The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  The Sergeant smiled and exchanged a wink with the Corporal. ‘Right then, we’re lookin’ for bushtailed buckoes like you. Fall out an’ relieve some o’ those ration pack an’ cookin’ gear carriers in the rear ranks. Look sharp now, young sah!’

  The irrepressible Furgale stifled a giggle. ‘Poor old potty Trowbaggs. Serves him jolly well right for openin’ his silly great mouth, I s’pose.’

  Sergeant Clubrush’s voice grated close to Furgale’s ear. ‘Wot’s that, mister Furgale? Did I ’ear you sayin’ you’d like t’join Trowbaggs? We’re always lookin’ for volunteers, y’know.’

  ‘Who me, Sarge? No Sarge, I never said a blinkin’ word Sarge!’

  The Drill Sergeant smiled sweetly, an unusual sight. ‘That’s the spirit, young sir, less o’ the loosejaw an’ more o’ the footpaw, left right, left right, keep those shoulders squared!’

  The columns did not break step until well into the afternoon. Halting to rest and take light refreshment they sprawled gratefully on a high hilltop amid wide patches of scented heather. Lady Cregga Rose Eyes climbed on to a rock and surveyed the terrain ahead. Sighting two running figures, she summoned Clubrush.

  ‘Runners coming back, Sergeant. We’ll stop here until they report and rest. One of them’s young Algador Swiftback, but I don’t recognize the other, do you?’

  Clubrush shielded his eyes and watched the Runners. ‘Aye, marm, ’tis one o’ the Starbuck family. Reeve, I think.’

  Algador and Reeve put on an extra burst of speed for the last lap, running neck and neck uphill. The Sergeant dropped his ears flat in admiration.

  ‘Look at ’em go, marm. Only Salamandastron hares can run like that. Ho fer the days o’ youth an’ t’be a Galloper again, eh!’

  Dashing up with scarce a hairsbreadth between them the pair skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust, throwing up a joint salute.

  ‘Found ’em, Lady Cregga marm!’

  ‘Rapscallion tracks, great masses of ’em!’

  Leaping down from the rock the huge badger confronted them, her eyes turning from pink to red as the blood rose behind them. ‘Where did you see these vermin tracks?’

  Trembling under the Warrior’s glare and still breathless, Algador and Reeve continued with their report.

  ‘Comin’ up from the south an’ east, marm!’

  ‘When we cut their trail ’twas about four days old, but it was Rapscallions right enough, travellin’ north, marm!’

  Cregga’s mighty paw gripped the axepike haft like a steel vice. ‘Where would be the best place to cut their trail short?’

  Algador stuck a paw straight out, turned slowly a few degrees to his right and, narrowing both eyes, sighted on a location. ‘Right there, marm! If they’re marchin’ due north the closest place we can cut trail would be between those two hills yonder.’

  Without waiting for anybeast Cregga strode off downhill, headed for the distant spot. Sergeant Clubrush ruffled both the runners’ ears.

  ‘Well done, you two. Rest here an’ tell cooks to leave you food an’ drink. Follow us when y’feels ready to go agin. Lance Corporal, get ’em up on their paws an’ formed in marchin’ order. Come on, you slack-pawed, famine-faced web-wallopers! Are you goin’ t’sit around all day while yore good Lady Commander is off alone an’ unprotected? Hup two three, last one in line’s on a fizzer!’

  Clubrush tugged Trowbaggs’ ears as he passed by. ‘Leave the carryin’ to the carriers, Trowbaggs. Back up with the rest an’ be’ave yoreself now.’

  Trowbaggs hurried along, saluting furiously many times. ‘Behave m’self, Sarge, yes Sarge, very good Sarge, thank you Sarge!’

  Clubrush and Ellbrig marched at the rear, helping and encouraging any stragglers. The Sergeant peered ahead through the column’s dust. ‘I knows I shouldn’t be sayin’ this, Corp, but did you see ’er? She wasn’t bothered whether or not she ’ad one or five ’undred at ’er back. Not Lady Rose Eyes, straight off she went, grippin’ that axepike like she was stranglin’ it, eyes blazin’ red, jus’ longin’ t’be destroyin’ any vermin she catches up with!’

  Ellbrig stooped on the march, retrieving a beaker some recruit had dropped, and continued without breaking step. ‘Well, you said it, Sarge, though you spoke for me ’cos I was thinkin’ the same thing. We’re led by a beast who’s liable to run out o’ control at any moment. But what can we do?’

  The Drill Sergeant blinked against the dust, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the winding downhill path. ‘Our duty, Corporal, that’s wot we can do. Obey Lady Rose Eyes’ commands an’ look after those who ’ave to obey us. Best thing we can do is the thing we do best. Turn these recruits into real Long Patrol hares who can take care o’ themselves in battle. Teach ’em discipline an’ comradeship an’ ’ope most of ’em come out o’ this mess alive, experienced enough to teach those who’ll come after them.’

  Clubrush raised his voice, bellowing out in true Drill Sergeant fashion so all could hear him: ‘Come on, me lucky buckoes, move those dodderin’ footpaws, yore like a load of ole molewives out pickin’ daisies! Pick up that step now! Shangle Widepad, you an’ the older veterans, give ’em “The Moanin’ Green Recruit” song, see if’n these whippersnappers can keep up with the pace!’

  The tough-looking hare, who had helped Trowbaggs on his first night by standing second guard for him, struck up the tune Clubrush had requested. Shangle had a fine deep bass; his comrades joined in. Soon the entire column was moving faster, every young hare in the ranks not wanting to be identified with the object of the mocking air, the Moaning Green Recruit.

  ’O ’tis up at dawn, every morn,

  The flag is flyin’ high,

  Why did I join this Long Patrol,

  O why O why O why?

  I march all day, the whole long way,

  Me footpaws red an’ sore,

  If I get home, I’ll never roam,

  No more no more no more!

  O watch that line, step in time,

  Through sun’n’rain an’ snow,

  Would I sign up again to go,

  O no no no no no!

  The Corporal shouts, the Sergeant roars,

  As like a snail I creep,

  Just get me to that camp tonight,

  An’ let me sleep sleep sleep!’

  As a result of the quick-marching dogtrot, the column moved ahead speedily, like a well-oiled machine, throwing up a dust cloud in its wake. Darkness was falling fast, and the twin hills were near. Lady Cregga would either be waiting for them in the valley between the hills, or she might have continued pursuing the trail of the Rapscallions. In any event, Clubrush had decided that was where night camp would be pitched.

  Trowbaggs was marching directly behind Shangle Widepad when the veteran stumbled. The younger hare saved him as he fell backward. ‘I say, old bean, are you all right?’

  Shangle grimaced, breaking into a hop to keep up with the pace. ‘Oofh, me flippin’ footpaw, I just ricked it on a sharp stone!’

  Trowbaggs supported him, nodding to Furgale. ‘What ho, Furg, lend a paw here, this chap’s hobblin’, wot!’

  The two recruits took Shangle’s-weapons and pack, sharing them and bolstering up the veteran between them.

  ‘C’mon, bucko, we’ll get y’to camp, not far now.’

  ‘Rather, you just lean on me’n ’ole Trowbaggs, that’ll give us five footpaws between us.’

  Shangle threw his paws gratefully around their shoulders. ‘Thanks, mates, I’ll do the same fer you sometime!’

  Goodnatured as ever, Furgale winked at the older hare. ‘Course y’will, old lad, when this is finished y’can piggyback both of us all the way home, wot!’

  Lady Cregga was not at the rendezvous. It was a fine dry night, and the ground was still warm from the sun’s heat. Lance Corporal Ellbrig was left in charge while Clubrush headed off alone after their leader.

  Ellbrig watched Trowbaggs and Furgale staggering in with Shangle between them. ‘Well done, you two! Shangle, sit down there an
’ I’ll take a look at that footpaw. The rest of you, cold supper, no fires, sleep on the ground with yore groundsheets as pillows, don’t unroll ’em. We’ll be movin’ out sharpish at first light.’

  Deodar and a hare named Fallow were on first watch. They jumped up, weapons at the ready, as two figures loomed up through the gloom.

  ‘Who goes there? Step forward an’ be recognized!’ Fallow ordered.

  Algador and Reeve jogged out of the darkness.

  ‘What ho the camp, ’tis only us Gallopers. Well, did y’catch up with Lady Rose Eyes?’

  Fallow snorted. ‘You’re jokin’, of course. Sar’nt Clubrush has gone ahead to see if he can find her. You two best get some shuteye; whole caboodle’s movin’ out at dawnlight.’

  Algador unshouldered his pack and let it drop. ‘Seasons o’ slaughter, what drives Lady Cregga on like that?’

  Deodar yawned, stretching languidly. ‘Search me, but whatever it is, we’re bound to follow!’

  * * *

  35

  CAVERN HOLE WAS packed tight for the Council of War. As Champion of Redwall, Arven sat at the Abbess’s right paw, his weapon, the great sword of Martin the Warrior, laid flat on the table in front of him. As guests and experienced fighters, Major Perigord and his hares held the right side of the table, Log a Log and his shrews with Gurgan Spearback and the otter crew facing them.

  The Guosim Chieftain had something to say before the main meeting got underway. ‘About that water runnin’ beneath yore south wall, I think I’ve found the answer t’the problem. Today we found where the water comes out – good job we did too, or Skipper woulda never been seen agin. So, I figgers that I knows the waterways of Mossflower better’n most. Any’ow, I put on me thinkin’ cap about that stream. If’n it’s got a place t’come out, stands to sense there must be a spot where it flows in. Heed me now, I think I knows where that very place is, ’tis on the river north an’ west o’ Redwall. I’ve sailed it a few times an’ seen where it splits off. With yore permission, Abbess marm, I’d like to take some o’ yore otters an’ molefolk with me to dam it off an’ stop the water flowin’ under yore wall. We’ll go first light tomorrer, sooner the better!’

  Mother Abbess Tansy signalled for her helpers to begin serving supper all round. ‘You have my permission and may fortune go with you and yours, Log a Log. The Guosim have always been special friends of Redwall. Skipper, Foremole Diggum, will you assist the shrews?’

  ‘Aye, marm, my crew’s willin’ an’ ready!’

  ‘Bo urr, ee can count on us’n’s, h’Abbess!’

  Tammo was sitting between Perigord and Pasque. He sipped hot redberry cordial and nibbled a wedge of heavy fruitcake, not feeling really hungry. Cavern Hole seemed overfull, rather muggy, warm and distant. Tammo’s eyes drooped, then he swayed slightly and settled back, as the talk became a soothing murmur as if it were echoes from far away. Then a butterfly flew gently by in his sleep-laden imagination; soft, delicate and silent. It settled on the pink flowers of an almond tree, closing its fragile, pale gold wings. The flowers fell, drifting slowly through still noon air, lighting with scarcely a ripple on the tranquil waters of a shady stream. Catching a small eddy, butterfly and flowers together went round and round in lazy circles.

  Both Log a Log and Gurgan Spearback had told the meeting of Gormad Tunn’s death and everything they had seen of Damug Warfang and his Rapscallions. All eyes turned to Major Perigord and Arven, who were already deep in conversation. The squirrel Warrior, as Champion of Redwall, would naturally be consulted on the Abbey’s defence. Finally Perigord leaned forward, nodding his head shrewdly. ‘Hmm, we’ve defeated those vermin at Salamandastron not s’long ago, but you’ll forgive me sayin’, we had the full force o’ the Long Patrol an’ Lady Cregga Rose Eyes full o’ Bloodwrath when we did it. How many Rapscallions d’you estimate Damug has on call?’

  Log a Log scratched his head reflectively. ‘Best ask Gurgan, he’s seen ’em first hand.’

  ‘Aye,’ said the Waterhog, ‘we’ve watched ’em on the move and when they camped. Oft times they looked to number like leaves in an autumn gale. Hark now, ’tis not my wish to afright these gentle Redwallers, but my mate Rufftip, she counted ’em as they moved out from the coast. Damug Warfang has a few score o’er ten ’undred to do his biddin’.’

  A stunned silence settled upon Cavern Hole. Nobeast had envisaged a vermin army of over a thousand on the march. Arven shot Major Perigord a quick glance. Something had to be done before panic set in. Perigord understood and rose to the occasion.

  ‘Well now, chaps, that sounds like a tidy old bunch, wot! However, there was half that number again when they came at Salamandastron, ships too, but we still managed to send the rotters packin’. Main thing is not t’be scared by numbers, after all, ’tis quality that counts, not quantity!’

  Pellit the dormouse challenged him. ‘You could stand ’ere all night talkin’ like that, but it still won’t stop all those Rapscallions attackin’ Redwall. Point is, wot are you goin’ to do about it besides talk, eh?’

  Abbess Tansy glared frostily at Pellit. ‘Perhaps, sir, you would tell us what you propose to do?’

  All the dormouse could do was bluster in his own defence. ‘I ain’t no fightin’ beast, marm, most of us Abbeydwellers don’t know the first thing about battlin’. Wot d’you expect us t’do?’

  Arven stood up slowly, frowning at Pellit, who cringed under the Redwall Champion’s stern reproof.

  ‘Major Perigord has pledged himself and his patrol to help us. I would expect that you have the good manners to give him a hearing, unless you have a better or more helpful suggestion to assist your Abbey in this crisis?’

  Pellit lowered his eyes and shrugged. The Abbess smiled apologetically at Perigord. ‘Forgive the interruption, Major. You were saying?’

  But the hare had slightly lost track of his speech. To gain time he stroked his whiskers thoughtfully and pursed his lips.

  Suddenly all eyes turned on Tammo. He rose and walked round to stand beside Arven, gazing at the great sword that lay upon the table. In a calm measured voice he began speaking.

  ‘Aye, Sire, it shall be as you say.’

  Arven could tell by the look in Tammo’s eyes that he was still sleeping. The young hare moved towards the steps leading up to Great Hall. Placing a paw to his lips, Arven warned everybeast to hold their silence. Then he gestured with his other paw to clear a way. Redwallers fell back to either side as Tammo went by them, unaware of all about him. Craklyn uttered a single word as she followed in his wake.

  ‘Martin!’

  Lanterns burned dimly in Great Hall, casting shadows around the sandstone columns and recesses, and moonlight shone through the high windows on to a floor worn smooth by countless generations of paws. In complete silence the Redwallers grouped behind Tammo, who stood staring up at the tapestry on the wall. It was a marvellous piece of work, fashioned by Abbey creatures in the distant past. Martin the Warrior, Redwall’s founder hero, was depicted there, standing armour-clad and leaning upon his sword.

  ‘I brought you quill and parchment,’ Viola Bankvole whispered to Craklyn, passing her writing materials. ‘You may need them!’

  The Recorder nodded her thanks as Tammo started speaking.

  ‘Spring is done now, summer calls,

  This season fraught with wartime’s fear,

  Fate says Damug will ne’er see our walls,

  Battle must take place, though not here.

  Manycoats will know the way,

  So go with him, De Fformelo.

  A soothsayer knows what to say,

  Secrets Warfang longs to know.

  One day Redwall a badger will see,

  But the badger may never see Redwall,

  Darkness will set the Warrior free,

  The young must answer a mountain’s call.’

  A vagrant night breeze waved the tapestry once, then all was still and quiet. Tammo sat down upon the floor. He rubbed his eyes and stared at his s
urroundings in bewilderment.

  ‘What the . . . Who brought me here?’

  Arven sat beside him, pointing to the figure on the tapestry.

  ‘Martin the Warrior did, he had a message for us.’

  ‘Oh, y’don’t say, an’ what was the message?’

  ‘You should know, friend, ’twas you who delivered it!’

  ‘Me? I say, that’s a bit blinkin’ much. I don’t remember a single thing. What did I, I mean he, say?’

  Craklyn spread her parchment in front of the young hare. ‘Don’t worry, Tammo, I recorded every word. Martin the Warrior is the guiding spirit of our Abbey. In times of trouble he will often choose somebeast to deliver his message to us. You must be a very special creature for Martin to single you out.’

  Tammo nodded absently as he scanned the parchment. ‘Hmm, never thought of m’self as jolly well special, marm. Hey, Midge, it mentions you here. It says, Manycoats will know the way.’

  Midge was far shorter than the other hares, but none the less brave. He laughed excitedly. ‘Hahaha! Wonderful! It’s just come to me in a flash, yes, I certainly do know what t’do!’

  ‘Well bully for you, laddie buck!’ Perigord checked him hastily. ‘But there’s no reason t’be worryin’ our friends with a lot o’ balderdash. C’mon, chaps, all pop along an’ get some shuteye now, it’s rather late y’know. Leave this to us, we’ll sort out the details, wot!’

  Abbess Tansy nodded in agreement. Some of the Redwallers looked rather reluctant, but one glance from their Abbess told them she was in no mood for argument.

  Skipper, Foremole, Log a Log, Gurgan and the hares followed Arven, Craklyn and Tansy back down to Cavern Hole. Once there they made themselves comfortable by the fire embers.

  Perigord stirred the logs with his sabre tip, saying, ‘Speak y’piece, Midge. Tell us what came t’you in a flash.’

  The small hare did so readily. ‘Listen, Martin said that the battle mustn’t take place at Redwall, it’s got to be fought elsewhere, see!’

  Arven placed the great sword on the fireplace lintel. ‘That makes sense. We wouldn’t stand much chance with over a thousand Rapscallions charging a collapsin’ south wall. What do you intend t’do about it, Midge?’