Bucko and the twins came roaring in. They crashed into the enemy’s flank and broke through to join the beleaguered party. Momentarily the vermin fell back.
‘Ah’m Bucko Bigbones, the mad March hare frae the North Mountains. Och, ’tis a grand auld evenin’ tae be battlin’!’
Stiffener wiped blood from his eye and gaped in amazement. ‘By the fur’n’fang, what are you two doin’ ’ere?’
Southpaw and Bobweave crouched in fighters’ stances, grinning at the hesitant vermin surrounding them.
‘What ho, Gramps? Nice time t’pay a visit, wot!’
‘Thought we’d drop in an’ lend a paw. Left or right, no difference to us, old chap!’
A venturesome ferret, who had aspirations to captaincy, charged forward, urging the rest on. ‘There’s only three of ’em. Charge!’
He collapsed under a frightening barrage of hefty blows from Bobweave, who shouted as he delivered the punches, ‘Sorry t’make a liar out of you, old lad, but listen. Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!’
His war cry echoed back at him like rolling thunder.
‘Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!’
Blue Hordebeasts were battered in all directions as Lord Brocktree mounted the rocks, swinging his mighty sword. The vermin fled screaming, though none of them got more than twenty paces. Squirrels, shrews, hares, otters, moles and hedgehogs fell upon them. They took no prisoners. Stiffener sat down upon the sand, staring at the Badger Lord, completely bewildered.
‘It’s like seeing Lord Stonepaw when he was young, but bigger, much bigger. Who is this badger?’
Fleetscut ambled up and sat down beside his old friend. ‘That’s the great Lord Brocktree. Big, ain’t he? A regular one-beast army an’ no mistake, wot!’
‘Fleetscut! My dear ole chap – where did you spring from? Is this your doing – did you find Southpaw and Bobweave, and bring Lord Brocktree to our aid? Tell me everything!’
‘Later, ole friend. There’s business to do first.’
Introductions were made all round, then the Badger Lord took command. ‘Log a Log Grenn, see if any vermin survived. I want no more killing – bring them to me. Jukka, tell your squirrels to take these dead Hordebeasts and leave them below the tideline. The sea will take care of them.’
Immediately, Jukka’s tribe set about stripping the dead vermin of armour and weapons. Fleetscut could not help making a loud observation, within Jukka’s hearing.
‘Scavengers! Nought but a pack o’ carrion crows!’
Jukka hurled herself at him, but the sturdy Ruff leapt between the beasts as they strained to get at each other.
‘Thou longeared glutton, who gave thee the right to talk of my tribe in such a manner?’
‘I did, that’s who, you bunch of bushtailed carcass-thieves!’
Brog came across to help Ruff hold them apart. ‘Whoa now, less o’ that talk. Stow it, you two. At this rate you’ll end up no better than the vermin we’re against!’
‘Aye, lissen t’the sea otter an’ get some sense in yore skulls. We’re supposed t’be friends, not foes!’
They backed off from each other, glowering.
Ripfang, Doomeye and a round dozen vermin, who had been knocked unconscious and still looked distinctly groggy, were paraded in front of the stern-faced Brocktree. He silenced their excuses and pleas by picking up his sword. ‘Stop whining. There’s nought worse than cowards crying. Now, are your leaders slain, or are they here? Speak!’
‘Those two, sire, Ripfang an’ Doomeye!’
Both searats glared daggers of hatred at the one who spoke.
Brocktree looked the brothers over. ‘Heed me if you wish to live. You and your creatures will bury our dead. Here, in this sand at the centre of this rock circle. Carry them carefully, treat them respectfully. My creatures will be watching you, to see that you do.’
On all fours, the vermin were forced to dig a hole with their paws. Brog, Stiffener and the remainder of the Bark Crew placed their slain friends gently in the grave. When it was filled in, the Badger Lord turned his attention back to the huddle of trembling vermin.
‘This shall be the epitaph of these brave warriors, that they died fighting against superior odds, with no hope. Yet they never deserted their comrades, in whose memories they will live on. If fortune had been reversed, do you think they would have trembled and wept for their lives? Do you?’ His voice rose so sharply that the vermin sat bolt upright. Brocktree did not wait for their answer, but continued, ‘No, they would not act as you do now, they had courage! And I will not act now as you would have, had you been the victors of this fray. I will not kill you – your miserable lives are spared. But I want you to take a message back to your master, from me, Lord Brocktree of Brockhall!’
31
IT WAS LATE morn of the following day. Ungatt Trunn exited by a window space, high up on the mountain, and strode up a winding path to a lookout post. Karangool was there with two sentries. He saluted the wildcat. ‘Might’ness!’
Both sentries slid past Trunn and backed off down the path, saluting and bowing furiously. He watched them, puzzled. ‘Where are those two going?’
The saturnine fox pointed north and slightly west. ‘Ambush party be comin’ back, Might’ness.’
The wildcat’s first reaction was to smile, but his face stiffened as he glimpsed the fourteen figures, neck deep in the sea, ploughing their way homeward. Wordlessly he swept past Karangool, back down the path. The fox followed him. As they came out on to the shore, Karangool looked back. Fragorl was watching from a chamber window, but now she ducked down out of sight, not wanting to be involved with what would follow. Wisely, Karangool dropped behind a pace or two.
Ungatt Trunn stared in disbelief as the pitiful party stumbled out of the sea. As before, the blue dye had gone from their coats; only their heads were still blue. Each had their paws bound tightly in front. Moreover, they could not avoid walking in a straight line. They had been linked together, at neck height, by four long pikes, lashed two by two, the poles pressing close against their necks. At either end of the pikes were long metal spearheads, which had been twisted together, two at each end, sealing the fourteen like peas in a pod. They collapsed on the sand, fighting for breath, for seawater had swelled the wooden pikeshafts, tightening their grip about the captives’ necks.
Karangool signalled some vermin. They prised the pikes apart, slicing at the ropes that held them together. When they were freed, Ripfang and the rest lay exhausted, rubbing their throats as they gasped in fresh air. The fox inspected the metal pikeheads, wondering what creature possessed the strength to twist them into two spirals like that.
Trunn snatched the cutlass from a nearby Hordebeast. Karangool averted his eyes as the wildcat honed the blade on a rock, putting a sharp jagged edge on it. This he placed against Ripfang’s throat.
‘Where are the bodies of the Bark Crew? Where are the hundred and a half soldiers I sent out to deal with them? Answer me truthfully and I will spare you a slow death!’ The wildcat stepped back a pace and swung the sword high to one side. He brought it slashing down, expertly stopping the blade a fraction from Ripfang’s exposed neck, and roared, ‘Tell me, you worthless lump of offal!’
Ripfang spoke four words as if they were a magic spell. ‘I saw the badger.’
The sword clattered against a rock as it fell from Trunn’s paw. He sat down in the sand next to Ripfang, as if pushed there by a giant paw.
‘Leave us. Everybeast go!’
Karangool, the guards nearby, Doomeye and the others scattered, leaving Trunn and Ripfang together, alone on the shore. The tail flicked out and pulled the searat close.
‘I will not slay you. I have a half-cask of wine; it is yours if you tell me all. What did he look like, what did he say, who was with him, what manner of beasts? Tell me.’
Ripfang relaxed and squinted up at the sun. ‘Er, an’ I’m still a cap’n, an’ me brother Doomeye too?’
‘Yes, of course. Now tell me . . . please.’
The searat pulled Trun
n’s tail from round his neck. ‘Where’s this ’alf-cask o’ wine first? I’m thirsty.’
As night fell, campfires blazed openly in the dunes facing the cave in the cliffs. Frutch sat out on a tussock at the cavemouth, her son by her side. Several others sat around close, enjoying some of the ottermum’s plum and nut slices, hot from the oven. She looked about at the teeming scene and clapped a paw to her cheek. ‘Well dearie me, well I never, fates a mercy! I never did see so many creatures in all me born days!’
Brogalaw hugged his mother and planted a big kiss on her brow. ‘Ahoy there, Mum, are you goin’ t’keep on sayin’ that all night? You missed out “well nail my rudder”!’
Frutch wiped her eyes on an apron corner, passed Dotti another slice and patted her son’s paw thankfully. ‘Well seasons o’ saltwater an’ nail my rudder, where did ye find all these nice beasts, Brog?’
The sea otter grinned at his new friend Ruff. ‘Well, at least she’s changed ’er tune, mate. Oh, look out, ’ere comes tears by the blinkin’ pailful!’
Blench and Woebee joined Frutch. In a trice they were all passing kerchiefs, weeping and snuffling. Dotti licked crumbs from her paw and looked quizzically at Brog. ‘Beg pardon, sah, but do they always do that?’
‘Only when they’re ’appy, miss. P’raps you’d like to give ’em a song? That always calms ’em down a mite.’ He winced as Brocktree’s paw dug him in the side. ‘Oof! Wot did I say?’
The Badger Lord shook his head mournfully. ‘You’ll find out, my friend, you’ll soon find out!’
Stiffener remonstrated sternly with the hare twins. ‘Stop fightin’, you two. Wot are you doin’ with the young ’un’s bag?’
‘Just gettin’ miss Dotti’s harecordion out, Gramps.’
‘No you ain’t, chum, I’m gettin’ it for miss Dotti. I say, Gramps, wait’ll you hear her sing. She’s a pip!’
Dotti rescued her instrument, smiling sweetly at her admirers as she explained to the weeping trio, ‘My fatal beauty, y’know, does it every time. Did I tell you I was nearly a queeness, or somethin’ like that? Never mind, ladies, I’ll sing you a cheery old ditty, wot!’ Without further ado, Dotti launched into her song.
‘Did ever I tell you when I was born,
Pa cried we were clear out of luck,
He sent me out searchin’ for honey,
An’ my head in a beehive got stuck!
Poor mother was so forgetful,
She put a plum pudden in bed,
An’ covered my brother with custard,
“That’ll do us for supper,” she said!
Oh woe is me, what a family,
There used t’be just six of us,
But now there’s thirty-three . . . heeheeheeheeeeee!
The day Grandma took up knitting,
She couldn’t tell yarn from fur,
But she clacked her needles all evening,
An’ knitted herself to the chair!
My sisters left home for ever,
Then returned wet an’ soakin’ with tears,
The fire had died, so ’twas I got ’em dried,
I pegged ’em all out by their ears!
Oh woe is me, not another more,
There used t’be thirty-three of us,
But now there’s thirty-four . . . hawhawhawhaaaaaw!
Old uncle was hard of hearing,
He’d a trumpet to hold by his ear,
Poor auntie was so short-sighted,
That she often filled it with beer!
When a squirrel dropped by for a visit,
She tidied the place in a rush,
Auntie swept the floor an’ varnished the door,
By using his tail as a brush!
Oh woe is me an’ hares alive
There used t’be thirty-four of us,
But now there’s thirty-five . . . iiiiiiiiiiiiive!’
Blench had been staring hard at Dotti, gnawing the hem of her kerchief, whilst the haremaid was singing. They had not been introduced. The old cook’s ears suddenly stiffened as she recognised the family likeness, and her paw shot out accusingly.
‘Dillworthy! I knew it as soon as I clapped eyes on you, miss. Those young hares called you Dotti. You must be Daphne’s daughter, Dorothea!’
Dotti’s harecordion gave out an unearthly squeak, as both she and it were squeezed in a vicelike hug.
‘Aunt Blench?’
‘Of course it is, ye young snip. I should’ve reckernised that voice right away. Last time I saw ye was when you were a liddle fluffy babe, yellin’ for lettuce broth. What a racket!’
Overcome by the emotion of the moment, Dotti burst into tears, as did her aunt. Brog led them back to his mum and Woebee, who joined them in a good loud weep. Ruff groaned and covered both ears. ‘Rap me rudder, mate, ’tis ’ard to tell wot’s worse, lissenin’ to Dotti’s caterwaulin’ or yore mum’s cryin’ choir!’
Baron Drucco hurried them both into the cave. ‘Let’s see if there’s somewheres quieter in ’ere. I tell yer, we could use those four agin the enemy. Bet they’d drive ’em offa that Sammalandrocrum mountain!’
Log a Log Grenn went with them. As she patted Brog’s shoulder she noticed him wincing. ‘Yore shoulder’s wounded, Brog!’
The sea otter managed a rueful grin. ‘So ’tis, marm, but don’t tell my mum, or there won’t be a dry eye this side o’ winter. I’ll take care of it.’
The shrew beckoned one of the squirrels over. ‘Let Ruro see it. She’s the best ever for healin’ wounds.’
An immense feeling of joy and relief reigned over the cliffs and cave, which the small party of hares and otters had used as their hiding place. The centre of it all was Lord Brocktree. The big badger radiated quiet strength and confidence. Creatures passed close to him, so that they could reach out and touch his huge form, or admire the massive sword, with Skittles perched half asleep between its double hilts. Now they could sit out in the open, feeling safe and reassured by his presence. Sailears summed it all up in a single phrase.
‘At last we’ve got a leader, a real Badger Lord!’
Cooking fires were stoked up to full pitch that night. Frutch left off weeping to show her multitude of guests what sea otter hospitality was all about. The ottermum and her helpers were happy to accept the offer of assistance from Guosim cooks, squirrels, hedgehogs, and the ever-smiling Gurth, son of Rogg Longladle.
‘Yurr, missus, whurr did ee foind all ee shrimpers?’
Woebee hauled out another netful, which Durvy and his crew had brought back that afternoon. ‘From our very own fisherbeasts, sir, good old Durvy an’ the seafarin’ Bark Crew!’
Konul the cheeky ottermaid raised her rudder in surprise. ‘You was singin’ a different tune this mornin’, marm. Ye threatened to boil me whiskers if we brought back more shrimp. Good job we did, though.’
Blench appeared in their midst, swirling proudly. ‘My niece Dotti brought me this shawl from my sister Daphne. It’s been in our family a long time. Isn’t it pretty?’
The shawl had been shredded, patched, torn, tattered and inexpertly repaired. But Blench was enchanted with the family heirloom and nobeast was about to hurt her feelings.
‘Oh, it’s, er, very unusual, but beautiful!’
‘Rather! I like that light brown weave on the hem!’
The light brown weave crumbled off under Woebee’s paw. It was mud which had turned to dust. Blench carried on swirling and showing it off, blissfully unaware.
‘Lovely, ain’t it? An’ can ye smell that perfume from it? Reminds me of somethin’, though I can’t just think wot it is.’
‘Hmm, a bit like pale ole cider, eh?’
Dotti trod meaningly on Ruff’s footpaw and glared at him. ‘Never! ’Twas a special perfume belongin’ to Grandma. I had a lovely letter from my mother too, y’know, but it got lost.’
Southpaw and Bobweave took Dotti’s paws and hauled her away.
‘I say, miss Dotti, come an’ lend a paw with the supplies!’
?
??These chaps have got a great caveful o’ vittles up yonder!’
She made a hasty exit accompanied by the twins.
The feast was an epic triumph, with the centrepiece a great cauldron of shrimp’n’hotroot soup, cooked to Frutch’s own family recipe. The Guosim cooks produced pear flans, apple pies, blackberry tarts and rhubarb crumble. Mirklewort and her hograbble contributed loaves and biscuits, hot from the ovens. Gurth placed himself in charge of drinks. He made mint and rosehip tea, a cordial of dandelion and burdock and a great deal of fruit punch. Brogalaw had the sentries relieved often, so that all could join in. Skittles tried to keep his eyes open, but he was so tired that he fell asleep with a ladle of crumble still in one paw. It was inevitable that singing and dancing would break out; there were many good dancers among the tribes gathered there. A sea otter shanty was started by Brog’s two young singing otters, accompanied by drums, flutes and stone clappers. Amid much fancy pawstepping by hares, otters, hedgehogs and squirrels, the music rattled along at a breakneck pace.
‘Oh rowtledy dowtledy doodle hi ay,
We’re full of plum duff an’ salt water!
Now the Rowtledy Dow was a leaky ole craft,
With aprons an’ kerchiefs for sails fore an’ aft,
An’ all of her crew thought the cap’n was daft,
An’ he was sure they was all barmy!
Her anchor was made from a big rusty pot,
That they hauled up each mornin’ to serve dinner hot,
But the crew was too slow so the cook scoffed the lot,
An’ a seagull flew off with the pudden!
So ’tis heave away mateys the wind’s blowin’ west,
An’ the cabin mole’s wearin’ his grandma’s blue vest,
While the mate’s got a blanket tattooed on his chest,
To keep his fat stummick from freezin’!
Well there’s fish in the sea better mannered than we,
For they washes their flippers an’ don’t slop their tea,
An’ we’d be better off on the land don’t yer see,
‘Cos I think that the ould ship is sinkin’!
Oh rowtledy dowtledy doodle hi ay,