Gulo came after him, more careful now that he had to avoid the scything blade. He rasped hoarsely at the squirrel warrior, “Ye can back up an’ run, but ye cannot escape Gulo the Savage!”
Retreat, however, was not part of Tam’s plan. He suddenly changed tactics. Dropping the shield to his side, the squirrel warrior brought the sword up and forward in a blurring figure-eight movement, forcing Gulo to back off. But he could not keep up the manoeuvre forever. The moment his pace with the blade slacked, the wolverine leaped forward and sideways. The claws on his footpaw raked Tam from knee to paw. He paused, gasping in agony. Gulo swept a swinging crossways strike at Tam’s midriff. Only by jumping back a half pace and sucking in his stomach could the squirrel avoid a blow which would have opened him through the middle. Gulo missed, but his paw struck the backside of the shield, ripping it from his opponent’s grasp and sending it sailing up and away. The shield landed on the edge of the ditch, side on, its rim buried deep in the earth.
Some of Tam’s friends as well as Gulo’s vermin had been running forward while at the same time following the progress of the two rivals’ life-and-death struggle. To one side of him, Gulo glimpsed the white fox who was carrying Doogy’s claymore. The wolverine held out his paw. “Give me yon blade!”
The fox passed it to his chieftain. Ferdimond De Mayne, one of the least experienced Long Patrol hares, made as if to stop him, but Sergeant Wonwill pulled him back. “Stay out of it, young ’un. No rules say they can’t be armed!”
Now Gulo came after Tam with the claymore, bludgeoning and hacking. The squirrel was hard put to defend himself.
All along the western walltop, silence had descended on the onlookers. It seemed that fate had placed Tam on the losing side. Steel clanged upon steel as the Borderer was driven back by the relentless blows Gulo rained upon him. Back, back he went, countering and parrying as the long-bladed claymore hammered against his own, shorter sword. Tam could not look to see where he was being driven, but he knew he was being forced toward the ditch, which ran alongside the path outside the Abbey wall.
Gulo began roaring as he delivered each crushing blow. “Gulo! Kill! Gulo! Kill!”
Then Tam tripped . . .
He fell heavily backward, striking the ground with a force which almost knocked the wind from him. The last thing he saw was Gulo, flinging himself forward with the claymore upraised.
For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. Then, none too soon, Tam sighted the wolverine in midair, falling toward him, with claymore raised for the fatal blow. Blood-red eyes ablaze, the Border warrior seized his final chance with the speed of chain lightning. Gripping the sword of Martin, hilt and blade with both paws, he held it up horizontally. A fierce spirit possessed him as he shot both footpaws up rigid at the descending wolverine. A wild howl of rage ripped from Tam’s throat—“Haway the Braaaaaaw!” Then the weight of his adversary fell upon him as Tam thrust upward with the sword and all four paws in a stupenduous burst of power.
Like a stone from a slingshot, Gulo was carried through the air by the impetus of the mighty effort. He slammed to earth, just short of the ditch. His own massive body weight sent his outstretched neck right onto the edge of Tam’s shield, which was buried upright in the earth at the edge of the ditch. Gulo was transfixed for one horrifying heartbeat, his body at the ditch’s edge. Clunk! His head fell into the dried leaves on the ditchbed.
Gulo the Savage would never return to rule the lands of ice and snow beyond the cold north seas!
40
Tam recalled distantly his very young days, when he had grasped a thistle whilst picking flowers for his mother, or was it his mother? He could not recall who, but it was a creature with deep, dark eyes, murmuring to him, soft as a summer stream, “Hold still now, it’s nearly done. There, that did it!”
Opening his eyes, he found himself lying in Redwall Infirmary on a spotless white-sheeted bed. Sister Armel shielded his eyes from the midnoon sunlight pouring in through the open window. She put aside a length of fine flax and a small thorn needle, reaching for some warm water, ointment and dressings.
Still dazed, the Borderer murmured dozily, “Did y’get all the prickles out? I didn’t cry, did I?”
Doogy Plumm’s voice answered him. “Nay, ye didnae cry, ye were a good wee babe. Hahahaha!”
Sister Armel spoke severely to the Highlander. “Mister Plumm, stop moving his paw and hold it still, or I’ll never get this dressing on!”
Tam came fully awake now. He tried to sit up but was pushed back down firmly by the Infirmary Sister. Craning his neck, he could see the crowd gathered in the passage beyond the open door. Sister Armel, Doogy and Abbot Humble were the only ones allowed inside the room.
Slightly bewildered, Tam looked questioningly at Doogy. “What happened? Oooh, my leg feels stiff!”
Armel tied off the paw bandage, explaining briefly, “Your leg should feel stiff, Mister MacBurl. It was cut to the bone by that creature’s claws. I’ve put it in a splint. Your left paw was almost sliced through by Martin’s sword. You were holding the blade when that awful beast fell upon you. I’ve stitched it up and it should heal properly, providing you keep it still and get lots of rest!”
Tam wrinkled his nose at Doogy. “She’s being bossy again, mate. I can always tell when she’s in that mood, ’cos she calls me Mister MacBurl. All I can remember from out there is passing out. Tell me, what really went on?”
Doogy began playing their old game, speaking to Tam in mock bad temper. “Ah’ll tell ye what happened, laddie. Ye ruined mah best an’ only claymore! Och, ah don’t know what sort o’ steel Martin’s sword is made of, but it cut great chunks out o’ mah blade. When ah picked it up, mah poor claymore fell in two pieces! Oh, an’ another thing, yore shield will nae go intae battle again. ’Tis battered an’ holed an’ bended a’most in two halves. An’ what possessed ye tae sharp its edge all around like a blade, eh?”
Tam laid his head back on the pillow. “Oh, that was a little tip I got from Martin the Warrior.”
Doogy Plumm threw up his paws in resignation. “Och, that explains everythin’. He should’ve been called Martin the Destroyer o’ Weapons. That’s a bonny claymore an’ a fine buckler completely destroyed, thanks tae him!”
Abbot Humble and Armel could not help smiling as they listened to both warriors wryly arguing.
“Yer a terrible beast, Doogy Plumm! Sittin’ tied nice an’ comfy to a stake whilst I’m left fightin’ Gulo. By the bye, did I win, or did ye take a nap an’ miss it all?”
“Aye, ah took a wee doze, but they tell me ye cut off ole Gulo’s head wi’ yer shield edge. Personally, ah don’t believe it. Ah think he slew hisself, ’cos he was a-feared ah’d break loose tae teach him a lesson. His head’s still in the ditch. Ye can go an’ ask him yerself, though ah dinnae ken he’ll want tae talk to ye anymore!”
Tam grimaced. “Aye, he must be a bad loser, Doogy. I suppose ye let the other vermin escape?”
The Highlander scratched his tail. “Well, we were considerin’ it. The rest of the vermin fought hard, but that Cap’n Fortindom, he’s no’ very fussy on vermin. Him an’ Wonwill finished ’em afore we got the chance. Och, ah’ll tell ye, Tam, those shrews were no’ pleased at all!”
Tam looked mystified. “What shrews?”