Carbonel: The King of Cats

by Barbara Sleigh

  ‘Have you all brought your offerings, every cat and kitten among you?’

  There was a murmur from the assembled cats.

  ‘But sir,’ said a voice from the front rank below, ‘it is not possible for all cats to bring an offering. Many are poor and old…’

  ‘Silence!’ spat the ginger cat, in a voice that made half the listening animals step back. ‘If you are poor, others are not. There are larders and shop counters, are there not? Now, don’t tell me you are going to be so simple as to tell me that you have no money, as though you are merely humans. A pounce, a spring when their backs are turned and the herring, the chicken, or whatever it is is yours!

  ‘My Court,’ he turned and indicated the grinning animals behind him, ‘my Court and I shall not ask where you bring the offerings from, so long as they are there. But bring them you must!’

  ‘This is frightful!’ muttered Carbonel. ‘Far worse than I ever dreamed. Here at the Law Giving to incite them to rob and steal!’

  ‘But look here!’ said John again. ‘I am quite sure it is…’

  But the ginger cat was speaking again, and Carbonel said, ‘Hush!’

  ‘Come forward any animal who has been foolish enough to come without an offering!’ went on the ginger animal in a voice that was soft, but so wicked that it froze the marrow in their bones.

  A dozen cats cringed forward. Most of them were very old or very young.

  ‘So many?’ went on their tormentor, with mock sympathy. ‘What a pity. Well, you know what to expect. Or is this perhaps a gesture of defiance? Is there anyone here foolish enough to dispute my right to be a leader among you?’ He was standing now, looking down on them, a magnificent animal.

  There was a sound from the assembled cats, half sigh and half murmur, but not one of them spoke. For a brief second Carbonel waited. Then, mounting one of the gnarled branches of the tree… or was it a chimney cowl?… his challenge rang out over the rooftops.

  ‘I do!’

  There was a pause and a stir while every animal turned to look towards the voice that had hurled defiance. Hundreds of pairs of yellow eyes gazed up at them.

  ‘And who are you?’ sneered the ginger cat when he had recovered from his surprise.

  ‘I am Carbonel X, your king by right of birth.’

  There was an excited murmur among the assembled animals.

  ‘Silence, you rabble!’ hissed the ginger cat, and the murmur died.

  ‘So you are Carbonel X. You lie; seven years ago he disappeared into thin air, and has never been heard of since.’

  ‘My Lord!’ said the old voice that had spoken up before. ‘My Lord, there is an ancient prophecy among our people:

  A kit among the stars shall sit,

  Beyond the aid of feline wit.

  Empty Royal throne and mat

  Till three Queens save a princely cat.

  John and Rosemary could see the speaker now, a gaunt old tabby cat.

  ‘It is Malkin, my father’s faithful adviser and friend,’ whispered Carbonel.

  ‘Still harping on that foolish nursery rhyme, my good Malkin!’

  The ginger cat laughed a horrid, jeering laugh, and the disreputable mob he called his Court nudged one another and joined in.

  ‘If it is the Prince, my Lord, he can prove it,’ went on Malkin anxiously. ‘He will have the three royal, snow-white hairs in the end of his tail.’

  Rosemary forgot that she was supposed to be keeping out of sight. She jumped up from behind the tree… or chimney stack… and, waving the broom to attract attention, she called out:

  ‘He really has got three white hairs at the end of his tail – I’ve often noticed them!’

  ‘So, ho! You have brought your young witch with you!’ jeered the ginger cat. ‘Or are you still tied to her apron strings?’

  ‘I’m not a witch,’ said Rosemary indignantly, ‘and I never wear an apron, except to wash up! He is absolutely free. I bought him with my three Queens, and then I undid the Silent Magic, and set him free for ever!’

  ‘It is perfectly true – I saw it all happen!’ John shouted, popping out from the other side of the chimney… or tree.

  The cats below raised a murmur that the ginger tyrant could not quell this time. Rosemary saw their glowing eyes switch backwards and forwards from them to the ginger cat, as each spoke in turn. She could see the enemy cat was sitting down once more, motionless except for the twitching at the end of his tail. John suddenly whispered urgently to her:

  ‘I say, where have the Alley Cats gone to? There were dozens of them standing behind the little temple, and now I can only see about half a dozen of them.’ But Carbonel had eyes for no one but the ginger cat, who had risen to his feet. ‘Keep watch behind you,’ he said quietly, then his voice rang out over the roof-tops: ‘Who is for Carbonel the King? For law and order? For peace and plenty?’

  Someone shouted ‘Carbonel for ever!’ and the mass of cats heaved uncertainly for a minute, then half of them surged towards Carbonel, some of the others slunk towards the ginger cat, and the remainder hovered uncertainly between. The ginger cat stood motionless, but his flattened ears showed how angry he was. The six remaining Alley Cats closed in behind him.

  ‘Listen to me!’ he snarled, ‘common, black witch’s cat! I am Leader here by right of conquest. If anyone dares to dispute my leadership, let him fight for it!’ He arched his bristling back and hurled a wailing challenge to the stars. Carbonel yawned deliberately. Then he stepped delicately down, his silky body gleaming in the moonlight. Some of the cats closed in behind him, but without taking his eyes off his enemy he said: ‘Stand back, my people. This is between the two of us alone.’ He moved slowly and deliberately into the little arena at the foot of the slope.

  24

  The Battle

  As Carbonel made his way towards his enemy the animals drew back and made way for him to pass. The ginger cat was waiting for him. They stood facing each other, backs arched and bristling, hurling strange, blood-curdling taunts at each other.

  John was jumping up and down and shouting, ‘Go it, Carbonel!’ and ‘Oh boy, oh boy!’

  Rosemary felt something furry rub against her bare ankle. It was Malkin.

  ‘Dear Madam!’ he said. ‘Can you do nothing to help with your magic arts? If only the tyrant would disappear there would be an end to our troubles. The Alley Cats can do nothing without a leader. Can’t you make him vanish in a puff of smoke, or turn him into a toad, or perhaps a mouse?’

  ‘But I have no magic arts!’ said Rosemary. The old cat sighed.

  ‘What a pity. Then all we can do is to try to see fair play. I do not trust that ginger fiend. He will stop at nothing to gain his ends.’

  ‘Couldn’t we stop them fighting somehow?’ said Rosemary anxiously.

  ‘No. That would do no good, even if we could,’ said Malkin. ‘It would only put off the battle to another time… and blood is as red tomorrow as today’

  ‘Besides, I’m sure Carbonel would hate us to interfere,’ said John. ‘Look at him now!’

  The two cats were stalking round each other very slowly with bristling backs, hurling strange cat insults at each other. Then they stood motionless, nose to nose, spitting defiance.

  ‘Go it, Carbonel!’ shouted John. ‘Don’t you see, Rosie? He has got to beat that ginger brute in single combat. Though what Aunt Amabel would say, I can’t imagine.’

  ‘But why should Mrs Pendlebury Parker say anything?’ asked Rosemary absently. The cats were sparring and hissing at each other, as John described it, ‘like a couple of pressure cookers’.

  ‘Why should Aunt Amabel mind? Well, after all, it is her long lost Popsey Dinkums.’

  ‘What!’ gasped Rosemary, ‘are you sure? Good gracious, why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I’m absolutely certain. I’d know him anywhere. And I did try to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.’

  Her attention had left the fight for a minute, but at that moment the two cats sprang at e
ach other, rolling over and over, locked together.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Rosemary miserably, ‘I do wish they did not have to do it!’ And she covered her eyes with her hands.

  The cats were rolling over and over now, biting and thrusting with their hind claws. They parted, and once more stood, noses almost touching.

  ‘Oh, poor Carbonel. He is bleeding!’ Although Rosemary had covered her eyes with her hands, she could not resist separating her fingers, so that she could see what was going on. Carbonel had a great gash on his flank.

  ‘Look at your King now!’jeered the ginger cat. ‘Bleeding like every animal who dares to defy me; bleeding and limping into the bargain! Come on, my witch’s cat!’ and he danced triumphantly round Carbonel, who stood his ground, motionless except for his threshing tail. Five times they sprang at each other, rolling over and over in a flurry of fur, sometimes one uppermost and sometimes the other. The watching cats surged silently backwards and forwards as the fighters shifted their battle-ground. The sixth time, a cloud covered the moon so that the children could only see a dark, tumbling mass. John leapt up and down with anxiety, and Rosemary chewed the end of one of her pigtails, a thing she had not done since she was a little girl.

  ‘Oh dear, what is happening?’ she said in an agony of suspense. It seemed hours before the moon came out again, but when at last the rooftops were flooded once more with pale light, Carbonel was standing, panting, over the prostrate body of the ginger cat. It was true he was standing on three legs, but there was no doubt at all who was the victor. Carbonel threw up his scratched and bleeding head and called:

  ‘Who is your leader now by right of conquest?’ And the great assembly sent up a wailing cry:

  ‘You are, O Carbonel! You are!’

  The defeated ginger cat said nothing, but he moved his head restlessly from side to side.

  ‘Oh, be careful, master!’ called Malkin. ‘Do not trust him!’ But his frail old voice was blown away by the little breeze that had sprung up.

  Carbonel had turned his back on his enemy, shaking each paw in turn, and as he made his way, limping, up the slope to the little temple, the animals drew respectfully back to let him pass. All eyes were on Carbonel, and nobody noticed that the little knot of Alley Cats had disappeared, but just as the black cat was about to mount the steps at the base of the throne, John suddenly yelled:

  ‘Look behind you!’

  And as he shouted the Alley Cats flung themselves on the unsuspecting Carbonel. Had he not had that second’s warning he would have had no chance at all, but he whipped round just in time to present the oncoming animals with bared teeth and claws. At the same moment from behind the ridge yet another knot of animals leapt on him from behind.

  ‘You cowards!’ yelled Rosemary.

  ‘Yes, by gum you are!’ shouted John. ‘Carbonel won his battle, and he is leader by right of conquest!’

  ‘He can’t fight all those Alley Cats single-pawed,’ said Malkin. ‘Look where the ginger tyrant is egging them on!’

  But Carbonel was not alone. Pandemonium had broken loose as more and more animals hurled themselves into the battle, on one side or the other, while from the vantage point of the far ridge the ginger cat urged them on. Carbonel had disappeared under an avalanche of struggling cats.

  ‘Can nobody remove that ginger fiend?’ wailed Malkin.

  ‘John,’ said Rosemary. ‘Do you think the broom could take us all three to Tussocks? If only we could manage it, of course.’

  ‘It’s worth trying,’ said John.

  ‘Darling broom!’ said Rosemary. ‘I simply can’t say it all in rhyme this time, but when this is all over I will make it into a real poem, a saga, the sort of thing that is told to your children and their children’s children, I promise faithfully. But we must do something quickly to save Carbonel, or it will be too late. Please take us up, John and me, and circle over the battle…’John interrupted:

  ‘You had better give me your dressing gown, Rosie.’

  ‘And when I say “Down”, drop like a stone, and John will throw the dressing gown over the ginger cat and scoop him up.’

  ‘And when she says “Up!” rise at once and circle again.’

  And then we had better see what happens next. If you will do all this I will never ask you to do anything again!’

  ‘Hurry!’ said Malkin. ‘My poor young master!’

  Below them was a swaying mass of cats. Only a few, too old or too infirm, or too young, were not engaged in the battle. Rosemary was pulling off her dressing gown. Then she straddled the broom with John behind her. It was not easy to mount because the broom hopped so impatiently up and down.

  ‘Heaven prosper you!’ said Malkin, as they rose slowly from the roof.

  ‘Good-bye!’ called Rosemary. ‘Look after Carbonel! Now, Broom, circle round where the battle is fiercest. I can’t see the ginger cat anywhere, John, and it’s all very well to talk about “scooping” him up, but I don’t see how it’s to be done!’

  The children peered anxiously into the writhing mass beneath them, made even more indistinct by a haze of flying fur. There was no sign of either Carbonel or the ginger cat.

  ‘Look there!’ said John, and he pointed to the little temple; and there, by the side of it, sat the ginger tyrant, licking his hurts and grinning at the boiling mass of fighting animals below. John gripped the broom handle with his knees and held the dressing gown with both hands.

  ‘I’m ready, Rosie! Look out for the lurch when we pick him up!’

  Rosemary nodded.

  ‘One, two, three, down!’ she said, and swiftly and silently the broom swooped. John dropped the thick folds of the dressing gown over the unsuspecting cat. Caught entirely unawares, it fought and struggled in the hampering folds, but John held grimly on.

  ‘I’ve got him, Rosie. We had better get away as quickly as possible. I’ll tie him up with the dressing gown cord as we go along, for safety’

  ‘Up, Broom!’ called Rosemary, and nearly shot over the handle as, with a sickening lurch, the overloaded broom rose heavily into the sky.

  ‘Look up, you Alley Cats!’ called John. ‘Look at your proud leader now!’

  The moon had gone behind a cloud again, and as first one and then another pair of jewelled eyes peered up at them from the darkness, the sound of fighting faltered and died. And when the moon came out again there was not a sound to be heard, and every animal in that great assembly was staring up at them, where John held up the ginger cat for them to see, trussed like a chicken with the dressing gown cord.

  ‘Who is your Leader by right of birth and conquest?’ And the cats below cried, ‘Carbonel, Carbonel is our leader!’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ whispered Rosemary, ‘but where is Carbonel?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Rosie, I saw him throw off a pile of cats just now. He looked shaky but determined. I say, look at the temple!’

  Rosemary looked. Underneath the golden dome, sitting on the throne of his fathers, was Carbonel. The broom circled round the temple, and he gazed up.

  ‘Good-bye, Carbonel! We are taking him back where he belongs!’ called Rosemary.

  ‘He could never hold up his head here again in any case, and Aunt Amabel will be thrilled to have him back again!’

  Carbonel gazed up at them with his great golden eyes.

  ‘Farewell! Farewell, my faithful friends! And the gratitude of a king go with you!’

  And as the broom turned and headed towards the country, they heard a triumphant cry which grew fainter and fainter as the Town Hall faded into the distance.

  ‘Long live King Carbonel! Long live King Carbonel!’

  25

  The End

  The broom skimmed off obediently at Rosemary’s request.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t, my Popsey Dinkum!’ said John, as the ginger cat renewed his struggles. ‘And that is not at all the sort of language that Aunt Amabel likes to hear!’

  At the mention of Mrs Pendlebury Parker the animal
mewed pitifully.

  ‘Well, thank goodness he is able to struggle so hard,’ said Rosemary. ‘It shows that he can’t be very badly hurt. I say, John, we’re flying awfully low.’

  John had been so busy with his bundle of cat and dressing gown that he had had no time for anything else. They were flying over the new building estate at the edge of the town now, barely skimming the chimney pots. Once Rosemary banged her leg on a lightning conductor.

  ‘I’ve noticed that when the moon is shining clearly, it seems to gain height.’

  ‘I should think that the poor thing is completely worn out. It has been tremendously plucky all evening, and now it has got this hefty great weight to carry’

  Rosemary patted the broom gently. It was warm and damp beneath her fingers like an over-ridden horse.

  ‘Please do your best, dear Broom! You have been so splendid, but I know the last bus has gone, and we couldn’t walk all these miles, not with bare feet we couldn’t.’

  The broom seemed to shake itself; then it rose a little higher. Luckily the moon came out again, and it seemed to take fresh heart. They made steady progress for some distance, but by the time they had reached the Lodge of Tussocks the broom had barely strength enough to clear the gate. The trees on either side of the drive were thick and tall and very little moonlight found its way beneath them. It struggled bravely on, but beneath her anxious fingers Rosemary could feel its pulse beat uncertainly, and several times John, who was fully occupied with his bundle, felt his bare feet drag painfully on the gravelled drive. When they came to a bend in the drive the broom seemed uncertain of its direction and went blindly on towards the rhododendrons. If it had not been for Rosemary’s guiding hand it would have blundered into the shrubbery.

  ‘Shall we get off and walk?’ asked Rosemary. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  Indeed, Tussocks was in sight, huge and dark except for one single light. But the gallant broom shook itself once more. They could feel it gather itself together for one last effort. Steadily it sped on over the final hundred yards, head up and its few remaining twigs only occasionally dragging on the ground, to fall with a clatter on the top step of the broad flight that led to the front door.