Sometimes old roots got in their way. With often a boulder they had to climb over, their heads scraping the earthy roof above, both Cornflower and Winifred began to wish for the sunny warmth of the afternoon above ground. Rollo was too excited to think of other things. He followed the line of ants eagerly. Foremole, who was used to the dark underground places, followed stolidly in the rear. They finally emerged into what was neither a room, passage or cave, it was a low, dim area supported by stone columns with a wall blocking the way at the far end. The torchlight showed the ants were climbing in between the mortared spaces of the lower courses, until three layers up they disappeared into a crack between two of the heavy redstone blocks.

Winifred went to the place and held the torch up. “Well, that’s where they’re going, but I’m afraid we’d have to be the same size as an ant to follow. Hello, what’s this . . . Look!”

Rollo and Cornflower rubbed dust and dry earth away from the surface of the larger of the sandstone blocks until lettering was revealed.

“Aha! It’s the very foundation stone of Redwall Abbey. Let’s see what it says,” Cornflower exclaimed. She urged Winifred to hold the light closer as she read aloud:

“Upon this stone rest all our hopes and efforts. Let Redwall Abbey stand for ever as a home for the peaceful and a haven for woodlanders. In the Spring of the Late Snowdrops this stone was laid in its place by our Champion, Martin the Warrior, and our Founder, Abbess Germaine. May our winters be short, the springtimes green, our summers long and the autumns fruitful.”

They stood in silence after Cornflower had read the beautiful inscription, the history and tradition of Redwall laying its kindly paw on each of them.

Foremole broke the silence with his mole logic. “Aroight, you uns bide yurr awhoil, oi’ll goo an’ fetch ee diggen teams. This be a job fer mole skills.”

When he had gone, they sat gazing at the stone in the dwindling torchlight. It was Winifred who voiced their thoughts.

“What’ll we find behind the wall, I wonder?”

*   *   *

The late afternoon sun shimmered and danced on the broad waters of a deep-flowing stream that ran through the rock-shelved floor of the canyon between two hills. Gratefully the chained captives drank their fill before lying down to rest on the sunbaked stone. Wedgeback the stoat sat nearby. He glared at them, pointing menacingly with his cane.

“Right, you lot, heads down, get a bit of sleep while you can. And just let me hear one move or murmur from any of you, by the fang! I’ll have your tails for tea.”