“Back over that wall. Now!” The warrior mouse’s voice snapped like a whip.

To Brogg’s surprise, the blade lowered. He found himself dashing for the wall, shouting aloud, “Retreat, retreat. Back to Kotir!”

Skipper hefted a javelin, taking aim at Brogg, but Martin’s sword pushed the weapon aside.

“Enough, Skip. Let them go.”

* * *

The vanquished troops fought tooth and claw among themselves to be first over the wall lest the warrior mouse change his mind.

Loamhedge mice moved in to help the wounded.

Martin, Skipper and Gonff stood breathing heavily.

“You should have let us finish it, Martin.”

“No, Skipper,” Martin said firmly. “The only time I would have allowed that was if the cat had been here.”

Gonff sheathed his two fighting daggers. “Blow me, matey. We had them whipped there. Why did you let ’em go?”

Martin wiped his sword on the grass, staring at the slain of both sides strewing the woodland floor.

“To show them we are not evil,” he said at last. “We only want what is ours, and now I think they know we’re strong enough to get it. Could you not see, the fight is going out of those soldiers? They are beginning to look as if they need food. Their larders must be just about empty, and only the fear of their cruel Queen keeps them going. Besides, when I put my plan in motion with the help of some otters and my friend Timballisto, Kotir will be truly broken and defeated until it is only a bad name to frighten little ones off to bed with in the seasons to come.”

Bella shook her head sadly as she picked up the limp form of a squirrel who had been a former oar slave.

“You did right, Martin,” she told him. “There is no greater evil than killing. I don’t care whether they call it war or justice. Life is precious.”

A Loamhedge mouse wiped away a tear as she turned to Timballisto “I think Bella’s right,” she added.

“Aye, and so do I, young missie. But what can Martin do? He has to lead us to a lasting peace against a cruel and coldblooded cat,” Timballisto said gently.

There was no more fighting that day. Both sides halted to lick their wounds. Martin waited for sunset, whilst Tsarmina berated her soldiers as she tried to think up fresh schemes for victory.

It had been a hot afternoon. The sun started to redden against a dusky purple sky as Tsarmina ventured to stand at her high window. There was the warrior, standing armor-clad on top of the wall. He had probably used one of the ladders left behind by the cowards who had retreated. Tsarmina raked her claws across the window ledge in helpless fury.

“What do you want, mouse?”

As she asked the question, she was groping furiously for the bow and arrows which she kept close to paw.