his rights. That one horn had been broken off near the tip was proof that they were not for ornament.
His six wives grazed docilely under the protection of those horns and the jealous stare of his yellow eyes. His innumerable children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren rooted and pawed and bleated in the coarse hill grass.
The other billy goats knew their places, and he tolerated them; even Gobhar # who had once almost dared to challenge his position and would probably one day succeed him; but that day was a long way off. No hunter, fox, wild cat or even eagle, dared approach the flock openly and tradition on the moor related that Bhuiridh had once driven a fully antlered stag off his territory.
Several times a month, as the mood moved him, Bhuiridh led his six wives and the camp followers of his flock along the ancient goat trail that led from the woods across the Ballagan Burn and up on to the higher parts of the moor.
Bhuiridhâs predecessor, whom he had defeated and deposed in a bitter skull-butting battle so long ago that no-one else remembered, had done the same. And so had that predecessorâs predecessor.
Sometimes, in severe winter weather, deer, coming down from the top of the moor, used the trail, but normally they kept to higher ground; and in the traditions of the animals of the moor it was known simply as âthe Goat Trailâ.
Man respected it too. It was too steep and rough for the ponies that used to bring down the carcasses of stags shot on the hill and they used a gentler route. The tracks crossed at one point, just beyond the Ballagan Burn, but men and goats march to different rhythms and they seldom met.
Recently, Bhuiridh had noted, the pony track had been widened for a new beast of burden that growled and whined ferociously as it took the steep gradient. But that traffic, too, was occasional and posed no threat to his authority.
Sometimes, in his long experience as leader of the flock, Bhuiridh had known the track to become blocked; a fall of rock after a severe storm had washed away the footholds of the boulders, had covered it for a while. But the goats had picked their way through the obstacles and eventually the biggest boulders had worked loose again and trundled further down the slope till they lodged against the boundary wall of the wood.
Very long ago, so tradition on the moor told, a new man, an incomer who did not know the customs of the country, had built a fence across the track. But the goats had leaned and shoved and scratched and levered and in time the fence posts had come out and the wires had snapped, the fence had fallen and the goats had resumed their immemorial pathway.
So now the presence of a man-made thing, a small cottage on wheels, didnât concern Bhuiridh. At present it was possible to go round it; eventually it would rot away and break up; or the autumn floods would wash it away; or the winter winds would hurl it across the hillside.
The younger billies felt differently; too young to see things in the long term as Bhuiridh could, they saw the caravan as a challenge; it had no right to be there; it must be moved; and hard skulls and horns were the tools for this kind of work.
Gobhar, in particular, saw this as his opportunity to gain in status and prestige. If old Bhuiridh couldnât lead the flock any more when there was an enemy to be faced, then perhaps it was time for a change in leadership and he, Gobhar, would not be afraid to take up the challenge in the time-honoured custom of the goats â head on.
Bhuiridh was well aware of this challenge to his leadership. He knew that the things men make are for the moment, lasting only until they go chasing off after a new idea. But a challenge to his leadership was another matter. His horns were the mightiest; his strength was the greatest; he would lead by example.
* pronounced Vooree
# pronounced Gower
RETREAT
Fraser waited, doomed, for the grasp of heavy hands at his throat. Or perhaps
His six wives grazed docilely under the protection of those horns and the jealous stare of his yellow eyes. His innumerable children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren rooted and pawed and bleated in the coarse hill grass.
The other billy goats knew their places, and he tolerated them; even Gobhar # who had once almost dared to challenge his position and would probably one day succeed him; but that day was a long way off. No hunter, fox, wild cat or even eagle, dared approach the flock openly and tradition on the moor related that Bhuiridh had once driven a fully antlered stag off his territory.
Several times a month, as the mood moved him, Bhuiridh led his six wives and the camp followers of his flock along the ancient goat trail that led from the woods across the Ballagan Burn and up on to the higher parts of the moor.
Bhuiridhâs predecessor, whom he had defeated and deposed in a bitter skull-butting battle so long ago that no-one else remembered, had done the same. And so had that predecessorâs predecessor.
Sometimes, in severe winter weather, deer, coming down from the top of the moor, used the trail, but normally they kept to higher ground; and in the traditions of the animals of the moor it was known simply as âthe Goat Trailâ.
Man respected it too. It was too steep and rough for the ponies that used to bring down the carcasses of stags shot on the hill and they used a gentler route. The tracks crossed at one point, just beyond the Ballagan Burn, but men and goats march to different rhythms and they seldom met.
Recently, Bhuiridh had noted, the pony track had been widened for a new beast of burden that growled and whined ferociously as it took the steep gradient. But that traffic, too, was occasional and posed no threat to his authority.
Sometimes, in his long experience as leader of the flock, Bhuiridh had known the track to become blocked; a fall of rock after a severe storm had washed away the footholds of the boulders, had covered it for a while. But the goats had picked their way through the obstacles and eventually the biggest boulders had worked loose again and trundled further down the slope till they lodged against the boundary wall of the wood.
Very long ago, so tradition on the moor told, a new man, an incomer who did not know the customs of the country, had built a fence across the track. But the goats had leaned and shoved and scratched and levered and in time the fence posts had come out and the wires had snapped, the fence had fallen and the goats had resumed their immemorial pathway.
So now the presence of a man-made thing, a small cottage on wheels, didnât concern Bhuiridh. At present it was possible to go round it; eventually it would rot away and break up; or the autumn floods would wash it away; or the winter winds would hurl it across the hillside.
The younger billies felt differently; too young to see things in the long term as Bhuiridh could, they saw the caravan as a challenge; it had no right to be there; it must be moved; and hard skulls and horns were the tools for this kind of work.
Gobhar, in particular, saw this as his opportunity to gain in status and prestige. If old Bhuiridh couldnât lead the flock any more when there was an enemy to be faced, then perhaps it was time for a change in leadership and he, Gobhar, would not be afraid to take up the challenge in the time-honoured custom of the goats â head on.
Bhuiridh was well aware of this challenge to his leadership. He knew that the things men make are for the moment, lasting only until they go chasing off after a new idea. But a challenge to his leadership was another matter. His horns were the mightiest; his strength was the greatest; he would lead by example.
* pronounced Vooree
# pronounced Gower
RETREAT
Fraser waited, doomed, for the grasp of heavy hands at his throat. Or perhaps
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