Those moles who have kenned the Duncton Chronicles will be familiar with the position of this most notorious of systems, and the role it played in the war of Word on Stone. Suffice it to say that the system lies on a low bluff of ground some way to the south of the River Thames. The place is wormful, and its tunnels, though generally nondescript, are airy and well suited to supporting a large number of moles. For this reason, and because of its position between Duncton to the east, Uffington and Seven Barrows to the south, and Avebury to the south-west, Buckland is a system suitable as the headquarters for any army of moles that wishes to dominate southern moledom.
Although in itself it has little to commend it, it has a certain appeal to those with a ghoulish or twisted curiosity, since the southern part of the system, named the Slopeside, is where the zealots of the Word perfected their punishment system by which moles were condemned as “clearers” and forced to cleanse out the Slopeside tunnels, wherein, during an earlier time of plague, countless numbers of moles had been, confined to live and die.
It was in this nightmare place that history’s greatest route-finder, Mayweed, was born, and there the moles who helped Mayweed free himself from this terrible past – Tryfan, Spindle, Skint and others – were confined for a time.
It is not surprising therefore that when the Newborns began to gain power, Buckland should once again be used as the system from which the new tyranny could be imposed. Nor will anymole who knows anything about the Newborns once they became corrupted by Quail be astonished that Buckland was used both as a place of confinement for recalcitrant moles like Spurling of Avebury, and of reward to Newborn brothers and guardmoles who had earned the thanks of their seniors. For “reward” ken “respite” and for “respite” ken “food and females” – such were the rewards of service to the noble Newborn cause.
We know from the testimony of moles like Spurling, and Noakes as well, that the Slopeside was used little by the Newborns, extensive and well designed for confinement though its tunnels were. It seems that they were nervous of its reputation as a place of ill-health and ill-fortune: moles who were confined there for any length of time a century before had usually suffered from scalpskin, a debilitating and disfiguring condition of the fur, afflicting particularly the face and flanks, from which, indeed, Mayweed himself had suffered.
The place was said to be infested too by the more lethal talon worms, shiny, carnivorous worms, some black, some white, which invaded a mole’s body and fed off him internally until he died – a danger the great Tryfan himself faced in the Slopeside, and against which he was warned.
There was some early attempt by the Newborns to use the Slopeside for their prisoners, but this was stopped by Quail himself who, staying at the system for a time, indulged his debauched interests in such things and explored the Slopeside before declaring it out of bounds. The single entrance into the Slopeside from the main system was well sealed up once more and the few prisoners already living there were left to die, their feeble knocking at the seal and cries for mercy at the ruined and guarded exits to the surface the last thing anymole heard of them.
Such was Buckland when Sapient came to it that October, except that since Quail’s days successive Brother Commanders had developed and improved the defences of the place against the day that the followers might gain sufficient strength of numbers and purpose to attack.
Although this had seemed less and less likely, Sapient had persuaded Turling to continue such improvements, saying no doubt that it would be a prudent and wise thing to do. In fact, we may guess that he did so knowing that the day would come when he would seize power from Turling, and thus inherit a system which not only dominated the south, but from which it would be extremely difficult for any enemy, follower or Newborn, to dislodge him.
We may imagine too that Sapient was overjoyed to discover that the followers had been unaccountably slow to journey up from Avebury following their victory there, giving time for the defences to be improved still more, first by Turling’s subordinates, and then by Sapient himself after he had entered Buckland.
“It may be that Maple is a fool and did not realize that he should have followed on from his assault on Avebury with an attack here,” he was able to say but a day or two after his arrival, and following a tour of the system, “or it may be that our little diversion at Barbury Hill had more effect than we expected. No matter, the delay has given us time to make ourselves as nearly impregnable as a system can be. But not entirely – no system can be that, for there is always the worm of treachery within. But Maple has left it too late, and now he will lose ten moles to every one of ours if he ever tries to take Buckland, and will run out of moles in the attempt long before we do!”
The wisdom of Maple’s delay at Barbury will be argued as long as there are moles to discuss it, and many will say that he should have taken a lower moral stance than he did and charged north-west once Avebury was secure, and taken Buckland before Sapient arrived.
He himself, always a mole who spoke the truth, never believed so, before or afterwards. Certainly, when some two days after Sapient’s arrival his main force reached nearby Carswell Copse, which lay to the west and was a Newborn outpost, he did not think so. He took the position with little difficulty, and rapidly deployed his moles in strategic places around the system, effectively surrounding Buckland with sufficient forces under trusted commanders such that no Newborn could easily get in or out. He discovered two tunnels – to north and east – being used by Newborn spies, but these were quickly taken.
“You see, Ystwelyn,” he observed, “the system may be easy to defend, but it is also a trap and had we taken it I have no doubt that Sapient would have quickly surrounded us, as we have surrounded him. He may think he is hard to get at, and he is; but so are we to him. If he has made any mistake it is to take too much of his force inside, so that he has no relief or reserves outside who might cause us difficulty.”
Ystwelyn, now re-instated in Maple’s confidence, had surveyed the position thoroughly, and now they had begun the general debate with their commanders to decide what strategy of attack to adopt.
“The fact that there seems little danger from Newborns outside Buckland, or from nearby systems, shows how the Newborns are occupiers, and have not integrated themselves at all,” replied Ystwelyn. “If it’s a matter now of slow attrition, our force will see to it – we have experience from the Wolds of holding up and waiting, but...”
“Aye,” grunted Maple.
“Aye, we need to get to Duncton as quickly as possible if all that Noakes here has said of Arvon’s warnings is true,” interrupted Weeth. There was general agreement that speed was of the essence and that a long delay at Buckland was not desirable.
“It never is,” said Maple, “but especially is that so here, and Sapient probably knows it. We have the advantage of Noakes’ presence, for he knows the ground well, and of yours, Spurling, for you were confined here.”
“Couldn’t have kept me away!” declared the redoubtable Avebury mole, who had been offered the chance of staying in his home system but had declined it. “And anyway there’s a female I’m nearer to here than there.”
“You should be ashamed to think such things at your age, Spurling!” said somemole, and they all laughed, for everymole had heard of Spurling’s attachment to Fieldfare, and her promise to accept him as mate on his return from the campaign.
“One day you’ll be my age too and if you’re not pushing up daisies, as I hope you won’t be, then you’ll discover a mole is only as old as he feels. Fieldfare’s a mole who —”
“Yes, yes, Spurling, we know what Fieldfare means to you – but not now! Not now!” laughed Maple, who was glad of the diversion. He knew what only Noakes knew, that Fieldfare and those other moles at Seven Barrows had already begun a brave trek west back towards Duncton Wood, taking advantage at Maple’s suggestion of the concentration of Newborns in Buckland to get back in relative safety to a Duncton that might very soon have need of them.
He guessed how grim matters might become at Duncton, and how grim they were soon going to be in Buckland, and a little light-heartedness hurt nomole. None knew better than he that there was indeed little time, far less perhaps than any of them yet realized. They must take Buckland and destroy the Newborn power, and then move on, Stone help them, to Duncton itself.
But how to take Buckland quickly? There must be a way, but he did not yet see it. What he had seen would, as he had implied, take many long days to resolve, and could drag on for far longer than that.
“What we are going to do is to begin mounting attacks in one place after another, partly to test their strengths and weaknesses, partly to wear them down. We shall get to know the ground ever more thoroughly, and none of our attacks will be half-hearted or weak,” he said, outlining a strategy already agreed with Ystwelyn. “It will be... hard.”
The mood changed the moment he spoke these words, as he intended, and the gathering began to plan their various assaults in detail. Again and again he told them to keep their minds open to a wider view – if there was a way to bring forward the moment of victory by one hour then let the mole who saw it say so. It is not only for commanders to win battles, the ordinary ranks have a role to play too.
“You should say that to all our forces,” Ystwelyn suggested, but Maple shook his head.
“You each must say it to the moles you lead. Each one of us can contribute, each one...”
It had long been Maple’s habit to let certain trusted moles, experienced fighters all, wander here and there, free agents in an otherwise ordered field, for such small forces often had much to give, or saw opportunities even the most aware commanders did not. This was something of which Arvon was the master, and indeed something he had taught Maple from Siabodian experience.
“Which means you, among others, Noakes,” he said, issuing some final instructions after the general debate. “You have spent more time than anymole recently in Arvon’s company and ought to have picked up a trick or two. And anyway, you’re not the kind of mole happy to be subordinate and follow orders.”
“I’m not, sir,” said Noakes gratefully.
“Report direct to me, and take Weeth along with you.”
“Me?” protested Weeth. “You promised I should not be parted from you, not again.”
Maple grinned. “Hardly parting, Weeth. You’re to keep in touch, which is what you’re good at doing, and to pass back to me anything which Noakes thinks I should be aware of.”
The followers did not dally in carrying out Maple’s orders, and that same night began an attack out of Carswell Copse itself, and the following dawn Maella, the dauntless female commander from the south-west, led one up from Buckland Marsh, and became involved in the first truly heavy fighting, which would lead in the following days to losses on both sides.
The battle was characterized in these initial stages by lowering skies, and day after day, by dull wet air and with grey winds from the east, the fighting moved from one quarter to another, with nomole sure of where the next attack would come, or the next retreat be forced.
Moles grew more tired each day, and the number of dead and wounded steadily increased. Maple designated the little copse of Harrowdown, which lies to the south-east, a place of recovery and respite. The lesson of Barbury Hill had been well learnt, and Maple and Ystwelyn made sure Harrowdown was properly guarded. Indeed, as the days wore dreadfully on and such incursions as were made into the solid defences of Buckland seemed able to get no further, going to Harrowdown seemed blessed relief to many of the fighters. The place was safe and for a few hours at least the fit could rest, and the wounded find comfort and help.
As for the dying, they were tended as best they could be, the followers protecting their own and dragging them off to safety, whilst being generally meticulous about leaving the fallen Newborns unmolested, for all knew Maple’s views of that.
By the fourth day the position was this: substantial incursions had been made into the tunnels of Buckland from north and east; the outer defences had been breached in both places, but the inner defences on the surface and below ground had proved too difficult to get through, so that Maple had to order nomole to try, eager though many were to make the attempt.
To the west the followers had less success, and indeed had lost many a mole in a complex range of tunnels there in which moles became separated from their fellows, and were easily picked off by Newborns operating out of well-made exits. On the south side the Newborns had very effective surface defences which were serviced from deep tunnels rising out of Buckland’s inner parts, near where the sealed tunnel of the Slopeside began. The ground beyond these defences, below which the contaminated tunnels of the Slopeside ran, was open meadow, hard to cross without being seen by the waiting Newborns.
But the same applied in reverse; indeed, when Tryfan and his friends had escaped the Slopeside a century before across this same open ground, they had had to do so at night to avoid the zealots of the Word, and even then had nearly been caught.
One way or another it was a difficult no-go area and it was for this reason that Maple had ordained that Harrowdown, which rises beyond a stream some way to the south-east of the Slopeside, should be the place of refuge.
On the fifth evening after the first assault Maple held a council of war at Harrowdown, summoning all the commanders from the different quarters, and many junior ranks as well. Maella was the only one not there, for Maple felt it wise to leave her in charge of things down at Buckland Marsh, where such ground as they had gained might so easily be lost again.
For the rest only Noakes and Weeth had not arrived, and did not do so until a general review of all the fronts had taken place. Then they came to the little Stone clearing at Harrowdown, where the meeting was taking place in blustery wind, by the sporadic light of stars and a moon lost now and then behind scudding cloud.
Maple summed up what had been said, partly for the new arrivals’ benefit, partly because he was a methodical mole who liked everymole to understand what had been said before proceeding to further discussion.
“Well, then, Noakes, and have you seen something the rest of us haven’t?”
Noakes glanced at Weeth and said, “We’ve got a few ideas, but most of them carry too much risk. Let’s wait and see what the discussion brings out.”
It seemed obvious to Maple that Noakes did have a useful idea or two, not so much from what Noakes himself said as from the look of excited intent in Weeth’s eyes. Weeth was not a mole who found it easy to keep quiet about an idea when he had one, and it seemed he had one now, or he knew that Noakes did.
“Well, then,” said Maple, “each side knows the other can fight, and will fight, and now we are in deadlock. We have not enough moles to overwhelm them, nor can we find a place weak enough to attack without losing too many of our own, which Sapient knows full well.
“There are various ways of changing the situation – one is to draw them out, but we’ve tried that and they’re not falling for it. Another is to surprise them, but that seems virtually impossible now. A third, which is a variation of the first, is to withdraw and head rapidly to Duncton, which might force them to follow us so that we could fight on different ground.”
This option drew a murmur of assent from some, dismay from others.
“Aye,” said Maple, “it would be seen as defeat by many, and would give the Newborns a new strength of purpose. If Thorne came south to fight us we might easily find ourselves trapped. The fourth option is to continue as we are and hope that they will weaken, but I doubt that they will. I am not a commander who likes to persist with tactics that are producing no change.”
These points were discussed in detail, and the debate began to favour a partial withdrawal, to see if that would draw the Newborns out. At least such a strategy meant saving lives for a while, and had the added advantage of allowing more time for many so far wounded to recover.
“And yet,” said Maple as moles began to grow tired and
the meeting to break down, “I still believe that if we could come up with a strategy involving surprise, that would be the quickest way of resolving a battle whose every day of prolongation is another day when we are not getting ourselves to Duncton Wood, where by now, or very soon, we shall be needed.
“Now, I am mindful of the history of this place, and that all those decades ago those great warriors Tryfan, Spindle, Mayweed, Skint and Smithills – names of which all of you have heard tell – stanced at this very spot. They had escaped from the Slopeside and I am sure had no wish ever to go back there, but if they were stanced here tonight as we are, faced by our dilemma, what would they say?”
“Humbleness wishes to speak! He does, good sirs, he wishes to pop a thrusting thought into the tired brains of our worried warriors!”
The voice came out of the murk, and at first none but Noakes, who was nearest him, saw that it was Weeth who spoke. His eyes were mischievous, his stance a little low and bent, and he had to mutter in that wheedling, persuasive, curiously confident kind of way a few more words of “Humbleness!” and “Not wishing to intrude” and even, and rather too daringly perhaps, “Muddled Maple”, before moles realized that he was pretending to be Mayweed.
“Speak, Weeth,” said Maple heavily, causing allmole to laugh.
“Sir, I speak for myself and Noakes and answer the question you have asked: ‘What would Tryfan and Mayweed and others like them have done?’ I believe they would have followed the one line we have not discussed, and which the Newborns would least expect: the tunnels of the Slopeside.”
There was an uneasy murmur among the commanders, for all knew its reputation.
“It is not as bad as it seems,” said Noakes, coming forward, with Weeth at his flank. “Earlier today Weeth and I went exploring there. I cannot say it is a pleasant place, and we did not get very far; all is now dust, and the white bones of the long-lost dead of the distant plague years.”
Duncton Stone Page 57