"HI'm h'afraid there's nothin' in the rules that says you can 'ave a sunshade, sire!"
Bucko was forced to eat on as he questioned the decision. He swigged wine and set about a heavy fruitcake. "Weel now, mah guid feller, is there anythin' in yon rules whit states that ah cannot have a sunshade?" Bucko stole one of Dotti's used kerchiefs and mopped at his brow while the bankvole considered the quandary.
"Hmmm, er, yes, well. Tell you wot hl'll do, sire. H'if the young miss requires a sunshade, then you shall both be h'entitled to 'ave one. But if'n she don't, sire, then hI'm h'afraid you'll 'ave to do widout the sunshade, sire. Miss Dorothea, do you want h'a sunshade, miss?"
Dotti nibbled a woodland trifle thoughtfully. "Not really, thank you, 'tis far too nice a day. Actually I quite enjoy the early summer sun, don't you, sah?"
The bankvole shrugged apologetically to Bucko. "There you 'ave it, sireno contestant shall 'ave unequal advantage of the other. You'll 'ave to feast on. Sunshades are out, hIm h'afraid!"
Bucko sprayed cakecrumbs as he glowered at his opponent. "Ah'll still beat ye, wee miss prissypaws!" He downed another two goblets of wine, cold from the keg, thinking it would cool him down.
It was midday. The sun was beating down on both contestants. Dotti was full. She did not want to look at, smell, or taste any more food that day, but she carried on, keeping up a good front, as she had been instructed by her friends. She marveled that Bucko, hot and perspiring as he was, carried on bolting down huge quantities of food. He ate indiscriminately now, not choosing one thing over another. Pies, puddings, breads, salads, flans and pasties were devoured without favoritism. He was slopping the wine about quite a bit, but still going at it. Bucko, like all March hares, was unpredictable. He was wolfing his way through a strawberry shortcake when he paused and winked at Dotti.
"Ye can'nae defeat me by consumin' yer vittles slow. Hohoho, ah'm watchin' ye, pretty one. Weel now, two can play at that wee game, missieah can eat as slow as ye. Aye, an' still be settin' here taenight at sunset!"
Dotti put aside her mint tea and chose a small almond tart. For the first time, Bucko noticed that she appeared slightly disturbed. She fussed about wiping her spoon. "Then do so, sah'tis no concern of mine at what rate you fill your flippin' face!"
Bucko grinned triumphantly and began chewing his food slowly. He drained his goblet leisurely and picked up a honeyed scone. Slowly he chewed it, ever so slowly, washing it down with lingering draughts of wine.
Shortly before midafternoon, most of the onlookers moved into the willow shades on the streambank. Dotti plodded on with a single slice of dry bread, hating the very thought of food, her appetite completely sated. Southpaw and Bobweave ignored her, focusing all their attention on Bucko, refilling his goblet, heaping up his plate, leaning over him as they did and yawning. Bees buzzed somewhere nearby, not a breeze disturbed the hot noon air, the remainder of the crowd at the ringside had fallen silent.
Then the eyelids of King Bucko Bigbones began to droop. His head started to nod forward onto his chest, and a morsel of wild cherry turnover slipped from his half-open mouth. Bobweave winked at Dotti; the haremaid held her breath. Bucko's half-filled goblet toppled gently over onto the tabletop. He did not seem to notice. The king's eyelids drooped lower . . . lower . . . then closed softly, his ears flopped forward and he started to snore.
Dotti continued eating as silently as she could, nibbling on the same slice of bread. After what seemed like an age, she saw Lord Brocktree stamp heavily across to the referee. Blinking, as if he himself had not been caught napping, the bankvole struggled upright.
"Ahem, you shouldn't really be 'ere in the ring, sire."
Brocktree nodded in solemn agreement. "I know, sir, and I apologize, but from this angle you can hardly see that one of your contestants has stopped eating."
"Where, er, what, er, stopped h'eatin' ye say, sire?" The bankvole waddled anxiously across to the table. Dotti stopped eating her bread to point at Bucko.
"I'm terribly sorry, but this chap's been like that for quite a while now. Would you wake him, please?"
But Bucko could not be wakened. His head fell forward onto an apple pie and he lay there snoring lustily. The bankvole was extremely upset. He climbed onto the table, taking care not to tread on any food, and shouted, "Miss Dorothea, erm, erm, Miss Dorothea the winnaaaaah!"
He went on to roar about how the king had forfeited the day by not being able to continue, quoting chapter and verse of the rules (set down by Bucko himself) and calling on the other bankvoles to bear him out as witnesses.
King Bucko slept on, oblivious of what was going on around him. A crowd of mountain hares lifted him onto a food trolley and bore him off. Still snoring, with his cheek resting in an apple pie. Defeated!
Fleetscut and the hare twins set about demolishing the remainder of the feast. Dotti tried not to watch them, her eyes glazing over in disgust. "Yuurgh! How can you dreadful savages even think of food! I never want t'see another flippin' pie, bloomin' pudden, or blinkin' salad again in my young an' fatally beautiful life, d'ye hear? Get all vittles out o' my sight!"
The trio obeyed her instructions with alacrity.
"Gettin' these painful reminders out o' your sight, miss. I say, don't hog all that trifle, old lad!"
"Rather! We'll try not to prolong the agony, miss. Pass the scones an' honey, will you, Fleet!"
"Pass 'em yourselfyou young rips are too fast for me. A bit of respect for age, please. That damson pudden's mine! Desist, wretch, or I'll report you to your grandpa, wot!"
Lord Brocktree's eyes twinkled as he shook Dotti's paw. "Two down, one to go, miss. That was a decisive victory, I'd say. I wonder if they've managed to wake Bucko yet?"
Dotti twitched her ears disapprovingly. "D'you know, sah, I've got a feeling we cheated."
Log a Log Grenn replaced the bung in her wine keg. She held it up and shook it, listening to the swish it made.
"Nearly 'alf a keg the blaggard supped. Cheated, you say, young 'un? We never cheated at all. Bucko defeated himself by showin' off an' bein' so greedyain't that so, Jukka?"
"Aye, 'tis true, miss. 'Twas no small thing to vanquish him at his own game, in his own court, an' under his own rules. Bucko had defeated all comers, I'll warrant, by fair means or foul, until he met thee. Thou art a worthy champion!"
Dotti attempted to rise and fell back, holding her waist. "Y'mean I'm an overstuffed wreck. D'y'know, I think my ears have gone fatter!"
Jukka heaved Dotti upright, a smile hovering on her normally serious features. "Up ye come! Grenn, take her other paw. Methinks a good long walk until nightfall will cure thee, miss. If that proves useless there is always an old squirrel remedy for one who has overeaten, eh, Fleetscut?"
The old hare glared at Jukka. He had not forgotten. "Take the walk, young 'un, tramp about 'til your bally paws feel ready t'drop off. If y'don't I know what'll happen. That bushtailed poisoner'll boil up half the woodlands in a pot an' sit on you 'til y'drink it. Take my word, just the smell of that squirrel's foul concoction'd make a worm gag, and rot the feathers off a blinkin' buzzard!"
Brocktree and Ruff watched the haremaid totter off between the squirrel and the shrew. Ruff sat back on his rudder. "Our liddle Dotti, eh, a future Queen o' Hares. Who'd 'ave thought it?"
The Badger Lord replied confidently, "I would, friend, that's why I chose her. That young 'un has courage, nerve and wit. She'll make a truly perilous queen."
"Tchah, she still gorra biff Bucko tomorrer. I fink she be's too likkle for dat!"
Brocktree looked over his shoulder at Skittles, seated on the great sword hilt. "Aye, you've got a point there, wretch. Under Bucko's rules, Dotti's two wins count for nothing if he beats her tomorrow. Our plans and her work will have been all for nothing."