The old hedgehog sat down beside them. “Oh, no more’n half a good paw-stretch. Leave ’em awhile yet. Let the vermin git a-snorin’, then we’ll pay ’em a visit, eh?”

Samkim’s eyes lit up eagerly. “A night ambush! How about that, Arula?”

“Ho urr, oi’m a reg’lar terror in ’ee dark if’n oi ain’t asleep.”

They chewed oatcake and apples as Spriggat outlined his plan. “I scouted up ahead an’ nearly fell over ’em. They were settin’ camp sou’west o’ here. Now ’earken to me. In about an hour they should be well asleep, so ’ere’s what we do. Split up an’ go three ways so we can come at ’em from different angles. The rats shouldn’t put up much of a fight—they’re only trackers. It’s the fox I’m worried about—that one looks like a trained fighter. Moreover, the villain’s got your sword close to paw. Staves is the best t’ deal with the like o’ him. Arula, lend me that carvin’ knife you carries, and I’ll cut us two good poles. Samkim, you can unstring your bow and make use of that. I’ll signal by makin’ a cricket chirrup. Like this—chrrrrk! Got that? When you ’ears that noise you charge into that camp yellin’ like a badger wi’ a bee down his ear. Scream, shout, holler, an’ whack all about you good an’ hard, an’ make straight for the fox. He’ll be sleepin’ closest to the fire. Don’t give the scum a chance to go for that sword. We’ll be there, all three of us, whackin’ away. Don’t stop! Wallop the beast flat into the ground, ’cos he’ll slay us all three if’n he gets ’alf a chance.”

Samkim unstrung his bow and tested its heft to find the best end. “Never fear, Mr. Spriggat. We’ll be right there with you, thwacking!”

Arula seconded her friend. “Ho aye, zurr. You’m cut oi a gurt stowt pole an’ oi’ll wopp ’ee foxer till ’ee ’m flatter’n a pancake, boi ecky oi will!”

Spriggat shook paws with them. “Good! Now you take a li’l nap whilst I cuts a couple o’ staves.”

*   *   *

Under a burgeoning three-part moon they set off through the woodland, slipping silently along amid the shadowed treetrunks and undergrowth. Samkim padded carefully, thrilled at the prospect of regaining the sword of Martin the Warrior for his Abbey. Somewhere a nightjar warbled among the foliage and a woodpigeon cooed on the breeze high in the trees. Arula’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight as she waggled a hefty yew stave.