Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

After a long and arduous march along the streambank, squelching through mud and sliding over wet rocks, Eissaye came hurrying back to report, “Lord, I heard singing ahead!”

Gulo called his band to a halt. One look from him warned them to be silent. He strode several paces ahead of where the rest stood, bringing Eissaye along with him. “Singing . . . where? I hear no singing.”

Eissaye could hear it, but he knew better than to contradict the wolverine. Cupping a paw around one ear, Gulo continued his interrogation. “No, I cannot hear it! What was the singing about?”

All the ermine could do was to explain and suffer the consequences. “Mighty One, I could not hear the words, but my ears are keen. I heard the sound of singing.”

His answer did little to improve Gulo’s mood. The wolverine’s paws shot out, buffeting Eissaye so heavily about both his ears that the force knocked him down.

Gulo stood over him, snarling, “Now I’ll wager thy ears are singing aloud. Idiot, we are wasting time here. Get up and fetch the others!”

Moving the willow trunk by fulcrum and lever was not as easy as the shrews had figured. The mere size of the huge, ancient tree was a daunting sight. Long, thick limbs, branches, boughs, twigs and foliage covered the fallen giant’s crown. A mass of twisted and tangled roots, some half as thick as the actual trunk, formed the base, protruding in all directions above and below the waters of the broadstream. The Guosim laid one of their logboats sideways at the top of the trunk; the second, lifted clear of the water, was placed across the middle of the first craft amidships, forming a type of seesaw. At the rooted end of the willow, shrews crowded the shallows—some ready to push, whilst others attached ropes at the other side, ready to pull. The principle of the scheme was to move the tree until it floated in the water, parallel to both banks, enabling the entire thing to drift off downstream, clearing the navigable waterway.

But theory and practice were strange bedfellows to the argumentative Guosim. Log a Log Togey stood on the centre of the mighty trunk, roaring orders, whilst his shrews squabbled and disputed furiously.

“Take the strain on those ropes, Guosim! Right, now dip the for’ard bow of the top boat down, underneath the tree. Puddenhead! I said the for’ard end, not the stern!”

“Ahoy, Chief! When we pull on these ropes, we might drag the tree over on top of us!”

“No ye won’t, dulltail. You just pull an’ we’ll push!”

“Huh, that’s easy fer yew t’say, rumblegut. Yore over on the safe side!”

Togey did a dance of rage. “Shuddup, all of ye! Ready, now all at once. Puuuuush! . . . Shoooove!”

Within moments, the crossfire of shrew comments began anew.

“Waaaah! The bottom boat’s sinkin’!”

“Well, geroutofit mothbrain! Yore not s’posed t’be in it!”

“Whoa . . . ’elp! I’m swingin’ in the air, hangin’ on to the stern of this boat ’ere!”

Togey ran up and down the trunk like a madbeast. “Ye bottle-nosed beetlebrains! Lend ’im a paw on the stern there! Take the strain on those ropes! Gerroff yore bottoms an’ push that root end. Move! Push! Pull! More of ye down t’the stern, get yore weight onto it! Heeeeeaaaaave!”

Gulo and Eissaye crept forward with the rest of the vermin behind them. The distant squabbling and roaring of orders reached Gulo’s ears.

Just as he halted, preparing to speak, one of the white foxes whispered to him, “Lord, there are the foebeast, yonder! See?”

Gulo drew back behind an elm as he glimpsed the lanky figure of a hare dead ahead, no more than half a stone’s throw. He spotted more hares, a squirrel and an otter, coming slowly along the streambank.

Gesturing in a semi-circular movement towards the woodlands, the wolverine gave murmured orders. “Scouts, eh? We will get around the back of them and cut them off from the watermice and their boats. Follow me quietly if ye want fresh meat!”

Drawing their weapons, the ermine and foxes stole off to the left, following Gulo in a long arc.

Skipper shouldered his lance. Turning away from the upstream bank, he addressed Tam. “No sign o’ the vermin, mate. They must be limpin’ along after their scrap wid those black birds.”

Tam put up his sword. “Aye, let’s get back to the Guosim. Mayhaps we can lend ’em a paw to shift that tree.”

As the company turned, an arrow whipped out, catching Skipper through the side.

Corporal Wopscutt, who had been bringing up the rear, yelled, “Ambush! It’s the vermin!”

Two hares went down, felled by arrows and a spear. Then Gulo dashed out at the head of his vermin, roaring, “Gulo! Gulo! Killkillkill!”

Completely taken by surprise, Tam called to the Patrol hares, “Into the water! Get downstream!”

Arrows, axes and spears pelted at them. Tam grabbed Skipper, hauling him into the water and thrusting him out into the current. “Get back to the Guosim, quick!”

Rushing back ashore, he drew the sword of Martin. After striking down a fox that was about to spear Lancejack Wilderry, Tam hurled himself at the advancing vermin, still yelling for the hares to get in the stream, where they would stand a chance of being saved by the swift current. Five hares were down, but the rest broke free, retreating into the broadstream.

Corporal Butty Wopscutt was harassed to the front and left by vermin. Tam had run no more than a few paces in the direction of his beleaguered comrade before he was stopped in his tracks by Gulo the Savage, who suddenly bounded out at him. The border warrior slashed out blindly with his sword. Gulo screeched as the blade lopped off his right ear. Blood was flowing freely from the wound as the wolverine clapped a paw to it. Tam ran by him, finally reaching the besieged Butty, who was gallantly holding off the main charge with his long rapier.

Together the two warriors fought, side by side, their backs to the stream, stifling the advancment of the vermin. Though vastly outnumbered, Tam and Butty, each with his blade slashing like a windmill in a gale, fought so furiously that their foe could not overcome them.

Gulo was screaming in the background, urging his vermin on. “Kill! Kill! Charge and bring them down!”

Ashen-faced and tight-jawed, Butty muttered to Tam as they battled on, “Into the water, friend. Save yourself.”

Tam’s blade thrust at a leering face. “Not while you’re by my side, mate. We go in together!”

The hare caught Tam’s eye as he repelled an axe swing. “We’d be slain in the shallows! There’s too many of the scum. I order you, go now, sirrah!”

Tam feinted a spearthrust. “Not without you, Corporal!”

Butty almost doubled up but recovered himself. “Gulo got me in the back with his fangs an’ claws. You must go before he gets you. Go, Tam, I’m already a deadbeast!”

The border warrior chanced a quick glimpse over his friend’s shoulder. He gasped in horror at the long, ripping wounds, Butty’s blood now mingling with the water in the shallows. “Matey, come with me. We’ll make it together!”

Butty shook his head resolutely. “No, sah, my string’s run out. I’ve only got moments. Go while I still have strength to cover your back, friend. If y’get a chance another day, then slay Gulo for me, wot!”

Without waiting for an answer, the hare charged straight at the press of vermin, roaring out his last war cry, “Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaa!”

Tam turned and dived into the current. He was caught in the downstream swirl and whipped away. Water filled his mouth and nostrils as he vowed silently to fulfill the task the hare had put on him.

Fortunately, Rakkety Tam was out of sight before his friend was slain. He had not died easily. Pierced by a forest of weaponry, the gallant hare broke his rapier blade in two and flung it at the enemy. He had no time for another war cry, because his teeth were set in the throat of a screaming ermine. Thus died Corporal Butty Wopscutt of the Long Patrol, a fighter to the bitter end.