The hare held up a hindpaw. “Hurt? I’m bally well near speared to death, old lad. Take a gander at me flippin’ paw, will you? I’ve been skewered by a tree trunk.”

Matthias inspected Basil’s hindpaw. “Hmm, it’s a large splinter, quite deep too.”

“Ha, splinter?” The retired regimental hare puffed his cheeks out indignantly. “Splinter, y’say. My life, if that’s not an enemy spear or at least a rusty dagger stuck in there m’ name’s not Stag Hare, sir!”

Matthias tried to keep a straight face. “Righto, Basil, hop over onto the grass under the trees here. Jess, lend a paw, will you? You’re good at getting splinters, er, tree trunks out. The rest of you, carry on north up the path. We’ll catch up with you as soon as we’ve dealt with our wounded warrior here.”

Mrs. Churchmouse hefted a copper ladle she had brought along to deal with the slavers. “Right, form up and follow me. Search both sides of the road and the path as well. See you three later.”

Basil shook his head in admiration. “That’s the good old style. You give ’em mud and vinegar, marm, just like my old mum used to give me. Yowch! Whatcha doin’, Jess? Tryin’ to hack me old paw off?”

“Keep quiet, you big baby,” the squirrel snorted. “Matthias, hold him still while I dig this splinter out. Hold steady now, I think I’ve got the end of it.”

“Ahoo ahah! Easy there, old tree-walloper. Oohooh!”

“Tree-walloper! I’ll give you tree-walloper, you flop-eared foodbin. Be still, here it comes. Aha, gotcha!” Jess drew forth a long sharp wood splinter. “Now suck your pad and spit out awhile, then I’ll tie a few dockleaves round it. What d’you make of this, Matthias?”

Matthias peered closely at the splinter. “Blue paint, it’s got blue paint on it. I’ll bet a bushel of acorns to a cask of ale it’s from that cart.”

“See the trouble and pain I go to findin’ clues for you buffers,” Basil sniffed nobly. “I say, chaps, is that a piece of torn cloth on that bush behind you?”

Jess bounded over and retrieved the scrap of material. “Indeed it is. Red and yellow, just like that covering the fox ducked under as we came out of the Abbey gate.”

They investigated, searching deeper into the woodland.

“Here’s a broken branch. Rain never did that.”

“Some bark’s been scuffed from this willow here.”

“Look, axle grease on the long grass!”

Matthias straightened up. “That’s it. They did pass this way, cutting off the road and striking east through the forest. If we hurry we may catch them up before night. They can’t travel fast in woodland pulling a cart.”

“But what about the others?”