Rufe rubbed a paw across his eyes and sniffed. ‘Why would Fatch be in a temper, Joseph?’
The Bellmaker plucked a dockleaf and gave it to his young friend. ‘Here, wipe your face, I’ll tell you why. Fatch gave his life so that you could live on and enjoy yours. If I were Fatch I’d be in a real temper now, knowing that you were not enjoying the life I’d given you, sitting weeping amid the joys of freedom on a summer day.’
Durry Quill had been listening from a distance. Now he trundled up and stood looking down at the Bellmaker. ‘You’re right sir, an ’ole Finnbarr would be in an even worser mood lookin’ at your face, ’tis more miserable than a frog who’s swallered a bumblebee. Come on, you two, let’s play on the swing!’
‘Look out, Durry!’
A young shrew had swung the wrong way. He came spinning in on the rope, knocking Durry ears over tip into Joseph and Rufe, and now all three lay in a heap.
Joseph sat up glaring at the swinging shrew, then he began to chuckle. Rufe tried to sit up and fell back on to Durry; the hedgehog pushed him off. ‘Gerroff me y’great Rufey lump!’
Rufe could not resist the smile spreading across his face. ‘Fat wettysnout pricklybottom cakeface!’
All three stood up laughing heartily. Joseph dashed off towards the rope, shouting, ‘Me first, you two are so fat you’d burst the swing!’
They raced after him giggling.
‘You great big Dibbun!’
‘Wait’ll we tell Mariel you was playin’ swings!’
Afternoon drifted on in a warm summery haze. Gael Squirrelking supervised the lowering of the drawbridge that Deekeye and Weldan had repaired. Gael looked anything but a king as he sat on the edge of the bridge with his newly adopted young ones, Wincey, Benjy and Figgs, competing to see who could skim flat pebbles the furthest along the moat.
Dusk fell like a velvet mantle, and by the light of myriad lanterns twinkling across the valley Mariel paced out an area by the dip, where the final battle had been fought.
‘Here, this is where the monument shall stand!’ she announced.
Joseph, Gawjun the hedgehog and Blerun the otter stood forward from the crowd who had gathered to watch. Gawjun pointed out a hill. ‘Yonder stands a great boulder on the hilltop. Blerun, thy tribe can roll it down here. Together we will set it straight and hew it with chisels. Egbert shall write the words to be carved upon it.’
Joseph stared up at the boulder perched on the hill. ‘And I shall stay and make a bell to crown it. Each dawn it will ring out to honour the courage of those creatures who gave their lives to free Southsward from the Foxwolf and his horde. Their memory will live on into legend!’
38
AUTUMN LEAVES TURNED gold, drifting down to carpet the path outside Redwall Abbey in the soft misty mornings. Fruits that had ripened on bough and vine were harvested in to larder and storecupboard. It was time for the fine October Ale to be brewed, chestnuts to be candied and berries to be preserved in honey. Abbot Saxtus stood over the threshold on the gatehouse wall with Blind Simeon.
Saxtus folded his paws into wide habit sleeves, saying, ‘Well my friend, we are a fine pair, standing up here admiring the season. By rights we should be down in the kitchens, helping to make jams, jellies and preserves.’
Simeon stared sightlessly out as a breeze rustled the dry leaves of Mossflower. There was a twitter and flurry of wings overhead. ‘The birds fly off to follow the sun where fresh harvests are ripening. Let us earthbound creatures stop here awhile and talk, Father Abbot. It would spoil the Dibbuns’ fun if you appeared in the kitchens, they’d have to behave with an Abbot hanging around. This feast you once talked of, to celebrate the memory of Mother Mellus. When is it to be?’
Saxtus ran a paw over the worn red stones of a battlement. ‘Soon now, I hope.’
‘When our friends return from their quest?’
‘I didn’t say that, Simeon.’
‘I know you didn’t, Saxtus, but that is what is in your mind.’
The Father Abbot clasped the blind one’s paw warmly. ‘There are no secrets from you, old friend.’
Simeon’s whiskers twitched, and he leaned forward, listening. ‘Here comes another of your secrets, Father. A carrier of information, if I’m not mistaken.’
Saxtus peered into the grey autumn distance. ‘I can’t see anything,’ he said.
Simeon pointed to where Mossflower Wood bordered the path. ‘There, it’s Blaggut, scurrying along at the woodland’s edge.’
There was no mistaking the bulky shape of the former searat as he waddled into view. Saxtus shook his head in amazement. ‘How did you know it was him?’
The blind mouse held on to his Abbot’s paw as they made their way down the wallsteps to the main gate. ‘That one is a stranger to bathwater, I always smell him before others can see him. But don’t tell him that, one can forgive a little ripeness from a creature with a good heart.’
Blaggut sat in the gatehouse, drinking old cider from a beaker and bolting warm damson scones as he related his information.
’Twas last eve I saw ’er, Father h’Abbot, just afore twilight, a ship I once knowed, the Pearl Queen. She was out t’sea, comin’ up from the south. So I stowed meself be’ind some rocks an’ watched ’er. When the crew sighted land they started shoutin’ the name Redwall. I figgered they must be yore friends who went a questin’. Well, t’cut a long story short I came straight ’ere to tell yer the news. Y’ll fergive me, but I never let ’em see me, ’cos not knowin’ who I am, they might’ve mistook me fer a searat an’ slayed me.’
Saxtus refilled Blaggut’s beaker. ‘You did well, friend. Thank you for travelling all night to bring me the good word. If you go to the kitchens you can visit your friends, mousebabe and Furrtil. I will tell Brother Mallen to fill a sack with food for you, knowing how you like our Redwall fare.’
Blaggut bobbed his head respectfully at Saxtus. ‘There ain’t no tastier vittles in all the world, sir, thankee. Haharr – I bet those Dibbuns are growin’ big an’ plump now, bless ’em.’
Early noon brought breeze, sunshine and scudding clouds. Simeon and Saxtus stood with Furrtil and the mousebabe on the path outside Redwall, waving goodbye to Blaggut as he shuffled off, sack on shoulder, into the treeshade of Mossflower.
‘Fare ee well zurr, doan’t eat ee vittles too farst!’
‘Gu’bye, mister Blackguts, thanks for fixin’ me boat!’
Blaggut turned and winked roguishly. ‘’Appy sailin’, mateys, see yer agin soon, I ’opes!’
He disappeared into the woodlands. Simeon addressed Saxtus. ‘Well?’
‘Well what, friend Simeon?’
‘Well, what about the feast, friend Saxtus?’
The Father Abbot kept a straight face as he replied, ‘You can stand there all day saying “well”, or get yourself off to the kitchens and tell the cooks to get started on it!’
Simeon felt both his paws grabbed by the two Dibbuns, and he was whisked off at a run, with Furrtil and the mousebabe roaring, ‘Party! Party! There’s goin’ t’be a partyfeast!’
The great Joseph Bell tolled three hours before midnight. Furtively cloaked in a dark coloured curtain, Tarquin L. Woodsorrel poked his head around the main gateway, which had been left open. One glance confirmed what he was looking for. Ears streaming out behind him, the long-legged hare sprinted for the Abbey. He arrived with a bound through the doors of Great Hall. ‘What ho, they’re comin’ along the path, chaps!’ he yelled.
Saxtus gazed around at the laden tables of the festive board. ‘Is everything ready, Sister Sage?’
‘Ready as ever, Father Abbot, as soon as the Harvest Vegetable soup arrives. Ah! Here it is now.’
Brother Fingle, assisted by several helpers, wheeled in a trolley weighted down by a huge, steaming cauldron. Halting it in front of the main table, he bowed proudly.
‘One large pot of Harvest Vegetable soup, simmered since mid-morning, Father. The best of celery, carrots, cabbage, mushrooms, leeks and white
turnips, cooked to perfection!’
Tarquin threw off his cloak and gave a smart salute. ‘Cellar supplies all up an’ waitin’. First barrel of last October’s Ale tapped, strawberry cordial, mint tea, dandelion an’ burdock fizz, oh, and a small firkin of blackcurrant wine, to keep out the chill. All correct!’
Saxtus walked around the tables twice, taking note of everything that had been laid out to welcome back his companions. The centrepiece was a massive moist fruitcake, decorated with sugared maple leaves, and surrounded by trifles of various colours – bright redcurrant, green gooseberry, pale pink rose and delicate woodland violet. Loaves with shining fresh crusts – seeded, patterned, farls, cobs and batons – ranged between cheeses of white and yellow. Pies and tarts, apple, bilberry, plum and pear, latticed or open, twinkled as their fillings caught the candle and lantern lights. The last of the fresh summer salads were laid in flat wooden bowls, chopped and dressed with herbs from the woodlands.
Saxtus’s paw strayed near a confection of meadowcream and whipped honey piled high and fluffy in a basin. The mousebabe ducked disapprovingly. ‘Tch tch, Sister Sage smacka paw, naughty!’
Despite the warning, Saxtus took a quick dip. Sucking his paw, he winked at the mousebabe. ‘She can’t smack my paw, I’m the Father Abbot – good job, isn’t it? Mmmm, delicious!’
A knock sounded loud on the door of Great Hall. Saxtus scurried to his Abbot’s chair and held a paw to his lips for complete silence. All round the tables Redwallers sat, decked out in their best habits, shining-eyed with anticipation, waiting quietly.
The knock sounded again, louder this time. Still the creatures at the festive tables sat in silence. Dibbuns dapped paws tight across their mouths, shaking with glee at the joke their elders were playing.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Four loud knocks that sounded suspiciously like the knotted end of a Gullwhacker hitting the door, followed by the unmistakable voice of Dandin.
‘Ahoy there, anybeast home?’
Mousebabe wriggled uncontrollably, stuffing the tablecloth edge into his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. The great, heavy, curled-iron handle turned. All eyes were riveted on the door as it opened slightly.
Hon Rosie Woodsorrel poked her head into Great Hall.
‘Whoohahahooyaaaaah!’
She banged the doors open wide, they thudded against the walls either side and the homecoming adventurers flooded in. Redwallers dashed from their seats at table to meet them.
‘Rosie, Rosie, dear old thing, you’re home!’
‘Tarquin! My babes, come here! Mmmmmch!’
‘I say, Mater, steady on with the kissin’. Yukk!’
‘Dandin, you rogue, you haven’t changed a bit!’
‘Haha, you have though, Saxtus, you look more like an old Father Abbot than ever! Dearie me, what a tummy!’
Blind Simeon felt the contours of the face before him. ‘Mariel, the Warriormaid of Redwall, welcome home!’
Mariel hugged the ancient herbalist. ‘Simeon, the sight of you is worth a thousand quests!’
‘Aha! Is that my old friend Foremole?’
‘Burr aye, zurr Mallen, tis oi, ’appy as a buzzybee. See yurr, Bowly Pintipers, an’ all ee shrews, well famishered an’ willin’ to eat, hurr, hurr!’
‘Logalogalog, we be shrews an’ sail in boats onna pond!’
The Guosim Chieftain chuckled as he was bowled over by a gang of Dibbuns. ‘Hohoho! Lookit you, y’great fat mousebabe, I’m goin’ to tickle you thin!’
‘Yeeheeheehee! Stoppit! No, more! Yeeheeheehee!’
It took quite a while to get the greetings over and everybeast seated at the festive board. The Abbot was about to ring his bell when Sister Sage broke down weeping piteously. They gathered round to find the cause of her distress. The old Sister shook her head despairingly.
‘The rhyme, the rhyme, don’t you remember?’
Oak Tom’s wife Treerose repeated the first lines:
‘Five will ride the Roaringburn,
But only four will e’er return . . .’
In the silence that followed, Oak Tom could be heard calling off the names of the questors.
‘There’s Rufe Brush, Durry Quill, Rosie Woodsorrel and Foremole. Four came back!’
Sister Sage left her seat and threw herself sobbing upon the mousemaid. ‘Oh Mariel, your poor Father, what a good brave creature our Bellmaker was . . .’
Saxtus looked stricken. ‘No, not Joseph?’
Simeon provided the voice of reason amid the upset. ‘Silence please, the rhyme said that only four would return. It never said anything about death. Mariel, tell us what happened to your Father!’
Mariel looked gratefully at Simeon. ‘Thank you, friend. Now if I can get a word in edgeways let me explain. Joseph the Bellmaker is far from dead; here is a letter he told me to deliver to Abbot Saxtus.’
Unrolling the small scroll, Saxtus read aloud:
‘To my good friend the Father Abbot and all Redwallers. The needs of Southsward are great, and I have decided to stay here to help rebuild their home. I am fashioning a beautiful bell to ring out over this land to honour those who died in the great Battle of Southsward and to remind me of my friends at Redwall.
I wager you are in the midst of a feast. I wish I were there with you. But as I am not, do not let me detain old friends from their enjoyment. Mariel, Dandin and the crew of Pearl Queen will have plenty of time to relate the story, around a good fire on cold winter nights. Be happy, grow strong, take care of each other and your beautiful Abbey of Redwall. No doubt we will all meet again some day.
Each of you has a special place in my heart.
Joseph the Bellmaker.’
Mariel smiled fondly as she added, ‘He has been honoured with the titles of King’s Advisor, Honorary Commander to the Army of Southsward, and Lord Warden of Floret. But you know my dad, he wishes to be known only as Joseph the Bellmaker. Lift your beakers, friends, I give you a toast to my father, Joseph.’
The very rafters rang as every Redwaller shouted aloud, ‘To the Bellmaker!’
As they drank, Saxtus finally got to ring his bell. ‘All talk and tales, both sad and happy, must wait until tomorrow. The hour grows late and we have a feast before us. Let full justice be done – but only after I have said the grace.
‘Autumn comes, the summer’s flown,
Travellers’ journey ends.
Harvest is in, the table laid,
Sit you down ‘midst friends!’
And so they did, until dawn’s light flooded through the ancient stained glass windows. Nobeast crept away to bed, not even Dibbuns. Good food, songs and poems, close comradeship and a few tears, all combined to welcome the return of the questors and honour the memory of Mother Mellus.
Father Abbot Saxtus blinked against the morning sunlight reflecting off his bell, mentally composing what he would write in his Abbey Record book. ‘One of Redwall’s great feasts, to be remembered for long seasons to come.’
The mousebabe sat in Rufe Brush’s lap, half awake as he nibbled a redcurrant tart. Mariel was about to doze off in her chair when she noticed mousebabe watching her. ‘What are you looking at, cheekywhiskers?’ she asked.
‘I wanna be a warrior like you.’
The mousemaid winked at him as she took a sip of mint tea. ‘Then you’ll have to grow up honest and true to your friends – a warrior needs good companions to learn from. One day you may become a warrior, as great as the squirrel who is taking care of you right now. Isn’t that right, Rufe?’
Rufe Brush smiled down at the Dibbun. ‘Aye, it’s right enough, but first you’ll have to get Durry Quill to teach you to roar like this.’
Rufe threw back his head and roared.
‘Grooooarrarrarrrrgh!’
Mousebabe leapt with fright, and Rufe stroked his tiny ears until he began to doze. The young squirrel talked to him in a low, gentle voice. ‘But that’s only part of it. I had to learn many things, but I was lucky, I had the right teache
rs to guide me. The fighting spirit of Finnbarr Galedeep, the friendship of Durry Quill and a brave Guosim shrew named Fatch. Wisdom and strength are needed by a warrior, and I got them from Mariel’s Father, Joseph the Bellmaker.’
Mousebabe repeated the final word before sleep overtook him.
‘Bellmaker!’
Epilogue
The Bellmaker’s tale took three days in the telling, three days in which the storm never once abated. Food and blankets were sent in to the gatehouse, and each night the two old friends and the Dibbuns slept there. On the fourth day they woke to find the sun beaming through the windows from a gentle blue sky. But the Dibbuns would not move until certain questions had been answered.
‘Did our Abbey get another badger, sir?’
The ancient squirrel smiled and shook his head. ‘Ah, that’s a story for another day.’
The little mouse Jerril climbed down from the arm of the chair. ‘What ’appened to Mariel an’ Dandin?’ he asked.
The old hedgehog answered from the depths of his armchair. ‘They stopped at Redwall for a season, then one mornin’ Dandin, Mariel an’ Bowly Pintips took the Pearl Queen an’ sailed out, to see what was over the horizon they said. I was goin’ to go with ’em, but in the end I stayed home with my old matey ’ere.’
The bass-voiced molebabe wiped a tear from his eye. ‘Ee sea h’otter, Finnenbarr Galeydeep, ’twere sad ee was slayed, oi would’ve loiked to ’ave met ’im.’
The squirrel exchanged glances with the hedgehog. Rising slowly they went over to a cupboard. The squirrel talked as he rummaged among objects that he treasured. ‘Finnbarr Galedeep was a mighty warrior, maybe you’d like to see his swords.’
He drew the pair of matched curving blades from the cupboard, passing one to the hedgehog. A gasp of wonder arose from the Dibbuns as they stared open-mouthed at the two shining weapons. The molebabe clambered into the armchair vacated by the hedgehog. ‘Whurr did ee get em frumm, zurr?’