Martin nodded. “It’s true. I saw and heard it myself. Gingivere is in a cell far down the corridor. I tried to speak to him but it’s too far away.” The warrior mouse banged his paw against the wall in frustration. “Why doesn’t somebody do something, Gonff?”

The mousethief tapped the side of his nose and lowered his voice. “Sit still and listen, matey. Now the last families have left the settlement, we’re making plans. All the scattered families and woodlanders have banded together out there in Mossflower Woods. They’re learning to become strong once more, and the old spirit of defeat is gone now. We have real fighters training, otters and squirrels, besides hedgehogs and moles and the likes of me. We’ve even got a badger, Bella of Brockhall; her family used to rule Mossflower in the good old days. You’ll like her. Together we form the Council of Resistance in Mossflower—Corim, see, take the first letter of each word. Ha, we’re getting stronger every day.”

Martin felt the excitement rising within him again. “Do you think that the Corim know we’re locked up here. Will they help us to escape?”

Gonff winked broadly, a sly grin on his face. “Sssshhhhh, not so loud, matey. Wait and see.”

He passed the wine flask across to Martin. “Tell me something, matey. Why do they call you warrior? Where are you from? Did you live in a place like Mossflower? Was it nice?”

Martin put the wine to one side and lay back, staring at the ceiling. “Where I come from, Gonff, there are no forests, only rocks, grass, and hills. Aye, that’s the northland. I never knew a mother. I was brought up by my father, Luke the Warrior—my family have always been warriors. We lived in caves, constantly under attack by roaming bands of sea rats who came inland. You were forced to defend your cave, your piece of land, or be overrun. There were other families like us. I had lots of friends—there was Thrugg the Strong, Arrowtail, Felldoh the Wrestler, Timballisto.”

Martin smiled at the memory of his companions. “Ah, it wasn’t so bad, I suppose. All we seemed to do was eat, sleep and fight in those days. As soon as I was tall enough I learned to lift my father’s sword and practice with it.”

He touched the broken weapon strung about his neck. “Many’s the enemy learned his lesson at the point of this sword—sea rats, mercenary foxes too. One time my father was wounded and had to stay in our cave. Ha, I remember all that summer, fighting off foes while he lay at the cave entrance preparing our food and calling advice to me. Then one day he took off with a band of older warriors to meet the sea rats on the shores of the waters far away. They were supposed to make an end to all invading rats forever. It was a brave idea. Before he went he gave me his trusty old sword, then he left carrying spear and shield. My father said that I should stay behind and defend our cave and land, but if he did not return by late autumn then I was to do as I felt fit.”