Foremole prodded the babe’s swollen stomach gently. ‘Burr, you’m sure ee can manage dinner arter all yon ’ard wurk ee dunn?’
An equally small mole patted the mousebabe heartily. ‘Ho aye, ee surpintly can, zurr, ee be a growen choild an’ needen lots o’ dinner, doant ee matey?’
The mousebabe nodded vigorous agreement. Saxtus looked to Foremole and Joseph, giving them a quick wink. ‘What do you think, sirs, do these warriors deserve dinner as a reward for guarding our strawberries?’
Foremole scratched his chin with a hefty digging claw. ‘Aye, oi do berleev they’m do zurr, tho’ they’m lukk in need o’ a good scrubben furrst, hurr hurr!’
‘Oh yes, we can’t have em sitting at table like that,’ the Bellmaker agreed judiciously. ‘All stained and scarred from their long, hard duties. Right, line up here, all down to the shallow edge of the Abbey pond. First one back and cleanest washed gets the biggest dinner. Ready, steady, . . . Go!’
‘Redwaaaaall! Chaaaaaarge!’ The Dibbuns sped off helter-skelter. Shaking with laughter, the three friends strode in to dinner.
From time out of mind Redwall Abbey had been renowned as a haven of comradeship, good manners, and legendary food. All Redwallers met each evening to share the fruits of their toil. Saxtus entered the Great Hall, warm in the feeling of being Father Abbot to the creatures of his beloved Abbey. Early evening sunlight slanted down through the stained glass windows, casting rainbow hues over the laden tables. Young and old alike sat together, the hum of their chatter rising to hallowed timber roofbeams. Garlands of rose, stitchwort, sorrel, violet and anemone decked the inner table borders. Duty cooks and servers bustled about on the outer perimeters, pushing trolleys and carrying trays heaped with culinary delights. Hungry onlookers commented eagerly upon the delightful fare. The two hares, Tarquin L. Woodsorrel and his wife the Hon Rosie, together with their twelve leverets, wiggled their ears in delight.
‘I say, I say, jolly old meadowcream pudden, wot?’
‘Just lookit those button mushrooms fallin’ out o’ that leek an’ onion pastie, m’dear. Absolutely spiffin’!’
Hon Rosie was known for her strident laugh, which it was said could curdle cream at great distances. ‘Whoohahahooh! Woodland salad an’ yellow nutcheese with Abbey dressing, top hole! They must’ve known we were comin’, Tarkers, wot?’
Foremole took his seat, nudging a molefriend. ‘Yurr, be that turnip’n’tater’n’beetroot deeper’n’ever pie oi sees, Rungle?’
‘Ho aye, that et be, zurr, wi’ damsoncream pudden t’foller,’ said the other mole, as he polished a small wooden ladle eagerly. ‘Boi ’okey, if’n moi mouth waters much more oi’m afeared oi’ll be drownded, hurr!’
Blind Simeon, the ancient mouse Herbalist, and old Mother Mellus, the matriarch badger of Redwall, sat either side of Saxtus. The Bellmaker was seated next to Mellus – all four were close friends. Joseph leaned towards the badger as two hedgehogs passed, bearing a tray piled high with fresh baked scones.
‘What a delightful aroma, Melius. Honey and blackberry scones, with maple icing too. Splendid!’
A smile hovered about the badger’s silver muzzle. ‘You’re nought but a flattering fraud, Joseph, you knew I baked them specially for you. They do smell nice though.’
‘Those scones will taste twice as good as they smell,’ said Saxtus, unfolding his table napkin.
The old badger smiled graciously. ‘How gallant, thank you, Father Abbot!’
‘How is it that I’m nought but a flattering fraud and Saxtus gets thanked for his gallantry?’ grumbled the Bellmaker, as he attacked a salad busily.
Mellus ladled fragrant dark gravy over a carrot and scallion pastie and placed it in front of Joseph. ‘Compliments are like clouds, my friend; very pretty, but if we had to dine on them we’d starve. Eat and be thankful.’
Looking rather guilty, Saxtus stayed the Bellmaker’s paw. ‘Oops. Forgot to say grace, ’scuse me please!’
He rang a small bell, specially made for table by Joseph. All chatter ceased; silence fell over Great Hall. The Father Abbot arose, solemn faced. He was about to speak when the newly washed orchard guard clattered in through the doorway. With a frown and a paw to her lips, Mellus beckoned them silently to her. They tip-pawed across, Saxtus holding his silence as the badger whispered, ‘Late for dinner, my little Dibbuns?’
A mousebabe piped up indignantly. ‘Norra our fault, we was sended for a wash after us worked ’ard inna orchard all day long!’
The Dibbuns nodded in unison, backing up their spokesmouse. Mellus’s huge paws scooped two of them on to her lap. ‘Now sit quietly the rest of you, not a word until Father Abbot has said grace.’
She nodded to Saxtus, who coughed importantly and began:
‘Fate and seasons smile on all,
From sunrise to the dark nightfall,
This bounty from both earth and tree,
Was made to share, twixt you and me,
To Mother Nature let us say,
Our thanks, for life and health this day.’
There was a mighty Amen. The little bell sounded and dinner commenced in earnest.
It was a joyous meal for honest creatures. Dishes were passed to be shared, both sweet and savoury. October Ale and strawberry cordial, tarts, pies, flans and puddings, served out and replaced by fresh delights from Redwall’s kitchens. Turnovers, trifles, breads, fondants, salads, pasties and cheeses, alternated with beakers of greensap milk, mint tea, rosehip cup and elderberry wine. Rufe Brush, the Abbey Bellringer, shared a heavy fruitcake with his friend Durry Quill, hedgehog Cellarkeeper and nephew of the late good old Gabe Quill, from whom he had inherited his duties.
The Abbot watched Joseph leaning back in his chair. ‘What is it, Bellmaker,’ he said, ‘not hungry?’
‘Saxtus, when will my dreams be revealed?’
‘Eat first, talk later, it will happen in good time. Is that a hot scone I see lying on your plate?’
Joseph turned too late; the scone was claimed by the mousebabe sitting on Mellus’s lap. Joseph blinked. ‘You little scallywag! I suppose you’d like to guard the kitchen baking ovens tomorrow as a change from the strawberry patch.’
The mousebabe shook his head and winked furtively. ‘No, but we guard the win’owsill, where cakes an’ pies be,’ he said.
Mellus tickled his ribs until he giggled and squirmed. ‘Oh no you won’t, bucko, my pies and cakes are quite safe cooling alone on the windowsills. Though I once recall a certain Abbot when he was a Dibbun, spent three days in sickbay after guarding those windowsills. The greedy little snip, do you remember him, Saxtus?’
The Father Abbot of all Redwall applied himself to a plate of summercream pudding, pretending he had not heard.
The evening wore on until the Dibbuns began yawning, one or two coming perilously close to falling face down upon their plates with drooping eyes. Saxtus stood and rang his little bell.
‘Anybeast on dormitory duty, please take the Dibbuns up!’
Wails of protest arose from the fretful babes. ‘Yaah, not fair, s’not fair, us allus ’ave t’go t’bed!’
‘I wish us big uns could go off to bed right now,’ said Oak Tom, pulling a long face of comic dismay. ‘We have to stay up and wash pots’n’ pans’n’ dishes clean for morning.’
Tarquin L. Woodsorrel flapped his ears in agreement. ‘Indeed scout, ’tis a rough old life bein’ a big un, wot? P’raps the Dibbuns aren’t really sleepy, what say they stay up an’ help, bet they’d make jolly good potwashers, eh?’
There was a sudden clatter of chairs and benches as the panicked Dibbuns dashed for the stairs, yelling, ‘Gu’night Father Abbot, night night everybeast, we goin’ abed!’ They scampered up the stairs amid peals of laughter.
Flooding evening sunlight had now dimmed to a golden filter, illuminating the tapestry depicting Martin the Warrior which hung upon the wall of Great Hall. Saxtus felt himself arise unbidden from his Abbot’s chair. He went to stand behind the Bellmak
er. A dreamy feeling he could not explain had cast its mantle over the Abbot; it was as if time and the earth were standing still. A great silence lay upon the big chamber: golden dust motes hung lazily on the still air, gleaming in the last faded yellow sunrays. Amidst the tangible hush Redwallers sat immobile, each in their place, like figures captured in eternity upon some vast canvas. Across the peace that lay over all, Saxtus heard his own voice. It was low, yet the sound carried from floor to roofbeam, reaching every shadowed corner of Great Hall.
‘My friends, I have something to say to you. Of late Joseph our Bellmaker has been thinking deeply about his daughter Mariel and her companion Dandin. I know that all Redwallers remember both those mice with great fondness; I certainly do. Dandin and I were brought up together, like brothers, in this very Abbey. Scarce a day passes when I will not see somewhere we played together, and then I think of him, off on adventures with Mariel the Warriormaid. Alas, there has been no news of them for more than four seasons now. Where are they? I think Joseph may provide us with some help. Last night he was visited in a dream by Martin the Warrior.’
To Joseph, the Abbot’s voice behind him sounded like a distant murmur. He had not heard a word that was said. Now Saxtus had finished speaking, every eye was turned upon the Bellmaker. He sat upright, staring hard at the likeness of Martin upon the tapestry. Saxtus watched him – Joseph’s lips were moving slowly as if he were holding a conversation with somebeast. The room became dark; Saxtus watched as dusk heralded nightfall. The sun’s final ray reflected through a high window, wreathing the form of Joseph in a fleeting nimbus of light. Saxtus recalled the lines of the rhyme: ‘At daylight’s last gleam you’ll remember.’
Then the daylight was gone.
Candles and walltorches burned bright as Joseph stood and looked about him.
‘Listen now and I will speak as Martin the Warrior told me!’
5
IT WAS MUCH cooler among the green hills of the scrubland. Mariel, Dandin and Bowly took a leisurely lunch from the supplies they had commandeered from the two weasels. The travellers rested, half napping as they lay back on a mossy hillock, listening to the high trill of a skylark backed by the drone of bees and the dry chirrup of grasshoppers. Dandin was first to hear other noises; shaking himself out of a semi-torpor he cupped an ear to the light breeze.
‘Listen, can you hear it, Mariel? Sounds like somebeasts doing a bit of roaring and shouting somewhere.’
Mariel prodded the sleeping Bowly firmly on his snout. ‘Stop snoring and do something useful, sit up and tell us what you can hear, come on dozybones!’
The young hedgehog sat up, snuffling and grumbling. ‘Call y’selves friends? Huh, won’t even let a young warrior ’ave ’is slumber, you’ll stunt me growth wakin’ me like that.’ Bowly had very sharp hearing and he assessed the situation in a trice.
‘Sounds like some creatures tormentin’ a mole. See that big hill yonder, third one goin’ south to the right. I reckons it’s comin’ from ahind of there.’
Moles were friendly. No one hesitated. Mariel readied her Gullwhacker and Dandin drew his dagger. Bowly sighed aloud, picking up his two hard oatcakes as he followed them on their way to the big hill. ‘Time for trouble agin. Mercy me, somebeasts got no consideration at all. Goin’ gittin’ theirselves into distress jus’ when it’s warriors’ nappin’ time!’
Bowly was correct, it was a fat old mole in trouble. Six grey rats were trying to bind him with grass ropes. The old creature was giving a good account of himself, but the rats were overwhelming him, prodding him with spears as they looped the coils about him and struggled to get a halter round his neck. Nearby three small young moles were weeping in distress, closely guarded by a seventh rat.
The old mole pulled a paw loose as he roared, ‘You’m vurmints, oi’ll never tug moi snout to no foxerwulf, ee Squirrelyking be the oandly one oi bow to, hurr!’
They had not yet seen the three friends. ‘Me and Mariel will take the six who have the old fellow,’ Dandin whispered to Bowly. ‘D’you reckon you could deal with that rat guarding the young uns?’
Not stopping to answer, Bowly hefted one of his oatcakes and flung it hard with amazing accuracy. It whacked the rat solidly across the jaw, dropping him in a heap. The young hedgehog grinned from ear to ear. ‘I done that Dandy, wot next?’
All activity below ceased as the six rats turned to stare up at the intruders. Dandin sighed in resignation. ‘Bowly, you might have waited until I gave the word – we’ve completely lost the element of surprise.’
Mariel had her Gullwhacker ready as they strode down to confront the rats. She addressed the one who looked like their captain. ‘You, frognose, get your filthy paws off that mole!’
The rat leered crookedly at her. ‘Well, well, what have we here, a little mouseymaid. What’s your name, pretty one?’
The Gullwhacker belted him square in the mouth and he sat down hard, spitting out a broken fang. Mariel smiled. ‘Should have whacked you over the ears, it would have cleared some of the muck from them. I never asked for compliments – I told you to let the mole go.’
‘You’ve just signed your death warrant, mouse,’ said the rat, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. ‘There’s more than seven of us, you’ll see!’ He blew several sharp blasts on a bone whistle which hung from his neck, but before he could blow more, a kick from the old mole felled him. Knowing reinforcements would be arriving promptly, Mariel and Dandin hurled themselves headlong at the remaining five rats.
‘Redwaaaaaalllll!’
Sheathing his dagger, Dandin tripped the first rat and grabbed the spear from his claws as he fell. Using the spearbutt as a club he set about belabouring the grounded rat furiously. Mariel tangled the footpaws of another in the coils of her Gullwhacker, whipping it free to punish him with the hard knotted end. Bowly leapt on the back of a third rat, striking hard with his remaining oatcake.
Reinforcements arrived in the form of ten more rats dashing over the hill. Mariel saw them coming and rapped out a swift order: ‘Form foursquare around the little moles. Quick!’
They dashed to obey, facing outward with the young moles at their centre. Dandin brandished the spear, jabbing. Mariel swung her rope in an arc, daring any rat to step within its range. Bowly and the old mole had picked up spear and sword; growling, they waved the weapons wildly. The rats who had been felled began to recover and rise, hopelessly outnumbering the four defenders. A rat leapt back, sneering, as Dandin jabbed out with his spear.
The Captain whose fang Mariel had knocked out staggered upright, wiping blood from his chin. ‘You’ll wish you’d never interfered with Captain Bragglin of Nagru’s horde. Hitting me with that rope was the biggest mistake of your life, mouse!’
Some of the rats had bows. They began fitting shafts to their bowstrings in readiness. Dandin shook his head. ‘Bowly, I told you it was wrong to knock that rat down before we had a chance to size up the situation.’
Quivering with anticipation, the rats began slowly closing in on the little party. For the first time Bowly’s swaggering attitude deserted him and his voice sounded small and frightened. ‘T’aint much fun bein’ a warrior, looks like we’re nigh to gettin’ ourselves slayed!’
Mariel knew Bowly’s words to be true. But desperate situations call for reckless remedies: the mousemaid hurled herself into action with lightning ferocity.
Snatching the dagger from Dandin’s belt she clamped it firmly between her teeth, then, thundering forward, she struck hard, left, right and centre with the Gullwhacker. Totally unprepared for such an aggressive move, several rats were floored by hefty blows. They fell, bumping into others and knocking arrows awry from bowstrings. For the second time in a short space Captain Bragglin found himself in the path of Mariel’s weapon. She swung it in a vicious arc, thudding the knot into his stomach. His mouth gaped wide as the breath was belted from him in a loud whoosh. Before the rats had time to recover, Mariel had thrown herself upon their Captain. She held the dagg
er point at his trembling gullet, roaring wildly, ‘Don’t even think about moving or this scum dies!’
As the attackers froze in their tracks, Bragglin shouted, ‘Be still, don’t make any false moves! Grinj, cover her!’
The rat called Grinj was an experienced archer. As the rest stood stock-still he slid close to Mariel, an arrow straining against his taut bowstring. Bragglin managed to gasp against the daggertip tickling his throat, ‘Kill her if she moves this blade a fraction!’
Dandin heaved a loud sigh of dismay. It was a standoff. Noontide shimmered over the grass-topped sandhills as both parties stood poised in a silent tableau.
‘This’n’s a right ol’ mess we be gotten into,’ said Bowly, shooting Dandin a pleading glance. ‘Wot’s a warrior supposed to do now, Dandy?’
Dandin knew the situation rested on a daggertip and an arrowhead. Squinting up at the high hot orb of the sun he whispered calmly, ‘Learn patience and obedience, that’s the way of the warrior. Don’t show fear, Bowly; stand up straight and wait for the next move – but be ready when it comes!’
‘Hail the conquering Foxwolf – you drooling idiot!’
The Urgan Nagru ducked as a bowl clanged against the banqueting chamber door. Wincing with the pain of his injuries he hobbled to one side as Silvamord flung a three-branched candlestick.
‘One day that poisoned tongue’ll be the death of you, vixen!’ the Foxwolf snarled dangerously. Limping to his chair he slumped down and began tugging gingerly with his teeth at a long whitebeam splinter embedded in his paw. Silvamord continued her tirade.
‘I could have caught them, but what did you do, cleverbrush? Tried to drown me in the moat! Nagru the nitbrain, that’s you, the fool who chases his own tail!’
Nagru spat the splinter at her venomously. ‘Ahh, give your slobbering mouth a rest, clattergob, letting yourself be pulled out the window by a big dumb badger!’