The Fox Cub Bold (17 page)

In the evening she resumed her explorations. A wooded part of the Park attracted her. Under an ash tree a small animal had built a hole. Whisper began to excavate with the intention of enlarging it into a den. As she halted once from her work, she found another fox watching her. It soon became apparent that the animal was another vixen; very young; and in the same condition as herself.

‘I’m sure I’ve never seen you in this wood before,’ said the vixen, in a not unfriendly way.

‘No – nor in the Park,’ Whisper added.

‘Oh? You’ve come from the outside?’ Her astonishment was obvious.

‘Yes, from outside. You see – I’m soon to have a litter of cubs and I wanted protection for them.’

‘Indeed! May I ask how you know of the Nature Reserve?’

‘Why not?’ Whisper decided to cast caution to the winds. ‘Their father was born here.’

The vixen gasped. ‘
Born
here . . . but . . . but . . .’ she stammered, ‘where is he now? Oh, tell me where he is!’

Whisper realized she might have encountered one of Bold’s relatives. ‘I don’t know,’ she wailed. ‘He parted from me whilst I slept. I don’t know where he is now, but – oh! he’s outside the Park somewhere. He didn’t want to come back here . . . in spite of his mate . . . and his unborn cubs,’ Whisper ended miserably.

‘Describe him to me, do!’ begged the other vixen. ‘It’s very important.’

Whisper bowed her head. ‘I’m afraid that would serve no purpose,’ she said with a sad expression. ‘You wouldn’t recognize the description. But I know he was known here as Bold.’

‘Bold!’ cried the vixen joyfully. ‘I knew it! My brother cub!’

‘Your brother? Then you must be –’

‘Charmer,’ interrupted the vixen. ‘But tell me everything, please, everything! Oh, we must find him and bring him here. Our father and mother – and my own brother – all live here still. He must come back, he must!’

Whisper felt more downhearted than ever. How could she tell Charmer that her brother might be close to death? Before she could say anything, Charmer was asking her name.

‘Bold gave me the name of Whisper,’ she answered almost inaudibly, so great was her emotion, ‘because of my stealth.’

Charmer’s eyes shone. ‘Our cubs shall be cousins, Whisper,’ she said excitedly. ‘They will grow up together.’

‘Do you have an earth in this wood?’ Whisper asked.

‘Yes, just a few metres from here. Shall I help you prepare yours?’

Whisper declined her offer. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said, ‘but I prefer to manage things myself as far as my family goes.’

‘I understand,’ said Charmer. ‘You’re quite right – and I’ll leave you. Do I have your permission to inform my parents of your arrival here?’

‘By all means,’ Whisper answered sweetly. ‘They and I – and you, too – have a mutual bond. They have a right to know.’

‘I will come and see you again, Whisper, to hear your story,’ said Bold’s sister vixen. ‘I hope we might be friends. My brother chose his mate well.’

Bold’s last look at Whisper was one of tenderness as she lay dreaming. Her limbs twitched occasionally and from time to time a flicker passed over her face as she followed her imaginary adventures. Bold watched. He was glad he had been able to bring her thus far, though at such cost to himself. Now she would have no difficulty in completing her journey. He stood up shakily and looked out on the sunlit countryside. Spring was approaching. In but a few weeks he would have been one year old.

Bold knew he would not live that long now. But
his
cubs would be born and the whole cycle would begin anew. Now he must make himself scarce. He had not long to reach his hiding-place before Whisper might come looking. With one last affectionate glance at his mate, he hobbled away.

From a high, high branch of a poplar tree, Robber the Carrion Crow watched Bold turn his back on the vixen. He watched in earnest as Bold limped slowly over the wet ground. Where was he going? He decided to investigate. Maintaining a discreet distance to the rear of the fox, he flitted from one tree to another, always keeping him in view. Bold went towards a spinney of silver birch through which he and Whisper had passed the previous night. To and fro he went through the dappled tree-trunks. Robber surmised he was looking for something. He flew closer. Bold had found a hollow log – all that remained of an ancient beech tree. It lay on its side, encrusted with lichen, moss and fungi. As Robber flew up, the fox bent and slunk inside. Robber perched on top and waited. Bold did not re-appear. The bird assumed he had found something to eat inside – or that he was sleeping. He fluttered to the ground and strutted to the open end of the log. He could then see his friend quite clearly. Bold was lying with his head on his paws, but was still quite awake.

‘Robber!’ he exclaimed. ‘Wherever did you spring from?’

‘I didn’t “spring” from anywhere,’ the crow answered. ‘I flew here – as usual. Bold, what are you doing?’

‘That’s my affair,’ came the reply.

‘Of course – if that’s how you feel about it,’ said Robber haughtily, and made as if to go.

‘No – stay. Robber, stay,’ Bold said hastily. ‘I’m sorry. Why shouldn’t you know?’ He paused.

‘Well?’

‘I’m going no further,’ said Bold slowly. ‘Whisper must finish the journey by herself.’

‘But why, when you’ve come so far?’ asked Robber.

‘Look at me,’ said Bold, ‘and look hard. How much do I resemble even the beast
you
once knew?’

Robber shifted his feet awkwardly. ‘But I’m sure, once you reach the Reserve again you’ll soon –’ he began.

‘I’ll soon be dead,’ Bold cut in harshly. ‘Let’s be realistic. I’ve brought my death closer forcing myself on and on, night after night. I’ve done what I promised –I’ve shown Whisper the way. Now her cubs –
our
cubs –will be safe. But I won’t ever see them.’

‘That is a very sad remark,’ Robber said.

‘It’s true nonetheless. Even if I should continue from here, I should never survive long enough for that.’

Robber looked away uncomfortably. ‘She’ll come searching for you,’ he said.

‘I know she will. But she won’t find me,’ Bold answered. ‘I’m going to block up this entrance.’

‘How ever can you do that?’

‘Oh, there’s plenty of dead leaves and grass and such like I can rake together.’

‘I don’t like the thought of it,’ said Robber. ‘You might perish in there.’

‘You know, Robber, by all the laws of Nature I should have perished already,’ replied the fox fatalistically. ‘Do you remember my boast of living the True Wild Life? Well, I haven’t. My life has been as protected outside the Reserve as it would have been inside – only in a different way.’

‘Not true,’ Robber disputed. ‘You wouldn’t have been
shot
in a Nature Reserve.’

‘Foxes have been shot – even there – by poachers,’ Bold informed him. ‘But what’s the point of arguing? You’ve been a good friend to me.’ He got up and stumbled to the end of the log. ‘I’ve no time to lose,’ he said, beginning to scrape together the leaf litter where Robber stood, into a pile.

Robber noticed that Bold found even this a difficult task, although he was using his front paws. He was swaying from side to side in his weak state. The crow tried to be helpful by picking up leaves and grass in his beak and dropping them on the mound.

‘Please don’t trouble,’ said Bold. ‘I’ll get it done, even if it is the last thing I ever accomplish. You should go now, Robber, before you give the game away.’

‘Very well,’ said Robber. ‘But I shan’t stray far. I fear for you.’ He left the poor struggling fox reluctantly, convinced now that the end was near.

Later in the day he saw Whisper set off on her sad, fruitless search. Bold’s precautions proved to be unnecessary as she did not go anywhere near the spinney of silver birch. The next day Robber saw the vixen waiting for him still. He yearned to fly to her, to greet her with the news of Bold’s lair. Yet he baulked at such an act of betrayal.

The next day Whisper was gone. Robber knew she must have reached her objective. He waited no longer. Finding what food he could, he swooped down to the beech log. ‘Bold! Bold!’ he croaked. ‘It is I – Robber!’ He heard nothing. He ‘cawed’ loudly four times and then began feverishly to peck at the bundle that sealed the log’s entrance. He cleared a space and peered in, his head on one side. Bold was there, lying quite still.

‘Bold?’

‘Yes, I’m . . . still here,’ came the animal’s weak voice.

‘Thank goodness! cried Robber, who had suffered a fright. He went back for the food and brought it inside.

Bold slowly raised himself. ‘Can’t . . . eat that,’ he muttered. ‘No point now.’

‘Yes, yes, there is,’ beseeched the crow. ‘Whisper has gone, but you can still live. You
must
.’

‘No . . . appetite,’ said Bold.

‘Try. You’ll feel better. Try!’

Bold licked at Robber’s offering, then took it in his mouth obediently. Robber watched him with gratification.

‘I’ll fetch more,’ he promised, and wasted no time in setting about it.

When he returned, Bold had quitted his hollow trunk and was stretched on the grass, blinking in the March sunlight. Robber pushed a dead fledgling towards him, still almost bald, that had dropped from its nest. Bold grunted. ‘You crows have . . . catholic tastes,’ he managed to say.

‘Bold, it’s not too late to change your mind,’ Robber said urgently. ‘I’ve seen the Park. It’s not far away.’

‘I know you mean well,’ said Bold. ‘But you are wasting . . . your breath. My mind . . . is made up. I can’t hunt – I can barely walk – would you have me remain alive and pampered with food while I lie almost helpless, like a Queen Bee?’

‘You make your point well,’ said Robber. ‘What do you intend to do then?’

‘I shall stay here,’ Bold answered. ‘The log will be my home until –’ He left the rest unsaid.

The fledgling still lay where Robber had left it. ‘Won’t you eat this?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘What shall I find for you then?’

‘Find me nothing and I shall be content,’ said Bold enigmatically. ‘And why do you stay with me? You should be looking for a mate.’

‘I shall do so,’ answered Robber. ‘Eventually.’

Bold knew what he was thinking. ‘You haven’t long to wait, my faithful friend,’ he told him.

The Farthing Wood Fox and his Vixen had remained together even when their cubs had grown and departed. Their inseparability made their relationship a unique one indeed among foxes. So when Charmer visited their earth with her startling news, they heard it together. In the darkness their faces were inscrutable, but their voices betrayed their emotion.

‘I always believed he was still alive,’ said Fox huskily. ‘Bold had the mark of a survivor.’

‘But why doesn’t he wish to return here?’ Vixen asked. ‘Why has he left his mate before his cubs are even born?’

‘Whisper didn’t tell me that,’ said Charmer, ‘so you must ask her yourself.’

‘There’s no need to ask,’ said Fox. ‘Bold is a proud animal. To return to White Deer Park would mean a loss of face.’

‘You are right, Fox,’ said Vixen. ‘I know you are – and yet I also know it to be an absurd notion. Pride can be stretched too far. How can loss of face be important when all his family long to see him?’

‘Those closest to him would be the very ones to fuel his sense of failure,’ said Fox who understood such things. ‘And so it’s necessary for us to go to him as he won’t come to us.’

‘How can we? Even Whisper doesn’t know where he is,’ said Charmer.

‘If Bold led his mate to the Reserve he is still close at hand,’ Fox remarked. ‘And we shall find him.
We
must all go – and Friendly his brother too – to look. But first, we should make the acquaintance of the new young vixen in our midst.’

Whisper was a little abashed to see Charmer leading the famed Fox and Vixen – as well as a strange young male fox – towards her. But their unfeigned delight in seeing her soon put her at her ease. When they explained their plan she looked at their eager faces compassionately.

‘I don’t know how you will find him,’ she said. ‘But, even if you do, you must be prepared for the worst. Even now it may be too late.’

‘Too late? Why, how can it –’ Vixen began.

‘Bold is not the animal you once knew. He is older and wiser for his adventures, but he has suffered a great deal. His energy and physique are severely depleted. He received a terrible injury, long before he and I encountered each other, and he has never recovered from it. The journey he undertook at my behest to bring me to safety was – I freely admit it – too great an ordeal. During the last few days we were together he was failing visibly . . .’

‘Are you telling us, Whisper,’ Vixen asked, barely audibly, ‘that Bold is . . . dying?’ The last word came out as a long sigh.

Whisper groaned. ‘Yes,’ she whined, ‘I believe that to be so.’

‘Then we must go at once!’ cried Friendly. ‘Father, Mother, we must leave now!’

‘Can he be so close and yet . . . so far . . . from us?’ Vixen whispered.

‘We can save him, surely?’ Friendly asked hopelessly. ‘We’re not too late?’

‘I fear . . . the worst,’ Whisper muttered.