The Fox Cub Bold (10 page)

‘I didn’t expect you to,’ replied his companion. ‘I’ll bring enough for both.’ She moved to the edge of the bank and let her body sink into the icy water. Only her head showed above the surface as she paddled towards her victims, the ripples streaming back from her shoulders. Now the rats heard her and pandemonium ensued on their little island. The squeaks became shrieks and they dashed about, colliding with each other, and running this way and that in their terrified indecision. The next moment the female fox pulled herself from the canal and crashed amongst them, snapping to left and right as the rats scattered. Some of them leapt into the water to escape the slaughter and began to strike out for the bank.

Bold lay doggo, his muzzle protruding just an inch or two over the grassy edge. None of the escaping animals could suspect that there was another fox awaiting their arrival on land. As they tried to scramble clear of the canal, Bold felled the first two before those behind saw what fate awaited them. But some of the others hastily paddled further downstream and evaded their certain death.

The vixen started to carry her prey back to land. Soon she and Bold were contemplating the results of their night’s work.

‘You’re a wily hunter,’ Bold commented with satisfaction.

‘You played your part too,’ she answered hastily. ‘We’ve more than enough here.’

‘Light as a whisper,’ he murmured to himself. ‘And so I shall call you.’

‘Whisper? Then I must have a name for you.’

‘I am called Bold,’ he said, ‘and bold I was. I wish you had known me then.’

‘I too,’ said Whisper. ‘Well, Bold – let’s eat.’

They took as much as they wanted and ate in a dark, concealed spot without fear of interruption.

‘Tomorrow we can come back for the rest,’ said Bold. ‘We must hide our catch away.’

This they did, and covered it with earth and twigs. But Bold kept one of the rats back.

‘Haven’t you had enough then?’ Whisper asked him with surprise.

‘It’s not for me,’ he explained.

‘Then for whom?’

‘Robber – the crow.’

‘
Crow
?’ she echoed. ‘How absurd.’

‘No, not absurd,’ Bold said patiently. ‘We have a bargain between us. He brings me food – and I him. He kept me alive on more than one occasion.’

‘Well, this is strange,’ said Whisper uncomprehendingly. ‘But I didn’t go rat-catching for the sake of a bird.’

‘Then it is one
I
caught,’ said Bold pointedly.

‘Indeed.’ She stared at him. ‘But your unusual arrangement can end now. You have no need of such an ally any longer.’

Bold held his tongue. He was not prepared to dispute the case. Robber was his friend and he had no intention of deserting him. It seemed that Whisper might be a little jealous.

There came the point on their return journey when their ways lay in different directions.

‘Where do you sleep?’ Whisper wanted to know.

Bold explained. ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ he added. ‘And you?’

‘I have an earth,’ she answered. ‘You would be safer still there.’

‘I’m most grateful, Whisper,’ he said. ‘But tonight I must return to my usual place. Robber will be looking for his titbit at daybreak.’

‘Please yourself,’ she said shortly. ‘I’ll be at the waterside tomorrow night.’

‘And so will I,’ said Bold.

Robber was delighted and amazed with Bold’s present and croaked a harsh little song to himself in his pleasure. ‘Things are looking up, Bold, my young friend,’ he said afterwards. ‘You’re a hunter again!’

Bold had to deny his prowess. ‘I had help,’ he said.

‘Oh-ho. It isn’t a certain young – er – ’

‘Yes, yes,’ Bold cut in good-humouredly. ‘A young female. After today you won’t see me here, Robber. She has her own den – with room for me.’

‘Well, well, that
is
good news,’ remarked Robber. ‘Er–I suppose you’ll still be hereabouts, will you? I shall stay on till the spring.’

‘Oh, yes. Hereabouts,’ Bold assented. ‘From now on I’ll leave you your share of the catch under the privet hedge.’

‘Oh, no!’ said the crow. ‘Forget about me. No need to worry.
I
can manage. You’ll have other things to do now.’

‘Well, if you want to see me, or need me for anything,’ said Bold, ‘leave a message under the hedge. Do you follow me?’

‘I do indeed, my friend. And you will do likewise?’

‘I most certainly will.’

‘Good. Then that’s settled,’ said Robber, ‘and very amicably too. And now for that rat.’

The next night Bold and Whisper unearthed their cache of food by the canal and enjoyed their second meal together. This time Bold did not reserve a portion for the crow, and the pair of foxes demolished the remainder of their catch. Whisper was quick to notice this point and the significance of it was not lost upon her.

‘You’ll be returning with me to my den?’ she asked her companion.

‘Yes, I shall,’ Bold answered diffidently.

‘You’ll find it a deal more comfortable than sleeping above ground – and warmer too,’ she remarked.

They went together to the canal bank to lap at the inky water. There was no sign of activity on the rats’ island. It seemed those that had escaped the foxes’ hungry jaws had deserted the site. Whisper led Bold away from the canal and along different paths towards the other side of the town. They came to a large churchyard enclosed by an old stone wall. Now they were suddenly faced with a problem, since Whisper’s earth lay within this boundary and she had been accustomed to jump the wall at a low point to reach it.

‘There must be another way in?’ Bold asked her hopefully.

‘I don’t think so. I completely forgot about your difficulty in jumping. Oh, Bold, what a stupid creature I am! But we’re not beaten yet.’

‘Of course we’re not. You know I can dig.’

‘It may be the only way; but let me do a bit of reconnoitring.’

She left him lying, rather too conspicuously for his liking, against the wall where a growth of ivy provided only a scant cover. After making a quick circuit, she came back.

‘I think I’ve found the answer,’ said Whisper. ‘Follow me.’

She took Bold to a spot where the stones of the ancient wall had started to crumble. She began to scratch at the falling blocks with a backward, kicking motion, and succeeded in making a small hole in the stonework.

‘Only big enough for a weasel to get through,’ Bold muttered unhelpfully.

‘Be patient,’ said Whisper and recommenced scratching at the surrounding stones with her front paws. The wall continued to crumble and the hole grew gradually in size. Whisper paused, panting with the effort.

‘My turn now,’ said Bold and scrabbled vigorously with his claws until the hole was large enough to push his head through. ‘Only a little more, I think,’ he said, and soon he could slip his body through so that the hairs of his coat just brushed the sides. Whisper followed him. She trotted through the tombstones, this way and that, until, under the lee of the wall on the far side of the churchyard, she reached the entrance to her earth.

Bold looked at it. ‘It’s well concealed,’ he observed. There was thick ground-ivy, and piles of dead leaves that had fallen from an overhanging horse-chestnut lay all around. ‘How did you find it?’ He followed her inside.

‘Oh, in the course of my travels,’ she told him.

It was a few degrees warmer inside the earth than the outside air. To a fox that meant everything. Bold stretched himself luxuriously. The smell of the vixen was strong, along with the usual musty dampness of an underground home.

‘Are you tired?’ Whisper asked.

‘Yes,’ Bold replied. ‘And content.’

‘I’m glad about that,’ she said. ‘I think you’ve found life very hard recently?’

‘I have,’ Bold admitted. ‘I didn’t expect to find Death staring me in the face quite so soon.’

Whisper pondered awhile. ‘You must have seen several winters, I suppose?’ she murmured drowsily.

Bold, already half-asleep, thought he had misheard. ‘What did you say?’

‘Oh, I was only wondering about your life before you got hurt,’ she said. ‘Did you range far over the seasons?’

Now Bold sat up. ‘You mistake me,’ he said. ‘I’ve yet to survive my first winter.’ He was most indignant.

Whisper’s mouth dropped open. She was stunned. ‘But – but,’ she stammered. ‘Can this be true? I am – ’

‘It’s certainly true,’ Bold snapped. ‘I opened my eyes for the first time last spring.’

‘You must forgive me,’ Whisper answered. ‘I had no idea. You seem so . . . But you’re not much more than a cub then? I myself am a season older!’

‘This is your
second
winter?’ Bold asked. Now he was surprised, though he didn’t really know why.

‘Indeed it is. You see, I thought . . . Of course, your injury . . .’ she broke off in embarrassment.

‘I hadn’t realized I’d aged quite so much,’ Bold remarked sourly. He was quite taken aback by the revelation. What
had
happened to his appearance?

‘Then you were born nearby, perhaps?’ Whisper ventured to ask.

‘No, no – a long way away. I roamed wide and far in the early days. It was my idea to be part of the real world . . .’ The words were out before Bold could stop them.

‘The
real
world?’ she queried. ‘What do you mean?’

Bold took a deep breath. ‘I was born in a Nature Reserve: a place called White Deer Park.’

‘A strange choice – to leave a Reserve for the world outside,’ Whisper commented. ‘What could be better than such protection; such a safe haven?’

‘You are right, Whisper,’ Bold acknowledged. ‘I left my family behind – my brother and sister cubs – and other friendly creatures. I left the Park of my own free will, alone, in a spirit of adventure. I wanted to discover the things that lay outside the Reserve. But all I succeeded in doing was to become a challenge to Man and – and – suffered for my arrogance. Oh, I admit it! And now it’s too late to change course. I shall never again be the strong, healthy animal my father himself was proud to have sired.’

‘Alas! Poor Bold,’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘But tell me about your father.’

Bold grunted. ‘What is there to tell about him that’s not known already? It seems everyone knows his history.’

‘Is he so famous then?’ Whisper asked incredulously.

‘Yes, he is famous – the Fox from Farthing Wood.’

Whisper drew a sharp breath. ‘
He
is your father? Oh, Bold . . .’ What more was there to say? The epic journey that his father had undertaken had made him a legend among the animals. Now his son had thrown that all away.
He
had only clamoured for the dangers, the excitement that his father had sought to escape.

‘I can never return there,’ Bold said. ‘You must see that.’

‘I see you have been very foolish,’ Whisper said honestly, ‘and yet, what a brave fox you must have been . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she gazed at him with glistening eyes. It was at that very moment that an idea came into her mind that soon became a very firm resolve. Of course, Bold knew none of it. Whisper meant to keep silent until that idea should become a reality. She composed herself to sleep.

Bold stayed wakeful, despite his weariness. Their talk had re-opened old wounds, old regrets and old sorrows for him. He thought of Vixen, his mother – more graceful, more lithe, more skilful even than Whisper. Did she ever think of him? Yes, of course – she must do. But of one thing he felt quite certain. She would never see her bold, brave young cub again . . .

Whisper’s mistaken idea of his own age made Bold determined to examine himself more closely. So, a few days later, when the opportunity arose, he left the young vixen sleeping in her earth, and emerged slowly and carefully into the daylight. Nothing moved in the churchyard. The ground was hard and rimed with frost, but the air was clear and it was brilliantly sunny. Bold made his way to the hole in the stone wall and slipped through; then he set his course for the canal.

He moved along the familiar paths with extreme caution. There was no sense of bravado in this daylight jaunt. The last jot of that had been dissipated long before. He reached the waterside without any trouble and, with some trepidation, peered over the bank. The water was as smooth as silk and a perfect reflection of himself appeared, undisturbed by a single ripple. Bold gazed at it for a long moment, keeping quite still. Certainly, this image was of no youngster, but of a mature fox – an animal who had had to struggle hard to maintain a grip on its existence. The visage was long and lean. A scar over one eye ran into its corner, making it appear as if it were only half open. The fur on the head and body was not a bright red but a darker, duller hue. There was no healthy shine to be seen anywhere on the coat. The damaged leg appeared shrunken and wasted against the three healthier ones and the brush, thin and tufted, hung limply behind as if ashamed of itself. But it was the eyes of the beast that told Bold’s story most vividly. There was a dullness about them and a sort of bewilderment in their expression, mixed with a sense of defeat and an overall sadness.