The mudfaced foxes wept and shivered as they faced the scowling warrior.
‘So these are the tormentors of babes and old ones, these are the terrorizers of the defenceless. Well, what have you to say for yourselves?’
The father fox was about to speak when Skarlath’s wing buffeted him into silence. The kestrel knew the part he had to play. Scowling murderously, he strutted up and down, saying, ‘Lord Sunflash, these scum are not fit to speak. They are villains and foebeasts, I say we kill them!’
‘Whoooaaa no, please Lord, spare us, we meant them no harm!’ The entire fox family flopped down and grovelled on the wet earth, wailing piteously.
Skarlath winked at Sunflash, and the badger twirled his mace thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, if we slay them here it might upset these little ones, then there’s all that digging holes and burying carcasses . . .’ Sunflash winked at Tirry, who had caught on to the idea. ‘What do you think, sir? It was your family that suffered.’
Tirry Lingl paced pensively across the backs of the foxes’ necks, driving them face down into the earth as he ruminated. ‘You ’ave a point there, sir, but if you ’adn’t come along these blaggards would’ve slain us. P’raps you’d best take them somewhere out of sight and finish them off, they surely deserve no better. But I leave it up to you, Lord Sunflash.’
The foxes’ blubbering rose in a crescendo, and Sunflash had to shout aloud to be heard. ‘I think I’ll do it right here and now if this noise continues!’
The fox family were suddenly struck dumb, pressing their quaking bodies against the earth. Bruff Dubbo’s old Auntie Ummer shook a paw at them. ‘Burr, you’m villyuns, see ’ow you’m loikes a ladle of ee own medicine, hurr hurr, surve ee roight!’
Sunflash produced a good-sized lilac leaf and, making a slight split in it, he folded the leaf in two. Then he locked it between both paws, put it to his lips and blew.
‘Phweeeeeeeerrrrrr!’
He passed the leaf to Tirry Lingl, saying, ‘Can you make a noise like that?’
The hedgehog did, making an even louder noise than Sunflash. ‘Makin’ leaf whistles an’ blowin’ on ’em, that was one of my favourite pastimes as a young un, why d’you ask?’
Sunflash turned to the foxes, his voice stern. ‘All of these good creatures are going to learn that noise, and then they will always carry a leaf with them, night and day. The kestrel can hear it almost a day’s flight away, and if he does not, then other birds will hear it and tell him. Now listen carefully, foxes, because your lives depend on it. You must leave here and travel north. Never, I say never, must you return. Should you ignore my words and come back to these woods, the creatures you threaten will signal and I, Sunflash, swear a solemn oath upon my mace, that I will seek you out and destroy you. Understood?’
Thoroughly cowed, the foxes bobbed their heads up and down, nodding furiously, too scared even to speak. Then Sunflash began spinning the deadly hornbeam mace from paw to paw, his voice rising menacingly to a full-throated roar.
‘I have given you your unworthy lives, but if you are still standing here by the time I have finished speaking I am certain I will regret my decision. So I want to see how fast you can run, due north. Now!’
Wet earth, pebbles and grass flew as the five former bullies scrabbled into a headlong takeoff. In a very short time the sound of their speeding paws was gone. Silence reigned outside the Dubbo-Lingl cave, and then suddenly all present broke out into hearty laughter.
‘Hohoho! They went like scalded frogs!’
‘Hurr hurr! Gurtly afeared an’ muddy nosed, burr aye!’
There followed a round of introductions, congratulations and thanks from both families. The four baby hogs and the two little molemaids had never seen anything as big and furry as Sunflash. They clambered all over him, smiling into his face and stroking the broad golden stripe on his muzzle.
‘Ee’m be a mounting wid furr on!’
‘Big wunnerful aminal!’
The badger stood stock still, fearing to move lest he upset the tiny creatures or trod on them. His huge face was wreathed in a pleased grin; he had never encountered beasts so small and affectionate. Tirry’s wife Dearie and her friend Lully the molewife fussed about, throwing their aprons over their faces in embarrassment as they chided the babes.
‘Do come away now, leave the gennelbeast alone. Lack a day, sir, wot must you think o’ us all?’
‘Hurr aye, you an’ ee ’awkburd be welcome to rest awhoil in our dwellin’ cave. Us’n’s be back at eventoide with vittles aplenty, then us’ll all make ee well fed, bo urr aye!’
Both families fled into the surrounding woodland to forage for food, leaving Sunflash and Skarlath the hospitality of their cave. The two friends shifted the barricade and took their ease on thick woven rush mats. Surrounded by the peace and quiet of the homely atmosphere they were soon deep in slumber.
In his dreams, Sunflash could hear waves lapping against the shore; he saw pale sand, sea, and the mountain. A great feeling of longing swept over him, and he wanted so badly to be there, yet it seemed distant and intangible. Somewhere a deep voice, that of a grown male badger, was chanting:
‘Find me one day ’neath the sun,
Guarding the land and the seas.
Streams to the rivers must run,
Telling their tales to the breeze.
You are Lord, by the blood of your sires,
From dawn ’til the daylight dies,
As the sun burns the sea with its fires,
And stars pin night’s cloak to the skies.
Find me whenever you will,
Seek me wherever you may.
All of your dreams fulfil,
’Ere time like the mist rolls away . . .’
Reality seeped back slowly: a warm glowing fire, tantalizing odours and the mole and hogbabes stroking his headstripe and tickling Skarlath’s wing feathers.
‘Wake ee upp, zurrs!’
‘Vittles be yurr aplenty.’
‘Mum says you two’n’s will take some feedin’!’
Tirry shooed the babes off. ‘Come away, you liddle rogues, let the pore creatures up now.’
Around the fire in the cave’s centre various concoctions were cooling on flat rock slabs. Bruff Dubbo presented them with beakers which he filled from a pottery jug. ‘Yurr, friends, ’tis on’y dandelion an’ burdock cordial, but et be noice an’ cool t’drink, ho aye!’
It was dark, sweet and delicious, and the two friends slaked their thirst. Dearie Lingl pushed two of her brood forward, saying, ‘Standee up straight, ’oglets, an’ say your piece. C’mon now, stop suckin’ those quills or they’ll never ’arden. Speak out!’
Both the small hedgehogs shuffled about, tugging their headspikes respectfully as they recited:
‘Thankee sir ’awk an’ sir badger . . .’
‘For savin’ all in this cave . . .’
‘From the naughty foxes . . .’
‘Aye, naughty, naughty foxes!’
‘Bad verminy foxes!’
‘Rotten uckypaw stinky ole foxes!’
Dearie wagged a paw at her little ones. ‘Tut tut! That’s quite enough thankee!’ She turned to the two friends, who were hiding smiles by burying their faces in the beakers, and said, ‘Wot my liddle ones was sayin’ is that our families would like to thank you for rescuin’ us from the vermin. You must stay ’ere as long as you wish, our cave is yours. Come now, friends, enough talkin’, ’elp yourselves to food.’
Sunflash and Skarlath had never tasted such good cooking. There was young onion and leek soup, hot brown bread spread with a paste made from beechnuts, a woodland salad and a huge apple and greengage crumble. The crumble was a great favourite with the little ones, who spread it thick with honey.
Old Uncle Blunn sipped piping hot soup from a wooden bowl gratefully. ‘Oi wurr feared oi’d waste away to an ole shadow. Gurr! Vittles do taste gudd arter all that ’unger!’
Sunflash had an enormous appetite, but the good-wives of Tirry and B
ruff would not hear of him stinting himself.
‘Allus plenty more, zurr, thurr be an ’ole woodland full o’ vittles for us’n’s to choose from now ee’ve set uz free!’
And so Sunflash the Mace did full justice to the spread.
It was late into the night when he and the kestrel sprawled by the fire, warm, rested and, for the first time in many a season, unable to eat another mouthful. The old mole, Auntie Ummer, hunted out a curious-looking instrument, a stout pole with bells, two strings and a pawdrum attached to its base. She plucked the strings, jangled the bells and tapped the drum with a footpaw. The babes, who were far too excited to sleep, began jigging and hopping around the fire, clapping their paws.
‘Whurrhoo! Play ee gurdelstick! Whurrhoo!’
Old Uncle Blunn began tapping his paws and chanting:
‘Willy Nilly Nilly, Pod Pod Pod!
All you’m ’oglets stamp ee ground,
Moi ole paws b’ain’t young loike yores,
Show us ’ow ee darnce around!’
The gurdelstick music speeded up and the little ones whirled and leaped, jigged and tumbled until they collapsed in a giggling heap, yelling for dandelion and burdock cordial. Tirry invited the friends to sing, but his guests declined, Skarlath being too shy and Sunflash explaining that he had never learned a song, being in captivity most of his young life.
The homely hedgehog patted Sunflash’s massive paw. ‘By me spikes, that is a shame! No matter, my Dearie ’as a voice like a lark at morn in a meadow, she’ll cheer you up!’
Dearie Lingl had a jolly, clear voice, and she sang happily.
‘I once ’ad a cattypillar come t’live with me,
We was both the best of friends as ever there c’d be,
He’d wiggle round upon the ground, he’d smile an’ Shake my paw,
An’ every time that I went out, stop in an’ guard my door.
But then one time when I returned I cried out “Lack a day!”
My little cattypillar he had left an’ gone away,
An’ there upon my mantelpiece, a butterfly I saw,
Far too proud to speak to me, he flew right out the door.
Coloured bright in warm sunlight, that creature winged away,
I’ve never found my cattypillar to this very day,
Which makes me say unto myself, now I am old and wise,
I do like cattypillars, but I can’t stand butterflies!’
Laughter and applause greeted Dearie’s song. The two families were used to entertaining themselves, and there followed a whole repertoire of songs, poems and dances. Then, as the fire was allowed to fall into embers, they took their rest in the warm, dim cave.
Sunflash had never been so happy and contented in his life. He hummed along as one of the small hedgehogs sang herself to sleep drowsily with a curious little chant:
‘Arm not alas sand, ’way south in the west,
So star land a mat, there’s where I love best,
Sand not as alarm, lone seabirds do wing,
And alas most ran, list’ to me whilst I sing.’
Each time the babe reached the end of this strange ditty she went back to the beginning and sang it again, her voice growing drowsier and drowsier until it was silenced by sleep. Something about the jumbled, meaningless words and the sad tune kept going round in Sunflash’s mind. Finally, he shook Tirry gently, and said, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, are you awake?’
‘Hm, mm, just about, friend, d’you need ought?’
‘That song your little daughter was singing, what is it?’
‘Oh, you mean the one with all the funny mixed-up words and the nice tune. It’s an old thing that my Dearie learned from her mother, she prob’ly learned it from her mother and so on, way back. All our hoglets know it, pretty tune, silly verse.’
Sunflash gazed into the glowing embers through half closed eyes, and said, ‘I don’t know why, but I’d like to learn it.’
Tirry smiled as he settled into a comfortable ball. ‘I’ll tell the babes tomorrow, they’ll be only too happy to oblige ye, sir.’
* * *
4
The seasons turned through spring and summer to a mellow autumn. In the highlands of the far east, Bowfleg’s drums beat out their message of warning, whilst Swartt and his ragged band of vermin traversed over tor and scrubland. The pounding drums sent word to three rat runners from Bowfleg’s camp, who took off at a swift lope, heading for a long cliffrange which puckered the land like an old scar.
At the foot of the cliffs, bunched close like dirty thunderclouds, lay the tents of Bowfleg the Warlord. The runners halted beneath the purple pavilion awning of the sprawling tent at the hub of it all, and prostrated themselves in front of the circular dais. Bowfleg lolled on his throne, peering at the messengers through the puffy eyelids of his swollen features. The old ferret grunted as he leaned his gargantuan bulk forward, and asked, ‘H’wodd do de dromms say?’
At the sound of the Warlord’s strange accent the senior rat looked up and made his report. ‘Mighty One, the drums tell of Swartt Sixclaw coming hither with a band numbering not more than twoscore.’
Bowfleg dismissed them with a snort. ‘Chah! Dadd one, de runaway, met’ink ’e be longdead!’
A stoat Captain standing nearby leaned close to Bowfleg. ‘Sixclaw was always spoken of as a wildbeast, a strong fighter, even when he was very young. I would watch that one, Lord.’
Bowfleg grabbed a roasted thrush from a side table and wrenched off a mouthful. ‘H’Swartt, ’e can join my ’orderanks, de gudd fighter iss always of use. If nodd, I crosh ’im, like dis!’ The Warlord flattened the thrush carcass against his throne with a single blow of his clenched paw. ‘Bring ’im ’ere when ’e arrive!’
The stoat Captain, whose name was Greenclaw, saluted smartly and marched off.
At mid-noon Swartt Sixclaw entered the camp of Bowfleg bearing gifts – a carved spear, two belts studded with bright stones, a flagon of fine wine and a drinking cup of silver. Swartt’s small band were disarmed and kept outside under guard by a detachment of swordbeasts, each of whom wore a crimson tabard bearing Bowfleg’s insignia, a single white fang in a green circle. Greenclaw escorted Swartt into Bowfleg’s presence. The ferret knelt respectfully, noting the giant weasel who stood behind the Warlord’s throne.
The gifts were placed before Bowfleg, who turned them over with the point of his sceptre. ‘Leave us now,’ he ordered Greenclaw. With a snort of contempt he looked at the young ferret kneeling before him. ‘When you young an’ cheeky, you t’ink you better’n Bowfleg, liddle runaway, gonna bring back mooch plunder. Nobeast cudd tell Swartt anyt’ink den. Ho no, ’e knew everyt’ink. Chah! Nodd mooch for one who be’s away so long, eh?’
Swartt could be a charmer when required. Smiling disarmingly, he looked up at the Warlord and shrugged. ‘I can go many places an’ see many things, but to learn real wisdom an’ courage I return to the master.’
Bowfleg’s vast bulk shook as he laughed. ‘Kyahaha! Dadd’s gudd, you still know who be’s master!’
Swartt stretched forward and kissed Bowfleg’s foot-paw. ‘How could I forget, Lord – you taught me all I know. I was young and foolish when I ran away from here. I am wiser now.’
The Warlord beckoned Swartt to stand upright. ‘H’I’m glad to see you godd more sense, budd don’t t’ink you be wiser dan me. Anybeast feel like dadd soon be’s dead!’
Sixclaw turned aside so the other could not see his eyes. ‘I must remember that, Lord – too much wisdom can be the death of a creature, very good!’
The old Warlord waved his sceptre at the gigantic creature standing behind his throne, saying, ‘You see dis wizzel? ’E be Wurgg de Spinecracker, dis one guard me night’n’day, ’e slayed many manybeasts. You watch!’
At a nod from his master, the giant weasel stooped and lifted the throne with Bowfleg sitting on it. Showing no sign of strain or effort he held it chest high, then lowered it slowly at Bowfleg’s signal.
&n
bsp; ‘H’wodd you t’ink o’ dadd, eh?’ the fat old ferret wheezed.
Swartt was impressed. Cleverly he let his mouth fall open wide, shaking his head as if in disbelief. ‘Never did I see a beast of that size or power! Lord, you have both wisdom and strength on your side, nobeast would dare to oppose you.’
Bowfleg cocked his head on one side, staring at Swartt pensively. ‘Den why do you comm ’ere?’
Swartt Sixclaw sat on the top step of the dais. ‘Only to serve you, Lord, and to tell you of the rich lands that lie to the south and west. Maybe one day I can travel there with you, as a Captain in your horde.’
Bowfleg rubbed a fat paw across his stomach and began to laugh. ‘Kyahahakyukyuk! I don’t travel nowheres, dis iss my land. H’wodd I wanna travel for, godd everyt’ink right ’ere. I like you, Swartt, you young, full of de big ideas. ’Ere you come oud of nowheres, raggedytaggle! H’an’ wodd you bring me, eh? Spear? I godd many spears. Belts? Nodd bigg enough. Cup an’ wine? Who nidd dem?’
‘The spear is a symbol of your power, Lord,’ said Swartt, indicating the gifts one by one. ‘The belts are a sign of my support, but the wine is special, fit only for great ones.’ He uncorked the wine flagon and sniffed it delicately. ‘The oldest wine of the southlands, dark and sweet with the juice of elderberry and plum, specially for you.’
He offered the bottle to Bowfleg. The Warlord sniffed it and smiled craftily. ‘H’you t’ink I be stupid. ’Ere, I want to see you drink.’
Outcast Of Redwall Page 3