by Colin Dann
‘He was certainly hurt in the rats’ surprise attack,’ Plucky said. ‘He’s probably lying low.’
‘We’ve none of us taken it upon ourselves to find out if he was all right,’ said Fox. ‘I’m worried about the old rascal and I don’t think we’ve served him very well. He must be feeling like an outcast.’ In some way this was true, but not in the way Fox had suggested. ‘I’m going to look around for him,’ he decided aloud. ‘Does anyone want to join me? I know Vixen will.’
‘I’d be pleased to do so,’ Plucky volunteered promptly.
‘What about you, Weasel?’ Fox asked.
‘Oh yes – by all means, if you really think that – er – he could be suffering.’
‘Don’t inconvenience yourself,’ Tawny Owl retorted sarcastically.
‘I didn’t hear you putting yourself forward,’ Weasel snapped.
‘I don’t need to,’ Owl replied loftily. ‘Fox would know I’d make one of the party automatically on such an occasion.’
‘Really? That’s not what I remember,’ Weasel disputed. ‘I can recall remarks about freelance days being over and talk of new responsibilities as a father and so on and so forth, just as though none of the rest of us had ever had such concerns.’
Tawny Owl glared at Weasel but was, for the moment, short of an answer. Then he shook his feathers and said, ‘That situation has come to an end. The fledglings have left the nest and Holly – well, Holly . . .’ He shuffled on his branch awkwardly.
‘Holly has turned her back on you since you’ve grown fat,’ Weasel finished mischievously.
‘All right, Weasel, don’t let’s squabble,’ Fox intervened. ‘We should be glad that we have Owl back in the fold, though I hope, Owl’ – he spoke politely to the bird – ‘your differences with your partner will soon be resolved.’
‘Don’t care if they’re not,’ Owl said childishly. ‘I did all I had to at the time. Now I’m free again, that’s all.’
Fox deemed it was time to change the subject. ‘No good hoping for Badger’s company,’ he remarked.
‘None,’ Weasel agreed. ‘He has the perfect excuse to stay at home, with a young animal ministering to all his wants.’
‘And a female at that,’ Tawny Owl said archly.
None of the others thought anything of that, and Owl’s attempt to be coy fell flat. He tried to regain some ground with another quip. He hooted, ‘It could be described as a case of feathering your own set!’
Badger had not set out to benefit himself but it was undeniably true that his comforts were being catered for. When Frond had brought him that first mass of writhing earthworms, Badger had thought initially it was all she was bringing, and indeed it would have been enough. ‘Worms, choice worms,’ he commented cheerfully. ‘You’re very good. My appetite is kindled again.’ But, even as he began to eat, she disappeared and, shortly afterwards, returned with bluebell bulbs and roots of another plant. ‘More? For me? You’re really too kind, my young friend. But I don’t know if . . .’ His voice faded as he watched her vanish again. Intending to show appreciation, rather more than actually wanting to eat, Badger chomped his way through a selection of roots, only to find additional provisions were still being delivered. ‘Honestly,’ he commented with his mouth full, ‘you needn’t . . . go on with this just now. You see I . . . can’t always . . . do justice to everything you want me to . . .’
‘You rest comfortably,’ Frond said softly. ‘I’ll collect the last from my pile. You don’t have to eat it all at once, and maybe there will be enough for me. And then I’m going to gather some fresh sweet-smelling bedding. I’m sure you’d welcome it. It’s a bit musty in here and I want you to be free from worrying about renewing it yourself. It’s time an old creature like you had some home comforts.’
Badger sank back with a sigh as Frond departed again. Curiously enough, the independent old animal didn’t raise a murmur of protest. He rather liked the young sow fussing over him and, despite his great age, couldn’t but be aware of her charm. She was a generous-hearted and affectionate badger who was genuine in her concern for his welfare. Badger began to revise his original idea of Frond making only a temporary stay in his set. His extreme age made him wonder if he would indeed be capable of looking after himself in the future and, if not, then Frond’s unexpected arrival was providential. He didn’t want to quit the scene just yet. The fate of White Deer Park was in the balance and he wanted to be around when the issue was settled. He wanted to see his friends win back the Park from the invaders, with the Warden’s help. He wanted to know all was safe and secure before he . . . before he . . .
‘Here, Old Badger,’ said Frond, returning backwards into the sleeping-chamber, dragging the fresh bedding with her. ‘You’ll sleep sweetly on this. It’s grass to make you dream.’
‘I’m very grateful to you,’ he said. ‘Take some for yourself. You can take your pick of sleeping-chambers too. I’ve only used a small proportion of this set’s area. My friends Mole and the foxes dug most of it for me, you know.’
Frond listened in wonder. The Farthing Wood animals’ penchant for helping one another had acquired almost mythical status in the Reserve. She thought it a beautiful and noble trait. ‘You must please tell me all about it,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve met some of your friends. Tell me about all of them and how you live and enjoy each other’s company.’
‘I shall do so, of course, with the greatest pleasure,’ said Badger. ‘And I hope my friends will become your friends. We need, all of us, to show solidarity as never before against our common foe.’
The search for Adder got under way. He was sought in the usual places. Weasel found the dry remains of Sinuous under the flat rock, and the animals could only guess at Adder’s feelings. They consulted Whistler over the snake’s disappearance. The heron once again haunted the shallows of his beloved stream. Young fish were beginning to appear in the waters and the bird had high hopes of it returning to its halcyon days as a hunting ground.
‘I really can’t recall when I last saw Adder,’ Whistler said dubiously. ‘It seems an age. It’s very sad that none of you know where he is. The rats are vindictive and vicious. I do hope they have no idea where he’s gone to ground.’
Fox explained about Sinuous. ‘They may think they have dealt with him already,’ he surmised. ‘If only we knew! If Adder’s being pursued, why doesn’t he come to his old friends for protection?’
‘Too proud for that,’ Tawny Owl remarked. ‘Whistler, how’s your rheumatism?’
‘About the same,’ the heron replied. ‘And you? You’re looking very – ’
‘I don’t wish to know how I’m looking,’ Tawny Owl broke in petulantly. ‘It’s immaterial, isn’t it? We’re debating the disappearance of Adder.’
A wry look came into Whistler’s eyes. He stepped sedately to the weeping willow where Owl was perching. ‘I humbly beg your pardon,’ he said courteously in his old-world manner. ‘I hope you’ll allow me to say, however, that I’m delighted to see you in such good health.’
‘Oh! I see,’ Owl bumbled, greatly mollified. ‘Very good of you, Whistler. You’re most polite, I’m sure.’
‘When this exchange of pleasantries finally comes to an end,’ a well-known lisping voice sounded from the undergrowth, ‘I shall be ready to give an account of myself.’
‘Adder!’ the friends cried together.
‘None other,’ said the snake as he slid into view. He had heard the remarks of concern as to his safety from his hideaway in the scrub and was secretly relieved. How glad he felt to hear his friends’ voices again and to feel free to end his period of isolation. They made much of him and the old rogue remained as impassive as ever under their expressions of welcome. ‘I have some news to give you,’ he drawled. ‘The Warden is powerless to aid us without killing innocent parties.’ The canny reptile knew all about the rat poison. ‘He won’t know how to act, and the rats are preparing for their final onslaught.’
17
The Battl
e Rages
While the Warden racked his brains as to the best course to adopt, taking advice from every expert on the subject, the Farthing Wood animals held themselves ready in the strange lull for the expected showdown. The band of friends was complete and none strayed far from his fellows, taking immeasurable comfort from this united front. None of them knew if they would survive the battle that was coming. Each felt that to lose his life would be preferable to living a hole-in-corner existence amid a sea of greedy, alien and dangerous rodents.
Bully saw the day approaching fast when his long-laid plans could be brought into effect. He was impatient for action and, in the end, his eagerness got the better of him.
‘The horde must gather,’ he squealed to his henchmen of the colony. ‘The whole mass, you understand? We strike by night into the wood of the old comrades.’
‘The Old Guard?’ Spike queried. He was open-mouthed.
‘That’s what I said!’ Bully snapped. ‘And let me stress the word “old” once again. Because that’s what they are, these precious fighters – all of them!’ (He didn’t consider the younger generation of animals, descended from the original group.) ‘We’ll catch them unawares, like I said,’ he went on. ‘They won’t be expecting us so soon! They think this lull in fighting I arranged so shrewdly is still operating. But we’ll show them otherwise, won’t we?’
‘Shouldn’t we wait until our youngsters have grown to their full potential?’ Spike asked. ‘We need maximum strength, don’t we?’
‘We’ve got maximum strength,’ Bully growled. ‘We’re more numerous than any species in this Park. We outnumber all of them. What should we wait for? For the humans to devise some subtle new poison that’ll catch out those stupid ones amongst us?’ He glared at Spike as though he was included in that category.
‘Of course not,’ Spike answered sullenly. ‘When do we go, then?’
‘As soon as we’re massed together,’ Bully answered. ‘Then we race for the far corner. Wave after wave of us. We’ll swarm up the trees. We’ll carpet the ground. By tonight the old fogies will be overthrown. We’ll have them running in every direction.’
Spike wasn’t quite so optimistic as the impetuous Bully. But wisely he held his tongue.
Under cover of darkness rats from all over the Park assembled close to Bully’s own nest. They were content to leave him to co-ordinate their actions. He was generally assumed to be the cleverest and the most ambitious amongst them. It was a particularly dark night. There was a lot of cloud cover. Bully took the lead. The others followed. Together, like ripples of a tide, the rats surged silently and purposefully to their goal.
Bully stopped short of the actual growth of woodland he believed sheltered the animals of Farthing Wood and their homes. He was cautious, and secrecy was imperative. He directed some of the smaller males to scale the first trees on the outskirts. He wanted the biggest, strongest animals to penetrate, along with himself, deep inside the wood, with the trees behind them well guarded by their clothing of rats. The rodents took up their stations, some swarming up the trunks and lying low across the branches, others clinging to the trunks themselves. From here they would drop on anything that moved underneath. Thus the environs of Fox and Vixen and Badger’s wood were covered, a few metres at a time, whilst the vanguard of the rats under Bully pressed on determinedly.
They encountered no challenge. Even Bully was surprised. There was no hindrance at all to their continued movement.
‘You sure this is the place?’ Spike grunted.
‘Do I make mistakes?’ Bully snarled. But, despite himself, he was beginning to have doubts. Where were the Farthing Wood animals? Could they have been forewarned? Were they expecting the rat horde? Had they laid their own plans?
Suddenly one of the big males hissed, ‘I see movement ahead!’
The rippling tide came to a halt in dead silence. Whiskers twitched nervously, excitedly. Feet quivered. Hundreds of pairs of eyes pierced the darkness. An animal smaller than the rats themselves scurried through the leaf litter in quest of food. It was a mole – a purblind, innocent creature running alone before the enemy host.
‘Kill it!’ hissed Bully.
Spike ran forward. The mole, whose hearing was good, spun round. It was Mossy, making his first venture above ground for a long time. The big rat was upon him in a trice. The little mole squealed in terror, but Spike quickly ended the pathetic sound. Mossy’s cry was cut short and his little black velvet body cut down, but not before an owl, coasting over the tree-tops, had become witness to the event. Tawny Owl’s mate, Holly, flew closer to investigate. She saw only too well the massed ranks of rats, and, veering in her flight, flapped swiftly away to give the warning. Bully had taken his cohorts into the storm-damaged wood where Badger had once had his set. Mossy’s home was there, but most of the Farthing Wood animals now congregated in the neighbouring copse where Fox and Vixen had always had their earth. Holly flew straight to Tawny Owl, their past differences forgotten. Before he could register his astonishment she screeched: ‘They’re coming! The rats! They’re coming! An army of them!’
Tawny Owl heaved his bulk into the air and called repeatedly, ‘Make ready, make ready! The enemy is approaching!’
Fox, Vixen and Weasel emerged and rushed to the point they had long ago decided was their first defence. This was a thick stand of holly scrub, almost impenetrable, behind which they could shelter. Before them was a gap in the woodland where the open ground which the rats would have to cross was in full view. Here the friends could not be outflanked. The other foxes came running: Friendly, Charmer and their mates, Plucky and all the relations of Fox and Vixen who populated that hereditary quarter of the Reserve. Leveret and Dash, Whistler and Adder all came, some for support, some for protection. Frond came from Badger’s set and settled herself a few paces before her new home, grimly determined to defend the old creature at all costs.
When the first victim fell to the rats’ concerted campaign – poor Mossy – it goaded the rodents into a mad rush forward. Bully couldn’t check them. The impetus of their charge carried them deeper into the wood. Still there was no challenge. Now Bully guessed he had miscalculated. It was too late to hold back the mass movement. The rats posted amongst the branches were left behind, not knowing they were in the wrong place. They were forgotten as the surge swept on. Bully tried to contain the rush but he was carried along with it, still in the vanguard with Spike alongside him. ‘Ease up!’ he shrieked. ‘This is a surprise attack. We’re giving the game away!’ But it was too late to stop them. The rats poured on like a flood. Small animals like voles and shrews dived for their escape routes underground. Squirrels leapt from bough to bough, giving cries of alarm. Night birds called warnings. And the Farthing Wood animals held themselves ready, listening to the patter of a thousand rat feet coming closer . . .
‘We can catch them in the rear,’ Tawny Owl hooted to Holly and Whistler. ‘Come on, let’s pick them off!’
The three hunting birds, led by Holly, who had first seen the army of rodents, sped up and over the tree-tops. Tawny Owl called to the young owls, his offspring, as he flew. He knew they were in the woods and he urged them to follow. Soon there were six powerful predators winging their way towards the rear of the rats’ columns. The owls flew silently as always. Tawny Owl fumed at the tell-tale whistle from the heron’s damaged wing which sounded with every beat. Whistler, racked by pain with every flap of his great grey wings, flew grimly onward in the owls’ wake, knowing only too well what Tawny Owl’s thoughts would be. But there was no avoiding that regular whistle of air and Owl sensibly forbore to comment.
‘There!’ hooted Holly as the birds zoomed in only a metre or two above the wood bottom. An involuntary gasp escaped Tawny Owl as he saw the living tide of rats so thickly pressed together that they seemed like one massive creature with countless legs. The odour from the rats’ hot bodies fouled the air. It was as though the wood steamed with their rankness.
The young owls began
asking what they were to do. They were not yet accomplished hunters and they eyed the mass of rodents with some alarm.
‘Take note of our actions,’ Tawny Owl told them. ‘We’re about to swoop. Do as your mother and I do.’ He and Holly floated down, their legs dangling, with talons at the ready. Each adult pinpointed a rat, skimmed above it, neatly grasped it without making a landing, then whisked upwards again, each with their catches impaled on their talons. The youngsters perched to watch as once more the parent birds swooped. The rats couldn’t avoid the predators. They were so jammed together as they ran that there was nowhere to escape. Again and again the owls picked off their victims, following the running rats, who had no defence against them. Whistler used different tactics. He had no talons, his only weapon his piercing bill. He alighted at the side of the animal mass and stabbed repeatedly as they poured past. One after another fell to the blows from his long beak, which jabbed down like a bayonet. Now the young owls joined the adults, swooping down and then up again, several times missing their mark but practising their movements over and over until they had some measure of skill. They took their toll too, but the rats were so many that the six birds were scarcely able to make an appreciable difference.
By this time the rats were approaching the open ground between the two patches of woodland. The leaders still ran eagerly, unaware of the attacks made on the rear. Bully was caught up in the pace, the speed and the excitement of their advance. He issued no instructions. He was intoxicated by the power of the rodent mass’s surge across and he didn’t believe any creature could stand in its way.
The Farthing Wood animals heard the increasing din of drumming feet. Fox urged caution. ‘We’re to stay behind this screen,’ he directed the younger foxes, some of whom could barely restrain their eagerness for a fight. ‘We’re well sheltered and we can attack the rats as they try to pick their way through. I don’t want any of you making a charge into the open. You’ll be pulled down in a moment.’ He stood at the forefront of the motley band of animals. Vixen was by his side and so was Friendly. Behind them Plucky trembled with anticipation. He longed to get to grips with the hated rats. Dash wormed her way through the throng and whispered to him, ‘Plucky, don’t take any risks. These creatures are dangerous. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.’