'Well, we know them all by sight,' replied Chervil, 'and we watch them go down. There are only two entrance holes for the Mark and one of us sits at each hole. Every rabbit knows which hole he has to use and I should certainly miss any of mine who didn't go down. The sentries come in last of all - I only call them in when I'm quite sure that all the Mark are down. And once they're down, of course, they can't very well get out, with a sentry at each hole. Digging I should hear. You're not allowed to dig in Efrafa without permission from the Council. The only really dangerous time is when there's an alarm - say, a man or a fox. Then we all bolt for the nearest hole, of cour
se. So far, it doesn't seem to have occurred to anyone that he could bolt the other way and have quite a long start before he was missed. Still, no rabbit will bolt towards elil, and that's the real safeguard.'
'Well, I admire your thoroughness,' said Bigwig, thinking to himself that his secret task seemed to be even more hopeless than he had expected. 'I'll get the hang of it all as soon as I can. When do we have the chance of a patrol?'
'I expect the General will take you on patrol himself to begin with,' said Avens. 'He did me. You may not be so keen when you've had a day or two with him - you'll be worn out. Still, I must admit, Thlayli, you're a fine size, and if you've been living rough for some time you'll probably manage it all right.'
At this moment a rabbit with a white scar across his throat came down the run.
'The Neck Mark's just going down, Captain Chervil, sir,' he said. 'It's a beautiful evening: I should make the most of it.'
'I was wondering when you were going to show up,' replied Chervil. 'Tell Captain Sainfoin I'm bringing my Mark up at once.'
Turning to one of his own sentries who was close by, Chervil told him to go round the burrows and send everyone up for silflay.
'Now,' he said, 'Avens, you go to the further hole as usual, and Thlayli can join me on the nearer one. We'll send four sentries out to the line to start with, and when the Mark have all gone out, we'll add four more and keep two in reserve. I'll see you in the usual place, by the big flint in the bank.'
Bigwig followed Chervil along the run, down which came the scents of warm grass, clover and hop trefoil. He had found most of the runs closer and stuffier than he was used to, no doubt because there were so few holes into the open air. The prospect of an evening silflay, even in Efrafa, was pleasant. He thought of the beech leaves rustling above the far-off Honeycomb, and sighed. 'I wonder how old Holly's getting on,' he thought, 'and whether I'll ever see him again: or Hazel either, for the matter of that. Well, I'll give these blighters something to think about before I've finished. I do feel lonely, though. How hard it is to carry a secret by yourself!'
They reached the mouth of the hole and Chervil went outside to look round. When he returned he took up station at the top of the run. As Bigwig found a place alongside, he noticed for the first time, in the opposite wall of the run, a kind of recess like an open cave. In this, three rabbits were squatting. Those on either side had the tough, stolid look of members of the Owslafa. But it was at the one in the middle that he stared. This rabbit had very dark fur - almost black. But this was not the most remarkable thing about him. He was dreadfully mutilated. His ears were nothing but shapeless shreds, ragged at the edges, seamed with ill-knit scars and beaded here and there with lumps of proud, bare flesh. One eyelid was misshapen and closed askew. Despite the cool, exciting air of the July evening, he seemed apathetic and torpid. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground and blinked continually. After a time, he lowered his head and rubbed his nose on his fore-paws in a listless manner. Then he scratched his neck and settled down in his former, drooping position.
Bigwig, his warm, impulsive nature stirred by curiosity and pity, went across the run.
'Who are you?' he asked.
'My name is Blackavar, sir,' replied the rabbit. He did not look up and spoke without expression, as though he had answered this question many times before.
'Are you going to silflay?' said Bigwig. No doubt, he thought, this was some hero of the warren, wounded in a great fight and now infirm, whose past services merited an honourable escort when he went out.
'No, sir,' answered the rabbit.
'Why ever not?' said Bigwig. 'It's a lovely evening.'
'I don't silflay at this time, sir.'
'Then why are you here?' asked Bigwig, with his usual directness.
'The Mark that has the evening silflay, sir,' began the rabbit. 'The Mark that has - they come - I -' He hesitated and fell silent.
One of the Owslafa spoke. 'Get on with it,' he said.
'I come here for the Mark to see me,' said the rabbit in his low, drained voice.' Every Mark should see how I have been punished as I deserve for my treachery in trying to leave the warren. The Council were merciful - the Council were merciful - the Council - I can't remember it, sir, I really can't,' he burst out, turning to the sentry who had spoken. 'I can't seem to remember anything.'
The sentry said nothing. Bigwig, after staring in shocked silence for a few moments, rejoined Chervil.
'He's supposed to tell everybody who asks,' said Chervil, 'but he's getting sort of stupid after half a month of it. He tried to run away. Campion caught him and brought him back and the Council ripped up his ears and said he had to be shown at every morning and evening silflay, as an example to the others. But if you ask me, he won't last much longer. He'll meet a blacker rabbit than himself one of these nights.'
Bigwig shuddered, partly at Chervil's tone of callous indifference and partly at his own memories. The Mark were filing up now and he watched as they went past, each darkening the entrance for a moment before hopping out under the hawthorn. It was clear that Chevril prided himself on knowing his rabbits by name. He spoke to most of them and was at pains to show that he had some knowledge of their personal lives. It seemed to Bigwig that the answers he got were not particularly warm or friendly, but he did not know whether to put that down to dislike of Chervil or merely to the lack of spirit that seemed to be common to the rank-and-file in Efrafa. He was closely on the watch - as Blackberry had advised him to be - for any signs of disaffection or rebellion, but he could see little grounds for hope in the expressionless faces that went by. At the end came a little group of three or four does, talking among themselves.
'Well, are you getting on all right with your new friends, Nelthilta?' said Chervil to the first, as she passed him.
The doe, a pretty, long-nosed rabbit not more than three months old, stopped and looked at him.
'You'll get on yourself one day, Captain, I dare say,' she replied. 'Like Captain Mallow - he got on, you know. Why don't you send some does on Wide Patrol?'
She paused for Chervil to reply, but he made no answer and did not speak to the does who followed Nelthilta out into the field.
'What did she mean by that?' asked Bigwig.