The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  Without another word they stumbled off, south, as far as they could get from Damug Warfang’s vengeance.

  The three escapers made their way uphill through the still-sleeping camp. Tammo felt that all was going well, too well, and that worried him. Fourdun peered around into the darkness, and suddenly saw Rinkul and his band striding through the camp, coming in their direction.

  Thinking swiftly, the old squirrel pulled his two friends down beside half a dozen vermin lying round a fire, and scrambled beneath Midge’s cloak. ‘Lie still, some o’ the scum are comin’ this way!’

  Hardly daring to breathe, they stretched on the ground amid the slumbering Rapscallions. Rinkul actually trod on the hem of Tammo’s cloak as they went by, and Tammo heard the ferret murmur to one of his companions as they passed, ‘I’ve got a feelin’ they’ll be down by the stream where that ole squirrel’s caged up!’

  Raising his head carefully, Midge watched them from the back as they headed towards the water. The trio rose slowly, avoiding the outstretched paws of a stoat who was acting out a dream. The stoat snuffled and turned away from them, kicking out with a footpaw that came into contact with a glowing log.

  ‘Yowch!’

  At the sound of the creature’s yelp, Rinkul and his party turned.

  Midge saw they were discovered. He took off at a run, hissing to his friends, ‘Fat’s in the fire, chaps, make a dash for it!’

  Silent and grim the chase of death began, as they shot off uphill.

  The stoat was clutching his scorched footpaw, hopping about. One of Rinkul’s band whacked him with a cudgel as he passed and snarled, ‘Go back ter sleep, mate!’

  Though Fourdun was a strong old beast he was not half as fast as the two hares, so they were forced to run to his pace. With the enemy hard on their heels they got clear of the encampment and made the brow of the hill. Midge turned and threw his spear and it pierced a vixen who was running alongside Rinkul. This slowed their pursuers momentarily and bought them a second’s time.

  Breasting the hill, Tammo called out as they ran, ‘Rock! Rockjaw Grang!’

  Lower downhill, the giant hare heard Tammo. Leaping from cover he bounded uphill to meet them. Rinkul was first over the hilltop. He had pulled the spear from the dead vixen; taking aim at Midge, he threw the weapon skilfully.

  ‘Sithee, Midge, look out!’

  Rockjaw flung himself in a flying tackle, bulling into Midge and knocking him sideways. The spear took Rockjaw through his side.

  Hatred welled up in Tammo. He heaved his own spear straight at Rinkul. It struck the ferret through his middle, snapping off as he fell and rolled downhill towards them.

  Rockjaw brushed Midge and Fourdun aside as they tried to lift him. Close to a dozen vermin were dashing down upon them now. The big hare unslung his bow, crying, ‘Get goin’, I’ll hold ’em off!’

  The lifeless carcass of Rinkul the ferret halted its downhill roll in front of Rockjaw. He forced the hardwood stick from its deathgrip and tossed it to Tammo. ‘Good throw, young ’un. Russa woulda been proud o’ ye. Now leave me an’ run fer it, I’m bad hit!’

  Fourdun ducked an arrow as he inspected Rockjaw’s side. He looked up, shaking his head at Tammo.’ ‘Twould kill him to pull the spear out!’

  The big hare sat up and sent two arrows in quick succession at the vermin. Notching another shaft to his bow he glared angrily at the two friends standing either side of him. ‘Sithee, ’tis not yore night to die. Now get out o’ here an’ don’t stand there wastin’ my time. Leave me t’my work!’ Ignoring them completely, he fired the arrow and selected another.

  Fourdun tugged at their paws, whispering urgently, ‘Can’t y’see he’s dyin’? If we stay here we’ll all be slain. That beast doesn’t want or need yore ’elp. Come on!’

  Attracted by the shouts of their comrades, the vermin from the camp edges near the hilltop appeared. Rockjaw laughed wildly. ‘Hohoho! Come t’the party, buckoes, the more the merrier! Tammo, Midge, tell the Major I took a few wid me. Good fortune, pals – run straight’n’true an’ remember me!’

  Tammo, Midge and Fourdun had to run for it before the Rapscallions encircled them. They ran like the wind, into the night, shouting, ‘Give ’em blood’n’vinegar, Rock!’ Soon they were lost among the groves and knolls, charging headlong across darkened country until there was no sound save the thrumming of their paws against the earth.

  Rockjaw Grang sat on with his back against a jutting boulder, the arrow quivers of two dead vermin beside him, his sling and stones ready for when he ran out of shafts. Completely surrounded, and wounded in four places, he fought on.

  ‘Come on, thee cowardly scum. Ah’ll wager nobeast warned ye about Goodwife Grang’s eldest son. Eulaliaaaaaa!’

  As the foebeasts closed in on him, Rockjaw drew the spear from his side and hurled himself upon them like a creature taken by the Bloodwrath.

  “S death on the wind! Eulalia! Eulalia! Eulaliaaaaaaa!’

  He bought the time for his friends to escape safely, for even within sight of Dark Forest gates, Rockjaw Grang was a perilous hare.

  * * *

  47

  LADY CREGGA ROSE Eyes sat bolt upright from the bed of grass and soft mosses she had been laid upon for a day and a night. It was but a few hours to dawn as the great badger roared out: ‘Eulaliaaaa!’

  Corporal Ellbrig and Sergeant Clubrush, wakened from their sleep, rushed to her side.

  ‘Lady Cregga, what is it?’

  Her strange eyes looked all round before settling on Clubrush. ‘A bad dream, Sergeant, a very bad dream!’

  She rose and stared over his shoulder in a northwesterly direction. The Drill Sergeant was very concerned. He watched Cregga’s eyes carefully, though it was still too dark to see them clearly.

  ‘Are you all right, marm?’

  She moved to the nearest fire, nodding to reassure him. ‘I’m fine, Sergeant, but very hungry. How long to breakfast?’

  Corporal Ellbrig busied himself at the fire. ‘Right now if y’like, marm, you h’aint eaten in two days.’

  Deodar and Algador had just finished their sentry watch, so they joined the trio at the fire. Young hares are always willing to eat an early breakfast when they smell it being cooked. Lady Cregga seemed in a rather mild, thoughtful mood, which was unusual for her. She passed scones and honey to Deodar, followed by a beaker of hot mint and dandelion tea.

  ‘Breakfast tastes good after being on sentry, eh?’

  Through a mouthful of scone the young hare sipped her tea. ‘Rather, marm, ’specially when you can have an hour’s sleep before reveille an’ join the jolly old queue for more.’

  Lady Cregga smiled at Deodar’s honesty. ‘Tell me, young ’un, do you ever have dreams?’

  ‘Dreams, marm? Well, yes, I s’pose I do.’

  The badger stared down at her huge paws. ‘I had a dream just now and I believe it to be true.’

  Algador paused from ladling honey on to a hot scone. ‘Really, marm? May I ask what it was about?’

  The Sergeant was about to upbraid Algador when Cregga spoke. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you the parts that aren’t clear, but I know a brave creature died. I shouted Eulalia with him as he went down. Somewhere over there to the northwest. And the more I think of it the more certain I am. That is where the army of Rapscallions is at this very moment. I can feel it!’

  The two young hares exchanged puzzled glances with the Corporal and Sergeant until Lady Cregga caught their attention once more. ‘When the sun is up and my hares are fed we will go there.’

  Trowbaggs spooned hot oatmeal in at a furious rate, eyeing a last scone that lay between him and Furgale. ‘Well lucky old us, it’s heigh ho for the northwest on the strength of a bally dream, wot! I think I’ll dream tonight that I’ve been sent back to Salamandastron to take up the blinkin’ job of head food-taster. D’you think it’ll work?’

  Drill Sergeant Clubrush tweaked the cheeky recruit’s ear. ‘Strange y’should say that, youn
g sir. H’I’ve just ’ad a dream that you was on potwashin’ duty an’ you volunteered to carry my pack all day. Wot d’you say to that, young Trowbaggs?’

  ‘Er, haha, silly beastly things dreams are, Sarge, er, that is unless Lady Cregga dreams ’em up, wot!’

  The Sergeant’s pace stick tapped Trowbaggs’ shoulder lightly. ‘Right y’are, bucko, an’ don’t you forget it!’

  The Long Patrol hares assembled after breakfast for their final orders before marching. Lady Cregga and Corporal Ellbrig looked on from the sidelines as Drill Sergeant Clubrush lectured them.

  ‘Listen carefully now. From this moment we march silent an’ quick. An’ when I say silent – Trowbaggs an’ some o’ you other young rips – I means it! Foolish an’ thoughtless noise or playactin’ could get us all ambushed or slain. Shangle Widepad, you an’ the other seasoned veterans keep an eye on our recruits, ’tis yore duty to show ’em the ropes. Everybeast, make sure yore weapons are in good order – slings, javelins, swords, bows’n’ quivers. Soon we’ll be in enemy territory an’ you may need ’em. Right, that’s all. Unless you got anythin’ t’say to ’em, Lady Cregga, marm?’

  For the first time, the Badger Warrior addressed the five hundred hares who formed her travelling army. ‘So far you have all proved worthy and well, my thanks to you. Soon we will be facing Rapscallions in battle. Make no mistake about them – vermin they may be, but they are trained killers. To bring peace to these lands we must slay them, or be slain. From this moment you are hunters and warriors, and there will be no marching songs, Eulalias, or campfires. That is all.’

  They marched then. No commands were called; a nod, the wave of a pace stick, or a signal from the Sergeant’s paw was all that they required. They kept to grassland, ferns and rocky terrain wherever possible, so that a telltale dustcloud would not betray their position. Trowbaggs strode silently alongside Shangle Widepad. After a while the irrepressible young hare found himself humming a little ditty called ‘The Fat Frog’s Dinner’, and he winked at Shangle and grinned. The glare he received from the grizzled veteran silenced him immediately. Grim-faced and determined, the five hundred pressed on.

  Rapscallion drums pounded savagely, throwing out their wild challenge to the summer skies. Pennants and war banners fluttered in the breeze, bedecked with tails, skulls and hanks of animal hair. The little rat informant Gribble slunk about outside the Firstblade’s shelter, waiting for him to emerge.

  Damug Warfang strode out, his face streaked purple and red for battle. Unsheathing his sword, he cast an approving eye over the ranks of snarling vermin before turning to the rat grovelling on the ground in front of him.

  ‘Speak your piece quickly, Gribble, then get out of my way!’

  The rat was already shuffling backward to avoid a sudden kick. ‘Great Lord, the Seer and the dumb one are gone, so are the two guards you left to watch them. Also the ferret Rinkul and several others are missing from camp.’

  Damug faced west across the valley slope, and nodded curtly. ‘Well, let’s hope they catch those two, for their own sakes. If they’ve deserted I’ll find them when this is all over. But now I march west, to find out what these Redwallers are made of. Stand aside – death waits on anybeast barring my way!’

  The Greatrat hurried to the forefront of his vast eager army, with their roars drowning out the pounding drums: ‘Warfaaaaang! Warfaaaaang! Warfaaaang!’

  Away to the west, a green valley basked in the warm sun. Light breezes rippled the vale ferns and stirred the blossoms of gorse and pimpernel on the broad hill slope. A single rock with moss and lichen clinging to its sides stood out on the long high ridge like a raised ottertail. Far below, wispy tendrils of mist arose from where the sun’s warmth penetrated a deep rift, which ran like a jagged scar along the valley’s far edge. Small birds, redstart, stonechat and wheatear, chirruped and chattered, perching on gorse thorns with sure-clawed skill, bright beady eyes constantly searching for minute insects. Butterflies and bumblebees visited the flowers of the vale, and sunlight glinted off the iridescent wings of hoverflies seeking aphids.

  The life of the valley hummed peacefully on, lulled by summer’s warmth, unaware that three armies were marching towards it.

  * * *

  48

  TRAPPED IN THE tunnels of old Castle Kotir, far beneath Redwall Abbey’s south ramparts, five creatures sat dozing fitfully in the gloom. Giving off an occasional flicker, their lantern warned that its light would soon be out.

  Abbess Tansy gazed ruefully at the small golden tongue of flame as it gently swayed. ‘I should never have encouraged you to come on this silly venture, friends. I’m sorry.’

  Craklyn snorted, wagging a paw at her old companion. ‘You encouraged us, you? Hah! Let me tell you, Tansy Pansy, we’re all down here because we wanted to come. We encouraged ourselves!’

  Tansy clasped the old squirrel Recorder’s paw affectionately. ‘Dearie me, ’tis some long seasons since anybeast called me Tansy Pansy. D’you remember when Arven was a Dibbun, he was always saying that name? Now what was it he used to chant at me?’

  Craklyn thought for a moment, then chuckled. ‘Tansy Pansy toogle doo. Hahaha, he was a proper little wretch.’

  Foremole wrinkled his nose severely at the pair. ‘Beggin’ ee pardun, but do you’m be soilent, oi can yurr summat.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Young Friar Butty looked around. ‘Aye, I c’n hear somethin’ too. Sounds like water drippin’.’

  Shad pressed his ear to the tunnel wall. ‘That’s water all right, on the other side o’ this ’ere wall. I can ’ear it dripdrippin’ away. Sounds like ’tis fallin’ a far way down. Wot d’ye think, Abbess marm, shall I ’ave a go at breakin’ through the wall?’

  Foremole Diggum waved a digging paw hastily. ‘Ho no, zurr, you’m’ll be a bringen ee tunnel topplin’ on us ’eads agin fur sure!’

  Shad scrambled upright and retrieved the lantern. ‘P’raps yore right, mate. You all stay ’ere an’ I’ll scout about further down this tunnel t’see wot I can see.’

  While Shad was gone, the remaining four creatures sat in complete darkness without the lantern. To keep their spirits up, Tansy sang a simple little ditty.

  ‘If I were a leaf upon a tree,

  Then I would live right happily,

  I’d grow up flat and green and big,

  Unless of course I was a twig,

  A twig with a leaf upon its end,

  And then the leaf would be my friend,

  I’d grow to such a wondrous length,

  And from my branch I’d take my strength.

  If I were a branch upon a tree,

  With leaf and twig for company,

  I’d grow so round and fair and trim,

  Sprouting from a great stout limb,

  But if I were a limb all thick and wide,

  Branch, twig and leaf I’d hold with pride,

  And they would all depend on me,

  And the mighty trunk of my big tree.

  Then if I were a tree with bark for husk,

  I’d stand up firm from dawn ’til dusk,

  And limb, branch, twig and leaf would be,

  All through the season part of me!’

  She had barely finished singing when Shad’s voice boomed up the passage and they saw the welcome glow of the lantern. ‘Ahoy there, mates! Come an’ see this – I’ve found a way down!’

  Stumbling through the half-light behind the fading lantern, they followed Shad down the corridor. He halted in front of a heavy wooden door, swinging it open with a jarring creak to reveal its other side, covered in fungus.

  ‘Welcome to the ole castle cellars, me hearties, though I don’t see wot good they’ll do us. We should be goin’ up, not down’ards!’

  Dropping his bag of treasure, Friar Butty pushed past the otter. ‘Look, torches!’

  From rusted iron rings in the wall he pulled four hefty wooden bundles, their ends coated thick with pine resin. Tansy took one and lit it from the last dyi
ng lantern flame. ‘Of course, it makes sense to leave torches at the entrance to cellars. By the seasons, they do burn brightly!’

  Brilliant yellow light radiated around, revealing their position. Far larger than Great Hall, the cellars stretched above and below them. Water dripped from long stalactites hanging from a high-hewn rock ceiling, falling down from a great height to splash far below where they stood. The five questors were on a narrow step jutting from the wall. Other steps wound their way downward, hugging the wallsides until they ended in the depths below.

  Shad lit another torch from the one Tansy carried. ‘Only one way t’go, mates: down. C’mon, foller me.’

  Placing their backs to the wall they descended carefully, step by step, each holding the other’s paws. The stone stairs seemed never-ending, and by the time they had covered three-quarters of the distance wet moss and slime made the going treacherous.

  Shad stopped, and rested by crouching against the damp walls. ‘Phwaw! This place is enough t’give a crab the creeps. You got any rope left, Diggum?’

  The Foremole unwound a coil from round his waist. ‘Yurr, oi gotter liddle len’th.’

  Shad took it and knotted it round his middle, passing it back. ‘Best rope ourselves together fer safety . . . Yaaaaar! Gerraway, yer filthy scum!’

  A large, gross toad with sightless eyes was trying to gnaw the end of the otter’s tail. With a swift flick of his rudderlike appendage, Shad tossed the amphibian in the air and batted it off the step. The toad whirled in an arc then hit the liquid below. It vanished with a squelching plop, leaving a small dimple on the surface.

  Tansy held her torch out over the stair edge. ‘That isn’t water down there, ’tis more of a swamp!’

  Other toads were crawling upstairs towards them, the dreadful creatures apparently attracted by Shad’s cry and Tansy’s voice.

  Craklyn hid behind Foremole, shuddering. ‘Ugh! Horrible monsters, keep ’em away from me!’

  Butty had been carrying his treasure slung on the end of the silver-headed spear he had found in the rubble. Untying the bundle, he passed the spear along to Shad.