“The sun was rising, there was a morning hush across the distant trees, and I swear I heard a voice, a voice out of Silence, a female voice, and, yes, her voice, say, ‘Mole, you surely know that your way now is south, south to Duncton Wood’.
“So, as simply as that, the decision was made. And what did it matter if I knew already that Duncton was occupied by the Newborns, as all the major systems were? It did not. It was there the Stone wished me to go, and if I was captured again, so be it. If I found Privet there, well and good! If not, at least I had followed my pilgrim heart to where instinct and trust had told me I should go. I turned and said a silent farewell to Leamington, I whispered a prayer for the many moles I had come close to in the mole-months past and whom I was now leaving behind, and, shaking the dust from my paws, and whiffling my snout at the cool morning air, I was off and away, and free once more!”
Certainly, then, this passage shows that Hibbott had not then realized that the mole who had helped care for him after the Leamington massing, and to whom through that night of self-confession he had confided the purpose of his pilgrimage, was Privet herself.
But had anymole identified her?
They had, and that a Newborn, and arguably the one with most to gain from her capture and deliverance to the enraged paws of Elder Senior Brother Quail: Brother Commander Thorne, scourge of Cannock, most able of the Newborn Commanders, and the one Newborn capable of cutting through the panic and incompetence of Quail’s military leadership, and put his Crusade back on course to a crushing victory over the followers.
Few things are so strange in the long course of moledom’s modern history, nor so significant, as how it was that Thorne discovered Privet at Leamington, and let her go.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The vital importance of Thorne’s coming to Leamington, not only in his actions when he discovered Privet but also regarding his attitude towards the Crusade Council and his transfer of loyalty elsewhere, is most easily understood in the context of events at Wildenhope.
By the third part of July even the over-confident Crusade Council could not deny that the reports coming back were not quite as convincing in their claims of victory as they would have liked, and that in some places the Newborns had even been a little on the retreat.
Two events towards the end of June had tipped Quail over the edge into what Snyde, the greatest of the contemporary chroniclers, and the closest to Quail himself, privately called “a madness of rage, retribution and misjudgement”.
“He,” continues Snyde’s startlingly honest private record – created with the help of the now alienated Squelch who had access to (and was the butt of) Quail’s worst excesses of mindless anger and cruel punishment of aides he believed had been disloyal or transgressed Newborn dogma – “became increasingly unbalanced and deranged as the molemonths of June passed by into July, and it became all too plain that the Crusades were not proceeding as smoothly as we had hoped.
“The first time I saw him kill an aide with his own paws or rather with his teeth, for he bit the mole to death – was when a messenger brought the news from Evesham that Finial’s attempts to subdue Maple in the Wolds had ended in failure and the capitulation of the important system of Broadway to the rebels, which meant that they thereafter controlled the north-eastern approaches into the Wolds.
“When he heard that Finial was killed in that engagement, along with many of his best commanders and guardmoles, Quail’s face suddenly became suffused with a kind of swelling anger, in which the blood vessels about his eyes and snout distended and engorged, his eyes took on a strange, fixed, bulging look and his snout turned a violet-red colour which would have been comic had not his murderous and arbitrary rage been so terrifying to those about him.
“The snout of the messenger, whose name I was unfortunately unable to obtain, turned as white as Quail’s turned puce, and his eyes widened in abject fear. Then, with a snarl of rage, Quail lunged forward into a ghastly embrace, his teeth about the other’s throat. He stanced up, twisted and ripped at the mole and hurled him bodily towards the Council chamber’s portal. Blood was everywhere, not least about the mouth of Quail, who, no sooner was the deed done, assumed a benign smile, wiping the blood from his face before ordering that the dying victim be dragged away by guards so that the Council could resume its debate.
“I noted a curious odour in the chamber afterwards, a rotten odour, as of decaying flesh whose fumes of putrefaction have been only partly disguised by some herb or other. It was faint, but quite nauseating, and I reluctantly concluded that its source was in some way Quail himself Others seemed not to notice it at the time, and certainly none later admitted to doing so, though I and my minions questioned them several times.
“As for the murder of the messenger, it seemed afterwards almost as if it had not occurred. Not one Brother Inquisitor who was witness to it ever mentioned it to me again, and nor, later, when my enquiries were beginning to concentrate upon Quail’s growing insanity and its source, was it ever referred to.
“The second occasion on which Quail’s rage over-reached itself was rather more public, yet the culture of pretence that nothing untoward had taken place again obtained. This was that afternoon at the beginning of July when news reached Wildenhope that the mole Rooster, supposed Master of the Delve, had survived, and was alive somewhere high in the Wolds.
“This news was brought to us by the informer Kritch of Norton, aide to Stow, and one of the few followers ever to betray his cause. Kritch’s absence from the rebels’ ranks went unnoticed because of his clever stratagem of pretending to have been mortally wounded at the engagement in Broadway in which Finial was killed.
“He would have reached Wildenhope with his information earlier but that he was incarcerated by the Newborns at Evesham pending confirmation of his identity as informer and spy.* Having survived that, he eventually made his way to Wildenhope and brought the unwelcome news of Rooster’s survival, and much other information concerning the disposition of the rebel forces in the Wolds. My own view is that it was this news of Rooster which pushed Quail over into the dark void of insanity, though its full effects were not to be seen for many a molemonth yet.
*Justice demands an extended note here to revise the reputation of a much-maligned mole. This reference in Snyde’s record is the source of the notorious reputation that Kritch of Norton so unfairly gained with the succeeding generation of followers. His true heroism, as a mole who dared infiltrate the Newborn ranks on behalf of the followers and risk his life many times in the service of Maple has only emerged in recent years. This history is recounted in the follower tradition, which generally, for the sake of clarity, preserves Kritch’s disguise as the traitor he was not; and certainly, though it was true he was an aide to Stow, as Snyde suggests, to his follower contemporaries he appeared only as a lowly one and is never mentioned in the memoirs of Maple or Stow. It was, in fact, in the text concerning those times left by Chervil of Blagrove Slide that Kritch’s true identity, and therefore his true greatness, was first publicly acknowledged and the startling claim made that he was “probably” kin of Weeth.
“The news was imparted at a full meeting of the Crusade Council at which a number of Brother Commanders who had been recalled for further consultation and orders were also present. On hearing the news Quail’s rage was absolute. Indeed, I myself, stanced immediately behind him, believed that he had been taken acutely ill.
“He spoke in a strange, gasping voice, words that few could have heard clearly, apart from myself and one or two close to him: “Had him. Here. Could have crushed him. Here. Had him in Caer Caradoc. There. Kill him. Rip him. Eat him, the Rooster mole. Devour him for he is Snake. He is doubt. Had him here and did not gorge on him, his blood to drink his entrails to chew, his beating heart to swallow into me.”
“I scribed down these extraordinary words, which he spat out in staccato style like bad food, even as he shook and gesticulated in his maddened fury at having let Rooster escape his grasp,
not once but twice. And as he spoke of eating his enemy, of gorging on his flesh, of making Rooster become a part of him, I was aware once more of that vile and retch-making odour, as rotten as putrid flesh, and as cloying in the gullet. It was a stench so horrid and so heavy that I nearly disgraced myself by vomiting, but a scribe must expect to continue to report in all circumstances and conditions, and I did so. Only later did I learn to enjoy that stench.
“Stanced next to Quail on this occasion was his son Squelch, who, as I have reported elsewhere, was by now disenchanted with and alienated from his father and so an especially useful source of knowledge to me on those occasions when I was unable to elicit information from the Elder Senior Brother Quail himself I glanced at Squelch to observe his response to the odour and was surprised to see a look of peace and pleasure on his face, as if he did not notice it or (a thought that did not then occur to me) as if he was actually enjoying it.
“The moment of rage, and odour, passed, and Quail reverted to a cold and calculated anger, which I felt certain would result in the death of the spy Kritch, who had brought the bad news. To that mole’s great good fortune, at this significant moment Brother Commander Bale, then in command of Stratford and unused to the imperative rule that no brother spoke without Quail’s permission, turned to the Welsh Brother Commander Caerwys and said something which made Caerwys smile and glance at Quail.
“I saw Quail’s anger mount again; he opened his mouth to admonish the Welsh mole when, to my great surprise, Kritch dared step forward and say in a clear low voice, ‘A privy word with you Elder Senior Brother, if I may.’
“It was boldly done, confidently, but with due deference, and Quail, floundering perhaps in his sea of rage, turned to this island of calm and nodded his head, gesturing Kritch to come very near. He did so, and I eased myself forward as so often in the past to hear what was said and record it, and was astounded to find myself scribing down these words: ‘Beware the Brother Commanders Bale and Caerwys, for they are in collusion with the Snake that is in Rooster’s heart.’
“‘You have evidence?’ whispered Quail.
“‘Proof positive,’ said Kritch, ‘and there are the others.’
“‘Others?’ whispered my Master Quail.
“‘The others in the plot are Brother Commanders Fenney and Blinke and the Brother Adviser Kilvert. The snakes are entwined about their hearts, the worms of evil devour their brains, the poisons of corruption imbue their talons.’ Kritch spoke like the true Newborn he was, and a mole could not doubt that he pointed the talon of accusation justly.
“‘Snakes... worms... poisons,’ hissed Quail, his eyes beginning to bulge once more as he turned his terrible gaze upon the accused, from whom other Inquisitors and commanders alike backed away.
“‘Kill them,’ Quail ordered peremptorily, and mole looked at mole to see who would carry out the deed. ‘All of us will kill them, for we share the guilt of their crimes and must cleanse our talons with their blood and offer it up to the sacred Stone.’
“In this private record I have nothing of significance to add to the official report on the deaths of those five miscreants who had crept into the very heart of our Council. They attempted to resist in a cowardly fashion. The Inquisitor Ranke, assistant to Skua himself, was mortally injured in the struggle, and all five were killed by the Council itself The spy Kritch was well rewarded by Quail, but pride soon overcame him, as it often does with minions who do not know their place, and he was banished to some minor assignment far from the pleasures of power at Wildenhope.
“This was one of the first occasions my Master Quail specifically rewarded me, pointing at the five corpses as the Council adjourned and saying, ‘Do with them as you will. I do not wish to see them again.’ My colleague Squelch asked if he might ‘stay and watch’, which I permitted to some degree. *
* Scholars of those times will be uncomfortably aware of the deformed Snyde’s perverse interest in the dead, though mercifully, reference to his necrophilia need be but passing in this history, which is concerned with better things. This ambiguous reference to the way his foul and usually secret lusts were on occasion rewarded by the grateful Quail, leaves little doubt of the nature of the concourse that he had with those five dead moles before he had guards remove them. The fact that he allowed the reference to remain in this record suggests that this filthy performance, in the chamber of the Crusade Council, and before an audience consisting solely of Squelch, his partner in the exploration of deviance and pornography, was possibly the highlight of his sexual life to that date. Snyde, like his “Master Quail’, still had a way to travel, and the Stone, in its wisdom (and to use the liturgy of one of Skua’s own sentencings for crimes committed), had yet to find the “just and exquisitely fitting final punishment” his life, and that of Quail, deserved.
“My own view of the killing of the brothers in Council was that it suggested that Quail was insane, in the sense that the needs of the Newborn masses (which surely dictated that these five competent moles be kept alive and useful even if they were guilty as indicted) were taking second place to his zeal for the Stone. Quail was now in thrall to faith, dogma, and his own passions, rather than acting with reason and clear purpose as he had before.
“Thus my own task as record-keeper and scribemole for the most powerful mole in moledom assumed an even greater importance. I therefore resolved to keep my accounts even more assiduously than before so that history might know the truth, whilst, at the same time, using my position of trust and confidence to try to keep Quail’s darker passions in check. In this way I sought to guide him in his leadership back towards the resolute Crusade against the followers, which was in danger of faltering.”
This extended extract from Snyde’s secret record expresses well the reign of intrigue, arbitrary terror and sycophancy that now began to infect Quail’s high command. Snyde and Squelch, in spite of the latter’s known dislike of his own father, both now began to gain his fullest confidence, above all others, and their will, especially Snyde’s, began to prevail.
The plan that Snyde now tried to persuade Quail to follow may be simply and brutally stated: Chervil, who had prudently journeyed to the north-east of moledom in early June, was to be recalled (no doubt to assume command over Quail, and set the Crusades back on course). Brother Commander Thorne, in Cannock, rightly recognized by Snyde as the only leader capable of successfully countering the followers’ advances, was to be given supreme military power; and former Elder Senior Brother Thripp, now dubbed “Emeritus Brother Thripp” to mark his retirement from power, was to be further isolated, and later secretly assassinated, and those who did the deed to be themselves eliminated.
This was now Snyde’s agenda, and whilst being impressed by his acuity in identifying the three moles most capable of furthering the Newborn cause if they wished to, we may be grateful that he failed to achieve most of it. Had Chervil come to Wildenhope – as under Snyde’s and Squelch’s influence Quail soon ordered him to do – he would undoubtedly have been killed despite Snyde’s intentions. Quail would not have tolerated him for long. The same may be said of Thorne.
As for Thripp – already in Quail’s control and presently immured in a comfortable but impregnable suite of cells in Wildenhope – this was one act of murder Quail was as yet unwilling to commit.
However, Snyde’s plotting succeeded in ensuring that Thripp was completely isolated from loyal supporters, for soon after the murders in Council, a formal charge of conspiring against Quail was raised against Thripp’s one remaining aide, the faithful Brother Rolt. But it was too late, for Rolt, always well-informed, had bade his reluctant and tearful farewell to Thripp the night before the guardmoles came to take him into custody, and fled Wildenhope. This was no easy thing to do, but Rolt had not survived the long years of the rise of the Caradocian Order for nothing, and knew better than most which guardmoles would turn a blind eye on his departure, the best tunnels to take to avoid the Wildenhope patrols, and where he might lie low in sa
fe retreat if guards were sent out after him. It should be added that the ever-faithful Rolt also knew which of the guards and minions still remaining in Wildenhope might be relied on to watch over their Master Thripp as best as they were able. It is not only among the followers that courage is to be found.
Nor did Rolt go before Thripp had given him clear and detailed instructions. The former Elder Senior Brother might still choose to appear frail and weak-headed to the rest of moledom, but Rolt knew him to be physically fitter than he had been for years. It helped his pretence that his face was now thin and lined, and his fur pale and patchy; but his mind was clear, and his spirit had discovered a new kind of peace ever since Privet’s coming and subsequent escape from Wildenhope. He, if nomole else as yet, had seen a clear way forward.
“So, there you are, Rolt, you know what you must do, and we must pray that the others will play their parts as well as Quail is unconsciously playing his. Once you have gone I doubt that I shall be able to learn much of what is going on, and it may be that Quail will have me made eliminate.”
Poor Rolt was close to tears to hear this, which was, after all, his worst fear. What would he do if he could not serve Thripp?
“I do not want to leave, Master,” he said.
“I know it, but you must. You have important tasks to fulfil, and moles to motivate, and none in moledom apart from you can do these things. But Chervil...”
Only at mention of his son did the cool, calm eyes of Thripp seem to falter, and his gaze become unsteady.
“Why, mole, I cannot think the Stone will take both myself and Chervil’s mother to its Silence before the Book has come. Therefore, if I am gone by then, bring Chervil to his mother, ensure that they talk and know each other.”
Duncton Stone Page 35