaps venture across the dangerous marshes that lie beyond the northern Marsh End of the Wood and extend to the River Thames itself. Well, we shall have to see.
“‘But as for not trying to rescue her... it’s all very well for pacifists like yourselves, I suppose, and Privet herself I dare say, to declaim against war and fighting —’
“‘Privet never declaimed against anything, Arvon!’ said Cluniac quietly.
“‘Well, all right then, but you know what I mean. It’s all very well, but how do things get achieved? Eh? Where would Duncton have been but for the doughty moles who defended its tunnels and Stone with their lives in the past?’
“Impressive though Arvon was,” continues Hibbott, “I was not so intimidated by his earlier warnings (for a mole must speak his mind if he thinks himself right) not to boldly say that wherever Duncton had got itself in the past, and however brave and worthy its previous defenders might have been, today it was in the paws of evil moles, and that was plain fact. Had the loss of lives previously been worth it, if that was the result? Perhaps the system was better defended by a mole such as Privet than by a whole army of fighting followers! Pacifism might be the better way, and a mole ought to ask another what they want before setting forth to rescue them.
“Arvon sighed at this and look
“Arvon had one more question for us, and I remember it because it was surprising nomole had asked it before, or even thought to do so, including ourselves: ‘Did she have this fabled last lost Book with her? The Book of Silence? Or any sign of it? I mean, that’s what moles say she set forth to discover in the first place, isn’t it?’
“I was forced to shake my head and say that there had been no sign of the Book at all.
“‘You’ve travelled with her these molemonths past,’ he continued, looking at Hodder and Arliss, ‘so... where is it?’
“They shrugged, and shook their heads as well, and I am quite sure they had no idea at all where it was. Indeed, I rather think they had forgotten all about it once they were in the presence of Privet herself.
“The meeting with Arvon was now over, and despite the entreaties of Hodder and Arliss to stay with them, which I found flattering, I decided to make my exit from their company, and seek my own way forward once more, just as Privet had done-alone.”
Such is Hibbott’s testimony concerning his role in Privet’s strange and unexpected return to Duncton Wood, and we have no reason to doubt that matters occurred much as he described. Sensing that fighting and trouble were imminent, and feeling – wrongly as it turned out – that he had nothing to contribute to such a situation and that matters would not resolve themselves for a day or two more at least, he left the area forthwith to visit Cuddesdon and find respite from debates and coming fights, as he had put it. What he found was something very different from respite...
Chapter Thirty-Eight
By dusk on the same day that Maple had explored the Slopeside tunnels, the suggestion by Noakes and Weeth that they might be used to mount an attack had been turned into a solid plan of action. A covert route into the Slopeside was established, moles chosen who would brave the Slope-side tunnels, and diversionary thrusts organized in the finest detail. Maple himself solved the problem of communication, utilizing the services of fast-running moles who could cover the ground between different groups in an established time, using moonrise as the starting-point; and the all-important signal for the breakthrough into the main system from the Slopeside itself would be conveyed by the drumming of paws in a given way – a method once used by moles of the Word to intimidate those they were hunting down so that they were panicked into breaking cover.