Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

Fenna took over, grasping the weeping hare’s shoulders. “Don’t be silly, Horty Braebuck, and listen to me. What’s all this carrying on for, eh? You’re hungry, right? Tell me when you aren’t hungry! What then, your head’s aching? Stands to reason, you’ve suffered a nasty bang on it. But as for going blind, that’s nonsense! It’s so dark in this forest at nighttime that none of us can see much. Here, take hold of this stick and follow me. Don’t keep fiddling with that dressing on your head or it’ll never get better. Saro, have you any food left?”

The squirrel produced a few mushrooms. “I saved these.”

Fenna gave the mushrooms to Horty. “Eat them slowly, take small bites and chew each mouthful twenty times. Come on, up you come, we’ve still got a lot of ground to cover yet.”

They marched all night, with Bragoon scouting ahead and Saro keeping them on course. The otter returned in dawn’s first glimmer, bringing with him a heap of ripe bilberries in his cloak.

“Lookit wot I found! I think there must be a river ahead, I could hear the sound of running water in the distance. Sit down an’ get yore gums round a few o’ these, Horty mate, they’re nice’n’ripe. We’ll rest ’ere awhile.”

Horty was considerably less sorrowful when there was food in the offing. “Mmmm, better’n those measly mushrooms. I say, you chaps, I can see better. Flippin’ bandage must’ve fell down over me eyes last night, wot. Oh corks, now everything’s gone flippin’ green! Why’s it all green?”

Springald explained. “Because it isn’t properly light yet, it’s the day breaking over the treetops. Pines grow so thick in here that it makes the light look green.”

But Horty would not be convinced. “Fiddlesticks, you’re only sayin’ that t’make a chap feel better. Ah well, I don’t mind spendin’ the rest o’ me life in a green fug. Hawhaw, lookit old Brag, sour apple face, an’ you, too, Spring, little lettuce features, an’ you Fenn, young grassgob!”

Saro stared at him pointedly. “Ye missed me out?”

Having devoured all the available berries, Horty lay back and closed his eyes. “Hush now, let a chap get some rest, cabbage head!”

The squirrel chuckled. “That’s more like the ole Horty we all know an’ dread.”

Midmorning found them back trekking once more, eager to be out of the oppressive pine forest. The further on they went, the more pronounced came the sound of flowing water.

Saro stopped to listen. “Sounds like a fairly wide river. Have ye got that ole map from the Abbey, mate?”

Bragoon produced the map, which had been made during the journey of Matthias of Redwall in search of his son Mattimeo. He scanned it closely. “Aye, we’re on the right course, though I think we took a different route t’get to it. This is the high cliffs, here’s the wastelands an’ this is the pines we’re in now. There should be some sort of open area ahead, then a big river. We’ll soon see, mates. Press on, eh!”

They emerged onto the edge of a deep valley, the hill below them thickly dotted with smaller pines and lots of shrubbery. Below it was the narrowest strip of bank. Beyond that, a wide, fast-flowing river glimmered in the sunlight. Halfway down, the travellers halted on a shale ledge. They still had some way to go, and the descent looked fairly steep. Horty sat down, yawning in the heat. He rested his face in both paws.

Saro prodded him. “Are ye alright, head achin’ is it?”

The young hare nodded. “A bit, but I’m more tired than anything.”

Saro indicated an overhang that was screened by bushes. “Tuck yoreself in there young ’un an’ take a snooze. I’ll call ye when we’re ready to move.”

The four travellers slithered and bumped down the steep hillside, grasping trees and bushes to slow their descent. They were about halfway down when Bragoon sighted the reptiles. He halted, pointing.

“Down yonder on the riverside below us. Those reptiles I dealt with last night are waitin’ for us. Trouble is, they’ve brought a pile o’ their gang with ’em!”

Saro counted the assorted lizards, newts, toads, smooth snakes and grass snakes awaiting them on the shore. There were about thirty in all, with another twoscore camped on the opposite bank of the river.

A thin reed lance zipped upward, narrowly missing Fenna’s cheek. She stumbled, almost overbalancing, but Bragoon managed to grab her. “Take cover quick, they’re throwin’ lances!”

To one side of the slope, a fallen pine had lodged flat between two standing trees. Crouching behind it, Saro fitted a stone to her sling and launched it off at the reptiles. Cautiously, she peered over the log, noting that a toad had hopped out of the way of her stone. “They ain’t movin’, just waitin’ for us down there. Let’s give ’em another couple o’ slingstones, mate!”

Both she and Bragoon slung more stones as Springald and Fenna threw lumps of shale. They were forced to duck fast as a half dozen of the sharp, thin lances came back at them.

The otter thumped his rudder down irritably. “Well, this ain’t goin’ t’get us to Loamhedge. Those cold-blooded scum ’ave got us pinned down ’ere!”

Springald picked up one of the lances and threw it back. “It’s a stand-off, what are we going to do?”

Sarobando passed her sling to the mousemaid. “Ye can use this, ’tis a good sling. But I’ll want it back later. This is wot we’ll do. While you three keep slingin’ stones, I’ll slide off through the trees an’ take a scout round downriver. I’ll find a good quiet spot where the river narrows for an easy crossin’. Then I’ll slip back ’ere an’ let ye know. Once ’tis dark, we can all sneak away an’ escape. Right?”

Fenna nodded. “Sounds like a good idea!”

Bragoon raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like? Let me tell ye, missy, when my ole mate gets an idea, ’tis always a good ’un!”

Saro gave him a quick grin. “Thankee, Brag. Now let’s give ’em a good rattlin’ volley to keep their ’eads down while I pop off unnoticed. One . . . Two . . . Three!”

Slingstones and lumps of shale peppered down at the foebeasts below. When Springald looked up, Saro had gone. Bragoon shoved the mousemaid’s head back down as more lances came.

“Always duck fast once ye’ve throwed, Spring. There’s more pore beasts been injured or slain in fights by lookin’ up to see where their stones went. Ready agin, come on, let’s give ’em a spot o’ blood’n’vinegar. Yahaaar! Try some o’ this, ye scum-backed, bottle-nosed crawlers!”

Horty slept on beneath the overhang, blissfully unaware of what was taking place.

31

Saro put some distance between herself and the skirmish. Ahead lay a sweeping bend in the river. Making her way down to the bank, she skirted the bend and began jogging steadily along the shore. It was peaceful and quiet, with only the crunch of pebbles beneath her footpaws mingling with the murmur of riverwater, echoing off the high, wooded slopes on either side. As she got round the bend, Saro caught the sound of deep, gruff voices singing a river shanty. She pressed on toward the singing. It was a song she knew, and she was fairly certain who the singers would be. The aging squirrel joined in with the melodious music.

“Wally wally dampum dearie,

I’ll sail back home next spring.

Kiss all the babies for me,

an’ teach the lot to sing.

Toodle aye toodle oo, me daddy’s a shrew,

whose face I can’t recall,

but I’ll stay home all season long,

until I hears him call.