Pikkle groaned. His stomach gurgled like stream-water traveling over stones. Mara ruffled his ears sympathetically. “We’ll find food when it gets light. You get some shuteye, chum. Go on, I’ll keep watch—I’m still wide awake.”

Kicking out sand to make more space, Pikkle settled down rather grumpily. After a while Mara could tell by his steady breathing that he had dropped off. She rested her chin in her paws and mentally summed up their plight. They were hunted creatures in strange country, their only protection a hole in the side of a hill. As for weaponry, they were slightly better off, but not much: a broken javelin and an old dagger. Food and water were nonexistent. The rain and the night had provided cover for them both, but she found herself longing for daylight and warm sun. Had Sergeant Sapwood escaped? She fervently hoped that he had. He could carry back news of their predicament to Salamandastron. No! She was never going back there. Mara imagined the righteous justification of Urthstripe and some of the elder hares. Had they not told her? Had she not been warned about vermin? Was she not a foolish young creature?

No, definitely no! But suppose Sapwood had been captured? It would be her duty to get back to the mountain and warn them of the impending menace.

The young badger maid cudgeled her brains weighing up the probabilities of their next move. She felt responsible for Pikkle; he had deserted the mountain with her, his loyalty and friendship were beyond question, and no harm could befall him because of her. Gradually her eyelids began to droop. She blinked halfheartedly, welcoming the approach of slumber.

A rustling noise in the grass overhead caused her to come alert. Suddenly there was a malignant hissing noise and a narrow reptilian head poked its way into the hole, eyes aglitter and tongue snaking out venomously. Mara’s paw felt about madly for the dagger as she came fully awake yelling, “Pikkle! Wake up, Pikkle!”

11

All activity within Great Hall had ceased. Redwallers crowded around the long table, eager to catch a glimpse of the legendary weapon. Brother Hollyberry reverently dried it with a soft cloth, then it lay on the tabletop, winking and shining in the lamplight. Outside, the thunder rolled off into the distance, and rain was still pattering thickly against the doors and windowpanes.

Tudd Spinney donned his spectacles and peered closely at the weapon. “The sword of Martin the Warrior! It could be naught else!”

Samkim and Arula had repeated the story of the finding several times over. Samkim could not resist touching the red pommel stone on the swordhandle as he repeated Tudd’s words, “The sword of Martin the Warrior!”