Unable to stop himself and being jostled from behind, he injured his dignity and his bottom by trying to pull back and slipping heavily upon the grease. It was utter confusion, feathers, beaks, claws and wings massed in an insane jumble as the warrior birds tried to stay upright on the curving stairway. They slithered and bumped, slid and collided, slipped and cracked wings, talons and heads together. Black slimy grease pounded into a gritty porridge and the stonedust was everywhere. Each time a bird tried to regain its balance the situation worsened.

“Yggah, leggo, you’re pulling me over!”

“Gerroff, you’re all slimy . . . whoops!”

“Yakkarr! You’re breakin’ me wing!”

“Get your greasy claws off me. Take that!”

“Yugg, muy beaksh fulluv greash!”

*   *   *

On the other side of the barrier, the Redwallers danced with glee. They imitated the scorn the birds had heaped on them from the bell tower roof.

“Cawhawhaw, what a bunch of ninnies!”

“What’s the matter, can’t you stand on your own two legs!”

“I’ll say he can’t, his pal’s standing on them for him. Ha ha!”

“Ho ho! Come and get us, we’re over here, it’s not far to walk.”

“Yurr, ’ello, greasybeak, ’ow do you loik a taste o’ molegrease?” Foremole waved a sharp knife aloft. “Geddown flat naow, gennelbeasts, yurr she goo’s!”

He severed the catapult rope with a single slash.

*   *   *

Chaos was added to confusion.

The huge slingload shot forward, flattening birds who were trying to stand. Rocks, soil and rotting vegetable matter pounded in a torrent upon the floundering birds. The evil-smelling compound enveloped them.

Completely defeated, the birds slithered messily up the stairwell. Ironbeak tried to spit the evil concoction out as he thudded and bumped his way up, sometimes slipping back a stair, often falling heavily against the walls. All around him his warriors suffered the same predicament. Floundering, cursing and skidding, they beat an ignominious retreat, with the laughter of the Redwallers ringing in their heads.

“Hahaha, wash that little lot off.”

“Hope you’ve got a birdbath up there, hohoho!”

“Heeheehee, I suspect foul play!”

Ironbeak supported himself against the wall.

“Yaggah! You’ve signed your death warrants,” he threatened. “The moment you set paw outside, we’ll be waiting on the rooftops. You will be slain without mercy.”

“Yah, go and boil your beak, General Pongo!”

*   *   *

It was a long hot day in the crowded trench. The sun’s rays baked through the covering of boughs as slaves and slavers alike tossed and turned in the cramped conditions. Only Stonefleck sat calm and motionless. Slagar wiped his paw round under the silken face mask.

“If it gets any hotter, we’ll roast. Maybe we should have tried to cross the river before dawn, eh, rat?”

“You would have been caught out on the open water in daylight. That means death.”