All around, shrews were girding themselves up for war; bows, arrows, slings, lances, even clubs were got ready. As Basil lugged the five weasel prisoners along on a makeshift lead, they wailed pitifully:

“No, no, please, don’t make us go down there!”

“We’ll be killed, we won’t stand a chance!”

“We have no weapons, we’ll be slain!”

Basil tugged the lead sharply. “C’mon, step lively there, you wingeing weasels. You’ve lived like cowards; try to die like heroes. Hmph! Fat chance o’ that, eh, laddie buck? Stop snivellin’ and wipe your nose, you villainous vermin.”

They broke away from Basil’s grasp and flung themselves in front of Matthias, grovelling shamelessly.

“Spare us please, sir, spare us!”

Sir Harry flapped down from an alder.

“There’s nothing affects a craven

Like the thought of sudden death,

The idea he might not see the night

Or draw another breath.”

Orlando kicked a weasel in the rump as he stepped over the prostrate creatures.

“You know, Matthias, these scum aren’t going to be a bit of good down there. They’ll probably give the game away with all their sobbing and bawling. Shuttup, you snivelling snotnoses, or I’ll finish you here and now!”

The weasels fell silent. Matthias leaned on his sword, stroking his whiskers.

“You’ve got a good point there, Orlando, but what do we do with them if we don’t send them ahead of us on the stairs?”

Orlando hefted his battleaxe. “Let me finish ’em off now, and save a lot of trouble.”

The weasels began moaning afresh. “Stop that crying. D’you hear me, stoppit!” Matthias snorted impatiently. “Right, here’s what we’ll do, Orlando. I couldn’t let you kill them in cold blood, that isn’t our way. We’ll set them going southward. Sir Harry, would you accompany them on their way to make sure they keep going? Sorry about this, but there probably won’t be a lot of space down there for you to fly about, and you’d get into trouble under the ground.”

Sir Harry shrugged.

“As you wish, as you wish, Matthias.

We each have a role to be filled.

I’ll take these weasels south for a bit,

But the first one to cry gets killed!”

The owl picked the lead rope up in his beak and flapped off, with the five weasels stumbling and hurrying behind him.

Basil watched them go. “Pity about old Harry. He looked a bit peeved to me. D’you think he’s gone off in a huff, Matthias?”

The warrior mouse nodded. “I’ve no doubt he has. Don’t worry, he’ll be back. Meanwhile, I’d like a last word with everybeast. Gather round and listen to what I have to say to you.”

*   *   *

The small army squatted in the copse, while Matthias stood on the top stair of old Loamhedge and addressed them.