Tales from Watership Down (4 page)

Suddenly he noticed, not far away at the top of the slope, an ornamental basin, oval and about twice as long as himself, raised upon a stone plinth a little above the level of the surrounding grass. He went up to it. It was full, not with water but with some sort of silver, shining fluid of a kind he had never seen before. It was not transparent, like water. In fact, he could not see through it at all, for the smooth
surface, like a mirror, reflected the sunshine overhead and the passing animals.

“What’s this for?” he asked another nearby creature, who also seemed to be some kind of cat.

“It’s not
for
anything,” replied the animal rather crushingly. “It’s called quicksilver. It was given to the King some time ago as a present, and he had it put here so that everyone can admire it.”

Then El-ahrairah moved like lightning. He put his front paws on the edge of the basin, pulled himself up and leaped into the pool. The quicksilver did not behave like water. It was thicker and more buoyant. Try as he would, he could not get beneath the surface. He rolled about, struggling. There were a lot of animals now, all round the edge of the pool. “Who’s he?” “What’s he think he’s doing?” “Get him out. He’s got no business to …” “Oh, it’s one of those stupid rabbits.” “Come out, you!”

El-ahrairah clambered out with difficulty. He was not soaked with the stuff, but it had gone down among his fur and broken up into little droplets all over him. He shed them as he moved. Some of the animals were trying to hold him back, but he struggled free, turned, dashed to the foot of the slope and sat down at the front of the crowd just as the King, with three or four companions, came in from one side and stood looking up at his subjects.

He was a magnificent stag. His smooth coat shone in the sunlight like that of a groomed horse. His black hooves also shone, and he carried his superb, branching antlers
with such grandeur and majesty that he instantly silenced the whole, chattering assembly. Walking to the center of the lawn, he turned to let his kindly gaze travel slowly here and there among his subjects.

When he noticed El-ahrairah, glittering silver not more than thirty feet away, he stared at him intently.

“What sort of animal are you?” he asked in a deep, smooth voice—the voice of one who never hurried and was always obeyed.

“May it please Your Majesty,” replied El-ahrairah, “I’m an English rabbit, come from very far to petition for your royal bounty.”

“Come here,” said the King.

El-ahrairah came forward and sat up, rabbit fashion, before the King’s gleaming front hooves.

“What is it you want?” asked the King.

“I am here to plead for my people, Your Majesty. They have no sense of smell—none at all—and this not only hinders them greatly in feeding and in finding their way about, but also leaves them in great danger from their enemies the predators, whom they can’t smell coming. Noble King, only help us, I beg.”

Again there was silence. The King turned to one of his retinue. “Have I this power?”

“You have, Your Majesty.”

“Have I ever used it?”

“Never, Your Majesty.”

The King seemed to be reflecting. Very quietly, he
spoke to himself. “But this would be to assume the power of Lord Frith: to confer upon a whole species a faculty they lack.”

Suddenly El-ahrairah cried out loudly to the King, “Your Majesty, do but give us this sense, and I promise you and every creature here that my people shall become to the human race the greatest scourge and tribulation in the world. We will be to them, everywhere, a relentless bane and affliction. We will destroy their greenstuff, burrow under their fences, spoil their crops, harass them by night and day.”

At this, cheering broke out among all the creatures in the audience. Someone shouted, “Give it to him, Your Majesty! Let his people become the humans’ worst enemy, as the humans are ours.”

The babel continued for some little while, until at length the King gazed round for silence. Then he lowered his beautiful head and pressed his muzzle against El-ahrairah. His tremendous antlers seemed to enclose the Rabbit Prince like an invincible palisade. “Be it so,” he said. “Take my blessing to your people, and with it the Sense of Smell, to be theirs forever.”

On the instant, El-ahrairah himself could smell: the damp grass, the surrounding crowd of animals, the King’s warm breath. He felt so much overcome with joy and gratitude that he could hardly find words to thank the King. All the creatures applauded him and wished him well.

A golden eagle carried him home. When it set him down in his own meadow, the first animals he saw were Rabscuttle and several more of his faithful Owsla. “You did it, then—you did it!” they cried, crowding round him. “We can all smell! All of us!”

“Come on, master,” said Rabscuttle. “You must be hungry. Can you smell those splendid cabbages in the kitchen garden over there? Come and help us chew them up. I’ve tunneled under the fence already.”

So all of you who’ve listened to this story, just remember, when next you steal flayrah from men: you’re not only stuffing your bellies; you’re fulfilling the solemn promise of El-ahrairah to the King of Tomorrow, as all good rabbits should.

“You’re talking nonsense, Fiver,” said Bigwig.

They were sitting in the Honeycomb, together with Vilthuril and Hyzenthlay, one wet, chilly afternoon of early summer. “Of course El-ahrairah must get old in time, like all of us; like every other rabbit. Otherwise he wouldn’t be real.”

“No, he doesn’t,” replied Fiver. “He always remains the same age.”

“Have you ever met him or even seen him?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Who were his father and mother?”

“We aren’t told. But you know the story tells that in those first days Lord Frith made all the animals and birds, and that to begin with they were all friends; and El-ahrairah, it says, was among the animals in those days. So obviously he doesn’t get older—or at least not in the same way that we do.”

“And I’m sure that he does; he
must
.”

They broke off the argument for the time being, but
that evening, when several more rabbits were assembled in the Honeycomb, Bigwig resumed.

“If he doesn’t get older, how can he be a real rabbit?”

“There’s a story about that, if I’m not mistaken,” replied Fiver. “I can’t remember it at the moment. Isn’t there a story, Dandelion?”

“You mean about El-ahrairah and the Three Cows?”

“The Three Cows?” said Bigwig. “What on earth have three cows got to do with it? That
must
be wrong.”

“Well, I can tell you the story,” said Dandelion, “as it was told to me—oh, a long time ago, before we came here. But I can’t add anything to it or try to explain it. You’ll just have to hear it—all of it—for yourselves, and that’s the best I can do.”

“Right you are!” said Bigwig. “Let’s all hear it. Three cows, indeed!”

They say, you know (began Dandelion), that long ago El-ahrairah lived for a time on these very downs. He lived as we do, as merrily as could be, eating the grass and making occasional expeditions to the grounds of the big house at the bottom to steal flayrah. His happiness would have lasted forever if he had not begun to feel, little by little, a change in himself. He knew well enough what it meant. Gradually, he was growing old. He knew this mainly because his marvelous hearing was becoming less keen and there was a stiffness in one of his front paws.

One morning, as he was feeding in the dew outside his burrow, he saw a yellowhammer bobbing about among the thorn and juniper bushes nearby. At length he realized that this little bird was trying to talk to him: but it was timid and would not do more than flitter from the bushes and back. He waited patiently, and at last—or so it seemed to him—it sang clearly and into his understanding.

“Stop, little bird!” said El-ahrairah. “Tell me what you mean and tell me what to do.”

But the little bird only sang again:

It flew away, and El-ahrairah was left upon the turf to think. He felt bold enough—or so it seemed to him—but where should he look and what was the task that demanded his boldness? Finally he set off to find out.

He asked birds and beetles, frogs and even the yellow-and-brown caterpillars on the ragwort, but none could tell him where he could seek the business of not growing old. At last, after wandering for many days, he met an old, gnarled hare squatting in its form in a patch of long grass. The old hare stared at him in silence, and it took
El-ahrairah some little time to pluck up the courage to ask his question.

“Try the moon,” said the old hare, hardly looking at El-ahrairah as he spoke.

Then El-ahrairah felt sure that that old hare knew more than he would say unless he pressed him hard; and he went close up to him and said, “I know you are bigger than I am and can run faster, but I am here to learn what you know, and I will press you with all the means in my power until you tell me. I am no foolish, inquisitive rabbit come to waste your time, but one engaged on this search up to the depths of my heart.”

“Then I pity you,” replied the old hare, “for you seem to have pledged yourself to seek for what cannot be found and to throw your life away in the search.”

“Tell me,” said El-ahrairah, “and I will undertake whatever you instruct.”

“There is only one way you can attempt,” replied the old hare. “The secret you are looking for lies with the Three Cows and with no one else. Have you heard of the Three Cows?”

“No, I haven’t,” said El-ahrairah. “What have rabbits to do with cows? I have seen cows but never had dealings with them.”

“Nor can I tell you where to find them,” answered the old hare. “But the Three Cows’ secret—or rather, the secret they guard—is the only one which can reward your search.”

And with this the old hare went to sleep.

El-ahrairah went asking everywhere for the Three Cows, but received no replies, except bantering and mocking ones, until he began to feel that he was doing nothing but make a fool of himself. Sometimes he was maliciously misdirected and went on journeys only to find at the end that he had been tricked. Yet he would not give up.

One evening of early May, when he was lying under a bush of flowering blackthorn and the sun was setting in a silver sky, he once again heard, close by, his friend the yellowhammer singing among the low-growing branches.

“Come here, friend,” he called. “Come and help me!”

Then the yellowhammer sang:

“Oh, where? Where, little bird?” cried El-ahrairah, springing up. “Only tell me!”

The yellowhammer flew away and left El-ahrairah sniffing among the first burnets and early purple orchids. He was puzzled, for he knew that there was no wood
anywhere in the neighborhood of the Down. At last, however, he went to the very foot, and there, to his astonishment, he saw a deep wood on the far side of the meadow. In front of the outskirts sat the biggest brown-and-white cow he had ever seen.

This could only be the cow he had been looking for; and El-ahrairah knew that the wood must in some way or other be enchanted, for how else could it have come to be standing where to his knowledge no wood had been before? If he hoped to find what he was looking for, into that wood he would have to go.

He approached the cow cautiously, for he had no idea whether she would attack him, although he thought that if the worst came to the worst he could always run away. The cow simply stared at him out of her great brown eyes and said nothing.

“Frith bless you, mother!” said El-ahrairah. “I am looking for a way through the wood.”

The cow said nothing for so long that El-ahrairah wondered whether she had heard him. At last she replied, “There is no way through.”

“Yet through I must go,” said El-ahrairah.

He could see now that the edge of the wood was thick with thorns and briers, tangled and twisted so that nothing bigger than a beetle could possibly get through. Only where the cow sat was there a gap, which she filled entirely. Perhaps, he thought, she would be bound to move, yet it would be useless to ask her to do so, for had she not said there was no way?

Night fell, and the cow had not moved. In the morning she was still there in the same place, and El-ahrairah knew then that it must be a cow of sorcery, for it seemed to feel no need to graze or to drink. He perceived that he would have to resort to a trick. He got up, still watched by the cow, and wandered slowly away down the length of the outskirts until at last he came to a place where the mass of trees and brambles curved inward. He had hoped for a corner of the wood, where he might try to go round it, but as far as he could see, there was none. He made his way some distance into the curve, came out running and hurried back to the cow.

“Are you sure that no one goes into your wood, mother?” he asked.

“No one enters the wood,” answered the cow. “It is sacred to Lord Frith and enchanted by sunlight and moonlight.”

“Well, I don’t know about sunlight and moonlight,” said El-ahrairah. “But round that curving bit, there are two badgers who evidently mean to get in. They’re digging like fury, and it won’t take them long.”

“They have no chance,” replied the cow. “The enchantment is too strong. Nevertheless, I had better go and stop them.” She clambered up and went lumbering away.

As soon as she had rounded the corner by the curve, El-ahrairah lost not a moment, but dashed through the open gap and found himself in the strange light of the wood.