Gonff nodded. “And he never returned?”

Martin closed his eyes. “No, he never came back. I defended our land alone, against all comers. That was when they started calling me Martin the Warrior instead of Son of Luke the Warrior. I left it as late as I could that autumn; then there seemed no point in defending a cave and land just for myself. I started to march south alone. Who knows how far I would have got if I hadn’t been stopped at Kotir.”

Gonff stood up and stretched. “I’m glad you did stop here, matey. I’d hate to be sitting in this cell talking to myself. I’d sooner talk to a warrior like you.”

Martin passed the wine back. “Aye, and I’d sooner be locked up with a thief like yourself than wandering about alone, matey.”

It was strange that at the very moment Gonff and Martin were discussing Corim, the council of that name was talking of them. Ben Stickle’s humble home was crammed with woodland creatures, the largest of whom was a badger, Bella of Brockhall. She presided over the meeting. Also present were the Skipper of otters, Lady Amber the squirrel Chief, Ben Stickle and Billum, a dependable mole who was deputizing for his leader. Seated by the fire, Beech the squirrel answered council questions.

“Where did you see Gonff captured?”

“Westerly, over near the fringe by Kotir.”

“Whatever was Gonff doing to let himself get captured?”

“Oh the usual, skylarkin’ and foolin’ about.”

“You say it was two of Verdauga’s soldiers.”

“Aye, no doubt o’ that. In uniform and carryin’ spears.”

“Where were you when all this took place, Beech?”

“Sittin’ up an old oak not far off.”

“Did you hear what they said?”

“Heard ’em say they was takin’ him off to Kotir. Of course, you know Gonff. Treated it like a big joke, he did. No doubt they’ll have wiped the silly grin off his whiskers by now down in old Greeneyes’ cells.”

Lady Amber nodded at Beech. “Well done. Anything else to report?”

“No, marm. I followed them as far as I could, then I spotted Argulor perched in a spruce. Couldn’t say if he was awake, so I decided to come back here, knowin’ there was a gatherin’ of Corim.”

Ben Stickle winked at Beech. “Aye, it’s late noon, too. There’s a pot of spring vegetable soup, cheese, and nutbread. D’you think you could manage some, Beech?”

The squirrel winked back at Ben, bobbed his head respectfully to the Corim leaders and was gone before further questions could be thought up.

Bella rubbed huge paws across her eyes and sat back with a grunt of despair. “Well, here’s another pretty pickle our mousethief has got himself into. Any suggestions?”

Amber clucked disapprovingly. “If I had my way, I’d leave the silly creature to stew his paws in Kotir awhile. That’d teach him a lesson.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

The Skipper of otters whacked his rudderlike tail against the hearth. “Belay that kind o’ talk, mates. You all know that the little uns would have gone hungry many a time, ’cept for the thief.” Skipper gave a good-natured chuckle. “That Gonff is my kind of mouse, a true messmate. A bit light of paw, but good-hearted and an able-bodied shanty singer.”