Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

His mate, Crinktail, was next to speak. “Which way d’ye want these woodpigeon eggs boilin’?”

Flinky replied, “Keep ’em nice’n’soft, me ould darlin’. I’ve never been fussy on hardboiled eggs.”

Crinktail sounded cheerful. “I’ll cook night an’ day for ye, if’n yew can fool that little fox into lettin’ us stay by this water for a few more days.”

Badredd heard Juppa’s voice chime in. “Aye, this is a prime spot. See if’n ye can fool the liddle idjit to stop ’ere fer a score o’ days!”

Flinky oozed confidence. “Leave it t’me, mates. I’m a silver-tongued ould charmer when I wants t’be!”

Badredd yawned convincingly, then, opening his eyes, sat up lazily and stretched. “Boiled woodpigeon eggs, eh? Bring ’em over here, Flinky, I ’ope they’re done nice’n’soft.”

The stoat gritted his teeth but obeyed the new chief’s orders. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye, sir, an’ another grand day ’tis, t’be sure. Now ye enjoy those eggs, there’s plenny more around. We was just sayin’ wot a fine spot ye chose fer us. Yore a wise leader, so y’are!”

Badredd put the eggs to one side and stood up, sword in paw. Scowling darkly, he asserted his authority. “Don’t get to like it too much, you lot, ’cos we’re movin’ on as soon as we’ve eaten. So pack up yore gear an’ stand by, ready t’march as soon as Plumnose gets back!”

Halfchop’s face was the picture of dismay. “But didn’t ye say we wuz stayin’ ’ere for a coupla days?”

The little fox gripped his cutlass tighter. “Well, I just changed me mind. A chief can do that!”

Slipback stood paws on hips, facing up to Badredd. “Changed yore mind, eh, jus’ like that! An’ where d’ye think yore takin’ us, eh?”

Raising the cutlass, Badredd took a pace forward and snarled nastily at the weasel. “We’re goin’ to this Abbey place, if ’tis any business of yores. So git yore tackle t’gether!”

Slipback turned to the others, scoffing insolently, “Hah, looks t’me like the liddle fox needs a magic sword t’make ’im look bigger!”

Badredd’s temper snapped. He swung at the weasel’s unprotected back, chopping off his tail with a single blow.

Slipback screeched in pain. “Yeeeaaaargh, me tail!”

His mate, Juppa, hastily slapped a pawful of bank mud on the severed stump. Slipback lay moaning, half fainting with the agony.

Juppa glared accusingly at Badredd. “Ye had no call t’do that to ’im!”

As the fox once again flourished his cutlass, the gang fell back. He saw the fear in their eyes and exulted in it. “Next time anybeast talks t’me like that, I’ll slay ’im! Oh, I know wot ye’ve been sayin’ be’ind me back. Think ye can fool me, do ye? Well, dig the dirt out yore lugs an’ lissen. I’m rulin’ this roost, an’ wot I say goes! I’m goin’ to own that magic sword, aye, an’ take the Abbey, too. Anybeast who sez diff’rent, let ’em speak now!”

Flinky raised his paws placatingly. “Ah, sure now, who’d be wantin’ t’get themselves slayed by battlin’ wid a fine great warrior like yoreself? ’Tis just that we thought ye was goin’ to stop ’ere a few days.”

It was then that Badredd knew he was really the leader of the gang. A feeling of power surged through him. Now he could be as cruel and commanding as Burrad or Skrodd. Had he not just drawn blood? Curling his lip contemptuously, he growled, “I do the thinkin’ from now on. We’re goin’ to the Abbey. Come on, Slipback, up on yer hunkers, ye ain’t dead yet.”

With a poultice of mud and dockleaf tied to his severed tail, the weasel rose slowly, fixing Badredd with a stare of hatred. “There’s eight of us an’ only one of you, fox. Don’t get too big’n’fancy wid yore ideas, ’cos ye’ve still got to sleep at nights. I wouldn’t turn me back on us too often if’n I was you—ye can’t kill us all!”

Badredd realised the truth in Slipback’s statement, but now that he had all this newfound power he was not backing down. With his cutlass blade, Badredd upset the small cauldron of water over the campfire. It went out with a hiss and a cloud of steam.

At that moment, Plumnose came lumbering back through the woodlands. The ferret’s oversized nose wobbled from side to side as he took in the scene. “Huh, wod’s bin goin’ on, mates?”

Flinky began explaining. “Ah well, Plum, me ould messmate, wait’ll I tell ye wot . . .”

Badredd shoved the stoat roughly aside. “I’m the chief now—make yore report t’me. Well, wot did ye find?”

Plumnose pointed in the direction he had been scouting. “Er, over der, I’b found a path dat runs south’t’north. I t’ink dat’s der way to the h’abbey. Id’s aboud h’a day’s march, Chief, to d’path I mean.”

Badredd pointed with his blade. “Get movin’, you lot. Plumnose, you go up front an’ show ’em the way. Slipback, Juppa, Crinktail, Flinky an’ Halfchop, up front wid ’im. I ain’t walkin’ wid youse behind me. Rogg an’ Floggo, you bring up the rear wid me.”

He shook the cutlass at Flinky. “An’ remember this, old silver tongue, no gossipin’ an’ plottin’, ’cos I’ll be watchin’ ye. There’ll be no more coaxin’ me inter things wot I don’t wanna do. Now move yoreselves!”

It was pleasant walking through the woodlands. Patches of light and shade mottled the grass, and many forest blossoms were coming into bloom. The weasel brothers, Rogg and Floggo, were a taciturn pair. Since both of them carried bows and arrows, Badredd had kept them back with him. He explained their duties as he watched the backs of the gang, marching ahead. Badredd confided to the weasel brothers as though they were lifelong friends.

“Stay by my side, mates, I’ll make ye both my seconds in command. Keep yore eyes on the rest of that gang an’ watch me back. Aye, ye two look true’n’blue t’me. When we conquer that Abbey place, I’ll reward ye well. Mark my words, ye’ll live the lives o’ kings!”

Rogg and Floggo were not at all impressed by the little fox’s brags and promises. They had seen gang leaders come and go, each one as ruthlessly cruel as the next. Keeping a stolid silence, the brothers marched dutifully on. Badredd kept a half pace behind them, carrying the cutlass over one shoulder like a spear. He had tried wearing it thrust into his belt, but the blade was too long. It dragged along the ground and got caught twixt his footpaws, causing undignified stumbles. Leaders could not afford to look foolish to those serving them.

Morning wore on to midday. The gang’s initial feelings of a brisk march through pleasant country began to pall as the going got more difficult. Those who were marching in front began complaining when they had to pass through a wide area of stinging nettles. Badredd roared at them to carry on in silence, which they did but only briefly. They had come upon marshy ground—not too deep but very uncomfortable—and soon were grumbling loudly. Swarms of midges attacked as the vermin struggled through the smelly, oozing mud. This time they ignored Badredd’s shouts and threats, even hurling insults back at him. After what seemed like hours, the front marchers emerged onto firm ground. Badredd and his bodyguards Rogg and Floggo hurried to catch up with them.

The gang had found a dry, sunny clearing where they lay, looking sullen and rebellious. One glance at their mud-splashed, insect-bitten faces warned their leader of trouble to come should he start roaring out orders to continue marching. Badredd forestalled this by sitting down wearily and commenting, “Ye did well there, mates, let’s rest ’ere awhile. Ahoy, Plum, are ye sure this is the right way? Are ye sure that hooter o’ yores didn’t wobble in the wrong direction, eh?”