by Michael Tod
Tansy looked unhappy and whimpered, ‘I don’t like it here, let’s go home.’
Clover went over to her and said, ‘The Sun has guided and helped us to get here, I don’t think we can go home. Don’t forget those Greys are there now.’
The mention of the Greys made all the other squirrels look around but there was no sense of danger even after the most vigorous sniffing and whisker-twitching. Certainly there was no scent of fox or grey squirrel although Juniper and Oak thought they could detect just a whiff of strange Reds. However, with the breeze blowing from behind them and the salt smell from the sea, neither would be sure.
Tamarisk the Tactless was snuffling at an old crab shell on the beach. ‘This place stinks,’ he pronounced loudly.
Keeping together, they climbed the bank of soil-covered, broken pipes to the grass under the pines and sensed the air again. Now there was nothing but a benign and even slothful feeling, not the slightest hint of danger of any kind.
The squirrels spread out a little and, staying on the ground, made their way through the coarse grass and bracken to the top of the next bank. There was still no sign of any animals other than harmless rabbits and, with the sun setting behind them, they prepared for their first night in the safety of an Eyeland. Food was everywhere. The squirrels ate well and started to relax in the peaceful atmosphere, later sleeping in family groups in the upper branches of a large pine.
‘We will explore in the morning,’ Oak told them.
There seemed to be no reason to hurry when the sun first showed itself through the trees to the east, and after an especially thankful morning prayer the party foraged in a leisurely way, before moving further inland in a loose group on the ground, to find out exactly what the Eyeland had in store for them. Passing through clumps of rhododendrons and crossing several overgrown Man-paths, they came to a place where these tracks passed below some magnificent mature pines, their high branches forming a canopy over a light brown carpet of fallen needles. Above they could hear squirrel sounds. The exiles crowded together and waited expectantly.
Red squirrels came down the trees and stared at them. None spoke, and Oak knowing that they were the strangers, signalled to his party to keep their tails low.
The Eyeland squirrels circled the newcomers suspiciously, led by an elderly and dignified Red who kept his tail high.
‘Who are yew, and from whence have yew come?’ he asked.
‘Who are these funny foreigners?’ Marguerite whispered to Burdock.
‘Shush. We are the foreigners here. Keep your tail down,’ replied Burdock.
No lands are foreign
It is those who pass through that
Are the foreigners
Oak replied, ‘I am Oak the Cautious, Leader of this party, and this is Burdock the Tagger, this is Fern the Fussy - my life-mate, this is…’ He introduced each member of the exiles in turn, down to and including every tagged youngster, as is proper. Each raised and lowered his tail in the traditional manner. ‘We have come from the Blue Pool.’ He could explain more later. Then, remembering the tradition, he added, ‘We greet you …’ and paused, not yet knowing the name and tag of the Leader.
The distinguished-looking squirrel stepped forward and bowed to Fern, who looked sideways at Oak and fluffed her tail proudly, hoping that there were no tangles visible.
‘Uz iz King Willow the Third, zon of King Azpen the Fourth, zon of King Cyprezz the Won and Only, zon of…’ The Leader went on and on through a poll-list of ancestors, his tail high with evident pride, then turned to a female at his side and introduced her.
‘This is Kingz-Mate Thizle the Zecond, daughter of Rozebay, daughter of Cowzlip, daughter of Groundzel, daughter of…’ This list, too, seemed to go on forever.
Burdock listened with interest. The naming pattern was the same as her community used, tree-names for males, flower-names for females, but the tags, if one could call them that, told one nothing about their characters, and after one generation or, at the most two, parentage gave no guide as to what to expect from that individual.
King Willow then turned to one of the younger squirrels. ‘And thiz iz my son, Next-King Zallow.’ He indicated a narrow-chested squirrel with a slight squint.
The exiles braced themselves for another string of names and sighed audibly when he passed straight on, introducing another, more handsome son, Poplar, and a nephew, Fir. Then a daughter, Teazle, and lastly two nieces, Voxglove and Cowzlip, who together would have weighed as much as one healthy squirrel.
The half-dozen or so other squirrels who sat with lowered tails he did not introduce, but with a wave of his paw said, ‘And theze are zome of the zervantz.’
‘What is the name of this land?’ Oak asked, when he realised that the formal greeting was not being returned.
‘Thiz is Ourland,’ replied King Willow. Then, seeming to lose his suspicion, he and each of his family passed along the line of exiles, brushing their whiskers with their own, in a special and rather pleasant form of greeting. The exiles felt free to raise their tails and relax, mixing with the Ourlanders and making friends, the youngsters from each party romping wildly about in the grassy glades.
Oak, cautious as usual, asked King Willow if they should not go up into a tree for safety and was asked why.
‘To be safe from surprise by a fox or a dog.’
‘What is voxez and dogz? Asked King Willow. ‘There’z nothing here to harm uz.’
Burdock was talking to Kingz-Mate Thizle, asking about Ourland.
‘There iz water all round it, no other squirrelz can come here, and that huz been our problem. There’z no choice of maytz now. Brotherz have to mate with their zizterz or cloze couzinz, even if it feelz the wrong thing to do.’
Burdock was appalled. One of the most important Kernels said:
Never mate with kin.
Seek new blood for strong dreylings,
They are your future.
‘Why don’t they choose mates from other families?’ she asked.
Kingz-Mate Thizle looked round sadly. ‘There aren’t any good wonz now. Only the zervantz’ familiez, and uz obviouzly can’t mate with thoze’. She wrinkled her nose disparagingly. ‘Uz are all that are left and uz don’t have many dreylingz now. Mozd of the wonz that are born each year are zickly and are Zun-gone afore their firzt winter. Perhaps that’z why the Zun zent all of yew. Welcome to Ourland.’
Burdock was pleased that these strange Reds shared their respect for the Sun even if some of their other customs were different. She acknowledged the welcome with a lowering of the head and a sideways flick of her tail.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Burdock and King Willow were lying out in the upper branches of the Royal Macrocarpa Tree which grew near an abandoned church. From here they could look out over the meadow where the humans obligingly fed the peacocks which strutted about between the Royal Tree and the grounds of Brownsea Castle.
This magnificent multi-trunked tree stood proudly on a high bank, and the resting squirrels could see over the castle to the Poole Harbour entrance and the open sea beyond. They could watch the car ferry as it shuttled back and forth between Sandbanks and South Haven Point, but the squirrels were no more concerned with this than with the sailing boats dotting the harbour, part of a strange Man-world beyond their shores and of no interest to them.
The autumn harvest was in full swing, and so plentiful were nuts of every kind that only a few hours of gathering and hiding each day were sufficient to ensure a well-fed winter. King Willow never gathered nuts. ‘Let the zervantz do that,’ he had said, even offering their services to Oak, Fern and Burdock. There were plenty of them to do so, all apparently just there to make life easy for the Royals.
The exiles politely refused, preferring to make their own provision as they had always done.
Save for the future,
Store plentiful nuts safely,
Prepare for lean times.
Somehow it did not seem right to let others do thi
s for them.
The two elderly squirrels often lay out on fine days swapping legends and traditions. Many of the Ourland customs were quite unlike those practised on the mainland and at first Burdock had been appalled to learn that the Sun-tithe, which was such an essential part of their mainland life, had deteriorated here into a mere ritual. Although the Ourland squirrels still stored nuts for the winter days and for the leaner times of early spring, they had forgotten the reason for leaving some undisturbed.
One out of eight nuts
Must be left to germinate.
Here grows our future.
King Willow could not remember the whole of that Kernel. He had mumbled something about ‘eight nutz being left’ and described how each autumn they buried eight nuts together, which were never to be dug up, and then forgot about them until it was time to do the same thing at the next harvest.
‘But what about future trees?’ Burdock had asked.
‘Never zeemed to be a problem,’ replied King Willow listlessly. ‘The Deerz eat zum new zeedlingz and the rabbitz eat zum but there alwayz zeem to be enough each year. Maybe it only matterz where yew come’z from.’
Burdock was interested in the absence of tagging. With the Ourlanders there seemed to be no sign of any system of reward and punishment. The Ourland Royal youngsters had, at first, appeared to be a spoilt lot, pampered by their parents, but in fact, now that they were maturing, she had grown fond of them. They seemed willing to learn and had joined in with the newcomers when she taught ‘Kernels, Traditions and Manners’, although most of the elder Ourlanders ignored her teaching sessions.
‘Have you never had punishments?’ she asked King Willow.
‘Oh yez, when uz wuz Next-King we had a zquirrel who wuz called The Nipper. He wuz a half-brother of my father the King, zo muzt have been a zort of uncle to me. Pure white he wuz, with funny pink eyz. Nazty fellow him; if zomeone upzet the King he told The Nipper to bite that zquirrel’z whizkerz off. Have you ever zeen a zquirrel without whizkerz? Totally lozt, yew don’t realize how important they are until yew haven’t got any. Lozt mine once. Zun, it waz awful!’
‘What had yew – you done?’ Burdock asked, fascinated.
‘Uz fanzied a female, a couzin of mine, won of my year, but my father, old King Azpen, had hiz eye on her too. Zo he zent The Nipper to teach me a lezzon. No mating for me that year, uz could hardly climb and didn’t dare jump until uz’z whizkerz had grown again. Yew juzt feel zick all the time, zort of out of touch with what iz going on around yew.’
‘What happened then?’ asked Burdock, trying to imagine a whiskerless world.
‘Old King Azpen went Zunwardz that winter and uz became king, zo uz but off The Nipper’z whizkerz uzzelf and zent him off to live in the Zwamp. Put him under a taboo. No zquirrel wuz even to mention him again and he huz not been zeen zince. Gone zunwardz himself long ago uz exzpectz, good riddanze too. When uz wuz dreylingz uz uzed to zcare one another in the duzk by calling out ‘The Nipperz behind yew.’ He chuckled. ‘Zcared uz all rigid, he did! Nazty old fellow.
‘Uz got that female too. Her’z Kingz-Mate Thizle now. Zeemed odd mating with won of my father’z fanzy femalz but with zo few of uz now, uz have got used to that kind of thing.’
Burdock shuddered. Kin-mating was abhorrent, every Kernel she knew in that area spoke against it, yet she understood the dilemma in which the Ourlanders had found themselves. Ultimately the urge to mate would overcome all taboos. No wonder they were glad to greet the newcomers.
‘Was that the only punishment?’ she asked.
‘If any of the zervantz hurt a Royal, he lozt hiz tail. Another of The Nipper’z jobz. He told uz that he wuz really a kind old zoul and he knew how much it would hurt if he bit it all off at wonz, zo to make it hurt lezz he would bite off only an inch each day. Uz never knew if he wuz joking.’
Old Burdock said nothing, she just looked at the King, sprawled on the branch laughing quietly to himself, then out to sea. Soon she would go and do some more harvesting.
‘That granddaughter of yourz – Marguerite,’ King Willow said, unexpectedly. ‘In the Zpring uz will mate her with Next-King Zallow. Her may not be a Royal but uz can’t be too choozy nowadayz. Her iz a chief’z daughter and a good looker too.
Burdock did not know how to reply. They were still regarded, and regarded themselves, as strangers in another’s Guardianship, and had accepted that they must try and live by the local rules, but her knowledge of the ancient Kernels still provided the basis for all her decisions.
Not even parents
Can choose a squirrel’s life-mate.
The Sun guides self-choice.
This Kernel was clearly applicable here. She would need to think of a way round this which would not antagonise the King. She excused herself and slipped away down the trunk.
Later she spoke to Oak, and told him what King Willow had suggested. He was appalled. ‘Next-King Zallow is a squimp,’ he said. ‘Marguerite would never want him for a life-mate.’
‘I’m not sure that is exactly what was being suggested,’ Burdock replied. ‘There was no mention of ‘life’, but so much is different here and I could not be sure. Do we tell Marguerite what is being planned?’
‘Oh yes, you tagged her well with ‘The Bright One.’ I’ll tell her what the King said and see what he reaction is. Sometimes I think she’s cleverer than all of us.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marguerite had other things on her mind. She kept thinking of the painted figures she had seen on the door as they were floating over to Ourland. One was clearly a four, almost exactly as she had invented it, with four corners in it to check against one’s claws. But the other number had no corners at all. It had been round like a pebble or a bird’s egg. Who would want a number for nothing? A number for nothing, there must be some other meaning. Sitting at the top of the beach she drew her numbers with her claws in the damp sand.
Was ‘0’ the number that came after eight, instead of ‘lots?’
She glanced Sunwards as though for guidance, then back at her figures. A tiny piece of glass, polished by the sand and waves, was glinting in the centre of the 0, reflecting the sunlight. The answer must be in that 0, she thought, and as she studied the symbols, a seagull passing overhead, emptied its bowels and the stinking white guano splattered down on to the line of figures, obliterating most of the and leaving only enough showing to read as a
1,2,3,4,5,6,7, 10, she now read, and in a flash the answer was with her. After seven, there was one lot of eight and NO more.
If there was another it would be 11, one lot of eight and 1 more, then 12, one lot of eight and 2 more. It was so obvious, but the Sun did have strange ways of enlightening the Seeking Squirrel! She skipped up and down the beach joyfully, needing to tell someone. ‘There are numbers after eight!’ she wanted to shout and rushed off to find Old Burdock, who always had time for her.
In the open ground above the beach she saw her father hurrying in her direction so she ran to him and breathlessly started to explain about her discovery.
Oak held up a paw to check her. ‘Just a minute, just a minute, Marguerite–Lass, listen to me first. Old Burdock has just told me that King Willow wants to mate you with Next-King Sallow in the spring. I thought you should know,’ he added lamely, realising as he said it that he had acted out of character. Spring was a long way off and he should have spent more time thinking the implications through, before blurting it out to his beloved daughter.
Marguerite hardly heard him, her mind full of magical numbers. After one lot of eight and 7 more – 1 7 – would come 2 0, two lots of eight and NO more then … Her mind raced away: 21, 22 …2 7, 30, 31, 32 … Numbers could go on forever!
Oak tried to listen and understand as she described it all to him. He would have to tell her about King Willow’s plans when she had calmed down and would heed him.
This took some time. Marguerite would spend hours on the beach, trying out numbers in different combinations: 12, 2
1, 23, 43, 34, 33, 67, 66 … and having finished a session, signed the symbols in the sand with her special mark – X.
Several times Oak and Burdock had told her about King Willow’s plan to mate her with Next-King Sallow in the spring but she would only reply, ‘Him, he’s a squimp!’ as though this would end the whole matter. Oak and Burdock were not as sure.
An air of estrangement was building up between the two communities. King Willow had expected his proposal for the mating to have been eagerly agreed to, but it was apparent that Marguerite was not, to say the least, overjoyed at the proposal. ‘Who did her think her wuz?’ he remarked one day to Kingz-Mate Thizle. ‘The whole sun-damned lot of them huz come unazked to Ourland and iz eating away az though it belongz to them! They’z even burying uz nutz to eat in the Zpring and now rejecting uz zon and heir. If only The Nipper wuz alive, he would teach won or two of them a lezzon.’
Kingz-Mate Thizle was not really listening. Her mind was full of pictures of healthy young grandchildren leaping around in the branches of the Great Macrocarpa. ‘Yes, uz’z zure yew iz right,’ was all she said.
King Willow summoned Oak to come, alone, to a meeting at the Royal Tree.
‘Uz have dezided,’ he said imperiously,’ that yew and yewr party are being too free with uz harvezt and taking advantage of uz generozity. In future yew will reztrict yewr-zelves to the weztern end of Ourland.’ He put a heavy emphasis on ‘Our’.
