round campfires at night thy name shall live on,
for great stories of thee I will tell!”
Maudie passed the little one to the shrew chieftain. Taking Luglug’s rapier, she saluted her fallen comrade, yelling aloud the Salamandastron war cry, in tribute to him. “Eulaliiiiiiaaaaaa!”
They returned to Bulrush Bower in time for lunch. Little Dupper’s mother was overjoyed to get her baby back unharmed. Luglug and Maudie told her of the owl’s heroic sacrifice, how Asio had saved Dupper by doing battle with the adder. The shrewmum was greatly moved, she proclaimed from that day forth, her little one’s name would be changed, from Dupper to Asio. Both Maudie and the Guosim tribe were in complete agreement with the decision. They ate a simple lunch, shrewbread, apples and some cheese. When all their baggage was packed, Luglug gave orders.
Shrews are notoriously noisy, they gossip and shout constantly. To gain silence Luglug had to shout out his official title, Log a Log, in an ululating call. Maudie was startled; for such a small creature, he had a resounding voice.
“Logalogalogalooooog!”
The Guosim ceased jabbering and listened to their chief. Luglug was very brief with his announcement. “Get the liddle ’uns on their lines’n’harnesses! Rigril an’ Teagle, yore in the scoutin’ coracle! Porters an’ portagers, move out! We’re bound for the Abbey o’ Redwall, by the crookstream an’ ripples!”
The Guosim cheered this news to the echo, Redwall was a great place to visit. Everybeast bustled to their chores. Maudie watched the process, sorting out in her mind what it all meant. She saw parents fastening small woven harnesses around the waists of their infants, and others packing equipment upon their backs. Rigril and Teagle had raced off, as soon as Luglug told them they would be in the scouting coracle. The rest, who were mainly sturdy looking males, followed the two scouts. Luglug explained what was happening.
“That gang who’ve gone ahead are the portagers, miz. Guosim goes everywhere by logboats, rivers’n’streams, that’s the way we travels. Ye see yon fir grove, we’ve stowed our logboats there. They’ve got t’be carried, portaged y’see, across t’the crookstream. A shrew needs strong paws an’ a broad back to be a portager!”
Maudie saw Guosim, or at least the bottom halves of them, emerging from the grove. The shrews were carrying six fine, long logboats. She chuckled at the sight. It looked like upside down vessels, each with many pairs of legs, tramping away into the woodlands. Luglug did not appear amused.
“There’s nought funny about portagin’, missy, ’tis a fair ole trek afore we reaches the crookstream an’ ripples. We’d best take the lead, c’mon.”
Maudie hurried to catch up with the bristly little Log a Log. “I know there’s nothin’ funny about havin’ to carry the jolly old boats, wot. But it looks rather comical, don’t it? I say, those portagin’ chaps mustn’t be able t’see a bally thing, how do they know which way to go, wot?”
The Guosim chieftain explained. “That’s why we’ll be walkin’ in front o’ the first logboat. The front shrew will follow our footpaws. The next beast follows his, an’ so on. When yore portagin’ all ye can see is the ground ’neath yoreself, an’ the footpaws o’ the one in front of ye.”
Having reached the lead position with Luglug, the haremaid looked back. Behind her was a well-ordered procession, the line of logboats, followed by Guosim porters, carrying bundles of camping equipment. To the rear of the porters came the little ones. Each was tethered to their family members by a harness and a lead rope. Bringing up the tail end of the column came a score of young warriors, each with drawn rapier, eager and willing to prove themselves in the event of an attack. Maudie concluded that though Guosim shrews were noisy and argumentative, they could be very well ordered, when each had a specific task to perform. The logboat carriers struck up a sort of marching shanty, to keep their footpaws in time with each other.
“We ain’t no sailors on the sea,
in ships decked out with sails,
there ain’t no call for cap’n, mate or bosun,
but we knows more o’ paddlin’ boats,
on river, pond or stream,
than anybeast wot ever sailed the ocean!
“Gimme a good ole logboat,
that’s the craft to keep me fit,
when a logboat ain’t carryin’ a Guosim,
well, the Guosim’s carryin’ it!
“I bet there’s no saltwater beast,
a-headed back to home,
who’s reached the land an’ heard his cap’n order,
‘All paws on shore now lift this ship,
an’ carry it on yore ’eads,
it looks t’me like we’ve run out o’ water!’
“Gimme a good ole logboat,
that’s the craft to keep me fit,
when a logboat ain’t carryin’ a Guosim,
well, the Guosim’s carryin’ it!”
Twilight was already covering the woodlands when they reached their destination. The place Guosim called the crookstream and ripples looked peaceful enough to Maudie. She organised supper as the shrews tethered their logboats to the bank, loading them, so they would be ready to move on the morrow. A foraging party brought in some button mushrooms, scallions and early acorns, which Maudie used as a filling for the pasties she was making.
Luglug commented as they sat beneath the bankside willows, “I tell ye, Miss Maudie, I ain’t never tasted pasties as nice as these in all me seasons. Er, how would ye like to become a Guosim cook? The job’s yores if’n ye want it. In fact, I’ll make ye Grand Guosim Chef, an’ give ye a staff of helpers. Wot d’ye say?”
The haremaid shook her head. “Sorry, ’fraid not, sah, I’m a Salamandastron hare of the Long Patrol. Couldn’t imagine m’self balancin’ a whoppin’ great logboat between my ears, an’ singin’ portagin’ songs. Besides, I’ve got a jolly old mission to complete. Couldn’t very well do that an’ toddle off t’be a blinkin’ Guosim chef to boot, wot!”
Luglug looked crestfallen, but he made no further mention of the subject.
Maudie was wakened at the crack of dawn next morning. Still yawning, she was thrust into the prow end of the lead logboat, alongside a young shrew named Osbil. The vessel lurched off from the bank, powered by fourteen Guosim, all paddling energetically. The haremaid nodded to her companion. “G’morning, I say, aren’t we supposed t’be paddlin’, or something like that, wot?”
Osbil replied, without taking his eyes off the stream ahead, “Have ye ever paddled a logboat afore, marm, do ye own yore own paddle?”
Maudie shook her head. “First time I’ve been in a bloomin’ boat, old lad, jolly good, isn’t it, ’fraid I don’t have a perishin’ paddle. S’pose I might borrow yours, wot?”
Osbil continued peering upstream. “Huh, s’pose ye might not borrow my paddle, marm, nobeast in this tribe touches another ’un’s paddle, t’aint done. If’n it’s the first time ye’ve been in a logboat, then ye’d be hopeless as a paddlebeast. Takes at least four seasons t’train a Guosim paddler. Them’s our rules, marm!”
The haremaid sniffed. “Oh, golly gracious now, can’t have me breakin’ the flippin’ rules, can we. But why aren’t you paddlin’?”
Osbil answered without looking at her. “’Cos I’m first prowspot, got t’keep me glims on the course ahead, especially as this is the lead logboat.”
Maudie gestured upstream. “Well, don’t let me stop you, old chap, you keep your eye…glims peeled, if that’s a prowspotter’s job. Er, pardon me askin’, but what’s my purpose aboard this jolly old logboat, wot?”
Osbil winked, and gave Maudie a swift grin. “Prowspotter’s mate’s supposed to sing, so the paddlers can keep in stroke. Just like when yore marchin’.”
The sun broke through the foliage which formed a canopy over the crookstream, causing a lacy effect of light and shadow. Dragonflies hovered on the reed-fringed banks, watching the logboat flotilla as it passed by. Crookstream was aptly named, it was a real switchback, with mo
re twists and turns than a corkscrew. Looking back, Maudie marvelled at the skill of the Guosim paddlers. She could see Luglug, standing in the stern of the last logboat, enveloped in a rainbow of spray. As they pushed upstream against the playful, gurgling waters, Maudie broke out into an old Long Patrol barrack-room song, hardly a march, she thought, but quite a good tune. The haremaid had a strong voice, which rang out loud and clear.
“Oh, soldier, I’m askin’ ye, where would ye like to be,
all on a winter’s day?
As onward you push, through the snow-driven slush,
on your cold an’ weary way,
with dew on your nose an’ your ears solid froze,
an’ ice from scut to eyes.
Tell me, tell me, give me a big surprise!
“March on! Left, right! One, two an’ a-three!
At last I’ve found an officer,
who’s like a mother to me!
“Oh, Sergeant Maclain, I don’t wish to complain,
it ain’t like me to moan,
but on this winter day, I’d just love you to say,
that I should’ve stayed at home,
with a mug of hot soup, an’ me ears all a-droop,
in an armchair by the fire,
O Sergeant, Sergeant, that’s my heart’s desire!
“Eyes front! Ears up! Whiskers stiff’n’straight!
one more word from you y’wretch,
an’ yore through the guardhouse gate!”
The Guosim laughed aloud. Like anybeast who had to obey rules and orders, they appreciated the sentiment of Maudie’s song. One bold, young shrew even shouted out, “Yore Sergeant sounds just like our Log a Log, miss!”
He was silenced by Luglug’s stern voice from the rear. “Aye, an’ one more word from you, mate, an’ ye can get out an’ push. Now dig those paddles deep!”
As they progressed further upstream, the shrewbabes began to get restless and disobedient. Two of them even leapt into the stream. They were hauled in immediately, and scolded by their family members.
“You liddle rogue, you might’ve been drowned!”
“Aye, either that or eaten by a big fish!”
Maudie remarked to Osbil, “It’s just as well they were on harnesses and leads.”
The prowspotter pointed to a long, silvery gleam under the surface. He yelled out a warning. “Ahoy, pike inna water!”
The haremaid saw the pike as it headed for the reeds, avoiding a salvo of slingstones from the Guosim. “Great seasons, look at the size of that villain, wot!”
The great fish’s green-gold bulk slid silently off and was lost among the reeds. Osbil commented, “That thing’d take a full-growed Guosim afore ye could wink. As for the little ’uns, huh, they wouldn’t make much more’n a snack for a monster like that!”
Throughout the morning Maudie came to realise that besides being a thing of beauty and wonder, the crookstream could conceal a host of dangers. Osbil pointed out more pike, a great eel and a number of hunting barbels, all lurking beneath the smooth surface, savage predators in their own domain.
At midday the logboats pulled into a shaded inlet. Maudie joined Luglug in a stroll along the bank, to stretch their limbs. A shout from around the bend heralded the return of the scouting coracle. Rigril and Teagle came ashore to make their report. “We made it up as far as the ripples, they look a bit lively today, Chief.”
Luglug shrugged. “I never knew a time when those ripples wasn’t lively. Teagle, wot are ye chewin’ yore lip for?”
Teagle was a good scout, well-versed in woodland ways. She explained her concern to the Guosim chieftain. “Two bends up, by the big rock, where it’s shallow an’ pebbly, we saw a lot of woodpigeon fly overhead, doves, too, an’ a few thrush an’ blackbird.”
Rigril nodded in agreement. “Aye, Chief, an’ there ain’t no great wind, or signs o’ storm. Somethin’ scared those birds. Drivin’ ’em south, we figgered.”
Luglug looked from one to the other. “Vermin, d’ye reckon?”
Teagle stopped gnawing at her lip. “Brownrats, I think. We spotted two of their scouts, but I think they saw us first. Anyhow, we got out o’ there fast!”
Maudie took note of Luglug’s anxious frown. “Tell me what’s on your mind, sah, perhaps I can help. Member of the Long Patrol y’know, an’ all that, wot?”
The Guosim chieftain patted her paw, smiling tightly. “Mayhaps ye can, if yore as good at tactics as ye are at cookin’. Let’s talk about it over lunch.”
The meal was not a cooked one, since they could not risk a fire. As an apology for some of their previous culinary atrocities, the younger shrews put together a very tasty woodland salad, with cheese, hazelnuts and oatbread. While they ate, Luglug explained the position to Maudie.
“There’s a horde o’ Brownrats been roamin’ this neck o’ the woods for a few seasons now, an’ I tell ye, they’re a bad lot! Their chief is a big ’un called Gruntan Kurdly, he’s a born killer, an’ he ain’t no fool. Ole Gruntan’s got a mind sharper’n a dagger.”
Maudie helped herself to more salad. “Indeed, an’ what d’you think the blinkin’ rascal’s up to, may I ask?”
Luglug spread his paws meaningly. “Nothin’, if’n his scouts ain’t seen our scouts. But, if’n they did spot Rigril’n’Teagle, then we’re in the soup, an’ here’s the reason why, miss. That place by where the big rock sticks up, ’tis a perfect spot for an ambush. The stream runs shallow o’er the pebble bed, an’ ’tis slow goin’ paddlin’ a logboat. So, if’n Gruntan knows we’ve got to pass by there, he’ll be layin’ in wait for us, take my word!”
Maudie let her ears flop to half-mast (a thing she often did when pondering a problem). “Hmm, I see. Tell me, d’you think he’ll have both banks covered, or will he just have his scoundrels waiting on one bank, wot?”
The shrew chieftain scratched his tail. “Prob’ly both banks. Don’t get me wrong, Miz Maudie, I ain’t scared o’ fightin’ those rats, but we got liddle ’uns along with us, wot do I do about the babes? We could chance makin’ a run for it, ’cos when we reach the ripples, the current runs the other way, downhill. Nobeast would catch us once we was on the ripples.”
Maudie was staring at the coracle, moored to the bank. “D’you think we could get all the little chaps, plus two good paddlers, into that thing, wot?”
Teagle raised her eyebrows. “It’d be a bit of a squash, marm, but me’n’Rigril could prob’ly manage it.”
Maudie addressed her next remark to Luglug. “What d’you have in the way of weaponry, old lad?”
The shrew counted items off on his pawpad. “Every Guosim has his rapier, most carry slings an’ stones, an’ there’s around a score of us with bows an’ arrers. Of course, if’n push comes to shove, a paddle’s as good a weapon as anythin’, miss.”
The haremaid winked at her friends. “Well, huzzah for us, I say. We can work a flanker on the rotters, bit of a reverse pincer, as I’ve heard old Major Mull call it. Yes, that’s what we’ll jolly well do, wot!”
The shrew chieftain gazed blankly at Maudie, he could think of only one thing to say. “Wot?”
It had been said of Gruntan Kurdly that his mind was teetering on the brink of madness. Or to put it in Brownrat parlance, he had butterflies in his head, lots of them. However, no Brownrat, or any other vermin, dared to mention this to the warlord’s face. The rare few who had were long dead, or, as Gruntan himself put it, had suffered a dose of the Kurdlys.
Gruntan Kurdly was the biggest of all his horde, both in height and girth. Brownrats smeared themselves with dyes and ochres, mainly yellow and blue, adorning themselves with the bones of their enemies, giving the horde a savage appearance. But none could outdo Gruntan in colour, or barbarity. He was a virtual rainbow of daubs, stripes and blotches of all hues. Around his huge waist, he sported a wide belt hung with skulls, ranging from birds to reptiles, with a few vermin craniums. These were a reminder to his horde, to show them who was warlord.
Grunt
an sat on his litter, atop the high rock, watching preparations down below for the proposed ambush. His dozen litter bearers, several of whom were big females, hovered around, rendering him every attention. The Brownrat warlord was inordinately fond of hard-boiled eggs. The horde had recently ravaged the woodpigeon nests, so there was a plentiful supply for their leader. Three of Gruntan’s daughters were kept busy shelling the eggs, whilst their father wolfed them down as he questioned his two scouts.
“Haharr, an’ wot did ye see downstream, me beauties, eh?”
Notwithstanding the shower of boiled egg fragments which he was forced to face, Noggo, the chief scout, reported. “Sh’ews they was, Boss, Grousen sh’ews, loads of ’em.”
Gruntan spat out a bit of shell, cuffed the ear of the daughter responsible, then continued. “Grousens, ye say, an’ did they ’ave ’andsome likkle boats wid ’em? Hoho, I needs some of those boats.”
Biklo, the other scout, nodded eagerly. “Aye, I counted them meself, six long ’uns, an’ a likkle round ’un, wot their scouts used, Boss!”
Gruntan’s eyes grew dreamy as he imagined himself being transported along peaceful streams by boat. He liked boats. For a rat of his size and weight, the warlord was surprisingly quick; suddenly, he grabbed Noggo by the throat. Gruntan whispered hoarsely to him. “Noggo, me ole matey, was you spotted by the Grousens?”
Gulping, the scout tried to shake his head. “The sh’ews never saw us, on me oath, Boss!”
Gruntan released Noggo. He let his sly, glittering eyes rove over both scouts, popping another egg into his mouth. “Hearken t’me, mateys, an ambush only works if’n it’s unexpected. T’wont be no ambush at all if’n ye’ve been seen by the Grousen sh’ews. So, tell me agin, was you spotted by ’em, eh?”
Noggo and Biklo shook their heads vigorously, replying in unison, “No, Boss, we wasn’t spotted!”
Spearing another egg on one claw, Gruntan waggled it at the two scouts as he issued his customary warning. “’Cos if’n you was, guess wot’ll ’appen to ye?”