Reynard the Fox Part 8

And now they gathered to the gamble At Ghost Heath Wood on Ghost Heath Down, The hounds went crackling through the brown Dry stalks of bracken killed by frost.

The wood stood silent in its host Of halted trees all winter bare.

The boughs, like veins that suck the air, Stretched tense, the last leaf scarcely stirred.

There came no song from any bird; The darkness of the wood stood still Waiting for fate on Ghost Heath Hill.

The whips crept to the sides to view; The Master gave the nod, and "Leu, Leu in, Ed-hoick, Ed-hoick, Leu in,"

Went Robin, cracking through the whin And through the hedge-gap into cover.

The binders crashed as hounds went over, And c.o.c.k-c.o.c.k-c.o.c.k the pheasants rose.

Then up went stern and down went nose, And Robin's cheerful tenor cried, Through hazel-scrub and stub and ride, "O wind him, beauties, push him out, Yooi, onto him, Yahout, Yahout, O push him out, Yooi, wind him, wind him."

The beauties burst the scrub to find him, They nosed the warren's clipped green lawn, The bramble and the broom were drawn, The covert's northern end was blank.

[Ill.u.s.tration: And now they gathered to the gamble At Ghost Heath Wood on Ghost Heath Down.]

They turned to draw along the bank Through thicker cover than the Rough Through three-and-four-year understuff Where Robin's forearm screened his eyes.

"Yooi, find him, beauties," came his cries.

"Hark, hark to Daffodil," the laughter Faln from his horn, brought whimpers after, For ends of scents were everywhere.

He said, "This Hope's a likely lair.

And there's his billets, grey and furred.

And George, he's moving, there's a bird."

A blue uneasy jay was chacking.

(A swearing screech, like tearing sacking) From tree to tree, as in pursuit, He said "That's it. There's fox afoot.

And there, they're feathering, there she speaks.

Good Daffodil, good Tarrybreeks, Hark there, to Daffodil, hark, hark."

The mild horn's note, the soft flaked spark Of music, fell on that rank scent.

From heart to wild heart magic went.

The whimpering quivered, quavered, rose.

"Daffodil has it. There she goes.

O hark to her." With wild high crying From frantic hearts, the hounds went flying To Daffodil for that rank taint.

A waft of it came warm but faint, In Robin's mouth, and faded so.

"First find a fox, then let him go,"

Cried Robin Dawe. "For any sake.

Ring, Charley, till you're fit to break."

He cheered his beauties like a lover And charged beside them into cover.

PART TWO--THE FOX

[Ill.u.s.tration: Reynard the fox]

[Ill.u.s.tration: And there on the night before my tale he trotted out]

On old Cold Crendon's windy tops Grows wintrily Blown Hilcote Copse, Wind-bitten beech with badger barrows, Where brocks eat wasp-grubs with their marrows, And foxes lie on short-gra.s.sed turf, Nose between paws, to hear the surf Of wind in the beeches drowsily.

There was our fox bred l.u.s.tily Three years before, and there he berthed Under the beech-roots snugly earthed, With a roof of flint and a floor of chalk And ten bitten hens' heads each on its stalk, Some rabbits' paws, some fur from scuts, A badger's corpse and a smell of guts.

And there on the night before my tale He trotted out for a point in the vale.

He saw, from the cover edge, the valley Go trooping down with its droops of sally To the br.i.m.m.i.n.g river's lipping bend, And a light in the inn at Water's End.

He heard the owl go hunting by And the shriek of the mouse the owl made die, And the purr of the owl as he tore the red Strings from between his claws and fed; The smack of joy of the h.o.r.n.y lips Marbled green with the blobby strips.

He saw the farms where the dogs were barking, Cold Crendon Court and Copsecote Larking; The fault with the spring as bright as gleed, Green-slash-laced with water weed.

A glare in the sky still marked the town, Though all folk slept and the blinds were down, The street lamps watched the empty square, The night-cat sang his evil there.

The fox's nose tipped up and round Since smell is a part of sight and sound.

Delicate smells were drifting by, The sharp nose flaired them heedfully: Partridges in the clover stubble, Crouched in a ring for the stoat to nubble.

Rabbit bucks beginning to box; A scratching place for the pheasant c.o.c.ks; A hare in the dead gra.s.s near the drain, And another smell like the spring again.

A faint rank taint like April coming, It c.o.c.ked his ears and his blood went drumming, For somewhere out by Ghost Heath Stubs Was a roving vixen wanting cubs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He saw the farms where the dogs were barking, Cold Crendon Court and Copsecote Larking.]

THE ROVING

Over the valley, floating faint On a warmth of windflaw came the taint, He c.o.c.ked his ears, he upped his brush, And he went up wind like an April thrush.

By the Roman Road to Braiches Ridge Where the fallen willow makes a bridge, Over the brook by White Hart's Thorn, To the acres thin with p.r.i.c.king corn.

Over the spa.r.s.e green hair of the wheat, By the Clench Brook Mill at Clench Brook Leat, Through Cowfoot Pastures to Nonely Stevens, And away to Poltrewood St. Jevons.

Past Tott Hill Down all snaked with meuses, Past Clench St. Michael and Naunton Crucis, Past Howle's Oak Farm where the raving brain Of a dog who heard him foamed his chain, Then off, as the farmer's window opened, Past Stonepits Farm to Upton Hope End; Over short sweet gra.s.s and worn flint arrows, And the three dumb hows of Tencombe Barrows; And away and away with a rolling scramble, Through the blackthorn and up the bramble, With a nose for the smells the night wind carried, And his red fell clean for being married.

For clicketting time and Ghost Heath Wood Had put the violet in his blood.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A dog who heard him foamed his chain]

At Tencombe Rings near the Manor Linney, His foot made the great black stallion whinny, And the stallion's whinny aroused the stable And the bloodhound b.i.t.c.hes stretched their cable, And the clink of the bloodhound's chain aroused The sweet-breathed kye as they chewed and drowsed, And the stir of the cattle changed the dream Of the cat in the loft to tense green gleam.

The red-wattled black c.o.c.k hot from Spain Crowed from his perch for dawn again, His breast-pufft hens, one-legged on perch, Gurgled, beak-down, like men in church, They crooned in the dark, lifting one red eye In the raftered roost as the fox went by.

By Tencombe Regis and Slaughters Court, Through the great gra.s.s square of Roman Fort, By Nun's Wood Yews and the Hungry Hill, And the Corpse Way Stones all standing still, By Seven Springs Mead to Deerlip Brook, And a lolloping leap to Water Hook.

Then with eyes like sparks and his blood awoken Over the gra.s.s to Water's Oaken, And over the hedge and into ride In Ghost Heath Wood for his roving bride.

Before the dawn he had loved and fed And found a kennel and gone to bed On a shelf of gra.s.s in a thick of gorse That would bleed a hound and blind a horse.

There he slept in the mild west weather With his nose and brush well tucked together, He slept like a child, who sleeps yet hears With the self who needs neither eyes nor ears.

[Ill.u.s.tration: There he slept in the mild west weather With his nose and brush well tucked together.]

He slept while the pheasant c.o.c.k untucked His head from his wing, flew down and kukked, While the drove of the starlings whirred and wheeled Out of the ash-trees into field.

While with great black flags that flogged and paddled The rooks went out to the plough and straddled, Straddled wide on the moist red cheese Of the furrows driven at Uppat's Leas.

Down in the village, men awoke, The chimneys breathed with a faint blue smoke, The fox slept on, though tweaks and twitches, Due to his dreams, ran down his flitches.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The fox slept on, though tweaks and twitches]

The cows were milked and the yards were sluict, And the c.o.c.ks and hens let out of roost, Windows were opened, mats were beaten, All men's breakfasts were cooked and eaten, But out in the gorse on the gra.s.sy shelf, The sleeping fox looked after himself.

Deep in his dream he heard the life Of the woodland seek for food or wife, The hop of a stoat, a buck that thumped, The squeal of a rat as a weasel jumped, The blackbird's chackering scattering crying, The rustling bents from the rabbits flying, Cows in a byre, and distant men, And Condicote church-clock striking ten.

At eleven o'clock a boy went past, With a rough-haired terrier following fast.

The boy's sweet whistle and dog's quick yap Woke the fox from out of his nap.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The boy's sweet whistle and dog's quick yap Woke the fox from out of his nap.]