The Siege of White Deer Park (17 page)

He was seen. The Cat growled softly. Mossy could think of only one thing to do. ‘You’re seen!’ he cried. ‘I see you!’

It might have been that the shrill squeaks of the little mole were more or less inaudible to the Cat, or it might have been that the great beast saw Mossy as a welcome extra morsel after the previous night’s bad hunting. Either way it paid no attention to his feeble challenge, except to extend one vast paw to pull him close.

Somehow Mossy managed to circumvent the paw and he scurried out of the chamber and began to dig frantically at the soil outside. He was a lightning fast digger and, with three heaves, his head and front paws and half his body had disappeared to safety. He tore at the earth in fury, pulling his body after him, down, down
and down into the familiar territory of darkness that enveloped him like a caress.

The Cat was not to be outdone, however. It saw where the tiny animal had gone and set about digging after him. It ripped up clods of the soft soil, scrabbling with both front paws in an angry fit of exasperaton. Mossy could hear the thunder above him and dug down deeper. But the Cat’s paws were gaining.

A witness of the struggle flew desparately to help. The miserable and sleepless Tawny Owl was now brave Mossy’s only hope.

Tawny Owl had been perched on a branch, away from his friends, unhappily contemplating the prospect of further deaths in the community. He had tried in vain to doze in the sunlight, although for a time he kept his eyes firmly shut. At last he gave up and when he opened his eyes he saw, at a distance, the Cat emerge from the midst of a thick bush and begin digging determinedly. Owl was too far away to have seen the small body of Mossy but he knew, better than any creature, that it was now time for the Cat to honour its pledge.

He launched himself into the air and flew swiftly to a nearby tree. Then, at the top of his voice, he cried, ‘I CAN SEE YOU, CAT!’

The animal stopped its digging momentarily and looked around. When it spied Tawny Owl it snarled angrily. Owl quivered but held on. The respite allowed Mossy to tunnel deeper and get farther away.

Tawny Owl noted the Cat made no move. There was a look of fury on its face at being discovered. Owl said, ‘You said I’d never see you again. You were wrong. I think you – er – must yield now.’

‘YIELD?’ the Cat roared terrifyingly. ‘To an owl?’

‘You gave your word,’ Tawny Owl whispered, barely
able to speak. He guessed the pledge was worthless and that now there was no hope for any of them.

The Cat roared again, making the ground vibrate with the din. Badger had heard the first roar and had run to his set entrance in alarm. He had regretted sending the tiny mole on such a dangerous exploration and now he looked around for him in desperation. When the second roar rang out he could stand still no longer. He started to run towards the sound.

By the time he could see the Cat, the animal was digging again and Badger surmised immediately what it was digging for.

‘Oh Mole,’ he cried to himself in anguish and he increased his pace. Now he noticed Tawny Owl. ‘Owl, Owl,’ he called breathlessly. ‘Do something!’

‘It’s no use,’ the bird wailed. ‘We’re helpless. The Beast has broken its promise.’

Badger lumbered up, panting but filled with resolution.

‘Leave that worthless morsel,’ he gasped, putting himself in front of the Cat. ‘What good is that mouthful to you?
I’m
more fitted to your appetite. Let me take his place.’

The Cat paused. It turned round and, with a malicious glare, stared at Badger in the fading daylight with undisguised contempt.

‘Feeble, powerless weaklings,’ it spat at him. ‘I could slay
all
of you!’

Badger quailed, despite his determination. Tawny Owl watched in agony on his branch. What
could
he do?

The Cat’s eyes blazed with the intensity of living fire. Suddenly a roar, like a distant echo of the Cat’s, could be heard far away. The Beast’s majestic head snapped round, its ears pricking up erect as sentinels. The sound
was repeated on a higher note. In an instant the Cat forgot about Badger, Tawny Owl and the hidden Mossy and, in the failing light, lifted up its head and roared deafeningly. The call was answered, now not so distant. The Cat leapt up gracefully, clearing all the surrounding obstacles with ease, and bounded away through the trees.

Badger and Tawny Owl, the two old friends, looked at each other hesitantly. Was there
another
of the Beasts? As they held their silence, more roars could be heard, the one answering the other. Now more Park animals began to make themselves seen, asking each other what these awful sounds portended.

Badger said quietly to Tawny Owl, ‘Let’s go back and mix with the others. Mole will make his own way home.’

Now Tawny Owl understood about the digging. He made no comment on Badger’s use of the name ‘Mole’.

They found Fox and Vixen and Weasel in a cheerful mood that contrasted strangely with their own.

‘Why such long faces?’ Weasel chided them. ‘This is cause for celebration.’

‘Celebration?’ Badger muttered. ‘How can you –’ He broke off. A light seemed to penetrate his thoughts. ‘Can it be?’ he asked himself. And then he heard it. The cries of hundreds of birds, chirping and singing joyfully.

‘Oh tell me, Weasel – Fox – someone – tell me what you think,’ begged Badger.

‘Those roars can mean only one thing,’ said Weasel. ‘The Cat has been called away. It’s still spring. That could only be the call of a female crying for a mate!’

The roars were becoming fainter and, as they listened, dusk began to descend.

‘Yes,’ said Fox. ‘It seems that what we’ve striven for so
hopelessly all along, has now been achieved by an outside influence.’

The birds were still singing. The animals thrilled at the sound. They were crying, ‘It’s left the Park! It’s left the Park!’

During the last few days of spring the animals could not quite believe their Park had been returned to them. The Farthing Wood community had listened to Mossy’s description of the cavern, and they had gone to the spot to look at the entrance behind the thick bushes that concealed it. Fox and Vixen had even scrambled inside to look. But the grisly remains of the Beast’s last meals had soon prompted their return to fresher air. They told none of the others what they had seen.

Some of the birds who had so gladly broadcast the Cat’s departure had not been satisfied with that alone. They had flown into open country to follow the route it took. They saw the other Cat that had called it away – a slightly smaller beast, but equally powerful in their eyes. And this one’s power did not extend merely to strength. With some surprise, the birds watched the excited meeting of the two Cats. For the smaller animal appeared to dominate the great creature that had terrorized the Park. Wherever she led, the male followed. She called to him frequently as they went and, almost with a sort of meekness, he was content to do her bidding. He ambled in her wake quite happily, and such was their stride that they were soon a long way from the Reserve. It was apparent that the female’s territory was in quite another area. Eventually the birds returned home with the news.
One of them remarked that ‘it was as if the Beast had been tamed’.

So the roars and screams of the great Cat were heard no more in White Deer Park. The animals’ lives resumed an ordinariness that at times seemed almost dull by its comparison with the frights and fears they had endured for so long.

‘It almost seems now,’ Friendly remarked to his father, ‘that the danger we faced day after day added a sort of zest to our existence.’

Fox disagreed. ‘When you reach my time of life,’ he replied, ‘what you call “zest” is something you only want to recall in your memories. And Vixen and I have plenty of those.’

Soon Squirrel came back to the fold and the group of old friends was more or less complete again.

The opinions of the older creatures – Badger, Tawny Owl, Weasel, Toad and Whistler – tallied with those of Fox. They looked forward to nothing more than a period of peace to enjoy for as long as they were able to gather together. But the opinion of one old friend was not known, and that was Adder’s. He had not put in an appearance since the siege of the Nature Reserve had been lifted. Only Leveret had seen him since that time, and the snake’s excuse had been, as usual, a cryptic one. His remark had puzzled Leveret who had passed it on to the others, hoping for some enlightenment. There was none offered. They were as mystified as he. For Adder had merely referred to the fact that he had recently become interested ‘in a new association’.

The summer waxed and waned and the chill of autumn crackled with the clash of antlers of the stags in the white deer herd. The Great Stag had many rivals now and had more difficulty than ever before in holding his place. The
fawns who had survived the ravages of the stranger’s raids had grown too, and eventually the leadership would be passed on, perhaps many seasons hence, to one of these. Whatever happened, the herd that had given the Park its name would still be there, stepping gracefully through the woods and grassland of the Nature Reserve.

Another winter beckoned. Deep in his set, with a thick pile of bedding around him, Badger wondered if it would be his last. His old bones were beginning to ache with age and the cold, and he found himself thinking again about his ancient system of tunnels in Farthing Wood. In a soft, rather feeble but warm voice he said to Mossy, who was visiting, ‘It was a wonderful set, Mole. Do you remember the Assembly, when the whole Wood gathered in my home to talk?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Mossy. ‘I remember. I wonder what Farthing Wood is like now?’

Colin Dann won the Arts Council National Award for Children’s Literature for his first novel,
The Animals of Farthing Wood
.