The small Highlander agreed. “Aye, right lassie, but if’n yon auld featherbag is too feared tae be made better, what can ye do, eh?”
Tam winced as the hawk’s powerful talons latched on to his paw. Tergen glared icily at Doogy and Armel. “Yeehok! Take this bird to ’fermery, Burl, wot wot!”
The goshawk proved to be a worthy patient. He perched on a bed end, nibbling candied chestnuts which Armel kept in a big jar for her Dibbun patients.
As the Sister worked on the goshawk’s wing, she explained to Tam the significance of the sword she had given him. “Have you seen the picture of Martin the Warrior on the tapestry in Great Hall?”
Tam passed Armel the bowl of verbena water she had requested. “Aye, he looks like a mighty warrior. No wonder, too, with a sword like this.”
The Sister cast a quick glance at the sword, which had seldom left Tam’s side since he had been in charge of it. Then she proceeded with her account to the warrior squirrel. “It is countless seasons since the days of Martin, but his legend, and that of the great sword, lives on. We learned at Abbey school that the hilt of the sword was the one which originally belonged to Luke, Martin’s father. A Badger Lord named Boar the Fighter made the blade in his forge at Salamandastron. It is said that the metal came from a fallen star. There is no steel keener or stronger than that blade. The sword of Martin the Warrior belongs to Redwall Abbey and must always return here, though at special times an outstanding warrior may be chosen to wield it when danger threatens us. Martin appeared to me in a dream, proclaiming that you were the one he had chosen, Tam.”
Doogy selected a candied chestnut mournfully. “Och, are ye sure yore Martin dinnae mean me, lassie?”
Tam picked up the sword. Swinging it in a flashing arc, he clipped the candied chestnut that his friend was holding neatly in half. He twirled the blade back and forth, watching the sunlight from the window playing along its edges as it cleaved the air.
“Great seasons o’ slaughter, what a weapon! The balance and lightness, the way it fits my paw. I could face any ten vermin armed with this sword!”
Armel rapped Doogy’s paw as he reached for another chestnut. “Mr. Plumm, those are only for injured Dibbuns!”
Tergen cackled as he grabbed another from the jar. “Kraahahaa, an’ wounded birds who be not feared!”
The banquet supper that evening was a splendid affair. Redwallers sat cheek by jowl with Long Patrol hares, chattering and laughing as they did justice to the culinary triumphs of Friar Glisum and some of Burlop’s best cellar produce. The centrepiece was a huge meadowcream trifle garlanded with pink rosebuds of almond icing. Soups, dips and salads took up the border of the table. Behind them came pasties, turnovers, tarts and flans; closer in were the crumbles and cakes. As each course was completed, the dishes were removed and the next course brought forward. Burlop presided over a side trestle which was lined with drinks—from October Ale and pale cider, to cordials and squashes, with mint and fragrant herb teas. Even the ravenous hares were sated after a while, yet there was plenty left, and always new dishes being ferried in by helpers with trolleys.
A variety of entertainment was provided by numerous of the banquet attendees: a mole did some magic tricks; a trio of mousemaids danced an intricate reel, which involved weaving multicoloured ribbons into a plaited circle; then a party of Dibbuns performed a high-kicking jig, their little faces screwed up with concentration as everybeast called out encouragement to them.
During a lull when the tankards and beakers were being refilled, Tam and Doogy obliged with a sword dance from their northern home. They received great applause but had to warn some enthusiastic Dibbuns about attempting to imitate them.
Banging their tankards on the tabletops, the Long Patrol called to Wonwill and Crumshaw.
“I say, sah, how about you an’ the Sarge givin’ us a ballad?”
“Yes, give us that jolly one about Algy an’ Bobbs!”
“Aye, clear the floor there for the Brigadier an’ the Sergeant. Give order please, you chaps!”
Crumshaw and Wonwill got up, much to the delight of the younger hares. They sang an old Salamandastron barrack room ballad, waltzing about paw in paw with a dignified air.
“Old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me,
received the official call,
to attend A.S.A.P.
at the Regimental Ball.
All togged up in our best,
weren’t we a sight to see,
combed an’ brushed an’ polished,
old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!
Honour an’ bow to your partners,
chaps of the Long Patrol.
Whirl’n’curl’n’twirl your tail,
as round the floor we roll.
All the pretty ladies, lookin’ for company,
an’ didn’t we oblige them,
old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!
Refreshments then were served,
an’ Bobbs slipped on a flan.
He bumped the Colonel’s daughter
headfirst into a pan.
Then Algy slung a pudden,
hit the Major’s bride-to-be.
An’ the Sergeant fired a crumble
at Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!
O pass me a trifle smartly,
with a cherry on top for luck.
It smacked the Quartermaster,
he was bowled out for a duck.
Lathered in cream an’ howlin’,
‘Arrest those bloomin’ three.’
We wound up in the guardhouse,
old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!”
Finishing with a swirl and a flourish, the brigadier and the sergeant bowed and curtsied to hoots of applause from the rankers.
The banquet continued as Foremole Bruffy signalled to Skipper. “Ee garmunts you’m arsked for bee’s ready in ee kitching, zurr.”
Those who had been picked excused themselves and went to get kitted out. Shortly after, they emerged, clad in simple, short smocks of subdued brown and green. Their blades had been smoke-blackened over a fire by Friar Glisum.
Brigadier Crumshaw looked them over. “Stap me, ye look like a right crew o’ rogues, wot!”
Wonwill saluted. “Beggin’ yore pardon, sah, but they h’aint goin’ out for no dress parade!”
With his good arm, Crumshaw clasped his faithful sergeant’s paw firmly. “Let’s hope they come back safe, wot.”
Tam’s fifty hares took a moment to bid good-bye to their comrades and the friends they had made at Redwall.
“Well, toodle pip, old lad, an’ chin up, wot!”
“Hah, you lucky toads have got the hard job, stoppin’ back here an’ scoffin’ all that super grub, eh?”
“Aye, we’ll be thinkin’ of ye. Give ’em a few biffs for us, will you?”
Kersey, who had been sitting in the background, presented Ferdimond with Dauncey’s sling and pebble bag. “Take this along with you, and watch out for yourself.”
He bowed gallantly. “I’ll be lookin’ out for you when I come back, if I may?”
A faint smile creased Kersey’s lips. “Thank you, Mister De Mayne, that would please me.”
Armel gave Tam a small satchel. “This is a few herbs and dressings in case you’re wounded, Tam.”
He winked at the pretty squirrelmaid. “I’ll use ’em to bandage up Doogy’s mouth if he starts grumbling. Stay safe now, and don’t worry about me.”
The border warrior turned to salute the brigadier. “All present an’ correct, sah. Ready t’move off!”
Crumshaw smiled at Tam. “I knew I could count on ye, MacBurl. Right, forward the buffs, eh wot! True blue an’ never fail, that’s the ticket!”
Skipper tweaked Brooky’s nose lightly. “Behave yoreself now, missy. Don’t ye go whoopin’ an’ laughin’ an’ upsettin’ everybeast while I’m gone.”
The ottermaid hugged her uncle tightly. “Right ho, Skip. I’ll cry in the night an’ keep ’em all awake until you get back.”
Br
other Gordale opened the east wickergate, patting each one on the back as they stole off silently into the night-shrouded woodlands. He bolted the door shut, remarking to Sister Screeve, who had accompanied him, “Well, there they go, luck and fortune go with them.”
The Recorder mouse shuddered, drawing her cloak close. “Thank the seasons that Redwall has such brave allies!”
22
Gulo the Savage was in a killing rage, the proof of which was laid out in front of him. Every white fox and ermine who served the insane wolverine stood in horrified awe, staring at the torn remains of the four vermin whose responsibility had been to guard the camp on the previous night. Gulo had personally killed them. He had literally destroyed all three, using only his fangs and claws. So overwhelming was his anger that he had also vented it on the carcase of the fourth sentry, the one whom Doogy had put paid to with his blade. Gulo’s warriors stood to rigid attention, scarcely daring to breathe as he prowled amongst them, berating everybeast with his increasing wrath.
“I am Gulo the Savage, son of Dramz, greatest and fiercest in all the lands of ice beyond the great sea! Yet I am served by fools, knaves and idlers! Scouts and trackers who are so blind and stupid that they cannot follow the trail of my treacherous brother Askor, the coward who fled from me, the thief who stole the Walking Stone! Idiots who call themselves warriors, who let my banner be stolen and allowed valuable captives to slip away. Tremble! Aye, shake like aspens before the storm, all of ye!”
Shard, the white fox captain, his cloak in tatters, crouched beside the drum, whimpering in pain. All down one flank he had lost his snow-white fur in the hot embers of the fire; dried blood matted his skulltop where Tam had hit him with the dirk hilt. Shard looked like a pitiful remnant of his former self, completely cowed and in searing agony from his injuries.
Gulo eyed him contemptuously. “And thou, my clever Captain, have ye a solution? What is the answer to all of thy Lord’s woes, eh?”
Shard knew that to speak would be to invite his own death. He lay quivering, with downcast eyes, before his master. Perching upon the drum’s rim, Gulo leaned down with his mouth close to the captain’s face. “One more mistake, Shard, just one, and I will build me a fire to finish off roasting thee properly. Yes?”
The white fox spoke without daring to look at the insane eyes that were appraising him. “Yes, Mighty One.”
Gulo patted the fox’s injured flank, making him quiver in anguish. “Good, now listen to my commands. Ye will come with me. We will march straightaway to the Redwall place. There ye will take all of my fighters and gain entry. I want everything! My banner, the Walking Stone, and Askor, ye will deliver them unto me. Is this understood?”
Gulo grabbed Shard by both ears, wrenching his face upward as he repeated his final word. “Understood?”
Swallowing the huge lump which seemed to have arisen in his throat, the fox stammered, “To h . . . hear is to obey, Lord!”
The wolverine gave Shard a swift kick, releasing him so that he fell flat. Gulo the Savage snarled, “Go then, and obey!”
Early morning sunlight dappled through the tree foliage, casting a mottled pattern of light and shadow upon a quiet waterway in the woodlands. Just as Tam and his company were about to cross it, Skipper raised a paw for silence.
Doogy whispered to the otter chieftain, “What is it, the vermin?”
Skipper shook his head. “No, mate, stop here an’ be quiet, all of ye. I’m goin’ to take a look.”
The two squirrels and the band of hares watched as Skipper slid into the water and sped off beneath its clouded surface. He was lost to sight for a few moments, then emerged further upstream, close to the bank.
Ferdimond twitched his ears in puzzlement. “What the dickens is he up to, Tam?”
The border warrior clamped a paw over the hare’s mouth. “Hush and watch! Skipper knows what he’s doin’.”
The otter floated slowly forward. Then he shot his paw into a shallow bank hole, yelling, “Gotcha, me buckoe!”
Yoofus Lightpaw’s yells were smothered by the water as he was dragged back through the stream by his tail. Skipper hauled him unceremoniously up onto the bank. “Lookit wot I just found!”
Shaking his flattened fur back into its usual untidy ruffle, the water vole smiled impudently up at Tam. “Ah, top o’ the mornin’ t’ye, Mister MacBurl, sir, an’ a grand ould day it is, t’be sure. Wasn’t I just comin’ back to the Abbey to report to yore goodself now!”
Tam whipped out his sword and placed the point at the neck of the thief. “Where’s my flag an’ my claymore? Speak or die!”
Yoofus pushed the blade away casually. “Now isn’t that a daft thing t’be sayin’! Sure, if I never spoke, an’ ye killed me, then ye’d never get yore goods back. That’s a fact, ’cos ye’d never find ’em now, would ye?”
Skipper chuckled at the little thief’s audacity. “You got to admit, he’s right there, mate!”
Yoofus switched his attention to Tam’s sword, his eyes shining with admiration and desire. “Ah, will ye look at that now! Sure that’s the grandest ould sword I ever clapped eyes on, so ’tis. I could do ye a fine trade for a blade like that!”
The border warrior’s voice left the water vole in no doubt that he had said the wrong thing. “I warn ye now, my light-pawed friend. If ye so much as look at this sword the wrong way, you’ll surely die, an’ ye have my oath on that!”
Avoiding Tam’s icy stare, Yoofus swiftly changed the subject. “Sure I’d have thought ye’d other things on yore mind than standin’ gossipin’ here like ould frogwives. D’ye not know that the great beastie an’ his crew are on the trail to attack Redwall?”
Ferdimond grabbed the front of the water vole’s tunic roughly. “How d’you know that, you flippin’ fibber?”
The volethief wriggled in the hare’s grasp. “Unpaw me, ye great lanky lolloper, that’s me favourite weskit yore ruinin’!”
Doogy squeezed the hare’s paw, making him release his grip. “Let’s hear wot the wee rascal has tae say, Ferdy.”
Yoofus straightened his tunic indignantly. “Where would you lot be without a fine creature like meself to help ye, eh? When I left Redwall, I sez t’meself, sure, an’ why not pay the ould vermin camp a visit? There might be stuff there I could pick up before I wends me way home. So, up into the trees by their camp I went. Everybeast always looks for water voles in water, but no one ever thinks o’ lookin’ up in trees for ’em. That’s the secret of me success, d’ye see.”
Skipper gave him a light cuff with his tail. “Well, I caught ye in the water. Now stop wofflin’, mate, an’ give us yore news smartish!”
Yoofus continued promptly. “Well now, the things I saw an’ heard there! The ould Gulo monster himself was madder’n a toasted toad. Didn’t he only kill about four of his own gang. Then he gave ’em all a right hard down the banks tellin’ off about wot a lazy daft lot they were. Mind you, he’s no great wisebeast himself. Gulo thinks that the banner an’ somethin’ called a walkin’ stone an’ his brother Askor are all at Redwall Abbey. Huh, a walkin’ stone, I ask ye? Well, t’cut a long story short, him an’ the other gobeens are marchin’ to the Abbey to conquer the place.”
Tam could see that Yoofus was telling the truth. “When did this all take place? Tell me quickly!”
The water vole scratched his chin. “Er, ’twould be just about dawn. I left the vermin right away. Wasn’t it meself that was on the way back to warn ye at Redwall? But now I found ye so cleverly, I can tell ye that they’re comin’ this way, an’ they’ll be crossin’ this stream afore the mornin’s much older.”
Lancejack Wilderry glanced up and down the stream. “Jolly good spot t’make a stand an’ stop ’em crossin’, wot?”
Tam was of a different opinion. “Not with the odds at two to one, they’d rush us. Give me a moment to think, mate. You take the rest back a bit an’ hide in the bushes. Skipper, Yoofus, I want a word with ye, but we’ll have to make it short. Doogy, find a lookout spot
up in that elm. Let me know the instant ye can see them comin’.”
Wilderry crouched alongside Butty Wopscutt behind a wild privet. He glanced nervously ahead at the streambank. “Blinkin’ long moment MacBurl’s takin’. Wish he’d hurry up!”
The jolly corporal reassured him. “Steady, old chap. Rakkety Tam knows wot he’s doin’. Aye, an’ Skipper ain’t no duffer. An’ as fer that Yoofus, he’s sharper’n the point of a thistle. Leave it to them, buckoe. Tam’s the officer o’ the day now.”
Shard was limping hurriedly along through the woodlands with his mate Freeta and the ermine tracker Grik at his side. The main body of vermin were marching behind.
The white fox captain gritted his teeth. “Unhhh! ’Tis as though the fire is still burning my flank. I need a poultice for it.”
Grik gestured ahead. “Methinks there be water up yon, a stream mayhaps. There’ll be damp moss an’ soothin’ mud aplenty for thy wound, Captain.”
Freeta chanced a look back at the ranks behind. “Where’s the mighty Gulo, pray tell? I don’t see him.”
Gathering his tattered cloak around him, Shard winced. “Didst thou not hear him? Gulo is behind the last rank. He says he will slay anybeast who takes a rest or a backward pace. That beast has neither pity nor mercy. Yea, he is truly named the Savage. I hope somebeast slides a blade twixt his ribs whilst he sleeps!”
The ermine tracker kept his face on the trail ahead. “I’ll pretend I never heard thee, Captain. Gulo is too strong and fierce for anybeast among us to bring him down. He lives an’ thrives on the blood of others.”
Freeta beckoned the tracker forward. “See if thou canst find the stream, Grik.”
When the tracker was far enough ahead of the two foxes, Freeta murmured, “The great sword thou took from the Abbeymaid, I wager Gulo could be felled by such a blade.”