The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  It was chilly sleeping in the ravine. After a cold meal of thick barley biscuit and apple slices, the hares settled down for the night, wrapped in their groundsheets. However, Lady Cregga Rose Eyes felt her blood run hot as she lay there, dreaming of meeting Rapscallion vermin in a valley beneath a far-off ridge.

  Standing as high as he could on the pine trunk at the ridgetop, Arven watched the Rapscallion campfires. They dotted the far plains like tiny fallen stars. Skipper of otters climbed up beside him, and passed the Redwall Champion a beaker of vegetable soup, steaming hot.

  ‘All quiet down there, mate?’

  Blowing on the soup, Arven sipped gratefully. ‘Aye, Skip. If they break camp just before dawn, I figure they’ll arrive in the valley below at midday tomorrow. By the fur’n’fang, though, there’s going to be a lot of ’em facin’ us!’

  The big otter set his jaw grimly. ‘Mebbe, but there’ll be a lot less of ’em by the time we’re done! Wot makes ’em act like that, Arven? Why can’t they just be like ordinary peace-lovin’ creatures an’ leave us alone?’

  Paw on swordhilt, the squirrel Champion shrugged. ‘Hard to say, really, Skip. There’ll always be vermin of that kind, with no respect for any creature, takin’ what they please an’ never carin’ who they have to slay, as long as they get what they want. Peaceful creatures to them are weak fools. But every once in a while they come up against beasts like us, peace-lovin’ an’ easy-goin’, until we’re threatened. Win or lose then, we won’t be killed, enslaved or walked on just for their cruel satisfaction. No, we’ll band together an’ fight for what is ours!’

  Far away from the ridge, in the safety and warmth of Redwall Abbey kitchens, the badgerbabe Russano lay in his barrel cradle, his soft dark eyes watching a chill blue mist forming across the ceiling. From somewhere, slow muffled drumbeats sounded, sweet voices humming in time with them.

  A scene appeared out of the mists. The army from Redwall lay in slumber amid shattered spears, broken swords and a tattered banner. Other creatures came then, warriors he had never met, yet a voice in the babe’s mind told him he knew them. Martin, Matthias, Mattimeo, Mariel, Gonff, all heroic-looking mice. There were badgers too, great fierce-eyed creatures with names like Old Lord Brocktree, Boar the Fighter, Sunflash the Mace, Urthclaw, Urthwyte, Rawnblade and many more. They wandered the ridge, and each time they touched a creature he or she stood and went with them.

  Finally they stood in a group together, pale and spectral, and another joined them. It was Rockjaw Grang, the big hare who had carried and nursed Russano on the long trek to Redwall Abbey. Though he did not speak, the little badger heard his voice.

  ‘Remember us when you are grown, Russano the Wise!’

  Mother Buscol was awakened by the babe’s unhappy cries. Not knowing what he had witnessed, she laid him on her lap and stroked his head, whispering soothingly, ‘There, there, my liddle one, sleep now, ’twas only a dream.’

  Back and forth she rocked the little badger until he drifted back to sleep, far too young to tell her what he had seen. Russano had witnessed the Redwall army upon the ridge in the aftermath of battle; he had beheld all those who lived, and the ones who did not.

  * * *

  52

  DAWN BROUGHT A mad bustle of activity to the army on the ridge, with fires being relit, Corporal Rubbadub beating all creatures to stations and Chieftains roaring commands.

  Damug Warfang had stolen a march on them. Perigord listened as the squirrel lookout reported what he had seen at daybreak.

  ‘Major, those fires last night were nought but a bluff. Damug must’ve lit ’em an’ carried on marchin’ forward. They split into two forces, and right now they’re lyin’ in the rift at both ends o’ the valley, waitin’ on some kind o’ signal to move!’

  On the right flank, half of the Rapscallion army crouched, led by the Firstblade himself. He sat motionless as the rat Henbit, who had headed the scouting expedition, told what he had discovered.

  ‘Mightiness, there can’t be more’n three ’undred creatures atop of that ridge – a few hares’n’otters an’ some Water’ogs. The rest ain’t much; squirrels, mice an’ moles, wid a scatterin’ o’ those liddle raggy beasts that sail the streams, shrews I think they call ’em. They got plenty of weapons, but no chance o’ winnin’ agin a thousand of us. Back side of the ridge is too steep an’ rocky – you’d be best advised to attack from this side, Sire.’

  Damug Warfang peered upward, noting the piles of rock heaped along the heights and the big treetrunk positioned at its centre. ‘A thousand won’t be needed to conquer three hundred. Bluggach, you take half of this five hundred. Gribble, take word to Rapmark Skaup that he will send half of his force with Captain Bluggach’s fighters. Between them they should take the ridge. That is my command. Go now.’

  The little rat scurried along the defile to where the ferret Skaup lay waiting on the left flank.

  Tammo stood with Pasque on one side of him and Galloper Riffle on the other. He leaned slightly forward and looked down the line. Tight-jawed and silent, the front rank waited, while behind them the second rank, mainly archers, checked shafts and bowstrings.

  The young hare felt his limbs begin to tremble. He looked down and noticed that the footpaws of Pasque and Riffle were shaking also. Behind him, Skipper drummed his tail nervously on the ground.

  ‘Me ole tail’s just bumpin’ about for the want o’ somethin’ t’do,’ the otter leader chuckled encouragingly. “Tis all this waitin’, I s’pose, mates. Can y’see ’em, miss Pasque?’

  Gripping the cord of her sling like a vice, Pasque nodded. ‘Indeed I can, Skip, they’re lyin’ in the rift down there, waitin’ the same as we are. D’you suppose they’re nervous too?’

  Sergeant Torgoch was pacing the ridge, keeping an eye on the front rank. He winked as he halted in front of her. ‘Nervous, missie? I can see ’em quakin’ in their fur from ’ere!’ He waved his pace stick to where Perigord was perched on the pine trunk, leaning nonchalantly upon his sabre. ‘Wot d’ye think, sir, shall we tell ’em wot we thinks o’ vermin?’

  Waving back with his blade, the Major smiled. ‘Capital idea, Sar’nt, carry on!’

  Swelling out his chest with a deep breath, the Sergeant roared out in his best drill parade manner at the Rapscallion army. ‘Nah then, you scab-tailed, waggle-pawed, flea-ridden excuses fer soldiers! Are ye sittin’ down there ’cos yore too stoopid t’move, or are yer afraid?’ Then he turned his back on the foebeast and waggled his bobtail impudently. Laughter broke out from the Redwallers’ ranks.

  Gurgan Spearback clumped up in his oversized boots, wielding the massive mallet that was his favourite weapon. ‘Hearken t’me, all ye vermin wid half a brain to lissen. Remember what thy mothers told thee about climbin’. If you come climbin’ our hill we’ll spank thee right ’ard an’ send you away in tears!’

  Hoots of derision from the ridge accompanied this announcement. Then Lieutenant Morio’s deep booming voice called out a warning. ‘Stand to arms, here they come!’

  Five hundred Rapscallions clambered out of the rift from both flanks, and charged. They made a blood-chilling sight: painted faces, bristling weapons and blazing war banners. Drums pounded as they screamed and howled, racing like a tidal wave across the valley floor towards the slope of the ridge.

  Nobeast could stop it now. The battle was begun.

  Captain Twayblade held her long rapier point down. ‘Steady in the ranks there, let ’em come! Stand by the first three rockpiles! Slingers, wait my command! Steady, steady now, chaps!’

  The vermin pounded up the slope, increasing their pace until they were running at breakneck speed, spearpoints, pikes and blades pointing upward at their adversaries.

  Tammo stood his ground, deafening noises thrumming in his ears, watching the hideous pack draw closer until he could see their bloodthirsty faces plainly.

  Sergeant Torgoch’s voice rumbled across the first rank. ‘Wait for it, buckoes, wait on the Cap’n’s command!’ />
  A barbed shaft whistled past Twayblade’s jaw. ‘Front rank, let ’em have it,’ she shouted. ‘Now!’

  Slings whirled and a battering rain of stone struck the leading Rapscallions. Tammo saw the look of shock on the face of a lean scarred weasel as his round weighty river pebble struck it hard on the forehead. The creature toppled backward with a screech, rolling downhill, still clutching a broken bow. Loading the sling swiftly, Tammo swung out and hit a rat who was almost upon him.

  Now Major Perigord was standing with the front rank, whirling his sabre and calling to the moles who were behind the hills of stone. ‘First three rockpiles away!’

  Boulders, rocks, soil, dust and stones showered down on the advancing Rapscallions. The vermin were seasoned fighters, giving as good as they received. Ducking and dodging, they battled upward, thrusting with pike and spear, slinging, firing arrows and hurling anything that came to paw.

  Tammo was on his third sling when he heard Sergeant Torgoch bellowing, ‘Down flat an’ reload slings, first rank. Second rank, shoot!’

  Tammo and Pasque threw themselves down side by side, fumbling to load up their slings. Skipper and the second rank stood forward, shafts drawn back upon tautened bowstrings, and sent a hail of arrows zipping down into the massed vermin. From where they lay the first rank twirled their slings and added to the salvo.

  Then everybeast in the Redwall army grabbed for the spears lying on the ground between the ranks. Tammo, Pasque and Riffle, like many others, did not have a proper spear, but the long ash poles with fire-hardened points served just as well. Staves, spears, pikes and javelins bristled to the fore all along the line.

  The Rapscallions were completely taken by surprise. They had expected their opponents to stand and defend the ridge, not to mount a counter charge with spears. Many a vermin heart quailed then as the war cry of Salamandastron’s Long Patrol cut the air.

  ‘Eulaliaaaaa! ‘S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!’

  The Redwallers’ charge broke the Rapscallion advance. Drums from below in the rift pounded out the retreat, calling the vermin back.

  Damug Warfang estimated that he had lost threescore in the first assault; the Redwallers had lost about half that number. Slightly more than he had expected, but the Greatrat was satisfied. Now that he had tested his enemies he knew their strength and also their weakness. However, the Firstblade was surprised at his adversary; for peaceful Abbeydwellers they showed great ferocity in fighting and much cunning in their manoeuvres. Despite this he was confident they would be unable to resist the might of his full army.

  Arven sat still as a mole plastered boiled herbs to a deep graze in his side, lifting one paw up to allow the healer better access to his wound. The mole stopped bandaging, blinking at the sight in the valley below.

  Damug Warfang was standing on the grassy sward with his entire army formed up behind him.

  ‘Bo urr an’ lackaday, zurr, lukkee, ’tis a turrible soight!’

  It was indeed terrible, and impressive. Almost a thousand well-armed vermin, lined in columns, flags streaming, drums beating, with the Greatrat in full armour, sword drawn, out in front.

  Log a Log stopped sharpening his rapier-tip on a whetstone and glanced quizzically at Major Perigord. ‘Wot d’you suppose Warfang’s up to now?’

  The hare viewed the scene below dispassionately. ‘Tryin’ to frighten us with a show of force, what else? That was only half their blinkin’ number he threw at us in the first charge.’

  Sergeant Torgoch saluted with his pace stick. ‘Shall I stand the troops ready for action again, sah?’

  Perigord sheathed his blade and started downhill. ‘I think not, Sar’nt, the blighter obviously wants to parley. Huh! We’re all supposed t’be tremblin’ in our fur at the size of his force. I expect he wants us to jolly well surrender.’

  Arven’s voice echoed the Major’s final word incredulously. ‘Surrender?’

  Tare and Turry, the Long Patrol twins, helped Arven upright. ‘Hah, fat chance of that, old lad!’

  About a third of the way downhill, Perigord halted, calling out, ‘I take it y’ve got somethin’ to say, rat. Well spit it out an’ be quick about it, a chap can’t dally here all day, wot!’

  Damug Warfang waved his sword eloquently at the massed Rapscallions backing him. ‘What need of words, hare, when we could destroy you in a single sweep!’

  Perigord shook his head and smiled mockingly. ‘Oh, is that all you’ve got t’say? Wasted your breath, really, didn’t you? Still, what else can one expect from vermin?’

  The Greatrat smiled back as if he were equally at ease. ‘Just think for a moment what we will do to the ones you left behind at Redwall Abbey. I imagine they’re the creatures not fit to fight, babes and old beasts. Have you considered them?’

  Perigord seethed inwardly, but he did not show it. ‘Oh, if it comes t’that, old thing, I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Y’see I fully intend slayin’ you, so y’won’t be round to see it.’

  Damug was still smiling as he played his trump card. ‘I’m a bit ahead of you there, because I intend killing you. Now!’ He let his sword blade drop and nodded.

  The rat Henbit had lain near the ridgetop, concealed among the dead vermin that littered the slope. He sprang up, poising himself to hurl the javelin he held, not three paces from the Major. Suddenly he sighed, as if tired of it all, and let the javelin slide carelessly backward as he fell, an oak shaft in his back.

  Perigord stepped distastefully over the fallen rat. ‘Don’t like that sort o’ thing. Sneaky. Well shot, Corporal!’

  Rubbadub twanged a chord on the empty longbow string, grinning from ear to ear at his officer’s compliment.

  ‘Drrrrrrubadubdub!’

  Then the Rapscallion army charged. As they swept across the valley, Tammo left off helping Pasque Valerian to bind wounded heads and paws and took up his position in the first rank, feeling slightly detached from it all.

  Gurgan Spearback nudged him with a rough paw. ‘Art thou all right, friend?’

  The young hare shrugged in bewilderment. ‘Strange, isn’t it, but here we are facin’ almost a thousand an’ all I can think about is the time o’ day. Look, ’tis almost evening, yet it only seems a moment ago it was mornin’. Can’t get it off my mind, really. What’s happened t’the rest o’ today. Where’d it go?’

  Gurgan stumped the ground with his mallet head, like a batsman at his crease. ‘Aye, I know what thou means. All I can think of is my wife Rufftip an’ our seven liddle ’ogs, ’avin’ a pickernick on our boat in the water meadows. Silly wot a body can think of at times like these . . . Oofh!’

  An arrow protruded from Gurgan’s shoulder. Tammo stared, aghast. ‘You’re hit!’

  The Waterhog pulled the shaft out, snapped it and flung it from him bad temperedly. ‘Tchah! When a beast’s as full o’ spikes as I am one more don’t make much difference, though ’tis a great displeasure t’be shot!’

  Before Tammo could reply, Sergeant Torgoch was bawling out orders. ‘First rank, sling! Second rank, stand ready! Keep ’em off the slope!’

  At the point where valley met hillslope the Rapscallions took the full force of the first stone volley. Owing to their numbers, Major Perigord had taken the decision to strike early and save his Redwallers being speedily overrun. He turned to the moles, saying, ‘How’s the fire comin’ along under that log, chaps?’

  ‘Ee’m a burnen broight an’ reddy t’go, zurr!’

  ‘Capital! Splash all that vegetable oil over the trunk now, quick as y’like!’

  Dry timber and resin gave a great whoosh as the oil buckets were hurled upon it. The evening sprang to light, sparks and flaming splinters crackling as they leapt from the blazing tree. Skipper and his otters rolled it forward, using spearpoints and ash staves. It teetered a moment on the brow of the ridge, then took off with a crash, rumbling, rolling, bouncing and spinning.

  Lady Cregga Rose Eyes and the Long Patrol army had been plodding all day. The going was awkw
ard and rough in the narrow rift; it seemed to stretch on for ever. They had waded through mud and water, squeezed through narrow gorges and climbed over collapsed debris.

  Deodar was first to see it. ‘Look, Sergeant, up ahead, that light!’

  A sudden bright glow lit the evening sky from a ridgetop in the distance. It flared brightly then disappeared, leaving the hares blinking against the gathering darkness. Sergeant Clubrush placed himself in front of Lady Cregga, blocking her way.

  ‘Deodar, Algador, drop y’packs but ’old on to yore weapons. Scout up ahead, close to that ridge as y’can get. We needs h’information quick as to wot’s goin’ on up yonder. So make all speed there an’ back. Run lively now, young ’uns!’

  As he spoke, the Sergeant had pulled Corporal Ellbrig and several others past him to barricade the rift. Both runners hared off.

  Lady Cregga glared fiercely at Clubrush. ‘Stand out of my way, Sergeant!’

  It would be said in later seasons that this was the first time a hare openly disobeyed a Badger Ruler. Sergeant Clubrush drew his sword.

  ‘Sorry, Lady, but we got to wait ’ere ’til the Runners gets back. If you goes chargin’ off now, not knowin’ wot lies ahead, you could get y’self an’ all these slain, recruits an’ veterans. We must know wot’s goin’ on at that ridge first afore we goes at it. Now I know y’could snuff me out like a candle, marm, but I’ll try to stop ye if’n I can, for the good of all ’ere!’

  Lady Cregga Rose Eyes raised the terrible axepike high over her head with one paw. She brought it smashing down into the rift wall, knocking out a great quantity of soil-bound rock.

  ‘So be it, we wait! But those hares of yours had better be quick, Sergeant, because I won’t wait long!’

  * * *

  53

  VERMIN SCREAMED AND wailed as the blazing pine trunk cut a swathe through the Rapscallion ranks. It thundered off the hillside, over the valley and disappeared with a crash of loose earth into the rift, where one side of the defile fell in on top of it.