The young squirrel stood boldly upright and moved straight into the water with a quiet confidence. He waved a paw at Cynthia Bankvole, who shuddered and huddled down against the rock, whining “I can’t do it, we’ll be caught and they’ll beat us. I’m scared!”

Mattimeo gritted his teeth against the dagger with impatience as he snarled against the blade. “Move, Cynthia, move! Come on, you’re holding the rest back!”

Auma gave her a gentle shove, murmuring quietly. “Hurry now, there’s a good little vole. You’ll never see home again if you act frightened.”

The mention of home set Cynthia’s trembling paws in motion. She stood hurriedly, dashed forward, tripped on some loose manacles and fell headlong into the water with a splash. Mattimeo and Sam grabbed her, stifling her mouth with their paws to stop her screaming out in panic. The escapers froze.

Vitch’s eyelids flickered and a weasel lying by him grumbled in his sleep as he turned over. Auma let out a low sigh of relief. The peace had not been disturbed, the slavers slept on.

Tim and Jube went next, followed by Tess and Auma. The remaining slaves on the bank lay chained and asleep. None of them would have had the courage or nerve to attempt escaping; they had been captives far longer than Mattimeo and his friends, and they had seen Slagar deal with captured runners. It was not a pretty sight.

The escapers stood in the stream with the water lapping almost to their chins in the fading light. Mattimeo glanced up at the darkening sky gratefully. The twilight would aid them, and it would soon be night. Holding paws and staying close to the bank, the friends pushed their way upstream to the south. It was heavy going. The surface of the river was deceptively calm, belying the cold, tugging undercurrent. Wet habits weighted down by water soon made it even harder for the Redwallers, and they were grateful when Mattimeo pointed to an overhanging rock ledge. He pressed forward, moving slower because of the depth, and behind him he could hear his friends breathing hard through their nostrils as they followed in his wake.

The rocky overhang was an ideal hiding place. They chose a spot where silverweed and purple loosestrife bloomed thick, drooping over the soil-topped rock ledge to mingle with arrowhead growing from the shallows. It provided a perfect curtain. Crouching low at the rear of the underhang, they nodded silent congratulations to each other.

*   *   *

Back along the bank, all hell suddenly broke loose with the return of Scringe.

“Come on, you lazy lot, up on your paws. Slagar says you’ve got to—Hey! Look at these loose chains! Halftail, Threeclaws, raise the alarm! There’s been an escape!”

“Escape! Escape! The prisoners have escaped. Search every nook and cranny, they can’t have gone far. Escape! Escape!”