The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  Lugworm fussed around his Chief, brushing dirt and splinters from Damug’s cloak. ‘Aye, sir, they’ll be fine then, fightin’ fit fer a journey o’er to the west, ter pay that badger back for yore father.’

  Whack!

  The Greatrat’s mailed paw caught Lugworm alongside his jaw, sending him crashing into a shattered bunk. Damug was like a madbeast: flinging himself upon the hapless stoat he beat him unmercifully, punctuating each word with a blow or kick.

  ‘Don’t you ever mention that beast within my hearing again! We stay away from that cursed mountain! Aye, and that rose-eyed destroyer, that bloodcrazed badger! That . . . That . . .’ He grabbed Lugworm by the throat and shook him like a rag. ‘That . . . badger! You even think about her again and I’ll kill you stone dead!’

  Hurling the half-conscious Lugworm from him, Damug Warfang slammed the door clean off its hinges as he strode quivering with rage out of the cabin. Grabbing a ferret called Skaup he bellowed right into his face, ‘Get the drums rolling, and tell my Rapmarks to line up their companies. We march north. Now!’

  There were ten Rapmarks, each commanding a hundred soldiers. Within a very short time they were formed up into columns five wide and marching away from the hostile coast.

  Damug strode at the head of his army; either side of him six rats pounded their big drums. Ragged banners flapped wildly in the wind, their poles ornamented with the tails of dead foebeasts. The poles’ tops were crowned with the skulls of enemies, and their long pennants bore the sign of Rapscallion, the two-edged sword.

  Borumm the weasel and Vendace the fox were scouts, known by the title Rapscour. They marched to the left flank of the main body with twoscore trained trackers each. Borumm glanced back at the receding shoreline and the sea, saying, ‘Take yer last peep o’ the briny, mate, this lot won’t be goin’ nowheres by water any more. ‘Is Lordship Damug don’t like sailin’.’

  Vendace narrowed his eyes against the driving wind. ‘That’s a fact, cully, an’ I’ll wager an acorn to an oak that ’e won’t be ’eadin’ over Salamandastron way neither. ‘Taint only ships Damug’s feared of.’

  Borumm let his paw stray to the cutlass at his side. ‘A proper Firstblade shouldn’t be afeared o’ nought. But we’ll frighten ’im one dark night, eh, mate?’

  Vendace grinned wolfishly at his companion. ‘Aye, when ’e’s least expectin’ it, we’ll find space atwixt ’is ribs fer a couple o’ sharp blades. Then we’ll be the Firstblades.’

  Borumm closed his eyes longingly for a moment. ‘Harr, we’ll turn this lot right round an’ make fer the soft sunny south coast an’ rule it like a pair o’ kings.’

  Lugworm stumbled along behind the last column, clasping a damp strip of blanket to his bruised throat. Being a Firstblade’s counsellor had its drawbacks. It would take him a day or two to get back into his Chief’s favour, and meanwhile he decided to stay as far away from Damug as possible.

  Lousewort and Sneezewort marched just ahead of him, being in the back five of the last contingent. Lousewort caught sight of Lugworm and called back to him, ‘G’mornin’, Luggy, wot sorta mood’s the boss in t’day?’

  Lugworm tried to speak, but could only manage a painful gurgle.

  Sneezewort looked quizzically at Lousewort. ‘Wot did ’e say, mate?’

  The stolid Lousewort shook his head. ‘Er, er, ’e jus’ said gloggle oggle ogg, or sumthin’, I dunno.’

  Sneezewort prodded his mate. ‘Gloggle oggle ogg, eh? That’s wot you’d a bin sayin’ right now if’n you was totin’ that stoopid big wheel along wid yer.’

  The big nasty-looking weasel’s voice reached them from the rank marching in front. ‘Wot stoopid big wheel’s that yer talkin’ about?’

  ‘Oh, the one I chucked awa . . . Wot wheel are ye talkin’ about, comrade? I don’t know nothin’ about any wheel, d’you, matey?’

  Lousewort nodded obliviously. ‘Oh yep, you remember, Sneezy, my nice big wheel wot you throwed away. Owow! Wot are ye kickin’ me for, mate?’

  All morning the wind continued to blow, right until midnoon, when a drizzle started. Damug Warfang rapped out commands to the drummers.

  ‘Speed up that beat to double march, there’s a woodland up ahead.’

  The two Rapscours and their scouts dashed ahead of the Rapscallions to reconnoitre the spot. It was a prime campsite, with a small pond containing fish and lots of fat woodpigeons roosting in the trees. By late noon the army was completely sheltered from the weather: rocky ledges, heavy treetrunks and overhead foliage sealed them off from cold, wind-driven rain. A feeling of wellbeing pervaded the camp, now they were in a fresh location. This was luxury, after an entire winter spent on the hostile and hungry southeast shore.

  Borumm and Vendace were snugly settled in, having spread an old sail canvas over the low curving limb of a buckthorn, with a rocky outcrop at their back. They sat cooking a quail over their campfire. Lugworm was with them, hiding behind a flap of the overhanging canvas, glancing nervously around at the passing Rapscallions.

  Borumm chuckled at the stoat’s apprehensive manner. Shoving him playfully, he said, ‘Wot’s the matter, matey? You ain’t doin’ no ’arm jus’ sittin’ ’ere sharin’ a bird with two ole pals.’

  Lugworm averted his face as a Rapmark walked by. ‘What’d Damug say if’n somebeast told ’im I was sittin’ ’ere talkin’ wid you two?’

  Vendace shrugged as he tended the roasting quail. ‘We won’t tell ’im if you don’t. Stop frettin’ an’ ’ave some o’ this bird. All you gotta do is tell us where ole Firstblade’ll be sleepin’ tonight an’ how many guards’ll be around, an’ anythin’ else y’think we should know. Leave the rest to us, matey.’

  Borumm whetted a curved dagger against the rock. ‘Aye, by tomorrer it shouldn’t make any difference who saw yer talkin’ to us. Damug won’t be around to throttle yer again, ’e’ll be searchin’ for ’is daddy in Dark Forest!’

  Sneezewort had a good fire going. He stirred the half-burned wood hopefully, watching Lousewort returning from the pond. He noticed that his companion looked very damp.

  ‘Yore lookin’ a bit soggy, mate. Didyer catch anythin’?’ he called.

  Lousewort slumped by the fire, waving away the cloud of steam rising from his ragged garments. ‘Er er, I nearly did, but I got pushed inter the water.’

  Sneezewort picked up a small log and brandished it angrily. ‘Pushed in? Huh, show me the slab-sided blackguard wot pushed yer!’

  ‘Er er, it was that big nasty-lookin’ weasel.’

  Sneezewort threw the log on the fire, sighing resignedly. ‘Ah well, that one’s got ’is lumps comin’ someday. So, you didn’t bring any vittles back at all?’

  Lousewort produced a pile of dripping pondweed. ‘Er er, only this. May’aps we can make soup out of it.’

  His companion turned up a lip in disgust. ‘Yurgh, dirty smelly stuff, chuck it away!’

  Lousewort was about to carry out his friend’s order when his paw was stayed. Sneezewort stared unhappily at the mess of dripping vegetation, shaking his head, and said, ‘Take my ole helmet an’ fill it wid water. Pondweed soup’s better’n nothin’ when yer belly thinks yore throat’s cut!’

  Damug belched loudly and settled back to suck upon the bones of the tench he had just devoured. From the shelter of an ash nearby he heard his title whispered.

  ‘Firstblade!’

  The Greatrat lay still, lips hardly moving as he answered, ‘Gribble, is that you?’

  From his hiding place, the rat Gribble called in a low voice, ‘Aye, ’tis me. Lugworm’s gone over to Borumm an’ Vendace. From wot I ’eard they’ll make their move tonight, Chief.’

  Damug Warfang smiled and closed his eyes. ‘Good work, Gribble. It always pays to have watchers watching watchers. I’ll be ready. Go now, keep your eyes and ears open.’

  * * *

  12

  RUSSA NODREY ADDED twigs to the fire embers, peering upward at slatey skies that showed between treetops that morning.
‘Hmm, doesn’t look too good out there t’day. No point in leavin’ camp awhile, those vermin’d probably ambush us afore we got out o’ these trees.’

  Tammo looked up from the beaker of hot mint tea he was sipping. ‘Y’mean the rotten ol’ vermin are hiding in these woodlands? I thought you said they’d ambush us out on the flatland?’

  The wily squirrel pointed a paw at the sky. ‘So they would if it were fine weather, but put y’self in their place, mate. You wouldn’t stand out in the open soakin’ an’ freezin’, waitin’ fer us to come out of a nice dry camp like this. No, if’n you’d any sense at all you’d get under cover, out of the weather. They’re probably creepin’ through the trees towards us right now.’

  The young hare dropped low, drawing his dirk. ‘Are you sure that’s what the rascals are up to?’

  Russa added more wood to the fire. ‘Sure as liddle apples, if I know anythin’ about vermin!’

  Tammo was amazed at his companion’s calm manner. ‘Then what’re you standin’ there loadin’ more bally wood on the fire for? Shouldn’t we be doin’ somethin’ about the situation?’

  Russa hid the haversack away beneath some bushes then rummaged about in her back pouch. She tossed Tammo a sling and a bag of flat pebbles. ‘Here, I take it y’can use that.’

  Loading a pebble into the tough sinewy weapon, Tammo swung it. ‘Rather! I was the best slingshot chucker at Camp Tussock!’

  Russa twirled her hardwood stick expertly. ‘Right, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll take to the trees an’ pick ’em off as you draw ’em out. Use the sling, leave yore blade where ’tis unless they get too close, then don’t fool about, use it fer keeps. Move now, I c’n hear ’em comin’ – sounds like there’s enough o’ the scum. We’ll have our work well cut out, mate.’

  Tammo heard a twig snap some distance away and heard a harsh cry.

  ‘There’s one of ’em, come on!’

  He turned to answer Russa, but she was not there.

  Suddenly a rat came leaping over the fallen beech at him. Tammo reacted swiftly. Swinging the loaded sling, he brought it cracking down between his assailant’s eyes. The rat fell poleaxed by the force of the blow. For a second Tammo froze, almost paralysed at the sight of the rat’s broken body, half shocked, half exhilarated at this victory and escape. But there was no time to think, instinctively he began whirling his sling. Leaping backward a few paces he centred on a shadowy form in the shrubbery and let fly. He was rewarded by a sharp agonized cry as the slingstone smashed home. The young hare turned and ran a short distance. He was stopping to load up his sling when a sharp-clawed paw gripped the back of his neck.

  ‘Haharr, gotcha!’

  There was a heavy clunking noise and the vermin collapsed limply. Russa leaned out of the foliage of an oak, directly over where Tammo stood. She waved the piece of hardwood at him.

  ‘Best weapon a beast ever had, this ’un! Get goin’, Tamm, there’s more of ’em than I reckoned!’

  The woodlands became alive with vermin war cries. An arrow zipped past Tammo, grazing his ear before it quivered in the oakwood. Then they came pounding through the woodlands towards him, a score or more of snarling savages, brandishing an ugly and lethal array of weapons. Whipping a slingstone at them, Tammo took off at a run, only to find he was headed straight in the direction of another group.

  Whichever way he wheeled there were vermin coming at him. Foliage rustled overhead and Russa came sailing out of a tree to land beside him, her jaw set grimly.

  ‘I never figgered on this many, mate. The villains’ve got us surrounded. Pity it had to happen yore first time out, Tamm. Still, there’s one consolation – if’n we go together I won’t be left t’carry the news back to yore mum.’

  Tammo felt no fear, only rage. Drawing his blade he gritted his teeth and swung the loaded sling like a flexible club. ‘Stand back t’back with me, pal. If we’ve got to go then let’s give ’em somethin’ to jolly well remember us by. Eulaliaaaaaaa!’

  The vermin rushed them but were swiftly repulsed, such was the ferocity with which the two friends fought. Four rats went down from blade thrust, sling and stick. Whirling to meet a second onslaught, following hard on the heels of the first, Russa stunned a weasel with the butt of her stick, grabbing him close to her so that he took the spear thrust of a ferret behind him. Tammo whipped the loaded sling into the face of another and slashed out to the side with his dirk, catching a rat who was sneaking in on him.

  A big, wicked-looking fox swung out with an immense pike. The heavy iron blade thudded flat down on Russa’s head, stunning the squirrel and knocking her flat. Tammo tripped over a wounded rat and stumbled awkwardly. The vermin pack flung themselves on the pair. Tammo managed to slay one and wound another, then he went under, completely engulfed by weight of numbers. Stars and comets rattled about in his head as the butt end of the fox’s pike flattened him.

  Waves of throbbing pain crashed through the young hare’s skull. He struggled to lift his paws to his head but found he was unable to. Noise followed, lots of noise, then an agonizing pain across his shoulders. Opening his eyes slowly, Tammo found himself facing Skulka. She was swinging the thorn-covered wild rose branch that she had just struck him with.

  ‘Hah! I thought that’d waken ’im! Would yer like another taste o’ this, me bold young warrior?’

  Tammo’s paws were tightly bound, but that did not stop him bulling forward and up, catching the ferret hard beneath her chin with a resounding headbutt. Her jaws cracked together like a window slamming as she fell backward.

  A rat ran forward swinging a sword, shouting, ‘I’ll finish ’im!’

  Russa had recovered sufficiently to kick out at the rat with her tightly lashed footpaws, and he was knocked sideways, striking his back sharply against a treetrunk.

  Rubbing furiously at his spine, the rat came at Russa, sword held straight for her throat. ‘I’ll show ye the colour o’ yer insides fer that, bushtail!’

  He was stopped in his tracks by the big fox’s pike handle. ‘No, y’won’t, cully. I want some sport wid these two afore we put paid to ’em. Now then, young ’un, where’d yer ’ide that bagful o’ vittles you two’ve bin totin’ around?’

  Tammo glanced down at the pikepoint pricking his chest. He smiled contemptuously at his tormentor, and said, ‘Actually I stuffed ’em down your ears while you were asleep last night, figurin’ that owing to the lack of brains there’d be plenty o’ room inside your thick head, old chap.’

  The fox quivered with anger, but held his temper. ‘You’ve just cost yer comrade ’er tail, and when I’ve chopped it off I’m gonna ask yer again. We’ll see ’ow smart yer mouth is then, bucko. Skulka, Gaduss, grab ’old o’ that squirrel . . .’

  Suddenly the fox stopped talking and stared dumbly at the javelin which appeared to be growing out of his middle. A blood-curdling cry rang through the trees.

  ‘Eulaliaaaaaa! Give ’em blood’n’vinegar!’

  This was followed by a veritable rain of arrows, javelins and slingstones. Taken by surprise, the vermin scattered. One or two who were a bit slow were cut down where they stood. From somewhere a drum began beating and the wild war cry resounded louder: “S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaa! Eulaliaaaaaa!’

  The vermin had obviously heard the call before. Whimpering with terror they fled, many of them falling to the rain of missiles pursuing the retreat.

  Tammo was busily trying to sever his bonds on the fallen fox’s pike blade, when the drums sounded close. He looked up to see a very fat hare striding towards him. Amazingly, the creature was making the drum sounds with his mouth.

  ‘Babumm babumm barabumpitybumpitybumm! Drrrrrrrubbity dubbity rump ta tump! Barraboomboomboom!’

  A tall elegant hare, with drooping mustachios, carrying a long sabre over one shoulder of his bemedalled green velvet jacket, stepped languidly out of the tree cover.

  ‘Good show, Corporal Rubbadub, compliments to y’sah. Now d’you mind awfully if one asks y’to give thos
e infernal drums a rest?’

  With a smile that was like the sun coming out, the fat hare threw up a smart salute and brought both footpaws down hard as he gave two final drum noises.

  ‘Boom boom!’

  The tall hare’s sabre whistled through the air as he spoke to Tammo and Russa. ‘Stay quite still, chaps, that’s the ticket!’

  The two friends winced and closed their eyes tightly as the sabre whipped around them like an angry wasp. In a trice the cords that had bound them were lying slashed on the ground.

  Russa smiled one of her rare smiles. ‘Captain Perigord Habile Sinistra to the rescue, eh!’

  The hare made an elegant leg and bowed. ‘At y’service, marm, though I’m known as Major Perigord nowadays, promotion y’know. Hmm, Russa Nodrey, thought you’d have perished from vermin attack or old age seasons ago. Who’s this chap if I may make so bold as t’ask?’

  Standing upright, Tammo returned the Major’s bow courteously. ‘Tamello De Fformelo Tussock, sah.’

  ‘Indeed! Any relation to Colonel Comspurrey De Fformelo Tussock?’

  ‘I should say so, sah, he’s my pater!’

  ‘You don’t say! Well, there’s a thing. I served under your old pa, when I was about your seasons. By m’life! Then you’ll be Mem Divinia’s young ’un!’

  ‘I have that honour, sah.’

  Major Perigord walked in a circle around Tammo, shaking his head and smiling. ‘Mem Divinia eh, great seasons o’ salt, the prettiest hare ever t’slay vermin. I worshipped her y’know, from afar of course, she was ever the Colonel’s, and me? Pish tush! I was nought but a young galloper. Ah for the golden days o’ youth, wot!’

  He broke off to listen to the screams of the fleeing vermin growing fainter, then turned to Corporal Rubbadub and said, ‘Be s’good as to call the chaps’n’chappesses back, will you, there’s a good creature.’

  Still smiling from ear to ear, Rubbadub marched off in the direction of the retreat, his drum noises echoing and rolling throughout the small woodland.

  ‘Barraboom! Barraboom! Barraboomdiddyboomdiddy boomboom!’