The trio drew back into the gateway, where groups of curious revellers had left the table and were peering round the gates. “Well, what d’you think, Warrior?” Constance asked in a low voice. “They look harmless enough to me, even though they are led by a fox.”

Matthias pursed his lips. “Hmm, the rest are weasels, stoats and ferrets. Nothing that we can’t cope with. They’d be outnumbered at least fifteen to one inside Redwall, and they don’t seem to have any hidden army waiting to spring out in ambush on us. I think they look ragged but harmless enough.”

Behind them the young ones were eagerly craning their necks, calling out excitedly. “Hurray! Clowns and tumblers. Oh, can we see them, Constance?”

“Look, there’s a magic one. Ooh, see his cloak!”

Vitch was leading the youngest in a chant. “We want to see, we want the show . . . !”

Basil Stag Hare pushed his way though to Matthias. He was chuckling indulgently and waving his ears for silence.

“Steady on, chaps, haw haw! A jolly old concert party, wot? Don’t be an old stick in the mud, Constance. Let the blighters in, as long as they don’t pull rabbits out of hats.”

Constance shook her big striped head from side to side doubtfully. The chanting broke out even louder. Finally she winked at Matthias and nodded to the hooded fox.

“Oh all right! Come on then. You youngsters, move aside and let me open the gates, otherwise these tumblers won’t be able to get in.”

The young ones gave a great cheer.

*   *   *

Slagar was impressed with the long tunnel of arched sandstone. It denoted the massive thickness of the Abbey walls. The travelling troupe looked around at the great Abbey of Redwall standing in its own grounds, the magnificent alfresco feast lit by the flames from the baking pit. This was a place of riches and plenty.

They were patted down by Abbey dwellers searching for arms. Slagar shook his head sadly. “Alas, these are untrusting times we live in.”

Abbot Mordalfus bowed courteously. “Merely a precaution, friend. The feast is far from over yet. Kindly come and sit with us at the table. There is plenty for all.”

The silken hood quivered as Slagar wiped away an imaginary tear.

“Such hospitality and kindness. Thank you, sir. My friends and I will repay you by putting on an extra special performance for you and your good creatures.”

As they moved over to the table, nobody noticed Vitch slip a small scroll to Slagar. The sly one secreted it beneath his voluminous cape.

*   *   *

Wartclaw crept up behind Skinpaw with a jug of water poised to throw at him. A ferret named Deadnose who stood facing Skinpaw was juggling three balls, unaware that Wartclaw was about to drench Skinpaw with the water.

The youngsters squirmed with glee as they shouted out, “Look out, he’s behind you!”