but I made up the bit about the flea, ’cos I’m a bigger liar than she!”
The white fox Captain Shard and his twenty assorted foxes and ermine were sitting on the ditch side, sucking woodpigeon eggs. Ferwul and Brugil, two of his forward scouts, had come across a number of nests, visible through the boughs of a sessile oak. The birds flew off when they began climbing the tree, leaving their nests and clusters of eggs at the vermin’s disposal.
Shard’s mate, Freeta, pierced an egg deftly with her claw and sucked it dry. Tossing the empty shell into the ditch, the vixen winked slyly at Shard. “A good spot to camp for the night, methinks?”
Shard chose a fresh egg. “Aye, but Lord Gulo ordered that we should travel both night and day to reach the Redwall place.”
Freeta snorted scornfully. “Lord Gulo, eh? Is Lord Gulo here watching thee? Look at those weary beasts! Ye need some rest, too. One night here will make little difference, Shard. Gulo need never know.”
Shard picked a piece of grit from between his pawpads. “Thou art right. We rest here tonight and continue on the morrow.”
He raised his voice to the ermine scouts. “Ferwul, Brugil! Take bows and arrows, go to those nests ye found an’ see if the birds have returned. The rest of ye, find someplace close by to rest until dawn.”
Both scouts went forward up the path to where they had found the nests in the oak. The rest of the vermin sought out sleeping places, grateful for the break they had been given. Shard was about to settle down in some ferns on the woodland side of the ditch, when the two ermine scouts came scurrying back. Both of them held paws to their mouths as a sign for everybeast to stay quiet.
Shard leaped the ditch in a single bound. He hissed to the pair, “What is it?”
Ferwul rubbed her paws gleefully. “Captain, two creatures, maids, comin’ hither—a streamdog an’ a treemouse. We saw them before they saw us!”
Shard gave orders in a hoarse whisper. “All of ye, down in the ditch. Be silent an’ look to thy weapons. Two beasts are coming. I want them taken alive!”
Armel and Brooky had finished singing, but they were still stepping along very well.
The squirrelmaid unwrapped her cloak and put it on. “It’s not as warm as it was this afternoon. When shall we sleep, d’you think?”
Brooky shrugged. “When we feel tired, I suppose, though we might as well keep going until we do.”
A slight sound from somewhere on the path behind them caused Armel to look back over her shoulder. Four ermine—two carrying spears, the other two with shafts notched to their bowstrings—stood on the path, watching them. She tugged at Brooky’s paw. “Look what’s behind us. . . .”
The ottermaid did not have to: four white foxes, armed with sickle-shaped swords, came out of the ditch to block their forward path.
Brooky whispered out the corner of her mouth, “I don’t have to, pal. Look what’s in front of us. Listen, when I give you a nod, we’ll cut and run into the woods!”
A voice sounded, close to the ottermaid. “Too late, streamdog. One move an’ ye are both deadbeasts!”
More vermin emerged from the ditch and the woodlands, surrounding Armel and Brooky. Captain Shard stepped out. “Take them and bind them tight!”
BOOK TWO
“The warrior who gained
a sword”
Rakkety Rakkety Rakkety Tam,
the drums are beatin’ braw.
Rakkety Rakkety Rakkety Tam,
Are ye marchin’ off tae war?
An’ who will stand wi’ Rakkety Tam,
tae win the King’s Royal Banner?
Wild Doogy Plumm the Highlander,
of rough an’ ready manner!
Those fighters o’ the Long Patrol,
have vowed tae give no quarter,
a-roarin’ blood’n’vinegar,
when chargin’ tae the slaughter!
17
As he was knocked from the tree, Tam glimpsed a fierce, gold-rimmed eye. Then powerful talons locked into the folds of his plaid cloak and great wings beat at his face. He was being attacked by a large bird. Together they whirled downward in a welter of feathers, fur and kilt. Fortunately, a lilac bush broke their fall. As they crashed into it, Tam managed to grab his sword, but only by the blade. The warrior squirrel and the bird rolled from the bush, fighting wildly. Tam pushed his free paw against the bird’s throat, trying to stop its fearsome hooked beak from going for his eyes. He slammed the claymore’s basket hilt hard over his adversary’s head, gaining himself a moment’s relief. Hurriedly he tore the cloak from his shoulders and flung it over the bird’s head, muffling its angry shrieks. Tam rapped the sword hilt sharply down on his assailant’s skull. Once, twice, thrice! Disentangling himself, the border squirrel scrambled upright just in time to see two vermin charging at him—a white fox wielding a sickle-curved sword and an ermine brandishing a spear.
Having heard the commotion, the fox and the ermine had dropped back from the rear of Gulo’s band to investigate.
Now the border warrior’s blood was up. He sprang at the fox, battering it backwards with his long heavy blade, whereupon it withered under his relentless force. After sweeping the fox’s blade aside, Tam swung, cleaving the vermin from ears to neck with one mighty stroke.
Spear poised, the ermine charged Tam from behind, but found himself confronted by the big bird, who had rid itself of the enveloping cloak. As the ermine ran by, the bird struck savagely with beak and talons, bringing the beast screeching to the ground. The ermine wriggled over, raising its spear for a killing thrust. But Tam turned like lightning, his blade slaying the vermin with a single blow. Panting and aching all over, the border warrior looked down at his dead enemies, then stared up into the questioning eyes of a huge male goshawk.
The bird clacked its black-tipped beak together abruptly. “Eekrah! Why vermin kill vermin?”
Tam kept his claymore at the ready, lest the hawk renew its assault upon him. “I’m no vermin, they are my enemies. Why did ye attack me? I was doin’ ye no harm!”
The goshawk preened its barred chest feathers. “Hahaaak! Tergen thought you vermin. No talk now, more vermin come soon. Hide, hide, come!”
Judging this to be sensible advice, Tam followed Tergen. The goshawk hobbled along swiftly with an odd hopskipping gait. One of its wings hung awkwardly, brushing the ground. They made their way through the undergrowth until they reached the big bird’s hideout. This was a ledge beneath a low hill, surrounded by ferns, vacated by some creature who had dwelt there long ago.
Tergen winced as he settled down. “Grraaahak! All vermin must die. See what they do to this bird with arra!”
Moving aside the hanging wing with his beak, Tergen displayed a festering wound with a broken arrow shaft still in it, right where the wing connected to his body. “Vermin arra shoot me out of sky. Hurtzzzzz! Tergen not fly now. Garreeeh! But this bird still hunt vermin!”
Tam felt both pity and an instant comradeship with the courageous goshawk. Tergen was clearly a born fighter. “Let me try an’ get that arrow out for ye, mate. Then we’ll see if that wing still works. By the way, my name’s Tam, Rakkety Tam MacBurl.”
The gold-rimmed eyes widened approvingly. “Aaaarrrrik! Burl be good name. You pull arra out, Burl. Then Tergen fly again, kill many vermin. Yeeeekaaarrrr!”
For the next few hours, Tam busied himself with removing the broken arrow shaft. It was no easy task and exceedingly painful for the hawk. However, Tergen bore it stoically, gritting out continuously, “Cheekaaargh! Slay all vermin! Kill, kill!”
Tam finally accomplished his grisly chore. He held up the barbed shaft for the goshawk to see. “There, that’s the best I can do for ye. I know little of healing. Even if I had a fire, hot water, herbs an’ dressin’s, I still wouldn’t own the skill an’ know-how. Well, how does it feel, Tergen?”
Tam could see that it caused him pain. Squinching his fearsome eyes, the goshawk tried flexing the wing. “Pachaaah! This bird not fly again, B
url!”
Tam patted the hawk’s long talons sympathetically. “Don’t give up hope yet, mate. That was only a rough job. You come with me. I’ll take ye to my friends, a band of hares called the Long Patrol. I’m sure one of ’em will know how to treat injuries.”
Tergen swivelled his head, showing the white stripes on each side. “Long ’trol, eh? This bird see harebeasts many times when I hunt far’n’wide. Hear them, too. They say wot wot!”
Tam could not resist a chuckle. “Oh, they say that quite a lot. Come on, mate!”
Obeying Tam’s orders faithfully, Doogy had stayed at the deserted vermin camp, but the small Highlander was not gifted with patience. Sitting about, idly twiddling his paws, did not suit him well. Therefore, the Highlander was vastly relieved when Ferdimond returned with the Long Patrol. In Doogy’s estimation, Brigadier Crumshaw, who had been made well aware of the situation, looked to be doing very little.
Fuming with impatience, the squirrel complained to Sergeant Wonwill, “Sittin’ aroond here on our tails an’ waitin’! Is that all we’ve got tae do, Sarge?”
Wonwill knew the brigadier’s mind from long experience. He tried to clarify things for Doogy. “Steady on, Mister Plumm, we’ve got some tired an’ hungry troops ’ere, y’know. The Patrol ’ave gone without vittles an’ made a double-forced march to get ’ere. They needs feedin’ an’ a short rest. As for yore mate, Tam, the Brigadier reckons ’ e’ll be back to report soon. If’n ’e ain’t come by the time everybeast is fed’n’watered an’ rested, then we’ll take up the trail agin, sharpish!”
Still fretful at the delay, Doogy wolfed down a bowl of leek and mushroom soup, realising that he, too, had not eaten in some time.
Corporal Wopscutt refilled Doogy’s bowl, continuing the attempt to talk some sense into the disillusioned squirrel. “Weary paws an’ empty tums ain’t much perishin’ good to any chap—particularly if you have t’go scoutin’ on the double after rascally crowds o’ vermin, wot! Imagine what’d happen if we caught up with ’em an’ had to charge straight in t’do battle against the blighters. Hah, that’d be a right old how d’ye do!”
But Doogy would not be appeased. “Ach, yer all sittin’ aboot like a bunch of auld biddies. There’s only me who cares what happens tae mah mate Tam!”
He was immediately rewarded by the sound of Tam’s voice hailing the camp. “Hallo the Patrol! Tam MacBurl comin’ in with a wounded friend. Put up yore blades!”
The border warrior strode in with Tergen hopskipping behind him. Passing Doogy on his way over to the brigadier, Tam collected his shield. He glared at Doogy with mock severity. “Had a good nap an’ a fine feed, Doogy Plumm? Huh, ye lead a hard an’ desperate life, sufferin’ back here!”
The Highlander was delighted to see Tam back safe, but he masked his feelings by scowling darkly. “Och, will ye no’ look at what the wind blew in? Ye took yer time, MacBurl! An’ who pray is the scruffy auld featherbag dancin’ aboot behind ye?”
Doogy skipped back a pace as Tergen’s beak snapped close to his nose. The hawk eyed him dangerously. “Yekkaaah! Burl want this bird to slay the little fat one?”
Further exchanges of welcome were cut short by the brigadier’s arrival. He waved his stick. “Ah, there y’are, Tam. What’s to report, eh buckoe?”
The warrior informed the brigadier of what had taken place. Crumshaw listened intently, then paced back and forth, twirling his moustache as he planned the next move. “Hmmm, I’d say the villains are headin’ for Redwall, wot! We’ve precious little time to dillydally. Our task has become a jolly sight more important than recapturin’ a drum. Immediate action’s what’s needed. Sergeant, are ye listenin’ to me orders?”
Wonwill snapped to attention. “H’I’m h’all h’ears, sah!”
The brigadier scratched a rough sketch on the ground with his swagger stick. “Righto, these are the moves! The Patrol’s right here, yonder is the Abbey, an’ there’s the vermin, someplace twixt the flippin’ two. Now, our job is t’get ahead of the foe an’ reach Redwall to defend it. Tam, I want ye to take Plumm an’ De Mayne. Your task is t’get to Redwall first, before the vermin or the Patrol. You must warn our friends of the danger in case they’re attacked before we arrive. I know I’m askin’ a blinkin’ lot, but if I’m any judge o’ gallopers, you’re the lads who’ll do the job. You’ll have to travel like the bloomin’ clappers. Well, chaps, are ye game?”
In answer, Tam passed his shield to Crumshaw. “Ye can return this t’me later, sah. I’ll be at Redwall waitin’ for ye to arrive with it. Can ye find somebeast to fix up this goshawk’s wing, sah? Tergen’s taken a bad wound. I did what I could, but I’m no great healer, sah.”
Tam winced as the hawk’s beak rapped his paw. “Gaaarraaat! This bird go with you, Burl. Plenty time for fix wing when all vermin are killed!”
One glance at the fury in the bird’s wild eyes told the brigadier that nobeast could hold him back. “Er, harumph! Looks like you’ve picked up an extra galloper, laddie, an’ a jolly perilous one at that, wot!”
Tergen nodded in agreement. “Yeeehaak! Wot wot!”
The twins, Kersey and Dauncey, marched up with soup and a flagon of cold cider.
“Corporal Wopscutt’s compliments, sah!”
“Food for the galloper before he sets off, sah!”
Tam and Tergen ignored the soup but each took a gulp of cider. Tam wiped a paw across his mouth. “Tell Butty thanks, but we’ve no time for vittles. Ferdy, Doogy, let’s get underway for the Abbey!”
Brigadier Crumshaw peered through the dust cloud the four left as they dashed off. “Forward the Buffs, that’s the spirit, wot! Now then, Kersey’n’Dauncey, dispose of that tucker. I’ve got work for you two young rips!”
The twins gulped the soup and slung aside the bowls.
“Work, sah, for us?”
“Command away, sah!”
The monocled eye flicked from one to the other. “Find the quickest way to Redwall Abbey for the Patrol, one that’ll take us away from the path an’ the vermin. I want to surprise the scoundrels when they reach Redwall. Well, don’t stand there with your jaws flappin’! I’m promotin’ ye back to gallopin’ scouts. Don’t disappoint me this time, d’ye hear?”
The two young hares beamed, shoving their chests out fit to burst and saluting several times.
“You can jolly well rely on us, sah!”
“Rather! Y’won’t regret this, sah! Thanks absolute bags!”
Sergeant Wonwill’s stentorian bellow rang round the camp. “Come on, ye sloppy idle creatures. Let’s ’ave yew formed up in ranks ready t’march h’immediately, if not sooner! Front an’ rear markers, meself an’ Derron! Flankers’ll be Wopscutt an’ Wilderry! Nah then, me lucky babes, yore goin’ to double-march so blinkin’ ’ard that yore paws’ll push ’oles inter the rocks. Straighten up those backs, look smart! Anybeast droppin’ or losin’ a weapon on the march will be on a fizzer! Do yew ’ear me, Folderon, Flunkworthy an’ Flummerty? Don’t answer that question—eyes front, ye blushin’ beauties! Long Patrol! By the right . . . Quick double. . . . Maaaaaaarch!”
Brigadier Crumshaw marched out sprightly, ahead of the flag. It was a straight, rapid pace, and he had forbidden all noise and singing for obvious reasons. However, as the commanding officer, he sang a little verse from an old song he had learned during his young seasons in the ranks. Unaware of the smiling faces behind him, the youngest of whom thought that brigadiers and officers were born full blown, with resounding voices and moustaches, Crumshaw smiled to himself as he recalled his younger days, singing away.
“To Hellgates or to glory, away we march in style.
Each warrior hare without a care,
we’ll see ye in a while.
No time for tears or droopy ears,
or blades to lay and rust.
As off we roll, the Long Patrol,
an’ stragglers eat our dust!”
18
Yoofus Lightpaw was really enjoying himself. He lay
flat on the high bough of an alder, watching Gulo the Savage and his vermin band scouring the woodlands beneath. The water vole was not only an expert thief but also a clever tactician. He knew that when he left the vermin camp carrying the objects he had stolen, the white foxes and ermine would be on his trail. So Yoofus left them a trail, not back to his dwelling on the lakeside but to a clear track to the east. It delighted him to play games: he would leave marks of the swordpoint scraping and the banner brushing. From his various secret spots throughout Mossflower, Yoofus would watch them getting more frustrated. Little did he realize that the trail he was leaving resembled that of a wolverine!
Fools and idiots—thinking that they were tracking him to his home! As long as they followed, Yoofus Lightpaw would lead them on a merry trail, and whenever they halted at night, he would sneak into their camp and steal some more booty.
Yoofus watched the vermin, figuring out his next move whilst murmuring softly to himself. “Ah, come on now, ye great thick-headed gobeens! I’ll be drawin’ rings around ye, an’ ye’ll never know how t’play me game. Sure, I think a little jaunt over the ditch an’ across the ould path is called for. That’ll wear yore paws down a bit. Ye’ll sleep all the better for it tonight, while I’m robbin’ ye!”
After the vermin had moved on, Yoofus came down from his perch. He could hear Gulo berating his creatures threateningly. “Gaarrr! Addlepates, bumblers! Find that trail, or ye’ll be leaving a trail of your own blood if ye try my patience further!”
Yoofus cut off in an arc, crossing the ditch and path ahead of the vermin scouts. He artfully laid fresh marks on the east side of the woodlands, scarring one or two trees with his stolen sickle blade and bruising some low bushes whilst dragging the flag over the grass. Then he backtracked to the path, shinned up a thick crack willow tree and peered at the leading scouts who were blundering about only a few spearlengths short of the ditch. Snapping the string on one of his purloined necklaces, the crafty water vole tossed shells and coloured stones down onto the path. He saved a few of the biggest beads and placed them in the tongue of his sling.