The Siege of White Deer Park (4 page)

The Hollow was the traditional meeting place of the Farthing Wood community. It had been their first resting point on their arrival in the Park after their months’ long journey. They had returned to it ever since when important matters were to be discussed, as a place of significance to them all.

The party assembled as darkness began to fall. Leveret and Squirrel were among the numbers. Toad arrived last, unwittingly bringing news to corroborate Tawny Owl’s statement.

When Owl finished giving his description, which by
now he had embellished with all sorts of additional dramatic references, Toad croaked out what he and Adder had seen.

‘I can vouch for the truth of Owl’s remarks about size,’ he added afterwards. ‘The prints we saw could only have been made by a monster. Your feet, Fox, would have fitted into one corner!’

There was a silence and some of the animals looked at each other in consternation. Tawny Owl felt that his experiences were not getting the attention they deserved.

‘Pooh,’ he said, struggling to find words to bring his own experience back into the limelight, ‘what are marks in the mud compared to a sight of the entire beast?’

Fox and Vixen looked at each other with wry amusement at the bird’s childishness. But Toad wished Adder had been there to supply one of his caustic retorts. Owl could be very trying and silly at times. He had already admitted that he had seen only the head of the Beast clearly.

Badger asked if the prints had been like a cat’s.

‘Neither Adder nor I are qualified to tell you that,’ Toad told him.

Badger turned to Tawny Owl. ‘What about the head? Did it resemble a cat’s?’

‘Not in the least,’ the bird answered immediately, without thinking about it. ‘I told you you were on the wrong track.’

‘But what other creature can climb a tree?’ Badger persisted. ‘Apart from our friend Squirrel.’

‘None I know about,’ Squirrel remarked.

The young foxes, Friendly and Charmer, were becoming impatient with the obtuseness of the ageing comrades.

‘What does it signify whether it’s a cat, a dog, a – a –
horse or a giant rat?’ cried Charmer exasperatedly. ‘It hunts. It kills. And it’s very dangerous. Surely all that matters is what we can do to protect ourselves?’

Her brother Friendly supported her. ‘Charmer’s quite right,’ he agreed. ‘Whatever it is, we’ve got to think of a way to get it out of the Park.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ Leveret said nervously, ‘if we never know where it is.’

‘We can track it,’ Friendly declared. ‘We foxes. It must have a scent.’

His father intervened. ‘You’re getting carried away, Friendly,’ he said. ‘Even if the scent could be picked up and then followed – which I doubt – what would the object be? What would you do if you came up against the creature?’

‘Er – well, I – er –
we
, that is, would, I suppose –’ Friendly stopped in embarrassment. What
would
they do?

‘You see, you haven’t thought it through, have you?’

‘All right, Father. But we must do
something
, mustn’t we? Otherwise we could face extinction.’

‘I only know what we mustn’t do,’ Fox returned, ‘and that is confront it. This is a cunning, powerful animal quite beyond our experience. We’re not dealing this time with rivals of our own kind.’

Now the attention of all the animals was fixed firmly on their old leader. Fox was the one to whom they had always turned when in trouble or danger. They respected him and trusted him. He had never yet failed to find a solution. They waited for him to go on. But the words of wisdom they expected to hear were not forthcoming.

‘I’m afraid I’ve nothing to add to that,’ he said finally.

The animals looked crestfallen.

‘We have to defend our home – don’t we?’ Friendly whispered uncertainly.

‘We can’t,’ said his father. ‘I told you – it’s beyond us.’

The little group exchanged glances unhappily. This defeatist Fox was unknown to them. They depended on him so much and he had never let them down before. Fox knew what they were thinking.

‘I’m no longer a young animal,’ he told them. ‘We’ve all grown older. We can’t indulge in the sort of escapades we used to do in the old days. We’re no match for this Beast.’

‘It’s true,’ sighed Badger. ‘It’s as much as I can do to get myself out of my set to feed sometimes.’

The young animals – Friendly, Charmer and Leveret – felt like intruders into an assembly of veterans. Friendly began to realize his father was, as always, trying to be realistic about their abilities. Perhaps it was time for the younger generation to take up the fight. But Fox was speaking again.

‘To be blunt,’ he said, ‘there are some animals more at risk in the Reserve than others. Rabbits and, I’m afraid, hares, too, are the most vulnerable, as well as the smaller game such as mice, frogs and so forth. Foxes and badgers and snakes are not generally hunted for food. Birds, of course, have the perfect escape mechanism. So what I’m saying is that most of us are safe if we ensure that we don’t antagonize the Beast.’

‘That’s a lot of comfort for me,’ Leveret said morosely.

‘I’m certain Fox didn’t mean we’d turn our backs on you,’ Vixen reassured him. ‘The Oath of Mutual Protection still survives.’

‘Of course,’ said Fox. ‘All of us are available to help another animal who gets into danger. But that’s rather
different from setting out to court it.’ He looked meaningfully at Friendly.

Friendly said nothing, but he was eager for the meeting to break up. After what his father had said about foxes not being so much at risk, he had started to formulate some ambitious plans of his own.

The animals did not stay together much longer. The meeting had been inconclusive and the only message to come out of it was that they each needed to take extra precautions for as long as the Beast chose to make White Deer Park its hunting ground.

After Tawny Owl’s fright no more was seen or heard of the stranger. Adder had seen nothing more, although he had waited for a long time at the pool’s edge. This state of affairs continued for quite a while, and once again the Park’s population returned to its main concern – the business of raising families. Even the Edible Frogs forgot their alarm and, in dribs and drabs, returned to the water.

Friendly had been down to the Pond in the meantime to see the reported footprints for himself, and to use his nose in the hope of finding a scent. But the stranger had moved on. The fox could find nothing useful and the mud where the stranger had left its pug marks now betrayed no hint of the unusual.

The animals started to hope again, although they still dared not believe that they were to be left in peace.

Then the Beast announced its presence with an emphasis that ruled out all their hopes. An old and infirm member of the deer herd that roamed the Park was killed. Its remains – and they were scanty – were found some time afterwards, lying under a screen of budding elm scrub. It chanced to be Friendly who came across them. He was shocked at the discovery but, in a strange way, excited too. For it meant that the heroic plans he had laid might still be adopted. At first he told no one about the evidence except his contemporaries. These younger foxes and their descendants formed quite a large group, all of whom were related to each other through the blood of their common ancestor, the Farthing Wood Fox. Whilst the females amongst them were occupied at the moment with their new offspring, the males had time to gather and listen to Friendly’s news. The older animals were kept in ignorance for the time being.

‘There was no mistaking the odour all round the carcass,’ Friendly told them. ‘It was a sharp, thin smell – quite detectable above the smell of the rotten meat. And it was an animal smell I’ve never picked up before in this Reserve!’ He brought the last words out with an air of triumph.

‘Did you try to trace it?’ asked one of his own male progeny, who was now entering his second season.

‘Yes, Pace. I followed it for a way back. Then the trail
lost its scent. But, between us, we should be able to pick it up somewhere else.’

‘Then what would we do?’ asked a nephew, one of his dead brother Bold’s cubs.

‘I want to trace it back to its lair,’ Friendly explained. ‘Once we’ve found that, we can choose our time to assemble together and corner the Beast. We’ll make it understand it’s not wanted around here. It can’t fight all of us, however big it is.’

The other foxes were quiet. Friendly allowed them a while for his words to sink in. Some of them did not appear to be very comfortable with this plan. Others, the more adventurous among them, were enthralled at the possibility of routing such a remarkable predator.

‘When would we begin this tracking down?’ one asked.

‘We’ll let the Beast make the first move,’ Friendly answered. ‘Let it show itself. If it’s too clever to allow itself to be seen, let it reveal its whereabouts by its activity. That carcass was an old kill. What we want to find is a fresh one. Then
that
would be our starting point.’

The foxes dispersed, most of them enthusiastic about the venture. The days passed. It seemed as if the stranger had an inkling of the plan, for no carcass was found. The Beast was taking great pains not to advertise itself.

There had been births in the White Deer herd, just as there had been births amongst all the other species that inhabited the Park. The stranger, having tasted deer flesh, was particularly interested in the new arrivals born to the herd. These babies promised an even more succulent meal than the first victim. So it had been stalking the deer in its silent way, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The moment arrived. The opportunity was taken. In the darkness the fawn’s mother knew little about her loss.
The stealth, the swiftness of the stranger worked with a sweet harmony. It was a harmony that was also ruthless. The fawn was taken, carried off and devoured with a quietness that was bewildering. The tenderness of the hapless young deer enabled its killer to leave very little evidence in the way of remains. So it was easily overlooked by the foxes who were searching for clues while they hunted for themselves and their mates.

Friendly was baffled. He had expected the Beast would have given a hint of its hideout by this time. Now the animals were back to wondering if it was still around.

But now the Reserve Warden began to suspect that something was amiss. He was the last to become aware of the existence of a fierce killer in the vicinity. He knew how many births had taken place that season in the deer herd, and when he discovered the loss of one and, later, a second, he became suspicious. There was no sign of their bodies. So their deaths were not from natural causes. When on his rounds he discovered the rotting remains of the old animal that had first fallen prey to the Beast he knew at once a killer was hunting his deer. His first conclusion was that it was a dog, and he was well aware that such an animal, having once killed deer, will return again and again to the attack.

From that time on, the Warden kept a careful watch on the herd, making regular evening and early morning circuits near the deer’s position. He saw and heard nothing at all. This puzzled him because he knew that a dog is not the most silent of animals, and he was an experienced and careful observer. What he did not know was that he had become watched: the killer the watcher.

So long as the Warden continued his daily rounds, the killer wisely contented itself with smaller game. But it had inexhaustible patience, and it knew that eventually there
would be another opportunity to eat raw venison. The Warden had patience too. He expected the creature to strike again, and that this lull was a temporary one. He was quite sure it was still close by and he waited for its return. He carried a gun while on his rounds, since he had the authority to use it if necessary to ensure the protection of the rare white deer. And so a waiting game developed that was played by both sides.

Naturally the other animals were also interested in the frequent appearance of the Warden. They realized that human endeavour was now ranged against the intruder and the older ones were comforted. Friendly and the more daring young foxes had mixed feelings. They were heartened by the man’s presence, but really they wished to have the glory of defeating this unknown enemy all to themselves.

Fox and Vixen had gone one day, as they sometimes did, to talk to the Great Stag, the leader of the deer herd. Like them, he had suffered the changes wrought by Time. It was a matter for speculation how long he would continue to lead his kind. By now Fox had heard of the deer losses.

‘Can you add anything to the little we know of the killer?’ he asked.

‘I only know of its speed and its strength,’ the Stag answered him. ‘It’s approach was unnoticed and its retreat unmarked.’

‘What
can
we be up against?’

‘An extremely efficient predator,’ observed the Stag. ‘Certainly one to worry our human friend as well as ourselves.’

‘I have a sneaking feeling,’ Fox declared, ‘that he will meet with the same lack of success.’

‘I can’t comment on that,’ was the reply. ‘He has his
methods, I believe. But we must certainly hope otherwise. Because
we
have no defence against it.’