A Buffalope's Tale Read online

  After a while, the Berundian untied me from the wagon and led me across to one of the enclosures. In the very centre of it were two huge stone wheels lying flat and, connected to it by a long wooden pole and an intricate harness, was a huge buffalope, who was walking slowly round and round in a circle. As he walked, so the top wheel turned on the lower one with a low grinding sound.

  ‘Papa?’ I cried. I don’t know why I shouted that; I knew only too well that my father was dead and, sure enough, as the buffalope came around the circle, I saw his face and realised that this fellow was much older than Papa, his face and beard liberally peppered with grey. But he had kind eyes and when he saw me, he gave me a friendly grunt and said, ’Hello, young sir, where did you spring from?’

  The Berundian opened the gate of the enclosure, untied the rope from my neck and pushed me inside, closing the gate behind me. As I stepped in, to my amazement, the buffalope spoke to the Berundian, not in his own language, but in what sounded like the Upright tongue. The Berundian laughed and said something back and the two of them exchanged quite a few words before the Berundian nodded and walked away.

  The buffalope looked at me, but he didn’t stop walking around in a circle. I noticed now that an old Upright was tipping what looked like small green fruit into an opening at the top of the stones, while a second was filling containers with a clear yellow fluid, which flowed from an opening below the wheels.

  ‘Welcome, young sir,’ said the buffalope, in a deep, but gentle voice. ‘I’m Brutus. The master would like the two of us to get to know each other.’

  I looked at him.

  ‘Brooo-tus? What kind of name is that?’ I asked him. ‘The name that my master has given me,’ he said.

  ‘Come, walk along with me; it’s hard to talk to somebody you can’t see most of the time.’ I must confess I didn’t feel much like walking in circles, but I had questions that needed answers, so I fell into step with him.

  ‘Now,’ said Brutus. ‘I presume you must have been captured from the wild?’

  ‘Yes. From the great plains. My mother and I were captured by . . . Ner-uvi-ans, I believe they’re called. My . . . my father was killed because he tried to fight them.’

  Brutus nodded his head.

  ‘It is not a good idea to fight back. Your father must have been brave to have attempted it.’

  ‘He was brave,’ I said. ‘And wise. I miss him terribly.’

  ‘What about your mother?’ asked Brutus.

  I could only shrug my shoulders.

  ‘The last I saw of her, she was waiting to be sold.’

  Brutus sighed.

  ‘It’s a hard world,’ he said. ‘And I know that right now you must think that my master is a barbarian.’

  ‘I thought he was called a . . . Ber-und-ian.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what these people call themselves. A barbarian is something else, something fierce and terrible. But you will come to learn that my master is not so bad.’

  ‘You speak the Upright tongue,’ I said.

  ‘Upright?’ He laughed. ‘That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time, a good old buffalope word. For your information, young sir, these creatures are called humans . . . unless of course, they are skinny little things with pointed ears, in which case they are known as elves.’

  I tried the unfamiliar word.

  ‘Hew . . . mans?’ I said. ‘Not . . . Berundians?’

  ‘Well, they are Berundians, but that’s just a type. They’re called that because they come from Berundia, just as the Neruvians come from Neruvia and the Keladonians come from Keladon. But they’re all humans. And I see you already know a few words of their language. See, it’s not so hard is it?’

  I frowned.

  ‘What exactly are you doing?’ I asked him.

  ‘I’m grinding drabnat nuts,’ he said, as though it were the most foolish question he had ever heard. He tossed his head towards the two great stone wheels. ‘That stuff they are collecting is lamp oil. My master ’s oil is renowned throughout the land. It burns brighter, cleaner, longer. That’s his slogan, by the way. I thought it up myself.’

  I looked at him doubtfully and wondered why he would bother to help somebody who had enslaved him.

  ‘Is this all you do?’ I asked him. ‘Walk round and round in circles?’

  ‘It’s an important job,’ said Brutus, proudly. ‘Repeti - tive, yes, but valuable, and I get good food and the occasional break, so it’s not so very bad.’

  I snorted.

  ‘It doesn’t look like my idea of fun,’ I told him. ‘In fact, I can’t imagine a more boring existence.’

  ‘Really?’ He gave me a sly look. ‘That’s unfortunate,’ he said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because . . . well, Ebenezer hasn’t actually said anything . . .’

  ‘Ebe-nezer?’ I prompted him.

  ‘My master, the Berundian. He hasn’t come out and told me, but I think I can guess his intentions. As you can see, I’m getting a little long in the beard. I won’t be able to carry on doing this job for very much longer. So, he has obviously purchased you with a view to you becoming my replacement.’

  I stared at him, horrified.

  ‘You are jesting, I hope.’

  He shook his great horned head.

  ‘I seldom make jokes about such things,’ he assured me. ‘Oh, you are too small to turn these wheels as yet, but he probably wants to get as many years out of you as possible and that means he wants to start you just as soon as you are able.’

  I must confess, the prospect of being chained to a wheel for the rest of my life was a nightmare.

  ‘But . . . I . . . that’s really not the kind of future I had in mind,’ I protested.

  Brutus shook his head.

  ‘Nor I, for that matter. But you must understand, we buffalope do not get to choose our lives. We are but simple beasts of burden, here to serve humankind. We may not care for such a life but, if it is to be our lot, then we must embrace it and try to do our best.’

  ‘You cannot always have thought that,’ I argued. ‘Did you not run wild upon the great plains, when you were younger?’

  ‘Alas no, I have never known that life. My mother was working here when she bore me and it was she who taught me the way of the wheel. When she was taken away, I was ready to replace her . . .’

  ‘Taken away?’ I didn’t much like the sound of this. ‘Taken where?’

  Brutus shrugged his massive shoulders.

  ‘I do not know. One morning she was complaining to me that she had gone lame in one foot. That night the master took her away and I never saw her again. I believe he said something about a rest home.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ I said. Even at my tender age, I was shocked by his naivety.

  ‘Yes, she went to the rest home and I took her place at the wheel.’

  My mind began to work furiously. I thought about the brutal fate that had been handed out to Papa, and I thought about Ebenezer ’s fat wife and his plump children and I imagined that in their home there must be a big cooking pot. It didn’t take a mastermind to work out where Brutus’s mother must have gone, or, for that matter, where Brutus would be bound once I was ready to take his place. But clearly the idea had never occurred to him and somehow I could not bring myself to voice my suspicions.

  So we continued to walk around in circles all the rest of that day, until the sun went down, which is when the Berundian’s two workmen unhitched Brutus from the wheel and led the two of us to a strange wooden building, where we were given mulch to eat and settled down for the night. But I noticed that, when the workmen left, they secured the heavy doors, making it clear that there was no escape. No matter how Brutus liked to dress it up, we were prisoners.

  That night I slept only fitfully, haunted by the thought of poor Mama and what might be happening to her. I dreaded to think of her being sold to humans who would treat her cruelly but, even more, I dreaded the thought of her not being sold and ending up i
n the Neruvian’s cooking pot. When I did sleep, it seemed only for a few moments. I woke to the sound of a cock crowing and Brutus cheerfully telling me it was time to start work again. Then it was back to the enclosure and the wheel, endlessly turning round and round.

  Chapter 7

  Brutus

  Please don’t get me wrong. Brutus was one of the nicest creatures I ever had the good fortune to meet. He was polite and jovial and it was he who started me on the long process of learning the human tongue. But the thing is, he was incredibly thick.

  He couldn’t see that he was being exploited and it was pointless to try and tell him that his master was a cynical swine who would use him until he was fit to drop – and would then chuck him in the nearest cooking pot without so much as turning a hair. He saw himself as a partner in his master ’s business but, I ask you, what kind of a partner is it who never enjoys one privilege and who ends up being eaten by the very people whom he has worked so hard for?

  The language thing started when Brutus suggested to me that I might surprise the workmen one morning by bidding them ‘Good morning!’ in their own language. I learned it in a moment and asked him to teach me some more. That was when I realised I had a natural aptitude for speaking the human tongue. Mind you, compared to the complexities of buffalope, it’s dead simple.

  Brutus himself could speak a fair few phrases, but wasn’t exactly what you would call a great conversationalist. Once I had learned the extent of what he could teach me – which took but a few weeks - I found myself eager to learn more, which I did by getting on speaking terms with the two workmen, who were called Harold and James. I would ask them one of my simple questions and would listen intently to their replies, memorising as much as I could; but to be honest, they weren’t exactly what you’d call intellectuals. Their conversations ran to the state of the weather and the price of a flagon of ale.

  I don’t know why I had such an urge to learn the language of a race of creatures that had done me so much harm. Perhaps I wanted to prove that I was as clever, if not more so, than they were. And perhaps I had realised that, if I didn’t want to end up in a menial position like Brutus, I would need to be able to deal with the humans on their own terms and the best way to do that would be to speak to them.

  All the while this was going on, I was keeping an eye out for a possible way of escape. For the time being at least, I wasn’t ready to replace Brutus, but I was painfully aware that I was growing bigger day by day and it wouldn’t be too long before his harness would make a proper fit around my shoulders.

  The thing is: if I did manage to escape, where would I go? This part of the world was unfamiliar to me and it was a long way back to the great plains. And, even if I did manage to make it there, what hope was there for a young buffalope on his own? So many questions and not a suitable answer for one of them.

  And then, one day, something happened that once again would change my life. It is from the smallest things that the biggest changes can occur.

  Brutus hurt his leg. It happened like this. There we were, the two of us, going round and round in our endless circles, me practising my human talk, Brutus providing a few answers, when, unexpectedly, a piece of drabnat fruit fell from the loader and rolled into his path. As I’m sure you know, drabnats are very hard, round objects and one of Brutus’s front hooves came down on it, making him skid and splaying his front leg out in front of him at an awkward angle. I heard the crack of a bone and Brutus gave a grunt of pain. He struggled back to his usual stance, but when he tried to walk forward, he found he couldn’t put any weight on the injured leg.

  Harold and James came forward and asked him what he thought he was playing at.

  ‘Brutus hurt leg,’ he said. ‘Think ankle twisted.’

  ‘What?’ cried Harold. ‘That’s no use! You’ll have to go on. We’ve a big order of lamp oil to supply; the master will be furious.’

  ‘I cannot help,’ said Brutus calmly. ‘Cannot put weight on leg.’

  Harold and James had a muttered conversation and then James hurried off to fetch the master. After a short while, Ebenezer came striding out of the house, an expression on his face that suggested that somebody was holding a piece of dung under his nose. I saw to my concern that he was carrying the stinging thing, that Brutus had told me was called a whip.

  ‘What’s the meaning of this nonsense?’ growled Ebenezer. ‘Why have you stopped work?’

  ‘Master,’ began Brutus. ‘I hurt leg.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, a great big beast like you; get moving at once!’

  ‘But Master, I . . .’

  ‘At once, I say.’

  Ebenezer lifted the whip and lashed poor Brutus across the flanks. He tried pitifully to hobble along for a few steps, but had to give up with a gasp of pain.

  ‘It’s no good, Master, I . . .’

  He broke off as once again, the whip licked across his back. I stood and watched in mute disgust as Ebenezer continued to beat his good and faithful servant.

  ‘Leave Brutus alone!’ I shouted, in my halting way. ‘He injured, need rest.’

  Ebenezer paused to look at me. I don’t think he had heard me speak human before. His eyes narrowed and a sly look came into them.

  ‘If you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll give you a taste of the whip too,’ he said.

  ‘That not help get things done! You want drabnat oil, you let Brutus rest.’

  Ebenezer ’s face flushed red.

  ‘If he needs to rest so badly, perhaps you’d like to take his place?’ he growled.

  ‘Oh no, Master,’ protested Brutus. ‘Lad not strong enough turn wheel. It cripple him.’

  ‘And I will be crippled . . . financially crippled, if I do not supply this order in time,’ snapped Ebenezer.

  ‘Perhaps I have little time off?’ suggested Brutus. ‘I been good worker before today, Master. If I rest a while . . . I be better soon.’

  Ebenezer began to pace up and down, as though deliberating what to do. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.

  ‘Very well,” he said. ‘I’ll give you the rest of the day and tonight. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you go back on the wheel. And if you can’t do it, then he shall go in your place . . .’

  He pointed a finger at me.

  ‘. . . whether he’s up to it or not. And as for you . . .’

  He pointed at Brutus.

  ‘If he takes your place, you’ll go where your mother went before you.’

  ‘My mother?’ Brutus looked at Ebenezer with interest. ‘Oh, rest home!’ He nodded, seemed to accept this news.

  But I wasn’t about to accept it.

  ‘Where is rest home?’ I asked.

  ‘Ebenezer glared at me.

  ‘Keep your snout out of this!’ he said.

  ‘He only ask,’ said Brutus. He thought for a moment. ‘I would like to know, too.’

  Ebenezer looked as though he might be about to say something, but he must have thought better of it.

  ‘You’ll find out,’ he said, his voice laden with threat, ‘if you’re not fully up to scratch tomorrow morning.’ He gestured to Harold and James.

  ‘Put them in the barn for the night and give them something to eat.’

  And, with that, he stalked away.

  We were led to the barn, poor Brutus limping every step of the way. Once inside, he settled himself carefully onto the hay with a groan of pain.

  ‘Who’d have thought that a little thing like a drabnat could cause so much trouble?’ he said, talking more fluently in his own tongue. ‘Still, at least we have this afternoon off, so it’s not all bad news, is it?’

  I was trying to come to terms with my own bad news: the thought that tomorrow I would be strapped to those great stone wheels and made to turn them. Once I was in that harness, I thought, there would be no hope for me. I would live and die in them.

  ‘Do you honestly think your leg’s going to be better by tomorrow?’ I demanded.

  �
�Who can say?’ murmured Brutus. ‘It certainly doesn’t feel like something that could heal overnight. The leg is very swollen.’

  ‘Which means that I shall be tied to that wheel in your place, and you . . . you’ll be . . . where your mother went,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, that was interesting, don’t you think? He’s certainly never mentioned the idea of me going there before. Where do you suppose the rest home is? I like to think it’s a nice green paddock with perhaps a few other old buffalope to pass the time of day with.’

  I stared at him. Like I said, thick.

  ‘Brutus, haven’t you worked it out yet?’ I cried. ‘Where do you think your mother went?’

  ‘Well . . . to the rest home. You heard Ebenezer, she was taken to . . .’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, wake up and smell the clover! Your poor mother didn’t go to any rest home, she went into the bellies of your master and his family!’

  ‘Into—?’

  He broke off and stared at me open-mouthed.

  ‘What do you mean, into their bellies? How could . . . ?’

  ‘They ate her, Brutus. And they’ll eat you if you can’t work that wheel tomorrow. . . without a moment’s hesitation.’

  He laughed then, but it wasn’t very convincing.

  ‘That’s . . . ridiculous,’ he said. ‘My master wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t do something like that. The very idea!’ He tossed his head dismissively. ‘You’re just a youngster, what do you know?’

  ‘Enough to tell when somebody can’t be trusted,’ I said. ‘And I wouldn’t trust Ebenezer any further than I could butt him.’

  ‘He . . . he wouldn’t lie to me. We’ve been together for years.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you ask him?’ I said. ‘Tomorrow morning, when he comes for you. Why not see what he has to say about it?’

  Brutus snorted.

  ‘I will,’ he said. ‘Don’t you worry!’

  He put his great head down onto the straw and lay there brooding over the matter, while I ate my hay in silence. After a while he said, in a smaller voice than before.