There are times when we know for a certainty that all is well. A batsman who has played a fine innings will say afterwards that he felt he could not miss the ball and a speaker or an actor, on his lucky day, can sense his audience carrying him as though he were swimming in miraculous, buoyant water. Hazel had this feeling now. All round him was the quiet, summer night, luminous with starlight but paling to dawn on one side. There was nothing to fear and he felt ready to skip through a thousand farmyards one after the other. As he sat with Pipkin on the bank above the tar-smelling road, it did not strike him as particularly lucky when he saw a young rat scuttle across from the opposite hedge and disappear into a clump of fading stitchwort below them. He had known that some guide or other would turn up. He scrambled quickly down the bank and found the rat nosing in the ditch.
'The farm,' said Hazel, 'where's the farm - near here, on a little hill?'
The rat stared at him with twitching whiskers. It had no particular reason to be friendly, but there was something in Hazel's look that made a civil answer natural.
'Over road. Up lane.'
The sky was growing lighter each moment. Hazel crossed the road without waiting for Pipkin, who caught him up under the hedge bordering the near side of the little lane. From here, after another listening pause, they began to make their way up the slope towards the northern skyline.
Nuthanger is like a farm in an old tale. Between Ecchinswell and the foot of Watership Down and about half a mile from each, there is a broad knoll, steeper on the north side but falling gently on the south - like the down ridge itself. Narrow lanes climb both slopes and come together in a great ring of elm trees which encircles the flat summit. Any wind - even the lightest - draws from the height of the elms a rushing sound, multifoliate and powerful. Within this ring stands the farmhouse, with its barns and outbuildings. The house may be two hundred years old or it may be older, built of brick, with a stone-faced front looking south towards the down. On the east side, in front of the house, a barn stands clear of the ground on staddle-stones; and opposite is the cow-byre.
As Hazel and Pipkin reached the top of the slope, the first light showed clearly the farmyard and buildings. The birds singing all about them were those to which they had been accustomed in former days. A robin on a low branch twittered a phrase and listened for another that answered him from beyond the farmhouse. A chaffinch gave its little falling song and farther off, high in an elm, a chiff-chaff began to call. Hazel stopped and then sat up, the better to scent the air. Powerful smells of straw and cow-dung mingled with those of elm-leaves, ashes and cattle-feed. Fainter traces came to his nose as the overtones of a bell sound in a trained ear. Tobacco, naturally: a good deal of cat and rather less dog and then, suddenly and beyond doubt, rabbit. He looked at Pipkin and saw that he too had caught it.
While these scents reached them they were also listening. But beyond the light movements of birds and the first buzzing of the flies immediately around them, they could hear nothing but the continual susurration of the trees. Under the northern steep of the down the air had been still, but here the southerly breeze was magnified by the elms, with their myriads of small, fluttering leaves, just as the effect of sunlight on a garden is magnified by dew. The sound, coming from the topmost branches, disturbed Hazel because it suggested some huge approach - an approach that was never completed: and he and Pipkin remained still for some time, listening tensely to this loud yet meaningless vehemence high overhead.
They saw no cat but near the house stood a flat-roofed dog-kennel. They could just glimpse the dog asleep inside - a large, smooth-haired, black dog, with head on paws. Hazel could not see a chain; but then, after a moment, he noticed the line of a thin rope that came out through the kennel door and ended in some sort of fastening on the roof. 'Why a rope?' he wondered and then thought, 'Because a restless dog cannot rattle it in the night.'
The two rabbits began to wander among the outbuildings. At first they took care to remain in cover and continually on the watch for cats. But they saw none and soon grew bolder, crossing open spaces and even stopping to nibble at dandelions in the patches of weeds and rough grass. Guided by scent, Hazel made his way to a low-roofed shed. The door was half open and he went through it with scarcely a pause at the brick threshold. Immediately opposite the door, on a broad wooden shelf - a kind of platform - stood a wire-fronted hutch. Through the mesh he could see a brown bowl, some greenstuff and the ears of two or three rabbits. As he stared, one of the rabbits came close to the wire, looked out and saw him.
Beside the platform, on the near side, was an up-ended bale of straw. Hazel jumped lightly on it and from there to the thick planks, which were old and soft-surfaced, dusty and covered with chaff. Then he turned back to Pipkin, waiting just inside the door.
'Hlao-roo,' he said, 'there's only one way out of this place. You'll have to keep watching for cats or we may be trapped. Stay at the door and if you see a cat outside, tell me at once.'
'Right, Hazel-rah,' said Pipkin. 'It's all clear at the moment.'
Hazel went up to the side of the hutch. The wired front projected over the edge of the shelf so that he could neither reach it nor look in, but there was a knot-hole in one of the boards facing him and on the far side he could see a twitching nose.
'I am Hazel-rah,' he said. 'I have come to talk to you. Can you understand me?'
The answer was in slightly strange but perfectly intelligible Lapine.
'Yes, we understand you. My name is Boxwood. Where do you come from?'
'From the hills. My friends and I live as we please, without men. We eat the grass, lie in the sun and sleep underground. How many are you?'
'Four. Bucks and does.'
'Do you ever come out?'
'Yes, sometimes. A child takes us out and puts us in a pen on the grass.'
'I have come to tell you about my warren. We need more rabbits. We want you to run away from the farm and join us.'
'There's a wire door at the back of this hutch,' said Boxwood. 'Come down there: we can talk more easily.'
The door was made of wire netting on a wooden frame, with two leather hinges nailed to the uprights and a hasp and staple fastened with a twist of wire. Four rabbits were crowded against the wire, pressing their noses through the mesh. Two - Laurel and Clover - were short-haired black Angoras. The others, Boxwood and his doe Haystack, were black and white Himalayans.
Hazel began to speak about the life of the downs and the excitement and freedom enjoyed by wild rabbits. In his usual straight-forward way he told about the predicament of his warren in having no does and how he had come to look for some. 'But,' he said, 'we don't want to steal your does. All four of you are welcome to join us, bucks and does alike. There's plenty for everyone on the hills.' He went on to talk of the evening feed in the sunset and of early morning in the long grass.
The hutch rabbits seemed at once bewildered and fascinated. Clover, the Angora doe - a strong, active rabbit - was clearly excited by Hazel's description and asked several questions about the warren and the downs. It became plain that they thought of their life in the hutch as dull but safe. They had learned a good deal about elil from some source or other and seemed sure that few wild rabbits survived for long. Hazel realized that although they were glad to talk to him and welcomed his visit because it brought a little excitement and change into their monotonous life, it was not within their capacity to take a decision and act on it. They did not know how to make up their minds. To him and his companions, sensing and acting were second nature; but these rabbits had never had to act to save their lives or even to find a meal. If he was going to get any of them as far as the down they would have to be urged. He sat quiet for a little, nibbling a patch of bran spilt on the boards outside the hutch. Then he said,
'I must go back now to my friends in the hills: but we shall return. We shall come one night and when we do, believe me, we shall open your hutch as easily as the farmer does: and then, any of you who wish will be free to co
me with us.'
Boxwood was about to reply when suddenly Pipkin spoke from the floor. 'Hazel, there's a cat in the yard outside!'
'We're not afraid of cats,' said Hazel to Boxwood, 'as long as we're in the open.' Trying to appear unhurried, he went back to the floor by way of the straw-bale and crossed over to the door. Pipkin was looking through the hinge. He was plainly frightened.
'I think it's smelt us, Hazel,' he said.' I'm afraid it knows where we are.'
'Don't stay there, then,' said Hazel.' Follow me close and run when I do.' Without waiting to look out through the hinge, he went round the half-open door of the shed and stopped on the threshold.
The cat, a tabby with white chest and paws, was at the farther end of the little yard, walking slowly and deliberately along the side of a pile of logs. When Hazel appeared in the doorway it saw him at once and stood stock-still, with staring eyes and twitching tail. Hazel hopped slowly across the threshold and stopped again. Already sunlight was slanting across the yard and in the stillness the flies buzzed about a patch of dung a few feet away. There was a smell of straw and dust and hawthorn.
'You look hungry,' said Hazel to the cat. 'Rats getting too clever, I suppose?'
The cat made no reply. Hazel sat blinking in the sunshine. The cat crouched almost flat on the ground, thrusting its head forward between its front paws. Close behind, Pipkin fidgeted and Hazel, never taking his eyes from the cat, could sense that he was trembling.
'Don't be frightened, Hlao-roo,' he whispered. 'I'll get you away, but you must wait till it comes for us. Keep still.'
The cat began to lash its tail. Its hindquarters lifted and wagged from side to side in mounting excitement.
'Can you run?' said Hazel. 'I think not. Why, you pop-eyed, back-door saucer-scraper -'
The cat flung itself across the yard and the two rabbits leapt into flight with great thrusts of their hind legs. The cat came very fast indeed and although both of them had been braced ready to move on the instant, they were barely out of the yard in time. Racing up the side of the long barn, they heard the Labrador barking in excitement as it ran to the full extent of its rope. A man's voice shouted to it. From the cover of the hedge beside the lane they turned and looked back. The cat had stopped short and was licking one paw with a pretence of nonchalance.
'They hate to look silly,' said Hazel. 'It won't give us any more trouble. If it hadn't charged at us like that it would have followed us much farther and probably called up another as well. And somehow you can't make a dash unless they do it first. It's a good thing you saw it coming, Hlao-roo.'
'I'm glad if I helped, Hazel. But what were we up to, and why did you talk to the rabbits in the box?'
'I'll tell you all about it later on. Let's go into the field now, and feed; then we can make our way home as slowly as you like.'
25. The Raid
He went consenting, or else he was no king ... It was no one's place to say to him, 'It is time to make the offering.'
Mary Renault The King Must Die
As things turned out, Hazel and Pipkin did not come back to the Honeycomb until the evening. They were still feeding in the field when it came on to rain, with a cold wind, and they took shelter first in the near-by ditch and then - since the ditch was on a slope and had a fair flow of rainwater in about ten minutes - among some sheds halfway down the lane. They burrowed into a thick pile of straw and for some time remained listening for rats. But all was quiet and they grew drowsy and fell asleep, while outside the rain settled in for the morning. When they woke it was mid-afternoon and still drizzling. It seemed to Hazel that there was no particular hurry. The going would be troublesome in the wet and anyway no self-respecting rabbit could leave without a forage round the sheds. A pile of mangels and swedes occupied them for some time and they set out only when the light was beginning to fade. They took their time and reached the hanger a little before dark, with nothing worse to trouble them than the discomfort of soaking wet fur. Only two or three of the rabbits were out to a rather subdued silflay in the wet. No one remarked on their absence and Hazel went underground at once, telling Pipkin to say nothing about their adventure for the time being. He found his burrow empty, lay down and fell asleep.
Waking, he found Fiver beside him as usual. It was some time before dawn. The earth floor felt pleasantly dry and snug and he was about to go back to sleep when Fiver spoke.
'You've been wet through, Hazel.'
'Well, what about it? The grass is wet, you know.'
'You didn't get so wet on silflay. You were soaked. You weren't here at all yesterday, were you?'
'Oh, I went foraging down the hill.'
'Eating swedes: and your feet smell of farmyard - hens' droppings and bran. But there's some other funny thing besides - something I can't smell. What happened?'
'Well, I had a bit of a brush with a cat, but why worry?'
'Because you're concealing something, Hazel. Something dangerous.'
'It's Holly that's in danger, not I. Why bother about me?'
'Holly?' replied Fiver in surprise. 'But Holly and the others reached the big warren early yesterday evening. Kehaar told us. Do you mean to say you didn't know?'
Hazel felt fairly caught out. 'Well, I know now,' he replied. 'I'm glad to hear it.'
'So it comes to this,' said Fiver. 'You went to a farm yesterday and escaped from a cat. And whatever you were up to, it was so much on your mind that you forgot to ask about Holly last night.'
'Well, all right, Fiver - I'll tell you all about it. I took Pipkin and went to that farm that Kehaar told us about, where there are rabbits in a hutch. I found the rabbits and talked to them and I've taken a notion to go back one night and get them out, to come and join us here.'
'What for?'
'Well, two of them are does, that's what for.'
'But if Holly's successful we shall soon have plenty of does: and from all I've ever heard of hutch rabbits, they don't take easily to wild life. The truth is, you're just trying to be clever.'
'Trying to be clever?' said Hazel. 'Well, we'll just see whether Bigwig and Blackberry think so.'
'Risking your life and other rabbits' lives for something that's of little or no value to us,' said Fiver. 'Oh yes, of course the others will go with you. You're their Chief Rabbit. You're supposed to decide what's sensible and they trust you. Persuading them will prove nothing, but three or four dead rabbits will prove you're a fool, when it's too late.'
'Oh, be quiet,' answered Hazel. 'I'm going to sleep.'
During silflay next morning, with Pipkin for a respectful chorus, he told the others about his visit to the farm. As he had expected, Bigwig jumped at the idea of a raid to free the hutch rabbits.
'It can't go wrong,' he said. 'It's a splendid idea, Hazel! I don't know how you open a hutch, but Blackberry will see to that. What annoys me is to think you ran from that cat. A good rabbit's a match for a cat, any day. My mother went for one once and she fairly gave it something to remember, I can tell you: scratched its fur out like willow-herb in autumn! Just leave the farm cats to me and one or two of the others!'
Blackberry took a little more convincing: but he, like Bigwig and Hazel himself, was secretly disappointed not to have gone on the expedition with Holly: and when the other two pointed out that they were relying on him to tell them how to get the hutch open, he agreed to come.
'Do we need to take everyone?' he asked. 'You say the dog's tied up and I suppose there can't be more than three cats. Too many rabbits will only be a nuisance in the dark: someone will get lost and we shall have to spend time looking for him.'
'Well, Dandelion, Speedwell and Hawkbit then,' said Bigwig, 'and leave the others behind. Do you mean to go tonight, Hazel-rah?'
'Yes, the sooner the better,' said Hazel.' Get hold of those three and tell them'. Pity it's going to be dark - we could have taken Kehaar: he'd have enjoyed it.'
However, their hopes for that night were disappointed, for the rain returned before dusk, s
ettling in on a northwest wind and carrying up the hill the sweet-sour smell of flowering privet from cottage hedges below. Hazel sat on the bank until the light had quite faded. At last, when it was clear that the rain was going to stay for the night, he joined the others in the Honeycomb. They had persuaded Kehaar to come down out of the wind and wet, and one of Dandelion's tales of El-ahrairah was followed by an extraordinary story, that left everyone mystified but fascinated, about a time when Frith had to go away on a journey, leaving the whole world to be covered with rain. But a man built a great, floating hutch that held all the animals and birds until Frith returned and let them out.
'It won't happen tonight, will it, Hazel-rah?' asked Pipkin, listening to the rain in the beech leaves outside. 'There's no hutch here.'
'Kehaar'll fly you up to the moon, Hlao-roo,' said Bluebell, 'and you can come down on Bigwig's head like a birch branch in the frost. But there's time to go to sleep first.'
Before Fiver slept, however, he talked again to Hazel about the raid.
'I suppose it's no good asking you not to go?' he said.
'Look here,' answered Hazel, 'have you got one of your bad turns about the farm? If you have, why not say so straight out? Then we'd all know where we were.'
'I've no feelings about the farm one way or the other,' said Fiver. 'But that doesn't necessarily mean it's all right. The feelings come when they will - they don't always come. Not for the lendri, not for the crow. If it comes to that, I've no idea what's happening to Holly and the others. It might be good or bad. But there's something that frightens me about you yourself, Hazel: just you, not any of the others. You're all alone, sharp and clear, like a dead branch against the sky.'
'Well, if you mean you can see trouble for me and not for any of the others, tell them and I'll leave it to them to decide whether I ought to keep out of it. But that's giving up a lot, Fiver, you know. Even with your word for it, someone's bound to think I'm afraid.'
'Well, I say it's not worth the risk, Hazel. Why not wait for Holly to come back? That's all we have to do.'
'I'll be snared if I wait for Holly. Can't you see that the very thing I want is to have these does here when he comes back? But look, Fiver, I'll tell you what. I've come to trust you so much that I'll take the greatest care. In fact, I won't even go into the farmyard myself. I'll stay outside, at the top of the lane: and if that's not meeting your fears halfway, then I don't know what is.'