The Long Patrol Page 13
Rockjaw Grang plodded along with his burden, muttering a single word.
‘Spoilsport!’
* * *
24
THE REMAINDER OF the night passed uneventfully, though Perigord’s troop knew they were being watched from the treetops by the Painted Ones. Pairing off, the hares took turns to guard the camp and keep an eye on the still-unconscious prisoner.
Tammo and Pasque were on second watch. They sat together, keeping the fire fed with twigs and dried moss.
Tammo eyed the captive’s slumped figure uneasily. ‘I say, d’you think the rascal will come round before mornin’? He looks pretty much of a heap, maybe the fall finished him off?’
Pasque felt the pulse on the rat’s neck and checked his breathing by holding a thin blade of grass close to his mouth and nostrils. ‘Not t’worry, he’ll live, though whether or not he’ll ever be the same after you an’ Russa landin’ atop of him, remains t’be seen. Now – I’d best take a look at that footpaw you’ve been hobblin’ about on.’
Tammo dismissed the idea airily. ‘Oh that? Hah! ’Twas nothin’ really, I’m fine thanks!’
Pasque Valerian began pulling herbs and dressing from her bag. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to fix it up, Major’s orders. If you have to travel on that paw all day tomorrow it’d become worse an’ you’d slow us all up. So hold still.’
Using dock leaves and crushed gentian stems, Pasque damped warm water to them, binding the poultice to Tammo’s right footpaw with a thin brown cloth strip. When she was done, Tammo was pleased with the result. The bandage was firm but not tight, and he could use the footpaw quite freely without twingeing pains.
‘Golly, that feels like a new paw now. My thanks to you, marm!’
Pasque fluttered her long lashes comically. ‘Why thank ye, young sir, though if you had any of your mother’s pancakes left I’d charge you two of ’em for my services!’
The leader of the Painted Ones stirred. ‘Whuuchakka huunhh! Whuuurrg! Shavvakamalla hurtened much lotsa!’
Pasque reopened her medicine bag, showing open disdain for the creature as she treated him. ‘Hmph! Hurtened much lotsa is it? Y’wicked little runt, I’d have hurted you much lotsa more if I could’ve got a clear shot at you. Here, sit up’n’drink this!’
Averting his head, the rat tried to push away Pasque’s medicine. Tammo came to her aid. Grabbing the protesting vermin’s jaws he forced them open, pushing the rat’s head back.
‘Carry on, chum, pour it down the filthy ol’ throat, an’ I hope it tastes jolly awful. Give the bounder a bigger dose if he tries spittin’ it out!’
Between them they fixed up the rat’s injuries. Tammo working under Pasque’s directions proved capable with bandage and splint, though whenever his friend was not watching, he would give the bindings an extra sharp tug, causing the rat to groan. Pasque took the groans as a sign that more medicine was needed, and she dosed him well.
‘Oh, do stop moanin’ an’ whinin’, you cowardly little bully. Thank the fates you’re still alive an’ bein’ treated by civilized hares!’
Morning dawned warm, with the promise of a hot sunny day. Steam rose in drifting tendrils from the mossy riverbank as Corporal Rubbadub marched about sounding reveille.
‘Rubbadubdub, dubbadubbity dub, baboom baboom baboom!’
The Painted Ones’ leader clapped both bandaged paws to his aching head and glared pleadingly at Rubbadub, who merely smiled and leaned close to the rat’s ear, to give him the full benefit of his skills.
‘Boompity boompity boom!’
Major Perigord stretched languidly, issuing morning orders as he did. ‘Rise’n’shine, troop. ‘Fraid we can’t take the chance of breakin’ our fast hereabouts, what with the flippin’ forces o’ darkness up there in the arboreal verdance, waitin’ to take a crack at us an’ rescue ol’ Shavvaka wotsisface. We’ll cross the river lower down an’ don the nosebag when we’re well away from here. Those painted chaps can have their boss wallah back once we’ve crossed the river. Break camp, Sergeant.’
Torgoch, looking fresh as a daisy, saluted stiffly. ‘Right y’are, sah! Midge, Riffle, move y’selves. Tare’n’Turry, make sure that fire’s well doused before y’leave. Rockjaw, sling that h’injured vermin over y’shoulder. Officers lead off, other ranks bringin’ up the rear!’
Rockjaw threw the rat over one shoulder, chatting to Lieutenant Morio as he did.
‘Wot does the Major mean by arboreal verdance, sah?’
‘Hmm, arboreal verdance, lemme see, I rather think it means treetops, leafy green ones.’
‘Oh! Then why didn’t ’e say treetops?’
‘Why should he when he knows how t’say words like arboreal verdance?’
Rockjaw cuffed the moaning rat lightly. ‘Hush thy noise, or I’ll give thee summat to moan about an y’won’t see your arboreal verdance again!’
They crossed the river at the ford, which was littered with huge rocks, providing good stepping stones. Behind them the foliage rustled and trembled as the Painted Ones followed, anxious as to the fate of their Chieftain. Perigord soon dispelled their fears by froghopping the hobbled rat back to the last stepping stone, where he left him to be rescued by his own kind. But not without a severe warning.
Fearlessly the Major drew his sabre and pointed it at the swaying tree cover. ‘Listen up now, every slackjawed one o’ ye! My name is Major Habile Sinistra, but don’t for a moment think that ’cos I’m left-pawed I can’t use this blade! If y’don’t improve your ways I’ll return here, me an’ my warriors, an’ we’ll chop y’all up an’ eatcha, got that! We didn’t eat your leader, simply because he’s a coward an’ a bully an’ that’d make him taste bad. If I were you chaps I’d set about findin’ a new commander today! Now if you’ve understood all that, an’ you probably haven’t if you’re as dense as ol’ Shavvachops here, then take heed because I’m perilous an’ don’t make idle threats. I bid ye good morn!’
Throwing up an elegant front salute with his sabre, Perigord wheeled on one paw and marched back to his patrol.
Torgoch nodded admiringly. ‘Does yore ’eart good t’see a h’officer with steel in ’is backbone layin’ down the law to vermin, don’t it, Rock!’
The giant hare dusted off his shoulder as if he had been carrying some unspeakable bundle of garbage there. ‘Aye, by ’ecky thump! But if’n I’d a been him I’d ’ave told ’em I’d chop off their arboreal verdancy. Sithee, that’d make yon vermin sit up straight!’
Breakfast time slipped by unnoticed. Having picked up the vermin trail the patrol marched swiftly onward over the grasslands in the fine spring morning. Between them, the twins Tare and Turry struck up a lively marching chant.
‘As I marched out one sunny day,
O lairo lairo lay!
I met a hare upon the way,
O lairo lairo laydee!
With ears like silk, and eyes so brown,
And fur as soft as thistledown,
She smiled at me an’ that was that,
My poor young heart went pitter pat!
O pitter pat an’ eyes of brown,
She looked me up an’ looked me down,
I ask you now, what could I do,
I said, “Please may I walk with you?”
We walked together all that day,
O lairo lairo lay!
As laughingly I heard her say,
O lairo lairo laydee!
“Pray tell to me, O brave young sir,
Are you a wild an’ perilous hare,
Who thinks of nought from morn ’til night,
But march an’ sing an’ charge an’ fight?”
O march an’ sing, O perilous hare,
So I said to this creature fair,
“To march an’ fight is my intent,
The Long Patrol’s my regiment!”
And then upon that sunny day,
O lairo lairo lay!
She turned from me an’ skipped away,
O lairo lairo laydee!
Sir, I would not give you my heart,
That Long Patrol, alas alack,
Those hares march off an’ ne’er come back!”
O ne’er come back an’ Long Patrol,
While rivers flow an’ hills do roll,
I’ll march along my merry way,
An’ look for pretty hares each day!’
Two hours into noon, woodlands were sighted. However, this was no copse, but vast expanses of mighty trees.
Russa picked up the pace, smiling fondly. ‘Yonder lies Mossflower, an’ the Abbey of Redwall within a few days. What d’yer think o’ that, young Tamm?’
Before Tammo could answer, Perigord interrupted sharply. ‘Only a few days to the Abbey you say? By the left! We’d best put on a stride an’ catch up with those vermin!’
Doubling the pace to a swift lope they headed towards the shady green fastness of the sprawling woodlands. The first thing Tammo noticed on entering Mossflower was the silence. It was complete and absolute. The sudden call of a cuckoo nearby made him start momentarily. Overawed by the ancient wide-girthed splendour of oak, beech, elm, sycamore and other towering giants, the young hare found himself whispering to Russa, ‘Why is it so bally quiet in here?’
The squirrel shrugged. ‘Dunno, I’ve never give it a thought. May’aps because out in the open y’can hear the wind, an’ distant sounds travel on the breeze, but in ’ere, well, ’tis sort o’ closed in like.’
Stirring the moist carpet of dead vegetation with his sabretip, the Major commented, ‘Cap’n Twayblade, let ’em rest their paws awhile here and scrape up a quick snack – no cookin’ fire. Russa, you come with me and we’ll track ahead. They’ve left plenty o’ trail in this loam.’
When the pair had left, Tammo sat with his friends in dappled sunlit shadows. They munched dried apple, nuts and oatcake, washed down with beakers of water.
‘I’ve never been to Redwall Abbey, what’s it like?’ he whispered to Pasque.
‘Can’t help you there, chum. I haven’t either. Neither has Riffle, Tare’n’Turry or any of us younger ones. Cap’n Twayblade has.’
The Captain put aside her beaker. ‘Well, I’ll tell you, chaps, I don’t wish to appear disloyal to Salamandastron, but Redwall Abbey, by m’life, there’s a place an’ a half! I was only there once, with Torgoch an’ Rockjaw, we were carryin’ despatches from Lady Cregga to the ol’ Mother Abbess, congratulatin’ her on a onescore season Jubilee, as I recall. Anyhow, we arrived at Redwall in time for the feast. Remember that, eh, Rock?’
The burly Rockjaw Grang grinned and nodded, speaking in his odd way. ‘Bah gum, that were a do I’ll not forget! Sithee, I’ve ne’er clapped eyes on so much luvly grub in one place: puddens’n’pies, cakes, turnovers, pasties, tarts, you name it an’ it were there. Trifles, cream, cheeses, soups, an’ more kinds o’ fresh-baked breads than y’could twitch an ear at! But by ’ecky thump, I’ve tasted nought like that October Ale they brew at yon Abbey . . .’
He sat with a dreamy look on his craggy face as the Sergeant contributed his reminiscences. ‘Ho yerss, they ’ad all manner o’ fizzy cordials an’ berry wines too. We sang an’ danced an’ feasted for more’n three days. I declare, you ain’t never met such obligin’ creatures as those Redwallers, ’omely an’ friendly as the season’s long they was. If’n I’m still around when I gets too old to patrol I’d like nothin’ better than to retire meself to Redwall Abbey, ’tis the ’appiest place I’ve ever seen in all me seasons!’
Riffle could not resist rubbing his paws together gleefully. ‘Good egg! An’ we’re going to be there in a few days, wot!’
Faint but urgent a faraway cry echoed through the woodlands.
‘Eulaliaaa! Rally the troops! Death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaa!’
Food and talk were instantly forgotten; weapons appeared as the Patrol leaped to the alert.
‘Rally the troops! Eulaliaaaaaa!’
Captain Twayblade’s long rapier thrust towards the cries. ‘Over that way, I reckon! Eulaliaaaaaa! Chaaaaaaarge!’
They took off like a sheet of lightning, blades and slings whirling, roaring aloud the war cry to let Perigord know help was on its way.
‘Eulaliaaa! ‘S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!’
Despite his bandaged paw, Tammo was up with the front runners, Twayblade, Riffle and Midge. Straight on they raced, through bush and shrub, loam flying, leaves swirling, twigs cracking and startled birds whirring off through the trees. Pawsounds thrummed fast against the earth, like frenzied, muted drumbeats. Sunlight and shadow wove together as they hurtled onward, bellowing and baying like wolves to the hunt.
* * *
25
BURSTING OVER THE brow of a humpbacked ridge the wild charging hares crashed through a grove of rowans, down into a narrow rocky defile, and flung themselves like madbeasts into the fray. Major Perigord was backed into a small cave; beset by yelling vermin, he held the entrance gallantly. A broken javelin tip protruded from his right shoulder, and he was slashed in several places, but still he wielded his sabre like a drum major’s staff, fighting gamely against overwhelming odds, which threatened to bring him down and get at whoever was behind him inside the cave. Smashing into the rear of the vermin and scattering them like ninepins, the Long Patrol hares arrived to their officer’s rescue.
‘Eulaliaaaa! Give ’em blood’n’vinegar! Eulaliaaaa!’
Tammo’s dirk, Twayblade’s rapier and Riffle’s dagger claimed the first three foebeasts. Rockjaw Grang slew two with ferocious kicks from his mighty hindpaws. Lieutenant Morio had his face laid open by a cutlass slash as he brought down another with his lance. Perigord flung his sabre after the remainder, who were scrabbling off up the far side of the small ravine. He fell on all fours, shouting hoarsely, ‘Run ’em to earth, keep after the scum!’
Over a score of the remaining vermin ran off through the woodlands, with the hares hard on their heels. Sergeant Torgoch ran alongside Twayblade, trying to keep his eye on the escapers as they fled into the deep tree cover. ‘They’re splittin’ up, Cap’n. What now, marm?’ he shouted.
Twayblade kept running, watching the vermin starting to fan out, issuing orders as she went. ‘Lieutenant Morio stayed behind with the Major, so with Russa that makes us eleven. Torgoch, you take Rubbadub and Midge . . .’
Tammo interrupted, his face full of concern. ‘But where is Russa?’ he said. ‘Has anyone seen her?’
‘Probably off somewheres finishing off a few dozen vermin with that stick of hers,’ said Twayblade, sounding more confident than she felt. ‘Torgoch, Rubbadub, Midge, keep after those to the left. Riffle, go after those who’ve gone right – Tare’n’Turry, go with him. Tammo, Pasque, Rockjaw, stay with me, there’s about ten of ’em bunched together keepin’ straight ahead. We’ll stick with them, and everyone keep your eyes skinned for Russa.’
Knowing they were running for their lives, the fleeing vermin dashed helter-skelter, south into Mossflower. Tammo was beginning to feel weariness weighting his paws, owing to the headlong dash to the defile and the subsequent fighting. However, he was running with the famed Long Patrol, so he tried hard not to show signs of fatigue. Keeping his mouth closed he breathed hard through his nostrils and whacked both footpaws down resolutely.
As Twayblade shot ahead, a rat tripped over some protruding tree roots in front of her. Before the creature could recover she was upon him, despatching him as he tried to rise. Tammo noted a weasel breaking off from the main body and slipping behind a hornbeam. Shooting off to one side he watched the tree as his companions raced past it. Slowing his pace, Tammo came around the hornbeam. The weasel was smiling, thinking he had shaken off his pursuers. Turning to head east he ran straight into Tammo. A look of surprise crossed the vermin’s ugly face and he grabbed for the hatchet shoved through his belt, but too late. Tammo slew him with a single thrust. The chilling feeling took control of Tammo as he dashed to join the others, teeth chattering and li
mbs trembling uncontrollably. He sighted them up ahead; they were halted, retreating slowly. Rockjaw Grang saw him and called, ‘Stay where thee are, Tamm, ’tis bad swampland ’ereabouts!’
Tammo walked forward another few paces until the ground became squishy where he joined his companions. Further out in the swamp the remaining vermin had rushed heedlessly into a dangerous quagmire.
Twayblade nodded in their direction. ‘Nothin’ we can do about ’em now, chaps. Put up y’weapons.’
Horrified, Tammo stood watching. Nearly all eight of the vermin were in over their waists. They shrieked and struggled, making the position worse for themselves, grabbing at each other as the bottomless ooze sucked them remorselessly down. One, a nimble ferret, pulled himself up on to a rotting log and managed to scramble along its length as his weight pushed it down. Behind him, his comrades who had only their heads showing above the treacherous surface yelled piteously to him.
‘Rinkul, ’elp us, mate, do somethin’, ’elp us!’
But the ferret was intent only on saving his own skin. Hauling himself upright he streaked the length of the sinking trunk, flinging his body forward in an amazing leap. He landed in some bushes where the ground became firmer and ran off, hop-skipping wildly until he was clear of the main swamp. Turning, he watched, as did the hares, the remaining vermin gurgle horribly as the muddy depths claimed them for its own. Seconds later there was nought but a smooth grey-brown patch amid the green rotting vegetation to indicate where they had gone down. The ferret, Rinkul, turned and shrugged. As he squelched his way off over the swamp’s far side, Tammo noticed that he was twirling something.
A sick feeling swept over the already trembling young hare, and he fell down on all fours. Pasque was right beside him, wiping his face with some damp grass.
‘Tamm, what is it? Are you wounded?’
Tammo’s face seemed to have aged several seasons as he fought to stop shaking, muttering words at the ground in front of him.