Watership Down (68 page)

       
He tore over the crest and down toward the cattle shed. When Hazel had told him what he was to do, it had seemed to him that his task would consist of leading the dog on and persuading it to follow him. Now he was running simply to save his life, and that at a speed he had never touched before, a speed he knew he could not keep up.

       
In actual fact Dandelion covered three hundred yards to the cattle shed in a good deal less than half a minute. But as he reached the straw at the entrance it seemed to him that he had run forever. Hazel and the farmyard were long, long ago. He had never done anything in his life but run in terror down the lane, feeling the dog's breath at his haunches. Inside the gate a big rat ran across in front of him and the dog checked at it for a moment. Dandelion gained the nearest shed and went headlong between two bales of straw at the foot of a pile. It was a narrow place and he turned round only with some difficulty. The dog was immediately outside, scratching eagerly, whining and throwing up loose straw as it sniffed along the foot of the bales.

       
"Sit tight," said a young rat, from the straw close beside him. "It'll be off in a minute. They're not like cats, you know."

       
"That's the trouble," said Dandelion, panting and rolling the whites of his eyes. "It mustn't lose me; and time's everything."

       
"What?" said the rat, puzzled. "What you say?"

       
Without answering, Dandelion slipped along to another crack, gathered himself a moment and then broke cover, running across the yard to the opposite shed. It was open-fronted and he went straight through to the boarding along the back. There was a gap under the broken end of a board and here he crept into the field beyond. The dog, following, thrust its head into the gap and pushed, barking with excitement. Gradually the loose board levered open like a trapdoor until it was able to force its way through.

       
Now that he had a better start, Dandelion kept in the open and ran down the field to the hedge beside the road. He knew he was slower, but the dog seemed slower, too. Choosing a thick part, he went through the hedge and crossed the road. Blackberry came to meet him, scuttering down the further bank. Dandelion dropped exhausted in the ditch. The dog was not twenty feet away on the other side of the hedge. It could not find a big enough gap.

       
"It's faster than ever I thought," gasped Dandelion, "but I've taken the edge off it. I can't do any more. I must go to ground. I'm finished."

       
It was plain that Blackberry was frightened.

       
"Frith help me!" he whispered. "I'll never do it!"

       
"Go on, quick," said Dandelion, "before it loses interest. I'll overtake you and help if I can."

       
Blackberry hopped deliberately into the road and sat up. Seeing him, the dog yelped and thrust its weight against the hedge. Blackberry ran slowly along the road toward a pair of gates that stood opposite each other further down. The dog stayed level with him. As soon as he was sure that it had seen the gate on its own side and meant to go to it, Blackberry turned and climbed the bank. Out in the stubble he waited for the dog to reappear.

       
It was a long time coming; and when at last it pushed its way between the gatepost and the bank into the field, it paid him no attention. It nosed along the foot of the bank, put up a partridge and bounced after it and then began to scratch about in a clump of dock plants. For some time Blackberry felt too terrified to move. Then, in desperation, he hopped slowly toward it, trying to act as though he had not noticed that it was there. It dashed after him, but almost at once seemed to lose interest and returned to its nosing and sniffing over the ground. Finally, when he was utterly at a loss, it set off over the field of its own accord, padding easily along beside one of the rows of threshed straw, trailing the broken cord and pouncing in and out at every squeak and rustle. Blackberry, sheltering behind a parallel row, kept level with it. In this manner they covered the distance to the pylon line, halfway to the foot of the down. It was here that Dandelion caught up with him.

       
"It's not fast enough, Blackberry! We
must
get on. Bigwig may be dead."

       
"I know, but at least it's going the right way. I couldn't get it to move at all, to start with. Can't we--"

       
"It's got to come up the down at speed or there'll be no surprise. Come on, we'll draw it together. We'll have to get ahead of it first, though."

       
They ran fast through the stubble until they neared the trees. Then they turned and crossed the dog's line in full view. This time it pursued instantly and the two rabbits reached the undergrowth at the bottom of the steep with no more than ten yards to spare. As they began to climb they heard the dog crashing through the brittle elders. It barked once and then they were out on the open slope with the dog running mute behind them.

*
     
*
     
*

       
The blood ran over Bigwig's neck and down his foreleg. He watched Woundwort steadily where he crouched on the earth pile, expecting him to leap forward at any moment. He could hear a rabbit moving behind him, but the run was so narrow that he could not have turned even if it had been safe to do so.

       
"Everyone all right?" he asked.

       
"They're all right," replied Holly. "Come on, Bigwig, let me take your place now. You need a rest."

       
"Can't," panted Bigwig. "You couldn't get past me here--no room--and if I go back that brute'll follow--next thing you'd know he'd be loose in the burrows. You leave it to me. I know what I'm doing."

       
It had occurred to Bigwig that in the narrow run even his dead body would be a considerable obstacle. The Efrafans would either have to get it out or dig round it and this would mean more delay. In the burrow behind him he could hear Bluebell, who was apparently telling the does a story. "Good idea," he thought. "Keep 'em happy. More than I could do if I had to sit there."

       
"So then El-ahrairah said to the fox, 'Fox you may smell and fox you may be, but I can tell your fortune in the water.' "

       
Suddenly Woundwort spoke.

       
"Thlayli," he said, "why do you want to throw your life away? I can send one fresh rabbit after another into this run if I choose. You're too good to be killed. Come back to Efrafa. I promise I'll give you the command of any Mark you like. I give you my word."

       
"Silflay hraka, u embleer rah," replied Bigwig.

       
" 'Ah ha,' said the fox, 'tell my fortune, eh? And what do you see in the water, my friend? Fat rabbits running through the grass, yes, yes?' "

       
"Very well," said Woundwort. "But remember, Thlayli, you yourself can stop this nonsense whenever you wish."

       
" 'No,' replied El-ahrairah, 'it is not fat rabbits that I see in the water, but swift hounds on the scent and my enemy flying for his life.' "

       
Bigwig realized that Woundwort also knew that in the run his body would be nearly as great a hindrance dead as alive. "He wants me to come out on my feet," he thought. "But it's Inlé, not Efrafa, that I shall go to from here."

       
Suddenly Woundwort leaped forward in a single bound and landed full against Bigwig like a branch falling from a tree. He made no attempt to use his claws. His great weight was pushing, chest to chest, against Bigwig's. With heads side by side they bit and snapped at each other's shoulders. Bigwig felt himself sliding slowly backward. He could not resist the tremendous pressure. His back legs, with claws extended, furrowed the floor of the run as he gave ground. In a few moments he would be pushed bodily into the burrow behind. Putting his last strength into the effort to remain where he was, he loosed his teeth from Woundwort's shoulder and dropped his head, like a cart horse straining at a load. Still he was slipping. Then, very gradually it seemed, the terrible pressure began to slacken. His claws had a hold of the ground. Woundwort, teeth sunk in his back, was snuffling and choking. Though Bigwig did not know it, his earlier blows had torn Woundwort across the nose. His nostrils were full of his own blood, and with jaws closed in Bigwig's fur he could not draw his breath. A moment more and he let go his hold. Bigwig, utterly exhausted, lay where he was. After a few moments he tried to get up, but a faintness came over him and a feeling of turning over and over in a ditch of leaves. He closed his eyes. There was silence and then, quite clearly, he heard Fiver speaking in the long grass. "You are closer to death than I. You are closer to death than I."

       
"The wire!" squealed Bigwig. He jerked himself up and opened his eyes. The run was empty. General Woundwort was gone.

*
     
*
     
*

       
Woundwort clambered out into the Honeycomb, now dimly lit down the shaft by the daylight outside. He had never felt so tired. He saw Vervain and Thunder looking at him uncertainly. He sat on his haunches and tried to clean his face with his front paws.

       
"Thlayli won't give any more trouble," he said. "You'd better just go in and finish him off, Vervain, since he won't come out."

       
"You're asking
me
to fight him, sir?" asked Vervain.

       
"Well, just take him on for a few moments," answered Woundwort. "I want to start them getting this wall down in one or two other places. Then I'll come back."

       
Vervain knew that the impossible had happened. The General had come off worst. What he was saying was, "Cover up for me. Don't let the others know."

       
"What in Frith's name happens now?" thought Vervain. "The plain truth is that Thlayli's had the best of it all along, ever since he first met him in Efrafa. And the sooner we're back there the better."

       
He met Woundwort's pale stare, hesitated a moment and then climbed on the earth pile. Woundwort limped across to the two runs, halfway down the eastern wall, which Groundsel had been told to get open. Both were now clear at the entrances and the diggers were out of sight in the tunnels. As he approached, Groundsel backed down the further tunnel and began cleaning his claws on a projecting root.

       
"How are you getting on?" asked Woundwort.

       
"This run's open, sir," said Groundsel, "but the other will take a bit longer, I'm afraid. It's heavily blocked."

       
"One's enough," said Woundwort, "as long as they can come down it. We can bring them in and start getting that end wall down."

       
He was about to go up the run himself when he found Vervain beside him. For a moment he thought that he was going to say that he had killed Thlayli. A second glance showed him otherwise.

       
"I've--er--got some grit in my eye, sir," said Vervain. "I'll just get it out and then I'll have another go at him."

       
Without a word Woundwort went back to the far end of the Honeycomb. Vervain followed.

       
"You coward," said Woundwort in his ear. "If my authority goes, where will yours be in half a day? Aren't you the most hated officer in Efrafa? That rabbit's
got
to be killed."

       
Once more he climbed on the earth pile. Then he stopped. Vervain and Thistle, raising their heads to peer past him from behind, saw why. Thlayli had made his way up the run and was crouching immediately below. Blood had matted the great thatch of fur on his head, and one ear, half severed, hung down beside his face. His breathing was slow and heavy.

       
"You'll find it much harder to push me back from here, General," he said.

       
With a sort of weary, dull surprise, Woundwort realized that he was afraid. He did not want to attack Thlayli again. He knew, with flinching certainty, that he was not up to it. And who was? he thought. Who could do it? No, they would have to get in by some other way and everyone would know why.

       
"Thlayli," he said, "we've unblocked a run out here. I can bring in enough rabbits to pull down this wall in four places. Why don't you come out?"

       
Thlayli's reply, when it came, was low and gasping, but perfectly clear.

       
"My Chief Rabbit has told me to defend this run and until he says otherwise I shall stay here."

       
"His Chief Rabbit?" said Vervain, staring.

       
It had never occurred to Woundwort or any of his officers that Thlayli was not the Chief Rabbit of his warren. Yet what he said carried immediate conviction. He was speaking the truth. And if he was not the Chief Rabbit, then somewhere close by there must be another, stronger rabbit who was. A stronger rabbit than Thlayli. Where was he? What was he doing at this moment?