The other vermin knew it was useless to protest. Shoving against one another, they seized the remaining food and hurried after the old fox.
Morning had ended when they reached the banks of the broadstream. The pace had been furious, and the vermin were panting for breath. Sometimes they had to run to keep up with Gulo; other times they went at a swift jog as he trotted in front of them, wagging his paw at rocky outcrops and speaking to them as though they were living creatures.
“Tell him he cannot hide from me, the Walking Stone is mine by right. Thy days are numbered, brother!”
Without warning, Gulo halted on the streambank and smiled. “ ’Tis pleasant here, do ye not think?”
The old fox nodded. “Aye, pleasant, Lord.”
The wolverine lay down amid the moss on the sunny bank where he curled up and promptly went to sleep.
The others watched him in puzzlement. The old fox shrugged, his face expressively silent as he beckoned them to follow their leader’s example. With a collective sigh of relief, the weary vermin settled down to sleep.
Serene summer afternoon pervaded the area—it was, as Gulo had remarked, pleasant. Over the smooth-running broadstream, dragonflies patrolled on iridescent wings. Mayflies basked on rush stalks, whilst yellow brimstone and swallowtail moths grazed among the late-flowering hawthorns. Osiers spread their variegated shade over the bankmoss, creating dappled patterns when stirred by the warm, gentle breeze. A kingfisher swooped over the water, glinting like a bejewelled brooch. The cooing of distant woodpigeons blended with small birdsong in the background. The old fox slept on, dismissing the thought of Gulo actually having described the scene as pleasant. The wolverine had never commented on nature’s beauties, but his mind was crazed, so the old fox absolved him from this temporary lapse.
Noon shadows were lengthening when the vermin arose. Gulo was already awake and seemed in good humour. He sat watching the head of Herag drifting away on the broadstream current.
Without turning, the wolverine spoke to his remaining followers, the usual shouting and snarling absent in his tone. “I knew that one was going to run, so I stayed awake and watched him until he made one foolish move.”
He turned to Duge, explaining almost apologetically, “Gulo has to make examples for his warriors to follow, do ye not think?”
Totally robbed of words, the ermine could only nod.
As Gulo surveyed his remaining seven followers, his eyes glittered evilly. He rose and continued the march, calling to them, “Now that we are rested, we will carry on through the night until dawn. Methinks we will soon sight the Redwall place.”
Behind them the broadstream placidly flowed on into evening, the bank where they had camped restored to its former serenity, as though murder had never occurred there. A pleasant place.
The old fox tramped on through the long night hours. Like the rest, he was afraid not to keep up or to fall behind through tiredness. Truly Gulo was mad! Who in his right mind would slay a warrior from a force so severely diminished? But now nobeast would even think of deserting. The old fox bit down hard on his lip to keep himself awake as he stumbled onward, reflecting. It was a salutary lesson, enforced by a beast made cunning by madness.
36
It was late afternoon on the day following the continuous drizzle. During the night, the rain had ceased altogether. Dawn rose brilliantly over a small camp in southeast Mossflower. Doogy Plumm, Yoofus Lightpaw and his wife Didjety, together with the little tortoise Rockbottom, had spent a passably comfortable night. In a worn old sandstone formation they had come across amidst the trees, they had made a small shelter by laying boughs and ferns over an undercut ledge. Bright sunlight reflected in each dewdrop hanging from bush and bough. Somewhere nearby, two finches were cheeping, and a mistle thrush warbling. Rising sunrays shafted through the foliage.
But it was not the plop of dewdrops or the charming birdsong which wakened the sturdy Highlander—it was Yoofus. Unable to sleep, and in an effort to stir his wife into providing breakfast from the sack which now served as her pillow, the water vole began singing and tapping a footpaw against the great drum. Boom baboom babumpitty bumpetty boom!
“Sure there was an ould vole called Dumplety Tim,
now wasn’t he just the grand feller.
He wore britches of scarlet, a scarf snowy white,
an’ a tailcoat with buttons of yeller.
He could dance a fine jig in his high-buckled boots,
he could quaff off a flagon of scrumpy,
he wore a great feather of green in his hat,
an’ his stummick was round, fat an’ lumpy.
Ah rumplety bumplety Dumplety Tim,
he could charm all the ladies around.
He was merry’n’cheery an’ never grew weary,
the smile on his face never frowned.
Such a nice darlin’ creature in every fine feature,
you’d hear any ould biddy remark,
‘He’s oh so polite an’ from mornin”til night,
he can sing like a silver-tongued lark.’
Ah rumplety bumplety dumplety . . . Yowwwccch!”
Yoofus was knocked sideways as the loaded foodsack clouted him over the head. Didjety, who had thrown it, stood over him, paws akimbo.
“Now will ye hush that rambunctious din! Yore frightenin’ all the frogs in the neighbourhood with that racket!”
Yoofus massaged his ear ruefully. “But I thought ye were fond of me singin’!”
Doogy unwrapped the cloak from around his head. “Singin’ ye call it? Och, ’tis more like somebeast killin’ a duck with a mallet! Thief is the right title for ye. Ah’ve been robbed o’ mah sleep with all that drumbangin’ an’ caterwaulin’!”
The incorrigible Yoofus gave him a wink and a grin. He began rummaging in the foodsack. “Ah, but Mister Plumm, me ould darlin’, ye wouldn’t want to be sleepin’ such a sunny mornin’ away now, would ye? Sure a day like this gives a beastie like meself a roarin’ appetite. Let’s see wot we’ve got fer brekkist.”
Didjety snatched the foodsack from him. “I’m in charge of the rations around here! Stir yore stumps now, an’ find me some firewood.”
Thrusting her head into the sack, the volewife investigated its contents, then called to her husband, “Don’t bother yoreself with the firewood. There’s nothin’ in here but a few crusts an’ me cookin’ pan an’ kettle.”
The volethief’s jaw dropped. “Ye mean t’tell me we’re out o’ vittles?”
Didjety’s paws poked through a big hole in the bottom of the sack. “Indeed we are, an’ here’s the reason why!”
Her husband’s normally cheerful face was the picture of misery. “We’ll starve t’death completely, so we will!”
The volewife glared at Doogy and Yoofus. “All the more reason for you two witless wanderers to find the Abbey o’ Redwall then, isn’t it?”
Yoofus pointed the paw at Doogy. “ ’Twas him that got us lost, not me!”
The Highlander defended himself indignantly. “Och, ye wee fibber! Who was it wanted us tae turn left at that three-topped oak last night, instead o’ right as I suggested, eh?”
Yoofus looked shocked. “Startin’ that, are we? Then who suggested we turn west by the stream yesterday mornin’? Tell me that, ye great fluffy-tailed fraud!”
He dodged behind the drum as Doogy came after him angrily. “Ah never said west. Ah was all for carryin’ on north!”
Yoofus hooted. “North? Sure ye wouldn’t know north from the nutnose on yore face. I was the one who said to go north. I may be a thief, but I ain’t a liar like some I could mention!”
Doogy was outraged. “Who are ye callin’ a liar? Ah’ll punch yore fat head intae the middle o’ next season—aye, an’ send yore fat wee bottom after it!”